by Debra Webb
Nothing felt the same anymore.
The job he loved felt constraining, pointless.
What he wanted for the rest of his life was suddenly undefined. He felt uncertain and damned unsettled.
A soft rap at his door drew his attention there. His secretary was gone for the day but Tara, the receptionist, should be at her desk. Maybe it was Black. He was having the same doubts about Mayakovsky’s confession as Dan, but Black would take them to his grave before sharing those feelings with Jess.
Somehow Dan had to help those two become friends, allies at the very least.
He crossed the room and opened the door. To his surprise Annette waited there.
“Your secretary wasn’t at her desk.”
“Is Andrea okay?” That seemed to be his stock question whenever Annette called or showed up. Her surprise announcement that Brandon was leaving her had done just that, surprised him. He and Annette had been friends for years before they became involved as a couple. He wanted to be there for her. But being a supportive friend was all he could offer.
She nodded. “She’s fine. Assisting with tomorrow’s memorial service for Darcy has been a big help to her. Andrea’s been focused on being supportive of the family rather than what she’s been through.”
“That’s great. Jess mentioned seeing her and said she looked and sounded well.” Made him feel less like a jerk to interject Jess into the conversation. That was something he didn’t exactly understand. It just was.
“Are you busy?”
“Not with anything that can’t wait. Come in. Have a seat.”
He really was having difficulty focusing this evening. In part because Annette’s frequent calls and appearances were contributing to that off-balance feeling. Though they had been divorced for more than a year, there were still feelings he couldn’t deny. He wanted Annette and Andrea safe and happy. He wanted both of them to feel comfortable turning to him.
He wanted to be friends.
But that was all he wanted.
The signals Annette was giving off made him believe she wanted more. Possibly he was overreacting. Whenever he got right with that conclusion she would make a move that changed his mind. The last time he’d narrowly avoided a kiss right on the mouth. Further proof was that dress she was wearing. Shorter and tighter than usual. The stilettos higher than the norm for her. He recognized her on-the-hunt attire. He’d admired it before.
When she’d settled into a chair in front of his desk, he returned to his—on the opposite side. She seemed too distracted to notice.
Annette didn’t like the idea of being alone. He’d figured that out about her soon after they were married. She’d still been in love with Brandon, her first husband, and she’d only turned to Dan because she needed someone she could trust to hold on to during that tumultuous time. Six months later she had realized that undeniable fact, and she and Dan parted amiably. Brandon was Andrea’s father and that detail had a great deal of bearing on Annette’s decisions and actions.
Annette was a beautiful, intelligent woman. Her insecurities about standing on her own two feet without a husband were so very unnecessary. But Dan couldn’t make her see that. She defined herself completely by the partner in her life. He hoped one day she would recognize how very wrong that was.
If she and Brandon were over again, Dan couldn’t fill her dance card the way he had last time. At some point he would have to make that clear. For now, he had to tread carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was give her the wrong idea. Hopefully all she needed this afternoon was a compassionate ear and a strong shoulder.
“He’s coming home next week,” she said at last, “and he wants to start divorce proceedings immediately.” She dropped her purse into the other chair and turned her hands up. “I don’t understand why he can’t give us a fighting chance. It’s hardly been seven months. That’s not long enough to rebuild what we once had. We need more time.”
There were things Dan could say like the fact that Brandon was an ass of the highest order. The arrogant prick liked the idea of having a wife and a daughter but he didn’t want to be burdened with either or both all the time. Dan would bet his next raise that Brandon was cheating. But he wasn’t about to say that to Annette. If it was true, she would find out soon enough.
“If you feel you need more time,” he suggested, “tell him. Don’t just give in to his demands without laying out a few of your own.”
“What’s wrong with me, Dan?” The tears spilled past her lashes. “Why can’t I be what he wants or needs?”
Damn. He kept his seat, as tough as that proved. He reached into the drawer where he kept a box of tissues and passed it across his desk to her. “This is his problem, Annette, not yours. It’s Brandon who’s lacking, not you. He doesn’t deserve you. Can’t you see that?”
She plucked tissues from the box, set it on the edge of his desk, and dabbed at her tears. “It feels like he finds fault with me on purpose. Like he’s looking for a reason to go.”
“Only you can give him that kind of control over your feelings. You know who you are. You don’t need him to verify or prove anything. If he’s so shallow that he doesn’t see what he has right in front of him, let him go. It’s his loss.”
She shot to her feet and rounded his desk. He stiffened but she didn’t come to him. She went to the window and stared out as he had moments ago. He felt like a fool just sitting there, but he knew what would happen if he moved to comfort her. She’d already shown she wanted more than his consoling embraces.
Jess elbowed her way into his head and he almost smiled. She would tell him to get a grip and man up.
He stood and took a position at the window next to Annette. “Don’t let him have all the power, Annette. You can do better.”
“I did better.”
He dared to look at her then.
“And I screwed that up.” She launched into his arms.
Holy hell.
His cell vibrated against his desktop. He owed somebody big for that reprieve. He unwrapped her arms from his waist and stepped back. “I have to get that.”
She nodded and pressed a hand over her mouth as if she might burst into sobs.
“Burnett.” He answered without even checking the screen. Whatever the interruption, he was thankful.
“Chief, this is Ted Allen. I think we have a major problem.”
“What sort of problem, Captain?”
“You’re aware we took over a former carpet warehouse positioned kitty-corner to where Center and Twenty-Second intersect.”
“I am.” Dan searched through the mental list of ongoing activities in his jurisdiction but wasn’t mentally landing on the details on the Center Street operation.
“We’ve been keeping surveillance on that Center Street residence for six months now,” Allen explained. “We’re within days of busting a major drug and gunrunning op.”
Center Street was a joint venture between the BPD’s Gang Task Force, the ATF, FBI, and DEA. “I understand you’re saying this is a pivotal time in your operation, but I’m unclear on what your immediate problem is and what you need from me.” The guy needed to get to the point. In his experience, Allen wasn’t generally one to beat around the bush.
“The problem is Deputy Chief Harris and Sergeant Harper just parked in front of the house we have under surveillance. They’re headed for the front door as we speak and we’re all scratching our balls and wondering what the fuck.”
Comprehension materialized and Dan’s heart dropped to his feet.
“Who’s inside the house, Captain?”
“The worst of the worst. Salvadore Lopez and his crew.”
“Intervene, Allen. Now. Do not allow Harris to walk into that situation.”
“Chief, my hands are tied. We let the feds have lead on this operation. There’s nothing I can do unless shots are fired. I’m just giving you a heads-up in case the shit hits the fan and you end up with a dead deputy chief and detective on your hands.”
“I’m on my way. Have the agent in charge call me on my cell.” Dan ended the call and sent an apologetic look in Annette’s direction. Unless he sprouted wings, there was no way Dan was going to get there in time to stop Jess.
He hoped like hell she knew what she was doing. She sure as hell hadn’t shared her agenda with him.
Just something else that needed to change… assuming she didn’t get herself killed first.
16
Center Street North, 4:30 p.m.
Chief Harris banged on the neglected front door of the house a contact of Chet’s claimed served as Lopez’s hangout. The house was an old craftsman, probably from the twenties or thirties. Not so run-down, just sadly in need of routine maintenance.
The locos inside wouldn’t be interested in home maintenance.
Chet had done all within his power to prevent Harris from coming here, but she had refused to listen. Considering what her FBI contact out in Cali had told her, she was way pissed off. This girl, Nina, was not Lopez’s girlfriend as they had thought. She was his seventeen-year-old sister. Their father had sent her here to stay with her brother for a while until things calmed down after her boyfriend’s murder. If the girl was missing, Lopez was likely in hot water with his old man.
That information and the fact that a joint task force operation was set up across the street with Lopez and his people under 24/7 surveillance were the only details in their favor. Whether that would prevent an all-out war from going down in the next few minutes, Chet couldn’t say.
He had no desire to die today and he damn sure didn’t intend for the chief to get herself killed. But she was one hardheaded woman.
Like Lori. Her image… her voice whispered through his mind.
More banging on the door dragged his head back to where it should be.
“Doesn’t sound like anyone’s home, ma’am.” The dead silence inside provided some sense of relief. Maybe they would get through this alive. “Lopez and his people may have some other crash pad they use to avoid surveillance.”
“I don’t think so, Sergeant. This is the place.” Harris rapped again, harder this time. “Why would Lopez avoid surveillance? He doesn’t do the dirty work. People do that for him. As long as he’s here, the cops are watching him and not his henchmen. That’s why he’s been here for eighteen months and hasn’t been arrested. Allen knows he’s responsible but he can’t prove it.” She glanced across the street. “Maybe he doesn’t want to prove it.”
Chet wasn’t even going to try to analyze that last statement. “Maybe we need to rethink this strategy,” he attempted once more. “Chief Burnett will not be happy.”
“I gave you a direct order to wait in the vehicle, Sergeant. You’ve already committed insubordination. I wouldn’t worry about what Burnett will and will not be happy about.”
“I can’t allow you to do this alone, ma’am.” The woman was being completely unreasonable. “If that makes me insubordinate, I apologize in advance.” He might not have the opportunity later. He hated to think what would happen if someone did open that door. “Your safety is priority.”
“Though I appreciate your concern, Sergeant, this won’t take more than three or four minutes.”
Harris was understandably upset about Frazier’s murder. She clearly was not thinking rationally. Three minutes in a nest of vipers was an eternity.
In light of the fact that they were having this conversation on a porch that allegedly belonged to an MS-13 clique, he had to admit that maybe Harris wasn’t the only one behaving irrationally.
She pounded on the door again. Loud enough to wake the dead. Damn but she was pissed.
Chet thought of his little boy and how he would feel if something happened to him. Harris swore she didn’t have any nurturing instincts, but Chet was pretty sure she was wrong. She just didn’t want to own a softer side.
The door opened and Jose Munoz looked them both over before leaning one shoulder against the door frame. “Whatever you’re selling, we ain’t interested and we damned sure ain’t buying.” He looked Harris up and down a second time and snorted. “Unless it’s what’s under that skirt and I don’t usually pay for that.”
Harper eased forward one step, his hand settling on his hip, drawing attention to his holstered weapon.
The chief showed her credentials. “I’m Deputy Chief Harris, Birmingham PD, and I’m here to see Salvadore Lopez.”
Munoz laughed. “Who?”
“Your jefe, pendejo,” Harper snarled.
“There’s no one here by that name,” Munoz popped back, clearly amused. “Maybe you got the wrong address.”
“Tell your jefe,” Harris said, “that we know about his sister, Nina.”
“Let them in,” a voice called from inside the house.
Munoz stepped back, drawing the door open wider.
Chet followed his boss inside. He would have preferred to go first, but she was pushy in addition to being hardheaded.
The place stank of cigarette smoke and booze. The shades were all drawn tight, leaving nothing but the beat-up lamps positioned around the room to drive away the darkness. Lopez was sprawled on the sofa. Six others, his security team, held positions around the room.
The front door slammed shut. Harper flinched in spite of knowing it was coming. It took every ounce of courage he owned not to look behind him.
No weapons were visible but they would be handy. Three dogs, one rottweiler and two pit bulls, stood at attention around the room. None of the three were restrained.
Great.
“Where is my sister?” Lopez demanded.
Chet braced for what Harris would say next. She was mad as hell.
“Why don’t you tell me? The way I hear it, you’re the one who lost her.”
Rage tightened Lopez’s face. “Is she under arrest?”
“Not yet,” Harris said. “But that may change as we investigate the death of Jerome Frazier and the disappearance of DeShawn Simmons. She may be an accessory to more than one murder.”
Lopez nodded to Munoz, who stepped forward and asked, “Are you wearing wires?”
“I am not.” Jess held up her hands. “Feel free to check for yourself.”
Chet gritted his teeth as the bastard put his hands on the chief. She didn’t so much as cringe. Then it was his turn. He endured the bullshit only because it was what Harris wanted. What he wanted was to put a bullet in the head of every lowlife scumbag in the room.
“My sister had nothing to do with any murder. She’s innocent,” Lopez announced. “The Negro you’re all worried about took her. But I’ll find her. There might be a little collateral damage here and there, five-oh. You got you some evidence that marks me as your perpetrator? Maybe you need to arrest me now.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary at all, Mr. Lopez. I think you’ll be in enough trouble if you don’t find her before your daddy finds out she’s missing.”
Lopez’s gaze narrowed in a warning. “I will attend to my family problems, Deputy Chief Harris.”
“Well, now you have a new problem.”
Chet tensed. What the hell was she trying to do, get them both killed?
Lopez shot to his feet like a panther and swaggered over to her.
Chet stepped slightly in front of her.
Lopez glared at him before turning his attention back to Harris. “And what kind of problem is that, chiquita?”
“I’m going to get so far up in your business that you’ll think I’m part of the family.”
Lopez laughed. His crew burst into laughter with him. The dogs grumbled at the racket. Then Lopez abruptly stopped and sneered at Harris with pure hatred. “What you think you can do that the fools across the street cannot?”
She smiled. “I’m not like the ones across the street, Mr. Lopez.” She inclined her head. “You see, I don’t care about taking you or any of your friends alive. Dead works just fine for me.”
The silence thundered for three, four, then five seconds.
“Here’s the deal, Mr. Lopez. If you or any of your people harm DeShawn Simmons, I will see that you and your sister pay. And I will get you for the murder of Jerome Frazier; that’s a given. I don’t care about your connections or what you do or don’t know. I just want to see justice done.”
“Are you threatening me, bitch?” Lopez growled.
“Absolutely. I spent the entire time I was forced to explain to the Frazier family that their son had been murdered thinking of ways to make you pay. And if I have to deliver that same news to the Simmons family, your padre will be most unhappy. You see, I know people in LA. People who know your father well. I can have a personal message delivered to him anytime, day or night.”
For reasons Chet could not begin to fathom, there were no sudden attacks and no gun blasts. Lopez and the chief just stood there for about ten seconds and stared at each other while sweat slid down Chet’s back.
“Any other questions?” Harris asked.
Lopez glowered at her a moment longer but said nothing.
“Thank you for your time, gentlemen.”
Harris turned her back and walked out. Chet stayed right behind her, though he didn’t risk turning his back.
Once they were in his SUV, Harris faced him. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Before we call it a day I’d like to drop by and give Mr. and Mrs. Simmons an update.”
“Heading there now.” Chet guided his SUV onto the street. “You must have one hell of a contact in LA.”
Her contact had not only known that Nina was Salvadore Lopez’s half sister, not his girlfriend as they’d suspected, but he had also known that the Lopez patriarch had sent Nina to Alabama to get her away from a young man in a rival gang. A young man he had personally executed. Just went to show that even gangbangers had routine family problems. Now she was missing, and as they’d suspected, Salvadore did not want his father to find out. Harris hadn’t been worried about facing off with the guy, because she had his number. He was scared of his father. The last few minutes had just confirmed both theories.
