by Tessa Bailey
Sera stood on wobbly legs, taking in her surroundings vaguely. Pool sticks. Everywhere. They were in some kind of factory. “I wasn’t setting him up, I was trying to save his life.” She sucked in a breath, gesturing toward the door. “I couldn’t get him to listen to me. He wasn’t in his right mind.”
The other girl considered her closely. “I’ve never seen him act like that,” she admitted softly. “He wasn’t…there.”
More cold permeated her, making her feel brittle. Somehow that frozen feeling gave her a moment of clarity. She wouldn’t let anything happen to him. No way in hell. She’d broken him, and she would fix him. Fix herself. This entire situation. Responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she accepted it gladly. It gave her something to focus on.
“Call Troy,” she directed Ruby, grateful for the steel in her voice. “Ask him to come here without letting anyone know. Just ask him for ten minutes to hear me out.” She tested the zip tie holding her hostage, had the feeling she’d be in it until they believed her. “I have a plan.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bowen stared through unseeing eyes as the crates containing stolen computer hardware were loaded into the backs of rented vans. Some had been provided by Hogan, some by him and his men. They worked in complete silence, tension thick in the air. Nighttime had fallen hours earlier, but to Bowen it had been dark much longer. His body felt tired, as if he’d expended actual, physical energy trying to block out thoughts of Sera and her betrayal. Had it even been a betrayal? He’d known she was a cop since the beginning. There’d been a dawning apprehension when she wouldn’t talk to him, let him help her with his eyes wide open. Maybe he deserved to feel like this. Like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his ribs and left him to rot.
God, he was one pathetic son of a bitch. He should be thinking about getting the stolen merchandise to the distributer in Queens, out of his hands. All he could think of was her. Was she safe? Had her feelings been genuine or had it all been in his fucked-up brain? Perhaps he’d taken one too many punches and these were the gruesome side effects. Seeing things that weren’t there. Hoping for a future that was laughable for someone like him. His future had been mapped out before he entered this world. It had been stupid of him to lose sight of that.
An image of Sera sitting on his windowsill, bathed in sunshine as she sipped coffee, hit him hard and it took an effort not to double over and shout until his vocal cords gave out. On its heels followed the sensation of her fingers sifting through his hair, the husky sound of her voice telling him he felt so good inside her. How long? How long could he live like this? A hole gaped in his chest, yawning wider by the moment. He knew if she were standing in front of him just then, he would beg her to let him try again. Beg her to come with him when he left Brooklyn.
He had to leave. For so many reasons, not the least of which was the beautiful girl he’d left tied to a pool stick rack this morning. No, there was more. The end was coming. A tingling at the back of his neck that didn’t go away anymore. It had graduated to a roaring in his ears, and combined with his grief over losing Sera, threatened to kill him on its own. An invisible weapon, instead of a real one. Part of him would rather take the bullet he suspected he had coming than to let this gut-wrenching feeling drag him under. It would be quicker and less painful. Merciful, really.
Ten yards away, Hogan blew warm air into his hands and rubbed them together, nighttime having brought a cold front. Beside him stood Connor and two other men Bowen knew only by sight. Wayne stood by the van with a clipboard, making sure they were receiving their fair share of the merchandise, but Bowen could feel the constant glances in his direction. Wayne’s edginess should have made him nervous, warned him to be on guard, but he couldn’t steer himself in that direction. It was hard enough to stand there acting like a normal, functioning human being when all he wanted to do was give up.
There. Now that he’d allowed the thought loose inside his head, it ran wild. His plan involved him driving to Queens tonight with Wayne, getting paid for the score, taking his cut, and giving the rest to Wayne. From there, he would go…where? God, anywhere. It hadn’t mattered when he’d formulated the plan in a fit of restlessness. Now he didn’t know if he could execute it. Since he could remember, his life had felt like one endless tightrope walk, and now that he’d finally lost his balance and fallen, there didn’t seem like any point in getting back up. Not without her.
His heart squeezed in his chest, so goddamn hard he had to suck in a breath. Distraction. He needed a distraction fast or he would self-destruct. Bowen cleared his throat and walked toward Hogan. “All done here. Same time next month?” There wouldn’t be a next time for him, not if he got out of town as planned, but letting anyone know would be suicide.
“Yeah, about that…”
Behind Bowen, there was a series of doors slamming, then all four vans peeled out, leaving him standing alone on the dock with Hogan and Connor. Wayne had come to stand behind him. Behind him, not beside him. Three against one. It hit him immediately and with zero shock. This was it. Finally. He was about to die. Jesus, he was fucking relieved. He wouldn’t have to live with these thoughts much longer, these memories. Although right now, when presented with the prospect of his own death, it felt like a travesty that any memory of Sera would go unremembered. That they would die with him. He wished he could have had a little bit longer to paint them on his walls, to keep them alive the only way he knew how.
Bowen nodded once, letting them know he knew what was happening. If he was going out tonight, he’d go out with his pride. “Let’s not draw this out, Hogan. Don’t take this the wrong way, but your voice isn’t the last thing I want to hear.”
Cold gunmetal pressed against the back of his head. “How about mine, kid?”
“Even less.” Bowen shifted on the balls of his feet, body tensing. Interesting. Some part of him wasn’t entirely resigned to his fate. His fighter’s nature was rising to the surface, a knee-jerk reaction to being threatened. All of a sudden, he was back in his father’s car in Coney Island, scanning the beach through eyes swollen shut, being forced to pick out an opponent. Digging deep inside and finding a spark among the ashes, he fanned it to life. He could hear his father’s voice, shouting at him, telling him to suck it up. Then he saw Sera. Sera, Sera, Sera. How could he go without knowing she was okay? No, he couldn’t. Not without seeing it with his own eyes. Even just to catch one final look at her from a distance. “Hey, Wayne. Can we avoid the head? I know this is a hit and there’s a tradition you want to uphold, but there’s no reason to fuck up my hair.”
Wayne growled and shoved the barrel against his head, but Bowen refused to wince. Not with Hogan watching him with a smug expression. “You little fuck. I should have done this a long time ago. Your father thinks I’m weak? That I can’t do better than some pussy-whipped painter? He’s in for a surprise when he gets out.”
“Don’t forget balloons and a cake. The man has a thing for coconut.”
As expected, Wayne now felt the need to get in his face. For a split second, the gun dislodged from his skull and Bowen took advantage. He ducked low and spun, reaching up to knock the weapon from Wayne’s hand. It went skidding across the pavement, but Bowen didn’t take time to see where it stopped. He was too busy drawing the weapon tucked into the back of his jeans. The one Wayne had been too cocky to remove.
The whites of Wayne’s eyes stood out in the near-darkness. Slowly, his hands went up but the sneer on his face remained in place.
“Looks like this painter got the drop on you, old man.”
“Not on me,” Hogan drawled.
Bowen saw Hogan point the gun at him out of the corner of his eye and braced himself. When the bullet didn’t immediately come, he started talking. “You think South Brooklyn will be easier to deal with if Wayne’s running things? You’re wrong. This is a mistake, Hogan.”
Hogan laughed. “I’m seeing a much bigger picture, my friend. Tonight’s deal is two for the price
of one. After tonight, I won’t be dealing with either one of you. Just myself.”
So he planned on putting them both down and running both territories. From the panicked expression on Wayne’s face, he’d been confident in his alliance with Hogan. The gun in Bowen’s hand pointing toward Wayne became irrelevant. Hogan would only laugh if he pulled the trigger. It would make things easier for him.
Anger flooded Bowen. No. No. He’d only just decided to live. He needed to see Sera again, find a way to immortalize the memories in his head, and this motherfucker was trying to take that chance away. There didn’t appear to be a damn thing he could do about it, either. No way of negotiating when a man’s greed outweighed his conscience.
“Where’s the girl, Driscol?”
Every muscle in his body seized, but he showed no reaction to the question. “There’s been more than one girl this week. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“You’re not as good a liar as you think.” Hogan used his thumb to cock his gun. “There’s some important shit missing from my office and I’m missing a waitress. Where the fuck is she?”
“Even if I could tell you, you’re planning on shooting me anyway. I’m not exactly swimming in motivation here, man.”
Hogan bared his teeth. “I’m going to find her, you know. I won’t stop looking. There’s nowhere they can put her that’s out of my reach. And when I find the bitch, I’m going to tell her you sent me.”
When Hogan aimed the gun at his head, Bowen already felt dead and buried, those final words being the nail in his coffin. He would be leaving her in danger, at the mercy of the same criminals he’d been appointed to protect her from, and the ineptitude of the cops who would have the job going forward. Finding the image of her face, he closed his eyes and focused on it. It took him a moment for Hogan’s outraged curse to break through to him.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Bowen looked on in shock at Connor pressing a gun to the back of Hogan’s head. “I second that,” Bowen muttered, relief and confusion joining forces in his chest.
“Sorry, cousin,” Connor said. “Nothing personal. Just put the gun down nice and slow.”
After a brief hesitation, Hogan lowered the gun with a low expletive. “After what I did for you? For your mother? You bastard.”
Connor’s laugh sounded cold. “We both know I’ve paid that debt ten times over.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Hogan grated.
“You’re welcome to try.”
Sirens.
Breathless seconds passed as all four men exchanged looks. Hogan looked like a trapped rat, while Connor didn’t even react, simply keeping the gun trained on his cousin. Wayne, old school to the bone, made a run for the shadows, disappearing from sight almost immediately. Bowen had never run a day in his life, so he stayed still and watched the half dozen NYPD squad cars approach with something akin to fascination. Until he saw Sera step out of one of them. His eyes greedily took in the sight of her, even as he registered the gun in her hand. The badge at her hip. Her professional clothing so different from the dresses she wore in his memory. When several officers approached them, weapons drawn, Connor finally dropped the gun and knelt, hands over his head, as did Hogan. Bowen was pushed to his knees, his gaze still locked on Sera as they cuffed him.
Shame ripped him wide open. No, she couldn’t see him like this. Now, now, he truly wished he were dead. Troy came up behind her and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Seeing anyone besides himself comfort her finally succeeded in breaking him.
“Is this what you wanted, Sera?”
Even from this distance, he could see the tear roll down her cheek, and it sent him struggling against his handcuffs, blood rolling down the palms of his hands.
“Get her out of here,” he shouted at Troy, who made no move to follow his order. “I said, get her the fuck out of here!”
Finally, Troy yanked opened the door of his squad car and eased Sera down into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind her. He could still see her face through the window, though, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut defensively as they led him to one of the waiting cars. His fighter’s instinct took on a different form then. Knowing he couldn’t use his fists to get free this time, it took pity on him and numbed his mind. It shut him down so he couldn’t feel a thing. Red and blue flashing lights blurred together and he concentrated on them, trying not to dwell on the fact that the only girl he’d ever loved had just taken away his freedom. How he should hate her for it, but could only lament the fact that he’d never hold her again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sera watched Bowen through the two-way glass. Being this close to him made her sore, aching heart race in her chest. Her hands pressed against the cool surface, itching to touch him and explain everything, but after his behavior at the docks, they’d barred her from the interrogation room, thinking her presence would only send him into a rage. She hated knowing they were right. The disappointment on his face when he’d seen her standing there, the misery, she’d never recover from it.
Now he sat slumped in a hard metal chair, staring at an invisible spot on the wall. His hair stood at a hundred different angles; blood circled his wrists, making him look like a battered angel. Beside him, Connor sat looking as though he were late for another, more important, appointment. Coolly detached, but impatient, while Bowen’s lights had gone out completely, like someone had turned off his switch. No, she’d knocked them out. She could only hope when he heard the truth, he would forgive her. That he would understand. And if he didn’t, she’d already made up her mind to barge in there and scream her head off until he did. She would summon every saint in her arsenal for aid in tearing through his wall and bringing him back to her. Saint Monica, possibly. Wasn’t she known as the saint of persistence? Or was she the patron saint of arthritis?
Focus, Sera.
Since Troy had been the one at her side during the mad rush to bring her new plan to fruition this afternoon, the one who would fix the problems her silence had created, he would be the one addressing Bowen and Connor. Right on cue, the interrogation room door opened and shut, Troy walking in and taking a seat across from the two men. Bowen didn’t make any move to acknowledge him. Connor tipped his chin up once and crossed his arms over his big chest, as if to say about time.
Troy cleared his throat and flipped open the file he’d been carrying. “You’ve probably assumed by now that we intercepted the stolen equipment, along with several of your accomplices, including Wayne Gibbs. Trevor Hogan has already lawyered up. It shouldn’t surprise you to know they’ve implicated you both, in addition to themselves. So much for taking one for the team, huh?”
Connor split a look between Troy and Bowen. “Come on, man. You some kind of masochist or something? Put the guy out of his misery.”
Troy closed the file with a sigh. “Bowen, you awake? I’m not going through this twice.”
Bowen held up his middle finger.
“Great. Thanks for joining us.” Troy nodded toward Connor. “We brought in Mr. Bannon this afternoon and made him an offer. I’ve been given permission by the newly appointed commissioner to make you the same one.”
Confusion flared in Bowen’s eyes. “All this song and dance better have a point.”
“Let me start from the beginning,” Troy said. “Through the information Sera collected in Hogan’s office, she discovered that her brother had been taking payouts from Hogan before his death. Her uncle was aware of it and covered it up. Hogan had a financial paper trail to back that up.”
“What?” Bowen sat up straighter in his chair as if he’d been reanimated. Sera watched as the wheels started turning in his head. “Are you telling me he knew Sera was going to put herself in danger? Hoping she’d find what he needed?”
“Yes.” Troy shot to his feet at the same time Bowen did, holding up a hand to ward him off. “We weren’t told the truth. Newsom had already destroyed the ledger Sera retrieved by the time we found o
ut. Luckily, Sera had recovered a hard drive off Hogan’s laptop and kept it to herself, instead of turning it over. It forced Newsom to make a full confession and as of an hour ago, he has been relieved of his position.” Troy paused. “He had already confessed to Sera last night. It’s why she wouldn’t go with him. And rightly so since he was willing to protect himself at all costs.”
“I…” Bowen’s jaw clenched. His fists shook at his sides. Even without those visible signs of rage, Sera could tell how much effort it cost him to remain in control. “I tied her up and left her for you. For him. You’re telling me I left her…unsafe?”
Troy hedged. “She was technically never in danger. As soon as you left her with Ruby, they called me and told me everything. I contacted the deputy commissioner immediately.” He lowered himself back into his chair. “We brought in Mr. Bannon and asked him to cooperate. It’s a good thing we did or we never would have known the shipment date had been moved. Sera had originally told us May ninth.”
Bowen flinched and Sera felt an answering pang in her chest. He still thought she’d set him up. She consoled herself with the reminder he wouldn’t think that for much longer.
“What does he mean by cooperated?” Bowen asked Connor dully.
“They offered me a way out of this place and I took it.” Connor looked uncomfortable, the first time Sera had ever seen him anything but confident, apart from the night he’d been shot. “I’ve got people to look after besides myself, and the way things were headed, I wouldn’t have been around much longer to do it.”
“Way out?” Bowen asked.
Troy nodded. “It took some convincing, but between Sera and me, we managed to persuade the deputy commissioner.” He flipped the file back open. “I have a contact back in Chicago. My old lieutenant. Derek Tyler. He’s a captain now with the Chicago PD and he needs men like you and Mr. Bannon. I’ve spoken to him, informed him of your backgrounds, and he thinks you’re exactly what he’s looking for. He’s rarely wrong about anything.”
