Oh, he was willing to bet that someone was jacking the crooks or blackmailing them. Delilah had been right.
Greyson could see it on his face.
“What do you want, Croft?”
Heath slammed his hand onto the top of the washer. The man jumped.
“You call him Mr. Croft, or I’m going to pull your tongue out, tie it around your neck, and choke you with it. Picture it!”
He swallowed and nodded.
“Someone said you’ve been getting dirty at ‘The Pink Kitty’.”
How he even said that with a straight face was beyond him. It was a miracle of sorts. Greyson knew that Riley was struggling with it. He could see his face.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he began.
Heath grabbed a coat hanger.
“What’s that for?”
“I’m going to wrap it around your hand and then shove one end into the outlet. Homemade electrocution—military style. I learned that in Afghanistan.”
He backed up in fear.
“What do you want to know?” he asked.
“If you tell me the truth, I walk away, and I don’t anonymously report you to the police for shaking down pimps and dealers.”
His eyes went huge.
Bingo.
Thank God for Delilah.
“Spill it, or you’re going to get a shock.”
Heath held up the coat hanger and smiled like a lunatic. That worked to their advantage.
“I jacked a few pimps. They were bragging that we, the cops, couldn’t do anything, so I ‘arrested’ them and they paid me off to keep them out of jail.”
Why wasn’t he shocked?
More dirty cops.
When in Vegas…
Greyson shook his head in exasperation. He couldn’t wait until they got Commissioner Raye out of that office. He was a nightmare example to his cops.
It was like the wild, Wild West.
“Well, what about the sex trafficking? See, someone has moved into my territory and started pedaling flesh. That makes me very angry. No one likes me angry, Jonathan.”
“Why? Are you looking for one more business?” he asked sarcastically. “Try selling your wife.”
Greyson pointed.
“Heath, he just insulted my wife. He needs his mouth washed out.”
Heath moved toward him and flipped him upside down. Then he shoved his head into the filled washer with his dirty floating laundry.
“I also don’t like when people take cheap shots at my wife either. She’s a lady, and she deserves to be treated like one.”
Heath agreed.
“I like Mrs. C. She’s a good person. She reminds me of my momma, just fewer guns and brass knuckles.”
Riley laughed.
He couldn’t help it.
That was one hell of a picture in his head.
“Okay, Heath. Let’s try this again, shall we?”
He lifted him by the back of his jeans and the man was sputtering—and wet from the top of his head to his shoulders.
“I’m a fucking cop! You can’t do this shit, Croft! You can’t do this to us!”
Watch him.
“Dunk him.”
He did again.
“Rubber ducky, you’re the one,” Heath sang.
Greyson laughed.
There was something seriously wrong with this man—and he liked him a lot. He fit in well.
“Pull him out.”
They needed to do this a different way. Brute force wasn’t working with Jonathan Helms.
When in Vegas, go with blackmail. It seemed to be the illegal deed of choice.
“I have you on record admitting you shook down pimps and dealers. See, when dealing with you crooked cops, I like to record everything,” he stated. “I’d talk if I were you.”
That scared him.
They could see it on his face.
“Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
That was better.
They were speaking each other’s language now.
“Have you seen any traffickers at that strip club? Have you heard anything coming out of there? I know you were getting more than fancy shoes in there. Strippers talk, and cops listen.”
“No! I swear! ‘The Pink Kitty’ is filled with wannabe gangsters. They’re afraid of me and I’m just a beat cop. If you strolled in, they’d behave.”
Been there.
Done that.
He needed to end the crazy in town. It looked like he and Dimitri were going to have to buy up all those questionable businesses.
Maybe a bookstore would be nice. There were too many strip joints in Vegas.
“If you’re lying…,” Greyson began.
“You’re dying,” Heath finished.
“I swear! I’m still a cop. I don’t mind a shakedown, but I have sisters and I wouldn’t peddle flesh. I respect women.”
Yeah, he didn’t buy that at all.
“You’re on my radar, Jonathan. If I even hear your name…you can bet I’ll be showing up. I have eyes everywhere. You’ll disappear. You know what they say about me.”
Oh, he did.
“Let him go, Heath. We have a date. Have a good one, Mr. Helms. If this meeting gets out, you’re dead. Bet on it.”
He nodded.
“Heath, fry the cameras.”
He took the wire hanger, and shoved it into the DVR, and then shoved it into the outlet right behind it.
There was a hiss, the smell of frying circuit boards, it smoked, and then it popped.
“Have a good one, Helms. Spread the word. I’m here, I’m angry, and I’m ending the game.”
He nodded.
They headed out.
Outside, he saw the lady with her kid, and he pulled out a few hundreds. Then he gave her some advice.
“Buy a washer. You never know what will happen in a place like this.”
Inside the ride, he stared at Heath.
“Pull his tongue out, wrap it around his neck and strangle him with it?”
“Mrs. B has some colorful ways to kill people. She’s aces,” he said.
Greyson laughed.
Why was he not surprised that it was something Elizabeth would say? It sounded like her.
Greyson would keep that one for himself.
He might just use it.
As they pulled out, he saluted the wet cop. The man had pissed himself. Heath didn’t dip him that deep.
It looked like someone would keep his mouth shut.
And that was a damn good thing.
* * * G R E Y S O N C R O F T * * *
Across Vegas
She was almost done with interviews, and the only thing left on her ‘to do’ list was the gunrunner. That was going to be her favorite part.
People should get their guns the right way. With background checks, and not some house in the middle of nowhere with a man who illegally imported them.
That was all kinds of wrong.
And dangerous.
This whole thing was new for her. Normally, she stayed on the legal side of things. As a Fed, she had to tread lightly or there would be lawyers in her face.
Elizabeth had never gone head-to-head with a gunrunner before, and she didn’t mind playing that game. He and his antics didn’t freak her out.
No.
It was amusing.
Cleveland Landry was in trouble, but first…there was a Fed to question.
“You smile too much when you’re about to be a bitch to an unsuspecting person.”
That made her smile even more.
She knew it.
“I know. I look like a lunatic, but I can’t help it. I was thinking about the gun guy.”
He shook his head.
Of course she was.
“Please don’t get us killed. Oddly, I’ve said that more than once the last few days, and it hasn’t worked. How about bribery? I’ll be a good boy.”
She snorted.
Elizabeth knew Ivan was just as jazzed. He was a so
ldier at heart and an adrenaline junkie. There was no way he wouldn’t go in guns blazing if she let him. The only person she knew who wore more guns than her was him.
“I haven’t gotten us killed yet, and I hope you didn’t just jinx us. You may not be a good luck charm.”
Oh, he knew who the crazy magnet was, and it wasn’t him. She was the one they had to worry about.
“What are you going to do when I go on my honeymoon?” he asked.
“I’ll go out alone.”
He stared at her.
“You’re telling Blue she can’t get a honeymoon—NOT ME.”
Elizabeth snorted.
“You’re going on your honeymoon. I’ll take Heath or God forbid, Wilcox—the money jar nut.”
“Just don’t get shot! Ethan will fire me, and I like my job. I get to see my girl.”
She understood that. Elizabeth loved working with her husbands. It made her day much better.
She actually liked them—the rest of the world? Yeah, not so much.
“Is this it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, double checking the address against the one Ethan had given them.
“I think that’s him on the porch. He looks suspiciously like a Fed. That’s my first sign.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is paranoid.”
She snorted.
“That it is.”
“Well, at least he’s alive,” he stated.
Ivan had a point.
They were accumulating bodies on this Russian, cuckoo, scavenger hunt.
“Agent Scott Downing?” she asked, holding up her badge as she approached. He was having a smoke.
“Yes, you’re Elizabeth Blackhawk.”
“That would be me—the one and only.”
“Who died?”
She ignored that.
“You get that a lot,” Ivan stated.
She was aware.
“Can I ask you a few questions about some things that have come up?” she asked.
“Well, since your old man is my boss, yeah, you can pretty much ask me whatever you want and then some.”
She was aware.
Thank God for Ethan’s job.
“Do you know a Devin Barosi?” she asked, already knowing the answer to that. If their names were in that file together, then they were going to be acquaintances.
“Yeah, I was his partner for a little while a few years back. We worked some cases, and then I moved on to a new partner. He was doing undercover, and I wanted to work more with other divisions. Are you hiring? I like DC.”
“No. I just hired. Sorry.”
“What’s this about?”
“He’s dead.”
“WOW. I knew you weren’t here to just look pretty and flirt with me,” he said, smiling.
Elizabeth hated when men deflected during a questioning with things like her looks, her tits, or that she wanted them. Honestly, she had a house full of hotness. She wasn’t looking for more dick.
So, she nipped it in the bud.
“Ivan, did I flirt with him?”
“Nope.”
“Do I ever flirt with anyone but my husbands?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“They kill people who make passes at you. Hey, maybe that’s how Devin died.”
She smiled.
“Care to retract that?”
“Uh, I’m sorry he’s dead?”
“Are you really?” she asked. “You don’t look all that sorry. Why don’t you tell me why?”
He flicked his cigarette butt into the grass.
“He wasn’t easy to work with. He was lazy. I had to carry the workload, and he got sloppy more than a few times. I like living. When you work undercover, you want to make sure you don’t fuck it up. Well, not if you want to go home at night. I want to go home.”
She got that.
“Both of your names were in a file.”
“About?”
“The sex trafficking case that stalled when the FBI was trying to find their mole. Remember her?”
“Yeah, Storm St. Clair. The boss at the time told her that going in that deep was bad, but she was an all or nothing kind of girl. Did they find her?”
“Not yet. Can you tell me why there seemed to be a leak on the inside?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but I can tell you that it was a clusterfuck from the get-go. The director at the time…he was more into schmoozing than actually backing up his agents. The only decent director we’ve had in a while was Croft, and even he went bad. It’s got to be this damn city. He was so good that I’d work under him any day of the week. I wish he’d come back.”
Oh, she agreed with him there.
They all did.
“Tell me about your part of that case.”
“We were working out of ‘The Titty Corral’. I was placed under as a customer—there to buy some lap dances—and my partner, Devin, was working as a bartender. He was closer to the fire. Maybe that’s why he’s dead.”
She didn’t know.
Honestly, it could be Rosemary Harrington cleaning up after anyone she suspected had tried to take her down.
“We were there every day at ‘The Titty Corral’, and it sucked.”
And there was the first connection.
“Can you recall who the other bouncer or bartenders were?” she asked.
He closed his eyes.
“I don’t recall a name, but she was old, and she was bitchy. Long hair, prune-like skin.”
She pulled out her phone and showed him a picture of Rosemary. “Her?” she asked.
“Yeah! I didn’t have to deal with her. Like I said, I was the guy buying the lap dances. We were eventually pulled off by Director Greene.”
“Why?”
“Budget. He said there was no money. Right after that, Devin and I stopped being partners.”
She made notes.
“Here’s a long shot. Do you know who he partnered up with after that?” she asked.
“No clue. I’m sorry, but once we went our separate ways, I was out of the undercover job. I know he still worked that division. Your old man…”
He stopped when she gave him a look.
“I mean your husband could find out. Devin’s personnel file in the office will have it. It’ll have everything.”
Yes, yes, it would.
She shook his hand and walked away. Back at their ride, she glanced over at Ivan.
“He was forthcoming.”
“Yeah, and he was busy checking out that bruise on your face. I hope makeup can cover that for tonight.”
“Hey, speaking of which. I need a favor.”
He looked over.
“Will it hurt?”
She laughed.
“NO! It’s easy, or it should be.”
“Okay, what?”
“We have that gala tonight.”
“And? Need a date?”
“Yeah, toadstool. That’s exactly what I was going to ask you. Will you be wearing elevator shoes, so you reach my shoulders?”
“HEY! That’s cold. It’s not my fault you’re freakishly tall. FREAKISHLY.”
She laughed.
“Seriously? This is important.”
“Okay, what?”
“Greyson mentioned the functions were going to have metal detectors so the rich and famous stay safe.”
“Shit! I can’t bring a gun?”
She shook her head.
“Nope.”
“Oh, that’s sucky. How the hell do I protect you from the crazy without a gun? Those little shrimp forks?”
She snorted.
“Picture it.”
He did.
It was funny in a sick humor kind of way. Birds of a feather flocked together.
“I plan on getting in with a gun. I need a smaller gun and I need a thigh holster. Can you manage it?”
“We are going to a place that sells guns…”
“LEGALLY?”
&
nbsp; “Semantics. You’re sneaking one in. That throws legal right out the door, and you know it.”
He had a point.
“I saw the dresses that my husband picked out. The one is floor-length with a side slit. No one is going to ask the deputy director’s wife to spread her thighs.”
He opened his mouth.
“Don’t.”
He laughed.
“A twenty-two small enough?” he asked, reaching into his boot to pull it. “If it is, I’ll give you mine to use.”
She liked her nine-millimeter better, but that would be huge strapped to her thigh.
She held his gun to her leg.
“I can’t believe I’m staring at the Valley of Death.”
She punched him.
“HAR-HAR. If I get hurt, you’ll be looking at death. PERIOD.”
“Good point. I can call Wilcox. He’s out with the deputy director. He can pick one up. Color?”
“White like my dick,” she said, staring at him like he was crazy. “It’s going under my dress. Why the hell do I care?” she asked.
He snorted.
“There’s a picture.”
She was aware.
“Why the gun?” he asked.
“I worry about Ethan. The commissioner hates his guts more than mine.”
He got it.
“We’ll be on him. I promise.”
Well, so would she.
“Thank you.”
He understood.
“The meeting?” he asked, checking his watch for the time. They had a few minutes to get there to meet with Cleveland.
“Yes, let’s get it done.”
He pulled out.
Ivan knew this one should be a whole shit box of fun. He couldn’t wait…
What could possibly go wrong?
* * * G R E Y S O N C R O F T * * *
Morgue
Chris was leaning over the body of the Fed, and he could see that there was no muzzle burn against the skin. He knew the gun wasn’t held to his head.
“It was from a distance,” he said.
Ethan figured as much. From what he saw of the crime scene photos, that sounded about right.
“I figure he opened the door, turned his back, and…”
Ethan’s phone rang.
“Jesus. It’s Elizabeth. If she found another body, I’m sending her home.”
Chris laughed.
The odds weren’t in his favor. He knew Elizabeth too well, and this wasn’t the first time they’d been to Vegas in their career.
True Justice Page 39
