Blood Lines: Edge of Darkness Book 3

by Vanessa Skye

  I’m better than this. Jay’s gone, but I don’t need this anymore.

  She made her way slowly over to her desk only to find her chair occupied.

  “Jesus, Berg,” Arena grumbled from his chair, popping the last of some sort of breakfast item in his mouth and crossing his arms. “Why are you so fucking late? We’ve been waiting since eight thirty!” He gestured toward Detective Short who stood and let Berg have her seat back.

  She sat down and tried not to wince. “Fuck you, Arena. Usually I’m the one waiting for you to roll in anytime you fucking feel like it.”

  Short laughed, and Arena scowled but didn’t say anything.

  “Can I get you a coffee, Berg?” Short flashed her a perfect, white smile. “You look wiped.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll get it,” Berg said, fighting to stand without reacting and gingerly making her way to the kitchen.

  “Are you okay?” Arena asked with a frown, standing up. “You’re moving like you’re injured.”

  “Nah, just a little stiff.” She felt shame flood her face but shook her head. “So what’s up?” She eased back into her chair once more and prayed for five minutes of quiet stillness.

  Short pulled up a spare chair, spinning it around, kicked a leg over the seat, and propped on the back. “So there’s been another killing of a dealer in south Chicago. The MO’s the same as the others.”

  “Eyes gouged? Tongue cut out? Fingers broken? Dumped in a public place?” Berg asked, leaning forward.

  “Yep, it’s all the same, including the lack of physical evidence left behind,” Short replied.

  “Tell us about the vic.” Arena sipped his coffee.

  “It’s not my case, but a colleague tells me it was a local guy—known dealer, recently prosecuted, but released. Suspected gang affiliate.”

  “Was he dumped in gang territory like Lopez?” Berg asked.

  “No, not this time. He was dumped in the middle of a busy highway sometime early morning, three days ago.”

  “Anything to link him to the other two, apart from the dealing?” Berg asked. “And what about traffic cams?”

  Short shook his head. “Nada.”

  “So, so far we’ve got three dealers—one white rich kid, one independent Latino dealer, and one black dealer with gang affiliations—all killed after being tortured and dumped in open places to be found quickly.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Short said.

  “So these killings are clearly a message, but what the hell’s the message?” Berg threw her hands up, and the sudden movement sent pain ripping through her back and shoulders. She shivered and sighed softly, trying not to draw attention.

  “Or who the message is intended for.” Arena opened a piece of hard candy and popped the butterscotch in his mouth, licking the sticky off before ticking options on his fingers. “Gangs? Other dealers? Suppliers? The cops?”

  Berg frowned. “Is someone trying to start a gang war?”

  Short shrugged. “That would fit the past two vics, but not your original dorm-room dealer. The word on the street is the gangs are getting antsy. You don’t dump a body in their territory, or kill one of their dealers, unless you’ve got some serious firepower to back you up. They are after blood, and it’s dangerous enough for civilians as it is.”

  “Firepower,” Berg mumbled.

  The guys fell silent and turned to face her, raising their eyebrows and leaning toward her.

  She turned the engagement ring around her finger as she twisted the clues in her mind, trying to make the puzzle click into place. “If you were planning to take over another dealer’s turf, how would you do it?”

  Arena shrugged. “Kill the dealers and insert my own guys on his turf?”

  Short shook his head. “That would take too long. Putting in a new guy means time wasted getting up to speed on locals and law enforcement. And it takes time to build trust with suppliers and buyers. It’d be better to turn one of the existing dealers. They’ve got the network and the knowledge already. Gangs do it all the time. The more dealers, the more income. Dealers are hot property. They are the revenue stream.”

  “Exactly. And if the existing dealers don’t turn?” Berg asked.

  “Kill them,” Short said.

  “And if you’re trying to send a message to the other dealers to fall in line?”

  “Kill the dealers who refuse to join in as messy a way as possible, to show whoever else what will happen if they refuse,” Arena said, nodding.

  “Which is what has happened in the north, west, and south of the city the last few weeks.”

  “Someone’s trying to take over the local drug trade,” Short muttered. “But wait. Wouldn’t you start with the big guys? The gangs?”

  “Like you said, why start a war with the gangs when you can scare them into compliance?” Berg said, shrugging.

  “Could be anyone,” Arena said. “Gangs, new supplier . . .”

  “It’s Alexander,” Berg said. “It’s got to be. What are the chances of two big crime lords moving in on Chicago at the exact same time? We suspected he was coming, but I think he’s already here. He’s got a huge operation with more than enough firepower to take it to the local gangs if they cause him problems.” Her voice faltered and fear seized her heart as she realized Jay had purposefully inserted himself into Alexander’s violent operation.

  “That’s as good a theory as any,” Short said. “I’ve got a few contacts in Detroit. I’ll check and see if this kind of thing is Alexander’s MO.” He stood, pulling his phone out of his pocket and clicking buttons. “The FBI will be all over this.”

  “They haven’t made the connection yet, or someone would have heard.” Berg shook her head and held up a hand, gesturing for Short to stop. “Let’s find out more before we clue them in and they take the cases away from us.”

  ***

  “You need to pull Jay out,” Berg said, barging into Smith’s office and shutting the door behind her.

  Smith looked up from his desk. “That’s not my call, and why?”

  “I’ve got proof that Alexander is here and trying to take over the local drug trade.” She tossed the three images of the brutalized dealers she had procured from Dr. Dwight onto his desk.

  He pushed the photos apart and winced. “These murders are connected to Alexander? Are you sure?”

  “Yes. According to Detroit PD, this is his MO when he moves into a new territory. He starts with the local, small-time dealers, getting them on board. Anyone who refuses to work for him is tortured, killed, and dumped in public to be found as an example to the others. These killings match six murders over a four-year period in Detroit starting ten years ago. It’s been long enough that these new killings didn’t flag anything on the system. Detroit PD had to search their archives to find the matches.”

  “Is there any evidence we can use leading to Alexander?” Smith asked.

  Berg shook her head. “Very little trace left behind in all the murders—nothing linking to Alexander directly. Not that we have any DNA in CODIS or fingerprints in AFIS to compare it to anyway. But DPD was certain Alexander was tied to their murders a decade ago, and it makes sense that he would stick to the same method here. I’m confident it’s not a coincidence.”

  “I agree,” Smith said and sighed. “You understand I’ll have to pass this on to the task force and they’ll take the cases.”

  “I know. I don’t care about turf. I just want Jay out of there.”

  “Why?” Smith asked, frowning.

  “What do you mean ‘why’?” Berg replied, trying not to raise her voice. “Look at what this guy is capable of!” She waved toward the autopsy photos. “We all know he’s likely got people inside the CPD already. How long do you think it’ll be before he figures out who Jay is? And when he does, what do you think Alexander will do to him? Let him go?”

  Smith stood. “I understand your concern, but we set up a very detailed cover ID for Jay, a new identity, the works. It will stand up. His
assignment is only known about at the very top level. I only told you because I knew you’d be concerned about his whereabouts and that it would be a distraction. He’s a smart guy—he knows what he’s doing.”

  “Has he checked in yet?”

  Smith froze. “How do you know about that?”

  “A little birdie told me. A birdie who is not at the very top level,” Berg stressed. “Has he?”

  “As of this morning, no,” Smith said, frowning.

  Berg took a few deep breaths and put a hand out to clasp the filing cabinet in an effort to steady her spinning head. “It’s been more than a week.” Dread crept up her spine. “Jesus,” Her voice cracked, and she felt as though she might choke on the bile in the back of her throat. “He could be dead already.”

  Smith grabbed her arm and shook her slightly. “You said it yourself—if he were dead, we’d know about it because Alexander would make it public enough to make an example out of him. We have to assume he’s okay and doing his job—”

  “You mean his job fucking some other woman?” She swallowed hard, fighting her body’s urge to throw up.

  Hypocrite, her mother whispered.

  Smith rubbed her arm, trying to be soothing. “It’s undercover work, Berg. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. It’s the job. He knew what he was getting into.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Berg started every day of the next month waiting impatiently for Smith to arrive and fill her in on whether Jay had checked in with his handler. Every morning, after Smith shook his head sadly, Berg would run down to the morgue to verify no bodies matching Jay’s description had been brought in. After that, she would try all the numbers she had for him before calling his mother to see if she had heard from him.

  Carmel O’Loughlin was as frantic as Berg since she hadn’t heard from her only son for two and a half months. Jay’s father had been dead for two decades, and Carmel doted on Jay, and vice versa. There was no way he would voluntarily stop contacting her, and everyone knew it.

  Only after she had exhausted all efforts to find Jay did Berg turn her attention to her own cases.

  She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the report she was writing, but her trembling fingers kept missing keys. She flicked a glance at Smith’s office.

  His typical open-door policy was not in effect today. The door was closed as the man crouched over his desk phone, his free hand rubbing his face.

  She looked back at her report but just couldn’t muster up any caring for it, or any of her cases for that matter. Berg couldn’t sleep or eat these days, and she was always shaking from the constant adrenaline surging through her body.

  Her cell clattered on her desk as it vibrated, causing her to jump in her seat. Hope filled her before it was swiftly crushed.

  ASA Maroney.

  Again.

  She rejected the call like she had the fifty before it. Berg wasn’t interested in doing Maroney’s dirty work for her. Any spare time she had was spent trying to track down Jay. If it cost her her career, so be it. Being at the CPD without Jay meant nothing anyway.

  “Have you heard the news?” Arena walked to his desk, taking off his heavy winter coat and scarf and hanging them on the back of his chair.

  Berg’s heart pounded. “What news?”

  “The CPD’s supposedly secure evidence facility was raided last night. Four guards dead, shot point-blank in the head. It was cleaned out,” Arena said grimly, sitting down. “The CPD didn’t even find out about it until the thieves were long gone because the alarm didn’t go off.”

  “Guns and drugs?” Berg asked.

  “Yep. It’s likely all out on the street again as we speak. What a fucking waste of time.”

  “Goddamn it!” Berg shoved away from the desk and stood. “We should’ve seen this coming—this is Alexander’s MO. It’s exactly what he did in Detroit!”

  Arena shrugged and powered up his laptop. “I guess they thought they were prepared. Secure facility, guards, hidden location, access codes. They must’ve had help from someone on the inside. Alexander’s already got his hooks into one of us.”

  “The task force was set up specifically to prevent that!”

  Arena frowned. “Calm down, Berg. It’s a setback, but we’ll get it all back. What’s got you so edgy lately?”

  She looked away. “Like you said, it’s a waste of our time getting that stuff off the streets only to have it stolen and sent straight back out there.”

  “People!” Smith yelled, waiting in his office doorway until all the detectives were listening. “I just heard from the superintendent. Your first priority this morning is changing the passwords on your desktops and laptops. Then you pay a visit to IT where you will be issued new ID passes, building pass codes, and database access codes. As of nine o’clock this morning, none of your old codes will work. Your new ID badges are to be worn in the building at all times.”

  The detectives mumbled and looked at each other to see if anyone knew what was going on. It was clear from the confusion that no one did.

  “That’s it! Get to it!” Smith said, turning his attention to Berg. “Can I see you in my office?” He walked inside, not waiting for her to follow.

  Berg felt she might be on the verge of hyperventilating, her breath coming in hard, shallow pants.

  Please don’t let Jay be dead . . .

  “Shut the door and take a seat,” Smith said grimly.

  She remained standing. “Just tell me—is he dead?” Berg felt the tears threatening.

  Smith frowned and shook his head.

  Berg’s heart started beating again.

  “We don’t think so, no.” He sighed. “But as of midnight, he’s been fired from the CPD, all his codes revoked, and his cover ID shut down.”

  “What?” Berg collapsed in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “Why?”

  “I assume you’ve heard about the storage facility robbery?”

  Berg nodded.

  “They didn’t break in. Access codes were used, which is why the alarm didn’t go off. They were Jay’s access codes.”

  “But that’s—he must have been coerced. I told you Alexander would find out who he was!” Berg slammed her hand on the desk, hard. “He’s in danger if he’s not already dead!”

  Smith held up his hands. “That’s not all. Whoever handed over the information knew the best time to hit the facility before the drugs and guns were destroyed. They timed it perfectly. Jay’s got to have given Alexander the information willingly. There was no other reason to cough it up so . . . specifically. He easily could have given a different date. Even a day different, and there would have been nothing left to take.”

  Berg stood up quickly. “He was coerced! This is all the more reason to pull him out—”

  “We can’t. We don’t know where he is, Berg! He’s dropped off the radar and has been for a while. It’s been more than five weeks. His family didn’t hear from him over Christmas or New Year’s. He ditched his tails. The FBI has come to accept, as have I, that we’ve lost him to Alexander.” Smith looked devastated as he scrubbed his hand over his face. “A warrant’s been issued for his arrest. I’m about to put out an APB. We’ve all got to take extra security precautions now, Berg. You would be wise to change the locks on your place and pay careful attention to your surroundings. Now that O’Loughlin’s codes will no longer work, he may need to secure someone else’s. You’re the most obvious choice because he knows your movements so well.”

  “What? There’s—he would never hurt me! There is no way that would happen. He hasn’t been turned!” Berg yelled.

  Smith shook his head, and Berg thought she saw tears in his eyes.

  “I didn’t want to believe it either, but I saw . . .” He cleared his throat as he stared at her left hand. “Trust me on this. He’s blown his cover, Berg. We’ve lost him. I’m so sorry.”

  Berg stumbled out of the office, tears streaming down her face.

  “Jesus,
Berg!” Arena rushed toward her. “What the fuck happened? Are you okay?”

  Berg shook her head, sobs racking her body.

  Arena put his arm around her and pulled her toward the relative privacy of the stairwell.

  “Talk to me,” he said, grabbing her shoulders.

  “I-it’s Jay.” Berg gasped through her sobs.

  Arena frowned, shaking his head. “What about him? Are you upset because he’s coming back?”

  Berg shook her head. “He’s been fired.” She took a few breaths, holding the last one for a few seconds while she tried to calm down. “A warrant’s been issued for his arrest.”

  “What?” Arena tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Why?”

  “They suspect him of being responsible for the raid on the storage facility. It’s why we were asked to change our passwords.” Berg rubbed the annoying tears from her face.

  I’ve got to get to Jay before the entire CPD does.

  “Okay, I’m clearly missing something here.” Arena let go of her and spun away, leaning against the stairwell wall. “Why the fuck would they suspect Jay of this? I thought he was on leave and coming back soon?”

  “He’s been undercover with Alexander since he left.”

  Arena’s eyes went wide.

  “It was strictly need to know. He was given a new ID and a good backstory so he could . . .”

  “So he could what? He’s on the Alexander task force?”

  “No. Separate from the task force. They sent him in to get . . . close to Alexander’s daughter, a woman named Niah, in an effort to get to Alexander. He had a cover ID, the whole nine yards.”

  Arena propped his head against the wall and blew out a deep breath. “Shit, Berg, I had no idea.” He looked down at her hand, at the ring she was twisting around her finger. “I’m sorry. That’s gotta be tough.”

  Berg shrugged. “I was dealing, and then he stopped checking in with his handler over a month ago. And now this.”