by Alyssa Breck
Hem’s blood boiled. That wasn’t what he expected to hear. “That’s fucked up, man.”
“For real. And there’s always a chance the dog will run off, or the balloon will bust and kill the dog. It’s not the best way to traffic, but it’s been working for them for a while. We’ve been waiting for the border patrol to figure that out.”
So, that little fucker was adopting dogs to sell to the Colombians to traffic their fucking dope. Calliope was going to nail that shithead to the wall when Hem told her. But they’d need some proof. Castillo wasn’t going to be their prize witness to put away a rival cartel’s gangbanger dog hustle.
“More likely this guy of yours was trying to edge into the girl trade. More risk but more money.”
“Our club isn’t down for any kind of human trafficking or even prostitution,” Maddox said.
Castillo shrugged. “Some crews will do anything to earn.” He took a swig of whiskey. “While we’re on the subject of earning, Mescalito has some more business we’d like to offer your club. We’ve been working well together, no issues. My boss is happy. Your boss is happy.”
“What kind of business are you offering?” Maddox swirled the amber liquid in his glass.
“We have a shipment of AK-47s coming in. We’re looking for options to get them up in your area. You think your club would be interested?”
“I’d have to take it to the table with my president,” Maddox said. “Won’t that cause friction with the Russians?”
“Fuck the Russians. They don’t have that much of a stronghold on the weapons trade. They’re too busy trying to take over the meth trade. That’s white boy trash. Guns belong to us, and we’re prepared to make it worth your while.”
“How much worth our while?”
Hunter glanced at Hem. He knew that Hunter wasn’t happy to hear that kind of offer, and he’d likely be a nay vote at the table.
“Double what we pay you to haul the blow. Next time you come down, there would be three duffel bags instead of two. Only difference.”
“That’s tempting,” Maddox said. “I can’t make that decision unilaterally. I’ll have to let you know after we meet with Paul.” Maddox clapped Castillo on the shoulder. “I appreciate your crew having confidence in mine.”
“Sure. Just give me a call on this number after you talk with your boss.” He slipped Maddox a card with a handwritten number on it. A burner phone, no doubt. They all used them to avoid any traceable records.
Hem downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass and set it on the table. He wasn’t opposed to earning more money as long as it didn’t involve abusing women, kids, or animals. Buying a house with cash like Hunter had done would be nice. His thoughts wandered to his family back in Idaho. Setting his mom up and maybe bankrolling his sister through college was an attractive prospect. At that moment, he understood how the dead Knight had stepped outside of his bounds to try to earn on the side. Except that piece of shit was likely willing to kidnap and sell little girls to do it.
They thanked Castillo for the whiskey and the business offer and headed back to the motel.
Once they were off the cartel property, Maddox opened the floor. “Any thoughts on the gun-running offer?”
Hunter shook his head. “I’d rather not, man.”
“Well, we all don’t have a millionaire fiancée.” Maddox shot a look in Hunter’s direction.
“Fuck you. That has nothing to do with why I don’t like this deal.”
“Then what is your moral dilemma, Hunter? You carry a gun, and I know you’ve used it. So, why are you playing the Virgin Mary on this?”
“What I do with my guns is irrelevant. I’m concerned about where these guns will end up on the street.”
“But it doesn’t bother you that we’re supplying the local street gangs with dope? You can be a conscientious objector here, but it will still go up for a vote.”
“I know that, and if the motion passes, I won’t say a word. I’d just rather not dip into that particular ink well. I thought we were trying to move more toward honest earnings. And you’re the one who brought up the Russians. Do we really want to kick that particular hornet’s nest?”
Disagreements weren’t uncommon in the club. Everyone had their personal opinions. Ryker was opposed to them running drugs, but he’d been odd man out on the vote, so it carried, and here they were hauling bricks of coke back to Dallas. The only one who wasn’t touching the dope was Aries. Until he was off probation, he had to keep his nose clean, or he’d end up back at Hutchins. Nobody wanted to go to prison.
“Hem, do you object to this?” Maddox called over his shoulder. Hem was in the back of the van with Plato.
“Nah. I’m cool with earning in whatever way as long as we aren’t hurting innocents.”
Hunter didn’t look back from his place in the passenger seat. He’d likely give Hem an earful in private though.
Back at the motel, they ordered two pizzas from the place they usually bought from. While they waited for it to get there, Hem stepped outside to call Callie.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello.”
“Hey.”
“Hi. How’s your trip?” Callie knew not to say too much over the phone.
“Going good. We just ordered pizza and will be in for the night.”
“Cool. What time do you think you’ll be back tomorrow?”
“Probably around dinner time. Want to meet up?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m going to meet Holly for lunch around noon.”
“All right. Great. We’ll talk more when I see you, okay?”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
“Later.” He hung up and went back into the room.
Plato was leaned back in the chair by the window listening to an audiobook on his headphones. His boots were lined up by the door, and his cut was hung over the back of the chair. Hunter was in the shower, and Maddox was propped up against two pillows on the bed.
“Man, I’m starving,” Hem said.
“Me too,” Maddox responded. “Hey, you don’t think I was being an asshole to Hunter, do you?”
“No. You were just telling the truth how you see it. Hunter respects honesty, even if he disagrees with your opinion.”
“Okay. I mean, I don’t want to push anything on him, but I’d sure like to pull in a little more cash for my nest egg, you know?”
“I get it. Let’s see what Paul has to say.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure he’ll go for it. He’s so close to retirement he might not want to take on any more risk.”
“True, but is there really any more risk if we’re just adding some guns to our runs? If we get caught just with drugs, we’re still fucked as much as we would be with both guns and dope. As long as we’re doing shit with the cartel, we’re taking a gamble.”
“You’re right. Crime is crime.”
“And in our case, crime does pay.” Hem winked and shot finger guns at Maddox.
“You’re so weird, dude.”
Hem shrugged. “This isn’t news, right?”
“Nope. So, are you getting serious with the narc?”
Hem hung his cut over the edge of the dresser. “No. I mean, we’ve been friends a long time. I’m not sure it’ll ever progress beyond that.”
“She’s cute as hell. There’s something hot about a woman in an authority position. Does she like to handcuff you?”
“Dude. I don’t kiss and tell. And I’m not sure I’d let anyone handcuff me. That shit is risky.”
“It’s pretty hot to surrender control to a woman. I dated this one chick who liked to tie me to her bed and choke me. But her hands were too small, so it wasn’t really effective, but she liked to do it just the same.”
“Everyone has their kinks, I guess.”
“Yeah. If it’s between consenting adults, anything goes in my book. Whatever floats your boat.”
“I dig hair pulling and ass-slapping, but bondage isn’t really my thing. I do like a little
fight, though.”
“I’m sure Callie could give you a good fight.”
Hem raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah.” If he thought too much about his night with Calliope, he’d end up with a woody, and that would be highly inappropriate when he was going to have to share a double bed with Hunter that night. They were close but not sword fighting close.
Hem wasn’t sure where he and Callie were headed, but he was looking forward to finding out. Sex with strangers can be good, great even, but sex with someone you care about is another level. More intense.
Chapter Fourteen
Calliope
Callie sat in her car in front of the deli down the street from the station. How many meals had she eaten behind the wheel or at her desk or in a patrol car wearing a bulletproof vest that barely let her breathe? One constant was that her gun pressed against her hip. That she’d become accustomed to. She never left home without being strapped. Every once in a while, she second-guessed her life choices. Being a cop was a full-time job. And even when she wasn’t on duty, Callie was still a cop, always on the defensive and always watching for bad guys. There was never really any time off when that mindset had been hammered into her brain both from her time in the military and the police academy.
She took a bite of the egg sandwich. She’d worked hard to build this career, and most of the time, she was sure about the direction she was going. Maybe she’d make sergeant one day.
Her phone rang, and she quickly swallowed. “Cooper.”
“Detective Cooper. It’s Larry Jordan.”
“How are you, Detective Jordan.”
“I’m good. Listen, I just got an anonymous tip about Rubio.”
Her stomach tightened. “What is it?”
“Well, a woman called in and gave me an address. She said I needed to see something there.”
“That’s it? No other info?”
“Just an address and a time to meet. The thing is, I can’t get there for about an hour, and she’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
“You want me to swing over there and find out what she knows?”
“Yeah, if you can. I’ll head over there as soon as I can, but I don’t want to risk losing a lead if she won’t wait for me.”
“No problem. I’m down at the deli. What’s the address?”
“2334 West Park Street. Thanks. I owe you one.” Callie scribbled down the address and looked it up on her GPS. It was a fifteen-minute drive from the deli.
“Nah. You don’t owe me. I want to solve this case as bad as you do.”
“If she leaves before I get there, give me a call, yeah?”
“You got it. Oh, did she give you her name? Tell you how you can identify her?”
“Nope. She sounded like she was in a hurry and talking secretively like maybe she was afraid someone would catch her.”
“All right then. Talk to you soon.” Callie hung up. She put the car in gear and ate the rest of her sandwich in three bites. Scarfing down food on the fly was another skill she’d acquired from both the military and the PD. But she could go the rest of her life without eating an MRE.
It was just past ten in the morning when Callie pulled up in front of what looked like a vacant house. It was a one-story residence with weathered beige stucco on the outside. The roof looked relatively new.
There was no for rent or for sale sign in the front yard, but when she peeked into the windows, the place was empty. No furniture, no people, no sign of the woman who’d called Detective Jordan. A rickety wooden gate that was hanging by one hinge was partway open. Callie slipped through it to the backyard. The grass was a foot tall, and a rusted out swing set sat in the middle of the yard. A broken plastic swing hung from one chain.
She looked around the yard. Nothing was amiss besides the crap that a prior resident has likely left behind. Three steps led up to the backdoor. Callie walked up cautiously then noticed the door was slightly ajar. Her hand automatically went to her sidearm. She pushed down and then pulled up to release the gun.
She’d been doing this for a few years, but Callie still got nervous when she had to pull her weapon. When she was a patrol officer, she had other options at her disposal, like a taser, pepper spray, and a baton. As a detective, she only had her gun.
The door opened silently when she pushed on it. The door jamb was intact, and there was no broken glass or splintered wood. It didn’t look like anyone had broken in. It just looked like someone hadn’t closed the door all the way. She debated announcing her presence. The kitchen was empty and relatively clean. The refrigerator was missing, but there were a stove and cabinet-mounted dishwasher still there.
With her gun out in front of her, she rounded the corner to the dining room. A dusty light fixture hung above where a table would be. The house wasn’t ritzy by any stretch of the imagination, but it would be a good starter home for someone who wasn’t afraid to put a little elbow grease into fixing it up. It needed paint and a good cleaning to get rid of the musty mildew smell that hung in the air. Didn’t look like squatters were using it as a crash pad, which was a problem with houses that stayed empty too long in not-so-great neighborhoods. Those punks tore up empty houses and ripped the copper wires out of the walls. Sometimes they stole the air conditioner units. Anything they could take to make a quick buck to feed their drug habits.
The living room was also empty but for an old entertainment center, the kind made of particleboard. The paneling on the side was peeling off. The carpet had seen better days.
Callie moved quietly through the living room and into the narrow hallway. The walls were bare. The first door was a bathroom that needed updating. The next three doors were bedrooms. She cleared the rooms and closets. The house was empty.
She exhaled and holstered her weapon as she made her way back toward the living room. The portable radio on her left hip screeched. Callie reached to turn down the volume. Maybe Jordan could find a way to trace the call, depending on which line it came in on.
A squeaky board sounded, and she looked over her shoulder. Had the sound come from behind her or from the living room? She wasn’t sure. When she turned back toward the living room, her stomach dropped to her feet. She was staring down the barrel of a gun.
Chapter Fifteen
Hem
Hunter’s phone rang about four hours into the drive back to Dallas.
“Hey, babe … um, hold on a sec.” He turned to Hem. “Have you heard from Callie?”
“I spoke to her last night. Why?”
“It’s Holly on the phone. She said Callie didn’t show up for their lunch date, and when she tried to call her, it went straight to voicemail.”
“That’s weird. Maybe she got hung up at work.”
“Holly said if you hear from Callie, have her call Holly.”
“I will.” Worry niggled his brain. Hem hadn’t found it strange that she hadn’t called him. They had agreed that he’d fill her in on what he found out from the cartel when he got back. It wasn’t a conversation that he wanted to risk being recorded. He pulled out his phone and called her number. It didn’t ring. Just went to straight to voicemail like Holly had said. “Hey, call me when you get this.”
They wouldn’t make it back to Dallas for another four hours.
“What do you think is up?” Hunter asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll give her some time to call me back.”
Hunter leaned toward him. “If there’s a problem, you know I got your back, man.”
“I know. Thanks, brother.”
Chapter Sixteen
Calliope
“Jesus, man. You scared the shit out of me.” Callie breathed a sigh of relief. “Get your fucking gun off me. Your tipster isn’t here.”
Detective Jordan stood his ground.
“What the fuck? Lower your weapon.”
He shook his head and took a step back with his gun still trained on her chest. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Callie went to raise her weapon when s
he felt cold steel against the spot behind her right ear. She spun around and knocked the gun out of the man’s hand. Instinctively, she punched him in the mouth. His teeth cut into her knuckles, but he didn’t go down.
“You fucking bitch.” He wiped at the blood dripping from his busted lip.
A strong hit from behind knocked the wind out of her, and her gun clattered to the floor. The second man kicked it away from her. Then a knee was in her back, and pain exploded in her spine from the pressure. Jordan was pulling her hands behind her. “What are you doing? Are you fucking arresting me?”
“Just be quiet for now.”
“No. I won’t be quiet. Get off me.”
Jordan patted her pockets and pulled out her cell phone and tossed it to the other man. For the first time, Callie got a look at him. The man had tattoos up and down both arms and definitely didn’t look like a cop. What the hell was going on?
Jordan rolled her over to her back. He picked up her gun and tucked it in his back pocket.
“If you’re arresting me, call my sergeant right now. This is bullshit.”
He grabbed her elbow and pulled her to her feet. “I’m not arresting you, so shut the fuck up.”
“I don’t understand then. What’s going on?” She looked around frantically. The other man was still standing behind her, and she could smell the sweat off him. Callie stifled a gag.
“It’ll all make sense soon.” Jordan raised his gun above his head, and then the lights went out.
* * *
The pain in her head throbbed. Callie blinked her eyes. She was somewhere dark, and the floor was hard but had a thin, rough carpet on it.
She was in the trunk of a car. A car that was moving. Nausea roiled in her stomach, and Callie fought the urge to vomit. The tag to open the trunk glowed a foot above her, but she couldn’t grab it with her wrists handcuffed behind her back. She’d been stripped of her gun, her phone, and her radio. She was fucked.
This wasn’t how she ever saw herself going out. She’d thought that maybe she’d get shot in the line of duty or die in a crash at the end of a high-speed pursuit. Callie had survived the military and the police academy, and now she was bound in the trunk of a car likely driven by a dirty cop that was colluding with a god damned gangbanger. Who was he?
