Those Boys Are Trouble

by Willow Winters

  He likes to take advantage of these situations and get them to act out so he can put them in the cells and threaten a heavier sentence. It’s not a move I’d make. But I try not to judge other officers' tactics. I try. Never said I was perfect though.

  The man, Thomas Valetti, raises his head slowly. His full lips tip into a slight smirk and his blue eyes hold a hint of humor. “Detective. Nice to see you again.”

  His voice sends a throbbing need to my clit, and for the first time since I’ve taken this job, I question if I really am cut out for it. I’ve never once been attracted to the fucked-up criminals that come and go in here. But right now, right here? Fuck. He’s hot. My body can’t deny that. I have to work really hard to keep the embarrassment off my face. I’m a professional. I’m a cop now. I need to put my hormones in check.

  I try to ignore the pulsing need between my thighs and I clear my throat to help settle myself.

  The action causes both men to look at me. Thomas’ eyes roam my body, but not in a way I find rude or offensive. He’s just sizing me up. I half-expect him to make some sexist comment, like most thugs do. I can feel my defenses go up.

  His eyes reach mine and I wait for it. I wait for the dismissal. The demeaning comments I’m constantly used to getting.

  Instead Harrison interrupts, “I won’t stop until you go away for life.”

  The corners of Thomas’ lips kick up slightly as he turns to face Harrison, leaving me with nothing. “Sorry, Detective. I’m just waiting for my lawyer.”

  Harrison looks at me from the corner of his eyes like it’s my fault that Thomas isn’t talking. I grab the folder from the desk and move to sit in the seat next to Harrison and square my shoulders.

  I know in the pit of my gut Thomas Valetti is one of the people who saved those women. But he also has information I want. Now’s my chance to make everything I’ve worked for up to this moment worth it.

  He’s my only lead.

  Tommy

  “Mr. Valetti,” begins the gorgeous woman who’s all curves and sweetness. She’s looking back at me like we’re on good terms. Like she can talk to me as though I’m an old pal of hers. She’s either fresh blood, or she’s damn good at what she does. This good cop/bad cop routine would be easy enough with detective Harrison being the jackass he is. It’s not the first time I’ve run into him, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

  Judging by her body language when she walked in here, and the pissed-off looks Harrison keeps throwing her, I’m guessing she’s new. I wouldn’t mind having her try to cuff me. Wish it was her who'd brought me in, not that fuckface from earlier.

  “We know you were at the scene of the crime after it occurred based on the fact that your prints were found covering the prints of Lucas Mikhailov, a man found dead on sight.” She reaches into the manila folder and slides a photograph of a doorknob across the table. Her small hand holds it in place. She doesn’t move it, and I find myself eyeing her chipped nail polish. It’s a soft cream color and it makes her appear even more dainty that she already looks. What the hell is this little thing doing trying to play cop? She interrupts my thought as she takes her hand away and asks, “Would you like to explain how that could’ve happened?”

  I meet her gaze and love that she’s not intimidated by me. Her eyes are the most beautiful shade of green I’ve ever seen. And they’re staring back at me waiting for an answer. I’m real fucking sorry to disappoint her. But even a sweetheart like her can't get me to talk. I’m not saying shit.

  I almost apologize--almost call her love, or sweetie. But I keep my mouth shut and remind myself that this is an act. These cops like to set the scene. It’s all lies in here. I give her a simple shake of my head and answer, “I’m just waiting for my lawyer.”

  If I’m being honest with myself, this is the most nervous I’ve ever been, but I don’t show it. I don’t give them anything.

  They have my prints, even though they’re smudged, and so are the ones beneath mine. They have the tire tracks to the Escalade, which is in my name. They have a witness who says she saw me, although she was drugged up. At least that's the evidence the judge was willing to hand off to Vince. Three pieces of shit evidence. One piece of evidence by itself could be a coincidence. But put three pieces together, and it starts sounding real fucking bad.

  “Mr. Valetti. Are you aware that a Miss Georgia Stevens was found dead in the back of the rental car left at the scene of the crime?” the sweet little thing in front of me says, and it takes me a moment to register what she said.

  My heart skips a beat, and my blood goes cold. A dead woman. No. We saved those women. But we didn’t check any cars. Fuck! I wanna ask whose car. I wanna know how she died. More importantly, was she alive when we left?

  My eyes search hers. She could be lying. She could be fucking with me just to get me to talk. But I see her expression soften with compassion. She can tell I didn’t know. I lean back in my seat and do my best to wipe every emotion off my face. It’s quiet for a moment. It’s been about an hour, so my lawyer should be here soon. I just need to hold on till then, and then I can look up the woman they found dead. Vince never said shit about her. At least not to me, but I've been out of the loop.

  “The car was rented to a man we believe to be Abram Petrov. His prints were found in the car, although his body was never found.”

  None of this is throwing up red flags to me. His body was sent back to the buyers as a sign from us that we weren’t willing to partake in that aspect of the business. Our hands won’t be forced. If they didn’t know it then, well they sure as fuck know it now.

  “Do you have any information regarding Petrov's whereabouts?” She leans forward, and I have to resist looking straight down her blouse. Her body is lean and toned with a touch of color from the sun, but her tits are bigger than you’d think they’d be for a woman as athletic as her.

  I give her a weak smile and shake my head no again. I’m grateful for the bit of information she’s given me, if it’s true, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna talk. I need to know if the woman she mentioned was alive when we left. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes before the cops got there. But a lot can happen in twenty minutes.

  As if reading my mind, she answers my unspoken question. “Drug overdose,” she says simply. My lips press into a tight line and my heart sinks. Maybe if my brother had seen her, like the other women, maybe he could’ve saved her. I drop my gaze to the edge of the table as I try to keep calm and not give her anything.

  “She’d been dead for almost a day, judging by the autopsy.” My eyes fly to hers. Thank fuck. That makes me feel better. I feel like an asshole for feeling any kind of relief. That poor woman didn’t deserve to die, but at least she didn’t die on our watch. We never had the opportunity to save her.

  I run a hand through my hair and look at the closed door.

  “Do you have any details that could help us uncover who was responsible?” I hear her sweet voice and I almost turn to her to answer, but I can’t. We don’t say shit except for what I’ve already given them. I’m waiting on my lawyer. That’s the familia way.

  “You don’t have any fucking sympathy, do you?” Harrison starts up again with his shit from across the table. “The jury’s gonna eat you alive.” I resist rolling my eyes and sigh instead. This is fucking draining. Usually I don’t give a fuck, but I am a bit worried. I don’t like the sick feeling in my gut that keeps rising up on me.

  “Are you charging me? If not, I’m gonna go ahead and leave,” I say, looking at the door. I’m tired of waiting. I just want to get the hell out of here.

  Harrison shoots up from his seat. I know he’s coming over to get in my face. I stand up as he walks around the table. They can keep me here longer for questioning. I know that. But he’s fucking lost it if he thinks he’s gonna yell standing over me while I’m sitting down. That shit’s not gonna fly.

  I stand up and stare back at his narrowed eyes. I vaguely sense that the cute ass broad got up
from her seat and is backing away. That puts me at ease. She doesn’t need to get into this. She can keep playing the good cop part and stay the fuck out of the bad cop shit.

  Harrison's body bumps into mine slightly, but I allow it. I know he’s pushing me. He’s done it before. Sometimes I get a little hotheaded. More than I should. But when you’re here, in this position, you keep your cool. Otherwise you’re just giving them a reason to keep you locked up. And that's the last thing I want.

  “I’ll charge you with everything possible, to the full extent of the law. Your ass isn’t leaving here tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next day.” I focus my eyes on his crooked smile and imagine my fist slamming into it over and over. “Your big shot lawyer isn’t getting you out of this one, Valetti.”

  His hands knock into my chest, palms first and push me backward ever so slightly. I’m a big fucker, and that’s a bold fucking move for this little prick. I make a white-knuckled fist with my hand and clench my teeth.

  Before I can even think about swinging, I feel the softest touch on my forearm. Gentle, but firm. And then it’s gone. I don’t turn to face her; I don’t make any move that I even registered her touch. Harrison’s yelling in my face, but my anger is gone and instead I find myself angling my body to guard her from this prick.

  Why? No fucking clue. She’s one of them. But I know she’s just to my right. I can sense her there, and I don’t like it.

  She’s a cop, and as far as I know she could hold her own. But I don’t want her to. I track her to my right, hoping she doesn’t try to get in between us. It might be sexist, but that’s no place for a woman to be.

  Harrison still hasn’t caught on to the fact that him screaming in my face and subtly pushing his body against me isn’t affecting me.

  The sound of the door opening has Harrison taking a step back and trying to maintain eye contact with me, but I break it to watch her leave. He’s no threat to me, so I couldn’t give two shits about keeping an eye on him. But it wasn’t her opening the door. Instead, my lawyer’s standing in the doorway.

  “Is there a problem here, Mr. Valetti?” Scott Kemmer is the familia attorney, and he’s good at what he does.

  I give him a tight smile and shove my hands into my pockets. “Not at all. I was just asking if it was time to go.” I look over my shoulder and see the pretty little thing who didn’t even bother to give me her name. Her eyes are shooting daggers at Harrison. I don’t waste my energy to see what he’s doing behind me. I bet she thought she could get me to talk if he wasn’t being a prick and doing the shit he does.

  She has no idea what she’s up against, though. She’d never get an ounce of information from me. She must be really fucking new to think she’d get anything from a Valetti.

  “Are you ready, Mr. Valetti?” I barely hear the words from my lawyer and that’s when I belatedly realize I’m good to go. I didn’t hear all the bullshit coming from Harrison about how I can’t leave, and my lawyer’s response. It’s the same shit every time.

  “All set.” I give him a nod and make my way through the doors, not giving either one of them another look. But I have to admit, I wanna turn back and see her. I at least wanna know her name.

  I let myself breathe freely for the first time all day as I leave the station, and see my brother in his car waiting for me, just like he said he would.

  “Told you,” Anthony says, lowering his window and giving our lawyer a salute.

  “Hey, you wanna do something today?” I ask him.

  Wicked curiosity flashes in his eyes.

  “I wanna look someone up.” He tilts his head and keeps his eyes on me as I round the car and get into the passenger seat.

  “Look someone up?” he asks as I shut the door and lean back, making myself comfortable.

  “Yeah, a cop,” I tell him. The humor’s completely wiped from his face until I add, “I think she’s new.”

  “Oh, I see.” He chuckles as he puts the car in drive. “Maybe we should’ve left you in there a little longer.”

  I laugh and roll my window down so I can put a hand out and feel the breeze.

  “I’m just a little bored, and a lot curious,” I say.

  “You know what they say about that, don’t you?” He looks at me like what I’m doing is stupid as fuck. And maybe it is. But I at least need to know her name.

  Tonya

  I feel like a fucking failure. I sigh heavily and lean my back against the wall of the station. I run my hands over my face and feel like shit. Damn it’s been a long couple of days. I got the approval to keep an eye on Thomas, so there’s one positive thing that happened. Tomorrow I’ll get something, even if it’s just learning his routines. I have the next three days off. I can use them to get a good look at the Valettis and try to talk to Thomas. I may be off-duty, but if anything happens, I’ll just say it’s field work.

  I really think I could’ve gotten information from him. I could tell he didn’t have shit to do with Georgia's death. I could’ve fed off that emotion. I’m good at reading people, real fucking good at it. I get people to talk. There’s just something about me that puts people at ease. I don’t know what it is, but I love it. It’s a gift, and it’s always worked in my favor.

  If Harrison had just shut his fucking mouth, I know I would’ve had Thomas right where I wanted him. I recognize the way he looked at me. I know what he was thinking. If I’d just kept it up, I would’ve had him talking to me and confiding in the poor, sweet girl who just wants to make things right. In some ways I’m a bitch for thinking that way. After all, I can be sweet. I just needed him to give me anything at all on Petrov. Everyone keeps saying he’s probably dead. I need to know for sure.

  If he's already dead and gone, it would kill the sick, twisted part of me that wants to beat him to death with my own two hands. I’ve spent years trying to find a way to get to him. I’ve come too close to give up hope. If he’s dead, I need to know. I need to be able to let go. I can’t really say goodbye to her until I know for sure.

  The thought makes my eyes water, but I just blink a few times to shut that shit down. She would tell me not to cry, and if there’s one person I took advice from, it was my sister. My fingers reach for my locket, the one with Melissa’s picture in it. But it’s not there, so instead I rub the dip in my throat. I never wear it when I’m on duty, but it does wonders to calm me down and keep me focused.

  I shake my head to get rid of all the emotions threatening to consume me, and hit the unlock button on my key fob. The key itself is sticking out through my clenched fist. Just in case, I look to the right as the lights go off on my car and the gentle beep fills the air. I pass the corner of the building. No one’s there. No one’s out here. You can never be too careful, though. I always check. I’m always on guard. I’d say it comes with the training, but that’s not why I do this. I wish I could lie to myself, but I can’t. I know why I do it. And I hate the reminder.

  I feel like I’ve felt eyes on me the last few days. So I guess being on guard like this may eventually pay off. I just can’t get rid of the feeling that I’m being watched. My stomach coils into knots, and I try to shake it off. I’m just paranoid and tired. That's what I tell myself, over and over. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt like this. And I was fine then. It’s just my past that’s haunting me.

  I climb into my car and toss the messenger bag onto the passenger seat. I have so much paperwork to go through. I’m not looking forward to it, but if I have to work overtime to get it done and still be able to keep up with the Valetti case, then that’s what I’m going to do.

  I put the key in the ignition and start the car. My mind drifts as I drive back to my apartment. My sister was the only person I really had in this world. She was no one special to anyone but me. Just a nurse. No one who anyone would ever want to hurt. She never really went anywhere high-risk. She hardly went out for a drink. But one night she went out to get groceries and never came back. One night is all it took, and she was gone. Her body was foun
d a few months later, among others, in Russia. At first I was filled with disbelief. This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Definitely not in America.

  But it does. And it did to her. When I got over the sadness, the anger set in. I had nothing to hold me back. I was already in college for forensics, so it was a small step to get into the academy. Anger turned into determination. I read everything I could. I became obsessed.

  It was almost like a graduation present that there was a position available in a town where Petrov was last seen in the US. I’ve never been so lucky. But since I’ve gotten here, the leads have gone cold. And so has everyone else I’ve been surrounded by.

  I watch the red light as I pull up to it, waiting for it to turn green, and my eyes catch movement to my right. It’s a small Italian water ice shop. A few kids are standing out front with their parents leaning into the window to order. I hear their little screams of joy as they each dig into their treats.

  Their life is normal; I wonder if they do that every Friday night. We used to go to the ice cream parlor a few blocks away when we were younger. Melissa talked about how she would keep up the tradition with her kids when she bought her house close to where we grew up.

  The light turns green and I slowly move along. I’ll never have that again. I don't see how I can ever have a normal life. How can life go on when you’ve suffered that type of tragedy? My mother’s doped up on antidepressants. I’m surprised she didn’t go back to coke. She’s barely a shell of a human being. My father took off when I was young, so I don’t even know him. So now I’m just … alone. Chasing what may be a ghost. But I won’t stop looking until I know for sure.

  I pull into my spot and put the car in park. The street light is shining down perfectly, and the entrance to my building is only a few feet away. I make a quick exit and enter the building and only breathe once I’ve made it upstairs. I can’t help that I feel this way. It’s late, it’s dark. Nothing good happens at this time of night.