by Tracy Wolff
Thankfully, I don’t have to say any of that to my little sister because Jace appears in the break room door, looking tired but more than ready to go another round with his decryption program.
“I can sleep when I’m dead,” he says, leaning against the doorway as he sucks down another bottle of Dr Pepper in a couple of long sips. “I’ve got this, Nic. The program I wrote in the middle of the night should be able to crack the encryption in the next couple of hours.”
“Until then, he should sleep,” Lena says fiercely. “He’s got it set up so an alarm goes off on his phone when something breaks.”
“I’ve been up all night, too,” I tell her, yanking one of her curls as I walk by. “I don’t see you worrying about me getting sleep. Wonder why that is?”
“Shut up!” she hisses, her caramel skin going even duskier as she casts a look at Jace.
He doesn’t say anything, but then, what’s he going to say? He’s so hell-bent on fighting his own demons—and staying away from my little sister—that I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a clue how she feels about him. The jackass.
“Any idea what you’re going to find when your magic program finally works?” I ask, nodding at Jace to follow me back into the break room. Someone’s made coffee, thank God, and I pour myself a huge-ass cup, not even caring that I burn my mouth on the first sip.
Now that I don’t have a hot woman grinding on my lap, I’m fucking exhausted.
The last forty-eight hours have been a massive head trip, and not knowing where it’s going to end—or how shit is going to play out—only makes the head trip worse. But until I figure out what Anderson wanted from the car, I won’t know how to play this. How desperate he is is going to correlate with how dirty he is, and until I know that I won’t know how far to push him—or what tack to use—to get what I want.
“Hell if I know,” Jace says, cracking open another Dr Pepper. He lives on the things when he’s hacking.
“You don’t have any idea at all?”
“Bank account numbers seem like the most logical guess,” he says with a shrug. “But who the fuck puts that shit in a car that’s going to be impounded? Even if it didn’t get sold by mistake, the chance that the sweepers would find something when they were going over the car has to be pretty high, right? I mean, it took me less than twenty minutes to figure out something wasn’t jibing with the car’s diagnostics and I don’t even do that whole investigative shit for a living.”
“Yeah, but that’s from choice, not talent. You’re better than any asshole they have on their e-crimes team. I guarantee it.”
“It’s okay, Nic, you don’t have to butter me up. I’m already a sure thing.”
“Fuck you!” I tell him after nearly choking on my coffee.
“I thought you’d have figured out by now, I’m not that kind of girl.” He flips me off as he heads for the door. “Besides, I’m pretty sure that girl of yours isn’t big on sharing.”
“Jordan’s not my girl.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” he says as he tosses the now empty Dr Pepper bottle into the nearest recycle bin. “That your mind went straight to Jordan when I mentioned your girl? Even though I never used her name.”
It’s my turn to flip him off, but he just shoots me a glare before walking out. Huh. Guess he didn’t take my comment to Lena as well as I thought he had…
He doesn’t have to. If there’s anyone in my crew as anxious to nail Anderson’s ass to a wall as I am, it’s Jace. He’s been wanting a chance to take the bastard out ever since Lena got thrown into that home when I went to prison. He’s not about to blow the best chance we’ve ever had.
With that thought in mind, I head back to my office to tackle the paperwork I’ve been putting off for fucking ever. When I opened Hotwired, I did it because I love cars and wanted a chance to do something with them that was actually legit for a change. How the fuck was I supposed to know there was so damn much paper pushing involved in fixing up cars? It makes me fucking nuts.
I’m about five hours into the paperwork—after about ten trips to the garage to check on Jace’s progress and to answer a couple questions from Sean and Gabe about the cars they’re working on—when my best friend bursts into my office, eyes wild and a huge grin on his face.
“You got it?” I demand, already pushing back from my desk.
“I got it!” he crows, then heads back to his computers at a dead run. I’m right behind him.
When we get back to the garage, the others are already crowded around the computers waiting.
“What is it?” Payton demands, crowding into Jace’s right side since I’m standing on his left.
Jace strikes a couple of keys and we all watch as a list of numbers appears on the left side of the screen while dollar amounts pop up directly across from each of the numbers on the right.
“Bank accounts?” Heath snarls.
“They’re too short,” I tell him. “All the numbers are four digits long.”
“Then what are they?” Payton demands, leaning in closer to get a better look. “Because those are definitely dollar signs.” She points to the column on the right.
“They’re badge numbers,” Jace says, scrolling across one and then through to another screen, one that reads San Diego Police Department across the top. He enters a badge number in the blank in the middle of the screen and we watch as Detective Matteo Rodriguez’s information and service record flashes across the monitor.
“They have this out there for anybody to access?” Sean asks incredulously. “You just plug in a badge number on the SDPD site and all the guy’s information comes up?”
Jace shoots him a look over his shoulder, then goes back to the other screen and picks another badge number. When he enters it, information on Lieutenant Grace Rogers comes on screen. “I’m logged into SDPD’s personnel files. None of this information is public access.”
He picks a third badge number, does the same thing. This time it belongs to a Detective Vincent Ramos. I skim the screen quickly before Jace picks another number to enter.
“How many are there?” I demand, because the column of numbers runs off the first page and onto four others.
“Two hundred and seventy-four,” Jace answers.
Gabe whistles low and long. “How many police officers are there total in the SDPD?”
“Almost seventeen hundred, according to this.”
“Seventeen hundred?” I demand, doing a quick calculation in my head. “You’re telling me about fifteen percent of the department is on that list?”
“Looks like.” Jace doesn’t look away from the computer, but I can tell by the grim set of his jaw that we’re thinking the same thing.
“They all vice?” That’s what Anderson is now and that’s what the three cops Jace pulled up are, according to their personnel records. I checked.
“I haven’t been through all the numbers yet.”
“Yeah, but so far? They’re all vice?”
“Vice and gangs,” he tells me.
“So what? The money on the right is how much they’ve been paid off?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m writing a quick program to run inside the personnel records, so I don’t have to sit here and go through each badge number by hand. Once I’ve got the list of officers, I’ll start digging, see what I can come up with.”
“That’s dangerous, isn’t it?” Lena says from where she’s standing in the doorway between the office and the garage. “Digging into the finances of crooked cops?” She turns to me. “Nic, you can’t let him do it! They’ll kill him if they find out.”
“They’ll kill your brother if I don’t.” Jace turns to face her. “What did you think, Lena? That Anderson was just going to let Nic walk away after he stole that car for him?”
“Shut it, Jace.”
“No, he’s right,” Payton says. “I know you’re worried about Benji—we all are. But Nic totally put his head on the chopping block to save your kid. Guys like Anderson don’t like lo
ose ends and Nic’s a loose end. We all are, if he finds out that we know what Nic did.”
“What did you think all this was for?” Jace asks her. “I haven’t been playing around in here for the last twenty-four hours.”
“I know that!”
“Well, then, what did you think we were going to find? We weren’t looking for a damn grocery list!”
“I am aware of that, Jace. I thought you’d find something on Anderson that would get him off our backs for good.” She gestures at the computer. “But that’s not just Anderson. If what you say is true, you’re talking about a lot of cops. There’s no way to take them all down. They’ll kill you first.”
“They’ll kill him anyway,” Sean tells her. “Getting to the bottom of this and making it stick is the only way to save your brother.”
“And the rest of us,” Heath adds. “Don’t forget the rest of us!”
“Enough!” I order, unable to look at my sister’s tear-drenched eyes for another second. “No one’s going to die.”
“You don’t know that!” Lena tells me.
“I do know it, because there’s no way I’m going to let that happen.”
“We,” Jace says with a glare. “No way we’re going to let that happen.”
“Right. We,” I agree to placate him. Because the truth is, once he gets the information I need, he’s out. They all are. If this thing is as big as Jace thinks it is, then there’s no fucking way I’m letting it anywhere near my family or my friends. No way I’m putting them at risk just because I did something stupid ten years ago. No fucking way.
“I don’t believe you,” Lena tells me.
“Oh, yeah? When have I ever lied to you?”
Before she can answer, a car pulls into the one open garage bay like its driver owns the place. Already pissed off from this whole conversation that I had no intention of having with my sister, I turn to set the asshole straight only to find Anderson climbing out of the driver’s seat.
“Hey, Nic,” he says, sounding surprisingly friendly considering the last time he saw me he threatened to kill me. Somehow the friendliness makes me feel much more uneasy than the threats ever did. “I was hoping to catch you here.”
A quick glance at Jace’s computers shows me he’s already buried the list of badge numbers and pulled up the diagnostics on the Corvette we’re currently working on. Payton figures it out, too, because smooth as silk, she’s pointing at the computer screen and talking about what changes need to be made to the engine to get the owner what he wants. And the others are all nodding along like she’s preaching the gospel according to Payton and they’re her true believers. All except Lena, who’s disappeared back to her spot behind the receptionist’s desk.
So many reasons I’ve got the best crew around.
I walk over to Anderson, forcing my fists to unclench as I do. I want nothing more than to put this fucker through the nearest wall, but I can’t. Not yet. Not before we know all the details of what the fuck we’re dealing with here.
I think about playing it as friendly as he is, but if that doesn’t raise a red fucking flag in his head, I don’t know what will. So I settle for a simple “What do you want, Anderson?”
“I was hoping we could talk in your office.”
I hold my arms out wide in front of me. “This is my office.”
He doesn’t look impressed, but then, I don’t actually give a fuck. Not when it’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to beat this asshole within an inch of his fucking life. “Fine.” He gestures for me to walk outside with him, like that’ll give us some kind of privacy. He obviously doesn’t know my crew.
“I got you the car,” I tell him once we’re out of the garage. “And I told your guy that’s it. I’m not doing anything else for you.”
“He delivered the message.”
“Then I’m not exactly sure what you’re doing here, considering there’s no way in hell I’m going to help you out again.”
“You talk a good game,” he says, eyebrows lifting and lowering in acknowledgment. “But you’ve got nothing to back you up and we both know it. You’re going to do whatever I ask of you or I’m going to bury your nephew so deep in the system it’ll take a miracle to get him out.”
“You can try,” I answer as my blood starts to fucking boil.
“Oh, I’ll do more than try,” he tells me. “I don’t make idle boasts. I thought you’d figured that out about me by now.”
“And I don’t take well to being blackmailed—I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”
His eyes narrow. “Blackmail’s such an ugly accusation. I’d be careful of how I throw it around if I were you.” He adjusts his tie, flicks his hair back from his face. “I much prefer to think of it as you doing me a favor. Quid pro quo, if you will.”
“I know where the quid is, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have a clue where the pro quo is in this relationship.”
“You’re not in jail, are you? Your nephew is safe at home and so is that screwup of a brother of yours. I’d say there’s some reciprocity going on.”
I grit my teeth, try to wipe from my mind the image of plowing my fist into his face. I don’t succeed.
“What do you want?” I ask when I can finally form rational words again. The question sounds no more friendly than the first time I asked it.
“I need you to do a favor for a friend of mine,” he says. “It’s an easy boost, shouldn’t be any trouble for you at all. I’ve got the address right here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slip of paper with an East San Diego address on it. Not a good neighborhood, if I’m placing the street correctly. And I am.
“When?” I ask, because there really isn’t anything else to say.
“Tomorrow night. Any time after eight. The car will be parked in the lot.” He starts to back away.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I ask before he’s taken more than a step or two.
“What?” he snaps.
“What car am I stealing? Unless it’s the only one in the lot…”
“Oh.” He fumbles for a second, tries to find an excuse. “I thought I’d written it down for you.”
I hold up the paper, show him that it’s blank except for the Adams Avenue address.
“It’s a black, 2014 BMW 7 series. Tinted windows, custom rims. You’ll know it when you see it.”
He’s just described the cars of half the drug dealers in town and he thinks I won’t be suspicious? I know he doesn’t have much respect for my intelligence, but come on. Does he really think I don’t recognize an ambush when I see one?
I don’t say any of that, though, just nod along like I don’t have a clue he’s setting me up to die. “And where do I take it? Same place as before?”
“Yeah. Same place.” He nods. “Raul will take care of everything.”
“Okay, then. Tomorrow night, after eight.”
“Good.”
“And when it’s done?” I ask, just to see him squirm a little. “I’m done, right? No more favors for your friends, no more jobs for you. This is the last time.”
He nods. “Definitely the last time, Medina. You’ve got my word on it.”
I just bet I do. Pretty hard to boost cars if I’m dead, after all.
Before I can come up with something to say that isn’t “fuck you, asswipe,” a bright orange Mercedes SLS AMG GT comes speeding down the drive straight at us. Holy fucking shit. Like this afternoon couldn’t get any fucking worse…
Anderson turns to watch. Even if he wasn’t a suspicious son of a bitch—which he is—it’s a car that begs to be watched at the best of times.
The driver pulls to a stop a few feet away from us and Anderson’s head whips around to face me before I can even think about coming up with a reasonable excuse. “What’s she doing here?”
“She’s nobody,” I tell him, palms sweating and panic racing down my spine for the first time since this cat-and-mouse game began.
“I didn’t
ask who she is,” he says, voice flat and eyes threatening. “I know who she is. I asked what she was doing here.”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s having an issue with her new car—”
“That’s your car,” he tells me from between clenched teeth. “What kind of game do you think you’re running on me?”
“You’re the one who came to me, man,” I assure him as Jordan lifts the driver side gullwing up so she can step out of the car. Goddamnit. Talk about bad fucking timing. “I would have been happy never to see you again.”
She starts toward me like she’s got something to say, but I deliberately turn away. The last thing either of us needs is for Anderson to figure out just how familiar we’ve become with each other in the last twenty-four hours.
As I move, I shift so that I’m blocking his view of her. Then I hold up a hand behind my back in what I hope is a subtle gesture, telling her to stop.
She doesn’t exactly heed my warning, but she does shift her focus, walking straight past me. She stops at Jace, instead, and asks, “My car’s making a strange noise—some kind of shimmy clank thing that really doesn’t sound good. I was wondering if someone here could check it out?”
“We’re not really that kind of garage,” Jace tells her and I can all but feel his eyes boring into the back of my head as he plays along.
“Yes, but you’re the only place around I’d trust with my baby,” Jordan says in a pretty impressive whine. “It’s not like I can take her to some greasy garage, now can I?”
As Jace starts to explain why we don’t fix shimmy noises, Anderson—who’s been watching the exchange like a hawk—finally turns away.
“Remember,” he says, pointing at me as he opens his own car door. “After eight o’clock tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there,” I tell him. Then watch as he climbs in his car and makes a three-point turn to head back toward the street. In fact, I don’t stop watching him until he’s turned onto the street and sped past the traffic light on the corner.
As soon as he’s disappeared from sight, I turn on Jordan. “What are you doing here?” I demand.
