She exhaled slowly. “So the slut dress comments?”
Amusement lifted his full lips. “Well, those dresses were slutty.”
She coughed. “True. But you can’t make such sexist remarks these days.”
He rubbed his jaw. “We make fun of what’s different, and I’m pretty sure you’re the only one on this case with ovaries. Well. Phil Jackson may have ovaries, too.”
She rolled her eyes. “How about you just stop being an asshole?”
He studied her. “No.”
She couldn’t help it and burst out laughing. “Okay, how’s this? The next time you make a sexist remark to me, I’m going to kick you square in the balls.”
“That seems fair.” He turned back toward the mirror. “Not for nothin’, but if you relaxed and stopped trying to prove yourself so hard, you’d let insults roll off your back.”
She stiffened and moved toward the window again. “Right.”
“I mean, being a woman is good, but you don’t have to prove yourself all the time.”
She relaxed. If she did have a need to prove herself, it had nothing to do with having ovaries and everything to do with having a felon as a father. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t hurt yourself. Girls are dumb.” He chuckled.
What a moron. But she couldn’t help smiling as she tuned into the interview. Spike’s greasy hair was plastered against his head, and open sores marred his neck and chin. His fingers tapped restlessly on the counter and his shoulders twitched.
“Meth?” she asked.
“Definitely.” Masterson reached over and turned up the volume knob.
“Who’s supplying Apollo?” Bundt asked, his back to the mirror.
Spike shrugged, his gaze darting around the room, not seeming to land anywhere. “Dunno. Nobody knows, man.”
“Who’s dealing it?” Bundt asked.
Spike hunched forward. “There’s a couple new dealers, and Mants, Scoracio, and that Drew kid all switched over from meth to dealing Apollo.”
Bundt leaned back. “Scoracio and Drew were working for Bruno Mansen. There’s no way Mansen let them just switch employment like that.”
Spike snorted. “Employment. Right.”
Lex frowned and glanced at Masterson, who shrugged. Dealers worked for specific distributors, selling specific drugs, and didn’t freelance or cross lines. No way.
Bundt shook his head. “That isn’t done, man. Level with me.”
Spike sucked in a breath and leaned forward more. “Listen. I know it’s weird. But whoever’s building Apollo has juice, man. Real juice. Sent a message to four of Mansen’s boys locked up in the pen.”
Lex gasped.
Masterson glanced down. “You hadn’t heard? Four of Mansen’s guys were killed in the correctional facility during the last week. We figured part of a gang war.”
She hadn’t heard. Now she really did have to visit her father in the pen. Maybe he knew something. “Drug war, apparently,” she said, keeping her voice even.
In the interview room, Spike seemed on a roll. “Yep. The new guy had them killed. Dead, man. Everyone on the streets is scared, and nobody, I mean fuckin’ nobody, is messing with Mants, Scoracio or Drew. No way, no how. They’re living the high life right now. Whoever the big guy is, he pays good top down. Real good.”
Bundt shook his head. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me low-life dealers have protection from the fucking manufacturer of the drug? Not just the distributors?”
Spike nodded, his skinny jowls shaking. “Yeah. Top down, man. The distributors to the lowest fucking dealers are protected—way more than, well, ever. It’s like the manufacturer has to have this drug on the streets. And nobody touches Titans of Fire. Nobody even thinks of touching Fire.”
Dread slammed into Lex’s gut.
Bundt nodded. “So the Titans of Fire are the distributors?”
“The main one.” Spike picked at a scab on his forehead. “Right now, anyway. I heard the Grizzlies want in on the action.”
“From whom?” Bundt asked.
Spike shuddered. “I need a fix. Come on.”
“I ain’t givin you meth, Spike. Who says the Grizzlies want to distribute Apollo?” Bundt snapped.
“Can’t remember.” Spike’s eyes glazed and went cross for a moment. “I heard it on the street somewhere.” His head snapped up. “The big news is that Apollo is fuckin’ for sale. Really for sale.”
Lex frowned and stepped closer to the window. What the hell?
Spike flattened his shaking hands on the table. “Cheap right now. Real cheap. Like maybe getting folks hooked, and then prices go up? I don’t know. But dealers can’t touch. It’s a rule. They can’t sample.”
Masterson huffed next to Lex. “Makes sense, considering the drug kills. If the dealers die . . . no dealers.”
“Why no sampling?” Bundt asked quietly inside the interrogation room.
Spike shrugged. “Dunno. That’s a new one.”
Bundt tapped his fingers on a manila file folder before flipping it open to show death scenes. “Maybe it’s because this is what happens when junkies overdose.”
Spike gagged, his eyes widening. “Ick.”
“That’s it? Ick?” Bundt bellowed, slapping his hand on the pictures.
Spike jumped and then sniffed snot up his nose. “Yeah. I mean, it’s life on the streets, right? Take a little, slow burn. Take just right, heaven. Take too much”—he pointed to the picture—“hard death.” He shrugged. “We all know it. From meth to Apollo to black magic. Take too much”—he snapped his fingers—“die.”
“Jesus,” Masterson muttered.
Lex nodded. “I’ve heard enough. Let me know if anything else comes up.” She walked back into the squad room.
Sitting heavily at her desk, she turned to her computer again, reading everything about the four deaths at the jail. A cursory glance did make it seem like a gang war, but she knew it was about Apollo. Who the hell was the manufacturer, and why so determined with Seattle? Was Kell telling the truth? Was Seattle just a test drive for Ireland? If so, why? Was Seattle some witch haven or something?
Of course, if witches really existed.
Her still smarting hip notwithstanding, there had to be another explanation.
A shadow crossed her vision, and Bundt dropped onto the folded metal chair near her desk. Lines fanned out from his blue eyes, and his blond hair appeared more ruffled than usual. “Masterson said we have to stop ragging you about being a chick.”
She coughed out a laugh. “You have to stop being sexist dicks.”
He sighed and rubbed the scrubby whiskers on his surfer-boy face. “It’s the only thing we got. You’re a good cop, and you don’t drink or do drugs. Until now, you’ve never even dated anybody we could make fun of.”
“And now?”
“Now you’re putting yourself in such deep shit, it’s not funny.” Bundt leaned toward her and lowered his voice, his blue eyes serious. “I may be an asshole, but I don’t want to see you go down for hanging with the wrong guy. Kellach Dunne is a really wrong guy. Titans of Fire is going down.”
She blinked. Bundt was actually trying to help her. The Celtic knot on her hip heated, and she winced. Telling Bundt that hey, Kell was a witch, and guess what, she was almost immortal probably, wasn’t a good idea. Especially since it seemed she’d gone crazy and Kell was working her. But something in her, something deep down, didn’t feel that he was working her. Maybe her ovaries were screwing with her mind. She couldn’t tell Bundt that Kell was undercover, but she truly hoped that was the truth.
“I appreciate the heads-up,” she said.
Bundt sighed and stood, patting her on the back. “Also, Spike asked about you, said he misses you.”
She shook her head. “He knew my dad and used to drop by. I haven’t talked to him since my father was put away.”
Bundt frowned. “All right.” He sauntered away toward his desk, tossing his file on top of several other
s.
Spike had asked about her? Damn it. How did he even know she was a cop? She hadn’t seen him in years. Standing, she grabbed her coat off her chair. It was time to have a father-daughter reunion and figure some things out.
She stomped down the stairs, glancing out the window, pleased it had stopped raining. One of those days, she really had to buy an umbrella, right after she got some sleep. At some point, she needed shuteye, but not quite yet. She shoved outside and maneuvered through people to the parking lot adjacent to the station.
Spike came out of nowhere and grabbed her sleeve.
She pivoted, released herself, and tensed to attack.
He shook his head, hands out, and backed away. “Sorry. Just wanted to see you.”
“Why?” She didn’t relax and tried to harden her heart. The guy looked terrible. Age, drugs, and life on the street had been rough on him. “What do you want?”
“Your pops wants to see you. It’s urgent.”
Her head jerked up. “You’ve been in touch with my father?”
Spike wiped off his nose. “Kind of. Through people. So that’s the message.” He shuffled his worn tennis shoes. “You got any money?”
Her heart actually hurt. If she gave him money, he’d buy drugs. “No.” Unfortunately, that was the truth.
Spike nodded. “’K. Bye.” He turned and shuffled away.
Lexi watched him go, hating drugs, the streets, and her father more than ever before.
One mystery at a time, however. Right now, she needed information about the Dunnes, and only one person in town truly knew them. So it was time to talk to Bear again. While she should call Bernie for backup, she needed to get the scoop not only on the Grizzlies but on Kellach, and Bear was more likely to talk to her alone.
Besides, what could go wrong?
Chapter 19
Kell faced his brothers in Simone’s living room, waiting for the explosion after delivering the news that he’d mated Alexandra. Adam stared at him, slack-jawed. Daire had slowly lowered his chin during the retelling and watched him through heavy lids.
Finally, Adam shook his head. “I . . . I mean, I just don’t—”
Daire glanced at Adam and then back at Kell before snorting. Then he lifted his head and laughed. Hard and long, chuckles rippled through his massive body.
Kell growled.
“Sorry.” Daire wiped a tear from his eye, not looking in the least bit sorry. “You mated a cop without intending to mate a cop?” He snorted again and visibly struggled to get himself under control. “Not in a million years would I have expected this one.”
Adam cleared his throat. “Congratulations?”
“Shit.” Kellach rubbed his aching eyes.
Daire lost his smile and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I had no sense Alexandra was enhanced.”
“Me either, but Simone said Garrett had some weird ability to sense enhancements. I need to talk to him.” Kell relaxed. Although, now it really didn’t matter, did it? They’d mated, so the woman must have some sort of enhancement, even latent.
Daire nodded. “Listen. What do you want to do? We can contact the queen and figure out how to negate the bond, if you want.”
“No.” Kell sat back, and for the first time, his rioting mind finally calmed. “I don’t want to negate the bond.”
Adam blinked. “You want to keep her?”
“Aye.” Kell rubbed his chin. “I like her. A lot.”
“Damn. You more than like her if you were able to mate her, dumbass.” Daire coughed out another laugh. “I know you’re a reason-type of guy, but even you know that.”
Kell exhaled slowly. Yeah, it was more than like, but he certainly didn’t have to explore his fucking feelings with his brothers, now did he? “I need to contact the queen, anyway. If Alexandra wants out, I have to know how it works.”
Daire’s head jerked. “She wants out?”
Kell laughed. “I appreciate your shock that the woman might not want to stay mated to me for eternity, brother.”
Daire grinned. “I guess that’s true. It’s just that, you’d think a human would want immortality. Even if she had to stay bound to your ugly mug.”
“I guess we’ll have to figure that one out.” Kell relaxed back into the sofa. Surely Alexandra had some feelings for him, considering the bond had taken with her body. That had to mean something, right? “I may have to court her.”
Adam laughed. “You’re going to court a Seattle homicide cop who you’ve already branded and bitten.” He turned to Daire, his smile widening. “I am so fucking glad I’m here in the states working on Apollo and not in Dublin like I’d originally planned. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
A cop. Kell blew out air. “She’s in more danger than ever now. Whoever broke into her place was a witch, and he could fight. She won’t let go of this investigation, and she’s smart. Damn smart. Hell, she might even find the manufacturer before we do.”
“We searched her apartment and couldn’t find anything a witch or the maker of Apollo would want, so we have no clue what those guys were looking for. Besides, I can’t imagine a witch would be behind Apollo,” Adam said slowly. “Unless it’s yet another chance to take out the Coven Nine.”
“I thought we were through with intrigue and war for a while,” Daire muttered. “We can’t even stop and enjoy the fact that our wild brother just mated a cop. A cop!”
“Any chance she’ll back off and let you finish the case?” Adam asked.
Kellach shook his head. “Not a chance in hell.”
“We can have her contained back home. She won’t like it, but you can make it happen,” Daire said.
Truly tempting, but Kell would rather not begin his mating by pissing off his mate enough to shoot him. There was only one solution. “We’ll have to work together.” All he had to do was gain Alexandra’s cooperation.
A blue hue of fire danced on his right arm at the idea.
At the challenge.
The heavy weight of her ankle piece offered almost as much reassurance as the gun tucked into Lex’s waistband when she slowly parked her car near one of the garages at the Grizzly Club. Two of the garage doors were open, and several members milled around, working on bikes and a couple cars. In fact, Garrett and Logan worked in unison on a vintage Harley.
Now wasn’t that interesting? They were prospects with Titans of Fire, and no way in hell would prospects of one club be hanging out at another club, even an ally.
She got out of her car, and instantly, Bear loped her way from near the garage, once again wiping greasy hands on a towel. “Detective?”
Somehow, he was even larger than she remembered.
“Bear. You did say to come back any time.” She shielded her eyes from the waning sun.
He looked at her empty car. “Kell know you’re here?”
“Why would he?” she countered.
Bear lifted a shoulder the size of a board. “Dunno.” He glanced toward the smaller door he’d emerged from the other day. “Would you like to come into my office?”
She swallowed. “I’m good out here.” A quick glance at the cycles showed Garrett and Logan watching intently. “Want to tell me what the Fire prospects are doing here?”
“Not really.” Bear finished wiping and shoved the rag into the back pocket of very worn, well-fitting jeans. “Anything else?”
She studied him. Wavy brown hair, wild to his shoulders, honey-mellowed brown eyes. Biker boots, jeans, dark T-shirt. Hulking, smooth, and lazily intent. She grinned. “I heard a rumor about you.”
“Is that so?” His eyes remained warm and his posture relaxed.
Even so, her heart rate shifted into gear. “Yes. I heard that the Grizzlies are looking to distribute Apollo.”
He smiled, transforming his rugged face into something wildly beautiful. “You heard wrong, Detective Monzelle. We don’t do drugs, we don’t distribute drugs, and we don’t sell drugs. Ever.”
“Why do I get the feeling y
ou’re more than you seem?” she asked quietly.
“Everybody is more than they seem,” he countered easily. “Take you, for instance.”
She stilled. “Me?”
“Sure. You’re fragile, dainty, and really pretty.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “And?”
“You’re a cop who wears a gun. Smart, too. You could’ve been anything, and yet you chose to seek justice. There’s a reason for that.” He glanced around her. “You drive a piece of crap, which means you put your money somewhere else—and not in clothes or shoes.” His gaze raked her head to toe. “Definitely not in clothes.”
Her jeans weren’t that bad. Her reasons for becoming a cop were none of his business. “What do you know about Kellach Dunne?”
Bear’s brown gaze met hers levelly. “Is that a personal or a professional question?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He grinned. “Because if you’re asking professionally, I don’t work with cops. If you’re asking personally, I’ll tell you everything I know.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because if you know the truth about that Irish bastard, maybe you’ll forget him.” Bear kept his gaze level on her.
Heat speared into her cheeks. The badass biker was flirting with her. “How about you tell me everything, anyway?”
Another man, a couple of inches shorter than Bear, jogged out from the office. Longish brown hair, mellow brown eyes, definite fighting shape. “Just got a call you need to take,” the guy said, his gaze raking her.
She lifted her chin.
“Detective Monzelle, this is one of my lieutenants, Lucas Clarke,” Bear said, apparently not caring much about the phone call.
Clarke nodded and took her hand for a big but gentle shake. “Detective.”
Wicked Ride Page 15
