Bulletproof

by Maggie Cummings

  “It’s just…” She stopped herself. Not because she didn’t think Briana would listen. More because she didn’t know how to put into words that she’d never been in a relationship that was even remotely close to this. In the past, she’d only ever revealed an edited version of herself. With Briana she’d put it all on the line. She’d been unable to stop herself. The result was a union that was equal and honest and balanced and so full of love. What if even the smallest change messed with that dynamic? “Is your mind made up?” she finally asked.

  “No.” Briana looked right at her, and all Dylan wanted to do was kiss her.

  “Would you think about it a little longer?” Maybe it was selfish to even ask, but she needed to know she was doing everything to maintain their perfect status quo. Or maybe she just needed a minute to wrap her head around the idea. She wasn’t even sure. “Not forever. Just give it a bit more time?”

  “Of course.” Briana rubbed her forearm and coupled the gesture with a shrug that was submissive and sweet. “I would do anything for you.” She moved away and pulled the wagon along with her, advancing them down the row. “Come on. Let’s finish up and get out of here.” She dropped her voice to a whisper and added, “I literally don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you.”

  It was precisely what Dylan needed to hear.

  * * *

  Dylan secured the envelope and scribbled her initials and shield number across the seal at the top. The phones were quiet, and even activity in the field was sparse. While Shawn was busy scouring the financials of the Wine Bar and Paul Rafferty’s bank accounts, she tackled transcripts.

  She placed her work in two neat piles ready to be filed away for future reference and evidentiary purposes.

  “That’s all she wrote,” Dylan said as she capped her pen with finality.

  “All caught up?” Shawn asked without taking his eyes off his own busywork.

  “For the moment.” She laughed. “Cut to an hour from now when George starts his rounds, making calls and dropping off drugs to his clients.”

  “Enjoy the peace, I say.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles up on the counter.

  He wasn’t in position two seconds before Detective Chris Conroy burst into the room, knocking his feet down and playfully teasing, “Where’s your manners, bro?”

  Trevor was a half-step behind. “Oh, cool, you’re both here. We want to pick your brains on something.”

  “What’s up?” she asked, looking back and forth between them.

  Trevor looked at Dylan. “You know how you’ve been texting with Benji? And meeting up to buy more oxy?” He shifted his focus to Shawn. “And you zeroed in on some intel you think is related to a heavy hitter that Paul deals with. Like a real drug trafficker?”

  “Yes.” Shawn thumped his hand on a thick stack of papers. “Fernando Rojas. There’s definitely a link there. He contacts Paul a lot, but they never really say much on the phone. I did some digging, though, and Rojas’s name is on some of the paperwork used to open the Wine Bar. There’s some fugazi money transactions between them, I’m sure of it. I just don’t have it figured out yet.”

  Trevor nodded, taking it all in. “So what we were thinking…” He kneaded his hands together the way he did when he was gearing up for something big. “Dylan, you know how you told Benji you might have a friend interested in purchasing?”

  “I’m trying to get him to sell me more. Bigger quantity. Just to make the charges better, when it comes time to arrest.”

  “I know. It’s perfect.” He clapped Chris on the shoulder. “Next time, you’re going to bring Chris with you.” Dylan was about ready to protest but Trevor stopped her. “Hear me out.” He scratched his five o’clock shadow. “We have these guys dealing pills. On the phone, directly to you. And we know they’re into heroin. Fentanyl. Coke. But our initial victim was DOA on a heroin overdose. That is the predicate crime for this whole case. Dylan, remember the female student we interviewed in Jersey?” She nodded even though he was mostly just verbalizing a list. “She OD’d on heroin as well. It would be money if we could get an actual heroin sale. Bring everything full circle, lock it up real tight.”

  “I’m getting there, bro. Give me some time to develop my opioid habit, and I’ll go in for the quick cheap hit.”

  “I know. But do we really have time?” he asked. “Every day these guys are in business more drugs hit the streets. The risk of addiction increases. Lives get destroyed. People die. I hate the thought of that.”

  Dylan did too. It was something that kept her up at night.

  “Honestly, Dylan, and I mean no offense here.” Who fucking started a conversation like that? A know-it-all like Chris Conroy, that’s who. Dylan tried to control her irritated expression when she gave him her attention. “You don’t really pass as a heroin user.”

  “And you do?” She hated that she was being so defensive, but as far as this case was concerned, Chris Conroy was the newbie, not her.

  “I did seven years as a narcotics undercover.” Chris folded his arms across his chest, arrogant as fuck. “I got this.”

  “And we don’t think this is going to blow the case up?” Dylan wondered aloud. “What if they make us as cops when I walk in there out of the blue with a complete and total stranger?”

  “It’s a risk, for sure,” Trevor piped up. “But Benji’s sold to you a bunch already. And we need to do something to get to the next level.” He shrugged. “Obviously, we’ll be prepared if shit goes sideways. Pull the plug right on the spot. Make collars and hope one of ’em flips.”

  “That’s not going to happen anyway,” Chris said. “I know my stuff. I can do this.”

  “What’s the angle?” Shawn asked, beating her to the question.

  “I contacted one of my old confidential informants.” Chris rubbed his biceps as he talked. He was a little too in love with his own physique. “There was a turf war about a year and a half ago. Since then, Fernando Rojas has been trying to regain some territory in Washington Heights. I’ll go in with a backstory, casually drop some deets about living with my girlfriend up on Saint Nicholas Ave. I’m telling you, Paul’s greed will take over from there. We’re gonna see dollar signs in his eyes. Trust me, I know how this plays out.”

  He seemed so certain that Dylan was inclined to believe his instincts were correct. Trevor looked right at her, and she read his desire for her stamp of approval. She appreciated that he checked in with her. It highlighted how much she absolutely loved being part of this team. Even Chris’s outrageous ego couldn’t rain on her parade.

  “Hey, if you guys say this’ll work, far be it from me to throw shade.” She rolled her chair backward, conceding the spotlight.

  “We just have the small task of getting the AUSA on board.” Trevor winced. It was well known Briana’s aggressive drive was equally matched by her commitment to safety. This was going to be a hard sell.

  “It’s Briana Logan.” Chris waved Trevor off, all but assuring her approval was in the bag. “She loves me.”

  Gross. Dylan hated when people misinterpreted attention paid to them for doing their job as actual romantic interest. Good-looking men were the worst offenders, in her opinion. They simply couldn’t get past their own vanity to see that interaction was required to accomplish work.

  “She does?” Trevor asked, seeming keen to use any leverage to get the green light.

  “Bro.” He flexed his chest and biceps. “Ladies can’t resist me.”

  “You wish.” Thank God Shawn called his bluff. Dylan was afraid if she even opened her mouth, she’d tell him to back the fuck off.

  “No, I’m serious.” Chris crossed his arms and rocked back and forth on his heels. “We had, like, a thing. She was into me. One part of me in particular.”

  Dylan barely registered his smug laugh. She was too busy trying to make sense of what he was saying. There was no way this jerkoff could be telling the truth. Briana had rules. She didn’t cross lines.

&
nbsp; “Let me go talk to her,” Chris said. “If I have to take one for the team, so be it.” He puffed out his chest. “As good as Logan is in the courtroom, she’s even better in the bedroom.” His smile was full of grotesque pride at what he obviously considered a conquest. “She ain’t bad on the couch either.”

  “Enough.” Shawn threw both hands up, shutting Chris down. “That’s our boss you’re talking about. Have some respect.”

  It should have been her putting Chris in his place. Briana didn’t need defending, but jerks like Chris needed to be told that slut-shaming was unacceptable in every circumstance. But Dylan could barely breathe, let alone talk.

  The plant was so quiet that they all seemed to jump when the radio chirped. Ahmed’s voice boomed through, saying that Benji was headed north on the FDR. Dylan couldn’t even move to answer him. Thankfully Shawn grabbed the walkie and spat out a quick “10-4.”

  “I’m going to go talk to Briana,” Trevor said. He turned to Chris. “Go catch up with the surveillance. Stay in the back, so you don’t get burned before this even gets out of the gate.”

  Dylan wasn’t sure if she detected frustration in Trevor’s voice or if she was projecting her own feelings onto the entire situation. It didn’t matter. She was angry and hurt, and all she wanted to do was talk to Briana.

  It wasn’t even an option, which was maybe for the best. As soon as Benji was on the move, the phones came to life, and she and Shawn kept busy monitoring the info and relaying it to the field team. It was a distraction, but not enough. Images of Chris and Briana popped into her mind with zero warning. An hour passed and then another, her emotions slipping from jealously to betrayal and back again on a kind of distorted, torturous loop. Countless times she picked up her phone to text Briana but hesitated every time.

  She simply had no idea what to say.

  Why hadn’t Briana told her about Chris?

  There’d been myriad opportunities, but she’d said nothing. As the day wore on, that distinct question ate away at her, and the second Trish arrived to cover the evening shift, she grabbed her gear in a hurry.

  “Hey, Dylan.” Shawn caught her as she was about to leave the plant. “You okay?”

  “Yep,” she lied.

  “Karrakas will be here in five minutes. If you wait we could grab a drink.”

  “Not really feeling it. Thanks anyway.”

  “You sure?” He scratched his scruffy beard. “We don’t have to talk about anything. You just look like you could use a friend.”

  “Another time. Okay?”

  “Yeah, of course,” he said. “Just don’t drive yourself crazy. Chris is…” He shook his head. “He’s a showoff. Don’t let him get to you.”

  Dylan didn’t have time to deconstruct whether Shawn was trying to talk her down over Chris’s beefed-up role in the investigation or if he was advising her to chill out over the Briana bombshell he’d dropped.

  “Thanks, Shawn,” she said.

  There was kindness in his eyes, and Dylan could see his offer of friendship was real. But her head was pounding and going in a thousand directions at once. She just wanted to be alone.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Dylan’s phone vibrated in her pocket, and she had to put the laundry basket down to see who it was.

  Dinner?

  Briana. Normally she would jump on the invitation. But tonight she felt…uncertain. She closed her eyes and rolled her neck, hoping the right words would come to her. It was confusing. She wanted to see Briana, and she didn’t. They needed to talk, but she wasn’t ready.

  Three hours of chores hadn’t brought her any closer to peace over the situation.

  I’m not really hungry, she typed back. It was the truth even if it was a cop-out.

  I could pick something up and come over. I’m just leaving work now. It would still be a while before I get there…

  Would you mind if we skipped a night? I’m pretty beat.

  It wasn’t entirely true, but since leaving work, Dylan churned through one emotion after the next.

  There was the initial jealousy and anger over something that happened before they’d even met, and while she could talk herself out of those irrational feelings, it seemed nothing abated her sadness. Even when she told herself the past didn’t matter—because it didn’t—she kept coming back to the same thing. Briana had kept this from her, and she simply couldn’t wrap her head around that fact.

  Being kept in the dark undermined their entire connection. It made her feel disposable.

  You need a night off from me? Briana asked, following it with a quick LOL.

  Dylan swallowed hard, not knowing how to respond. It was kind of true, and it made her feel terrible. Her fingers hovered over the keypad as she tried for the right words. She was spared commenting when Briana sent another text.

  It’s fine, baby. I’ll check in later. Briana dropped in the kiss emoji.

  The relief Dylan felt triggered a kind of guilt. She found the big red heart and bounced it into the thread, hoping it was enough.

  After another forty minutes of mindless household tasks, she slipped under the covers with some chamomile tea and killed the lights. She cued up an old episode of ER, hopeful that some scripted drama was just the remedy to snap her funk.

  * * *

  Nine fifteen and the phones were already blowing up. Mornings at the plant were usually slow. Paul went to his day gig, being a lawyer to a mostly elderly clientele, likely stealing their prescriptions, definitely finagling their pensions. Benji hit the gym for two hours at a pop, and George never got out of bed before eleven.

  Dylan typically used the time to catch up on admin tasks, but this morning was a whole different story. She’d planned to text Briana and try to convince her into a coffee date around the block just so they could see each other.

  Those plans fell by the wayside when Paul started the day bright and early with a call to Benji. He ranted about a face-to-face he’d had with someone named Big Red. He repeated it over and over again, and even though he didn’t give details he sounded stressed. Dylan looked at Shawn and said, “Big Red. It’s gotta be Rojas.”

  “Bingo,” Shawn said.

  Dylan jotted details of the conversation, even though it didn’t seem overly pertinent until Paul instructed Benji to wake up George and meet him at the Wine Bar at ten a.m. sharp.

  “Nice,” Dylan said, reaching for the portable radio to update Trevor in the field. Shawn turned on the plant monitor and cued up the Wine Bar surveillance equipment to make sure everything was working properly. It was only a few minutes before Paul showed up, followed by Benji and a truly bedraggled looking George.

  “Is your fucking phone broken, man?” George’s voice echoed through the quiet bar.

  “Shut up, you lazy motherfucker.” Paul stood in the center of the space, and it honestly couldn’t have been a more perfect angle. He didn’t even take his coat off. “Listen to me. While you losers were partying or whatever the fuck last night, I met with the big man. Big Red.”

  George looked confused, or maybe he just wasn’t awake enough.

  “Rojas.” Paul spelled it out for him. “He’s tired of losing business up in the Heights. He needs an in. George, who do you know up there?”

  He ran his hands through his unkempt hair. “Fuck. No one, really.”

  “What about you, Goldenballs?” He nodded at Benji. “You got a piece of ass up that way?”

  “Not really, cuz.”

  “Well.” Paul shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “I suggest you find one. I don’t know. Check out the schools, the clubs. We need to solidify this relationship. This is our retirement plan right here, boys. Make it happen.”

  “Seriously, Paul, we couldn’t have had this conversation on the phone?”

  “Grow up, George. Or get a fucking real job.” Paul’s smile was slick. “Until that happens, I’m your boss. Don’t you fucking forget it.” He opened the door, all but pushing them out. “Get to work, gentlemen.”r />
  Shawn whipped his chair around. “Did we just get all that on audio and video?”

  “Fuck yeah, we did. Trevor’s going to be pumped.”

  Dylan watched Paul leave the Wine Bar before shutting down the eavesdropping devices. “I’m only slightly annoyed that it proved Chris’s intel was on the money.” She coupled her admission with a laugh, so Shawn would know she was mostly kidding. “After hearing how eager Paul is to get in deep with Rojas, it sounds like his plan will really work.”

  “He’s not a bad guy. Chris, I mean.” Shawn was busy logging and documenting the footage. “I know he’s arrogant as anything. And what he said yesterday about Logan was uncalled for—I’m not excusing that.” He kept his head down as he wrote. “But he always had my back when we were assigned to Team 4. For whatever that’s worth.”

  It was worth more than she wanted to admit. “I heard you had a rough time over there. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Some people suck.” He shifted his eyebrows. “What can you do?”

  “Are you happy here? With us on Team 2?”

  “Definitely. Everyone is cool here. Anyway”—he swiveled in his chair and Dylan hoped she hadn’t made it awkward—“you better call Trevor and give him the skinny. I’m sure he’s dying for the details.”

  Dylan barely got a sentence out before Trevor hit her with a bevy of questions. She slowed him down and provided every last tidbit, not realizing he was driving to the office the whole time they were on the phone. It was only when he burst into the wire room and his voice echoed from two different directions that she put it together.

  “Legal meeting at noon,” Trevor said as he hung up his cell. “Trish and Ahmed are coming in early to cover the phones. I’ll need you two upstairs with me since you both witnessed all of that.” He pointed at the monitor with his radio. “Obviously I’m going to watch it. First, I need to get Conroy in here so he can join us.” Trevor was always going a mile a minute, but this seemed a record even for him.

  “How is all this in the works already?” Dylan asked.