Love on the Line (Love Beyond Danger Book 3)

by Diane Holiday

Wyatt’s heart jumped. “How? Who?”

  “A body turned up in the river,” John said. “The dude must have really pissed someone off because he was missing a hand and half an ear.”

  “Holy shit.” Talk about gruesome. “I guess that stuff happens in the city with gangs and all, but what’s the connection to us?”

  “I’ll explain in a sec. The river rat’s name was Louie Capello. Ring any bells?”

  “No, never heard of him.” Wyatt stopped at a light.

  “I did some checking around with the locals after I found out where he lived.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Didn’t get any names, but it turns out he has some buddies who are regulars at Jerry’s. It’s a local bar in Baltimore. Never been in the place, but I know of it.”

  When the light turned green, Wyatt hit the gas pedal. “Okay.”

  “Word on the street is they’re for-hire hands, almost any job. One of them matches your description with the tattoos and bandana. That got me thinking. Maybe Capello and his friends were your attackers. Might be a dead end, because lots of bikers dress like that, but I’m checking every possible lead.”

  An image of the guy dragging Anne into the alley flashed in Wyatt’s head, and his stomach tossed. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “So, what now?”

  “I’ll send you a picture of Capello. Tell me if you recognize him. They’re running a DNA test against the sample they took from under Anne’s nails.”

  “I didn’t know they did that.” God, anyone could have done anything to her while Wyatt was lying there like a helpless sack-of-shit. His chest burned, and he ground his teeth together.

  “Don’t blame yourself. You were knocked out. If it’s a match, we have one of them, but he won’t be talking.”

  “Yeah, too bad.” Wyatt parked in the high school lot.

  “It’s Friday. Bet they’ll show up at Jerry’s tonight. How about meeting me at ten, and you can keep an eye out for anyone you recognize from the alley?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Okay. The bar is in a tough part of town. Dress to fit in, and lock your car.”

  “Got it. I’ll leave the ascot at home.”

  “Just bring your ass.” John hung up.

  When the picture message came, Wyatt tapped the screen. The muscles in his neck went rigid. That was the guy, all right.

  He typed a quick note back to John.

  Wyatt’s phone dinged as he parallel parked on the street near Jerry’s.

  A text from John. Stay put. Need to talk before we go in.

  Cutting the engine, Wyatt waited. Maybe a change in plans? Could be anything.

  A minute later, John opened the passenger door and got in the car.

  Wyatt glanced at him and did a double take. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the mustache was real.

  John handed him a Raiders ball cap. “Wear this low to hide your face. I don’t want anyone to recognize you. Black and silver will blend in, and no one would expect a Ravens player to wear another team’s hat.”

  A sliver of apprehension wound itself around Wyatt’s lungs. “Why the mustache?”

  “I work undercover, so no one should make me as a detective, but I don’t take chances.” He met Wyatt’s eyes, the usual glint of humor absent. “I’ve been at this for a long time. I know how these scumbags think and work. Sometimes I make it up as I go, and I need you to trust me and follow my lead.”

  Wyatt nodded. Shit was getting real. He’d never seen John in action.

  “I think someone hired these creeps. If that’s the case, your problems aren’t over until we find out who.” John glanced at the bar front. “Depending on what happens in there, we might have to let the small fry go to catch the big fish. Are you all right with that? It’s a risk.”

  If John’s theory held true, nothing would stop the person behind the attack from striking again. Much as Wyatt wanted all of them in jail, he needed to get to the bottom of things. “I trust whatever you think.”

  “All right. If they show up, don’t talk unless I ask you a question, and keep your cool.”

  “Got it.” Wyatt put on the cap.

  John patted his coat. “I’m wired and have a camera. Don’t have the resources to keep agents staked out night after night when we have no idea if or when these dicks might show up. If those assholes are in there, I’ll call for backup, and we’ll make our move once we’re covered.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  They entered the bar and found a table located behind the door. Perfect position for a stakeout. John told Wyatt to sit facing the wall so all people would see was his back. Heavy-metal music blared, and the rowdy crowd at the bar yelled over the noise.

  John was right about the place. Full of bikers wearing black shirts, leather vests, wallet chains, and bandanas. He and John almost fit in with their black Tees, ripped jeans, denim jackets, and boots. Close enough.

  A few of the bikers had glanced at John and Wyatt when they entered, but either lost interest when they took the small table away from the action, or were intimidated by their size. Hard to say. At least they were tucked back in a dark corner and far enough from the loud speakers to hold a conversation.

  Trish approached with a big smile.

  Wyatt did a double take. He hadn’t seen her working at the Corner Bar for a while. Now he knew why.

  “Hey, didn’t expect to see you two in here.” She flicked a finger at John’s mustache. “That’s new. I like it.”

  John sat taller and smiled back. He’d always had a thing for her, but had never got around to asking her out, and then she’d disappeared. A petite brunette with big brown eyes, she was totally his type. Her gaze lingered on his chest, then snapped back to his face. Wyatt bit into a grin as his buddy postured.

  “When did you start working here?” John asked.

  “Couple of months ago. Right after some jerk got me fired.” Her mouth twisted. “He complained to my manager because I didn’t leap to his beck and call when he snapped his fingers. I had other tables, and he was a snobby asshole. Full of himself.”

  “That sucks.” Wyatt said.

  “Yup. Worked there for three years, busted my ass, and had a bunch of loyal regulars like you guys. Didn’t matter. Mr. Big Wig apparently threw his weight around, and next thing I knew, I was out the door.” She perched a hand on her hip. “The bastard actually went to the trouble of leaving me a one cent tip that night to make sure I knew he didn’t forget.”

  John shook his head. “Unbelievable. For what it’s worth, we miss you there.”

  “Aww, thanks. Whatcha drinking?”

  They ordered a couple of Buds, and Trish went to the bar.

  “I’m not going to drink, but I want the bottle in front of me so I don’t stand out,” John said.

  Wyatt scanned the room. His hopes sank. “Don’t recognize anyone.”

  “It’s still early.”

  Trish returned with their beers. “Here ya go. Anything else?”

  “No, thanks.” John gave her another one of his killer smiles, and Wyatt snorted. His chance to poke some fun at the putz. Wyatt sure as hell had taken his shots the night he’d spilled his drink on Anne.

  John’s eyes narrowed. “Check out the two bikers who just entered.”

  Wyatt twisted in his seat, eyeing the guys headed to the bar. A shot of adrenaline raced through Wyatt’s body, and he balled his hands into fists. “That’s the guy who punched me. The one with the skulls bandana and the Harley Davidson shirt.”

  “Recognize the other guy?”

  Wyatt frowned. “Didn’t see him well that night. He’s about the right size.”

  “Stay calm.”

  The steel glint in John’s eyes meant all business now. Wyatt nodded and forced down the urge to throttle the bastards. He had to play by John’s rules.

  “Time to call for backup.” John pulled out his phone, a piece of paper, and a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. He type
d a text message and then scribbled a note.

  “What’s that?” Wyatt squinted, trying to read the writing upside down.

  “A little business proposition. I don’t want to confront them at the bar around all their buddies. If they think we want to hire them, they’ll come over here.” His phone vibrated, and he checked the text. “Backup will be here in five minutes.”

  Wyatt nodded. Time seemed to freeze as each long second ticked by.

  At last, John said, “Roger that.” He met Wyatt’s eyes. “They’re in position, and we’re live.”

  He must have been answering them through his mic. A rush of energy flooded Wyatt’s body like it used to before a trick play.

  John waved at Trish to get her attention, and she stopped by their table. “Whatcha need?”

  He handed her the note. “Can you give this to the guy at the bar wearing the bandana with skulls on it? He’s standing next to a dark-haired, bigger man.”

  Trish’s gaze cut to the group of bikers. “That’s Moe Dog in the bandana and Charlie beside him.”

  “You know them?” John asked.

  “Yeah.” Her nose crinkled like she smelled something foul. “Those two are the worst cheapskates. I’d have to eat dog food for survival if I relied on their tips.”

  As Trish left, taking the note with her, John faced Wyatt. “Don’t turn around. I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

  “Got it.”

  “They’re reading the note. Now Trish is pointing to us.” John gave them a small nod. “Trish just shrugged and walked away.”

  Wyatt’s heart thumped harder. Damn his banged-up body. If things got physical, he’d rather be in top shape. Christ, how did John do this shit for a living? “Are they coming over?”

  “Looks like it. They’re headed our way. Remember, don’t say anything unless I ask a question and keep your head down.”

  A voice came from behind Wyatt. “Never seen you in here before. Who told you about us?”

  “Word gets around.” John waved at the empty seats. “Sit down and we can talk.”

  Silence.

  With them out of his sight, Wyatt had no idea from their expressions what they were thinking.

  “We need to check you out first, or tell us who sent you here,” the man said.

  Shit. Wyatt’s hands turned clammy. This could all go sideways.

  “I’m not tossing names around until I find out if you’re the real deal.” John held his hands up in a suit-yourself gesture. “Job can’t wait. You don’t want it, I’ll move on down my list.”

  The guys muttered something to each other that Wyatt couldn’t make out, then said, “All right, we’ll talk.”

  Moe Dog sat beside John, and Charlie next to Wyatt.

  John tapped Wyatt’s boot under the table. “These the guys?”

  Wyatt glanced at them. Both were large, but not fit, with beer bellies and double chins. Wyatt could easily take either of them in a fight. Several scars disfigured Moe Dog’s face, including a long, jagged one that ran from his ear to his under his jaw. Doubtful Charlie scored many dates with his beady eyes, crooked oversized nose, and acne-pocked skin. Wyatt fisted a hand against his thigh, controlling the strong desire for revenge. “Yup. These are the guys.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Moe Dog. “Thought we were gonna talk about a job.”

  “Maybe not.” He pointed to Wyatt. “Recognize him?”

  Wyatt raised his head so the asshole could see his face.

  Moe Dog’s eyes widened. He shot a wild look to his friend, then the door.

  “Wouldn’t do it.” John gestured to Wyatt. “With his positive ID, I have enough to arrest and officially question you at the station. We can chat here or you can get locked up there. Your choice.”

  Moe Dog sneered, “Or we can tell everyone in this place you’re the heat. You’ll be dead before your body hits the floor.”

  Wyatt’s pulse raced, his muscles tense and ready for anything.

  John didn’t flinch. He tapped a button on his jacket. “Body cam. Say “hi” to my friends in the van parked on the street.” He leaned on the table. “Play nice, and I’ll forget the threat.”

  The two thugs glanced at each other. The stink of body odor came off them, and Wyatt understood why Trish had wrinkled her nose earlier. John had them sweating now.

  Finally, Moe Dog cursed and gave a jerky nod.

  “Let’s start with your names, and don’t bullshit me because I can find out easy enough,” John said.

  He must not have wanted them to know Trish had told him already. Probably best to keep her out of it as much as possible. Wyatt tugged his cap down lower.

  “I’m Moe Dog, and he’s Charlie.”

  John whipped his phone out and tapped the screen. He held up a picture of Capello. “You know this guy?”

  Moe Dog frowned and huffed out a breath. “Yeah. Used to.”

  Charlie’s forehead glistened with sweat.

  “Who hired you to rough him up?” John gestured to Wyatt.

  Wyatt held his breath. John was fishing with the question. This was the risk he’d talked about.

  Charlie’s jaw dropped, and he shook his head hard. “No way. We ain’t crossing that crazy ass.”

  Moe Dog kicked him. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Wyatt dug his nails into his palm, his pulse zipping. So, someone had hired them. John had hit pay dirt. He’d been right all along. But who? And why?

  “I don’t rat. I got a reputation.” Moe Dog crossed his arms.

  John smirked. “So do I. People who don’t cooperate with me end up in a lot of trouble. I promise you, puppy, if you don’t talk to me, I’ll make you my personal chew toy. I got vacation time and I’ll take it all dancing on your ass. See how much business you can do with a cop as your shadow. Now talk or I’m taking you in.”

  Red blotches formed on Moe Dog’s face. “Okay, okay, I got a lead on a job. No strings, good money, just bust up a guy and get out.”

  Wyatt’s blood simmered. Someone really had it in for him, but he had no idea why.

  John leaned forward. “I’ll ask again. Who hired you?”

  “Don’t know his name. Met him in the alley. He paid cash, and I didn’t ask questions.”

  “Paid you full, up front?”

  “No motherfucker’s that stupid.” Moe Dog waved a hand. “Half up front, said the rest would come after.”

  John nodded. “Describe him.”

  Moe Dog shook his head. “It was dark, so I didn’t see his face. Just a normal size dude.”

  “Not helpful.” John scoffed. “You’re giving me nothing. We’re done. I’m taking you both in.”

  Moe Dog grabbed John’s arm as he raised out of the chair. “Wait, there’s more.”

  “Thought so. Now stop fucking with me.” John eased back down.

  “I didn’t see much, cuz the dude had on a long coat and a hat. He gave me an envelope. Told us not to hurt the bitch, only the guy.”

  Rage snapped Wyatt’s slim hold on self-control, and he yanked Moe Dog up by the shirt. Before he could smash his fist into the bastard’s face, John caught his arm and shoved him back into his seat. John’s eyes flashed, and he scanned the room behind Wyatt.

  Moe Dog tugged his shirt down and held a hand up to someone, shaking his head.

  Wyatt’s body quaked and he took a deep breath. John had warned him to keep his cool. They didn’t need a brawl. He gave John a quick I’m-on-board now nod.

  Moe Dog glared at Wyatt before turning back to John. “The guy was fucking crazy. We did what he asked. He gave me three-fourths of the pay off and said Louie was gonna get his separately. Next thing we know, Louie’s dead.”

  John rubbed his chin. “You think he killed Louie. Why?”

  “Dude was pissed that Louie slapped the bi”—Moe Dog’s gaze darted to Wyatt, then back to John—“girl, and said people paid for not following orders. That’s all I know, man.”

  John drummed his fingers on the tabl
e. “I’m gonna make a deal with you.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “I need the name of the fourth guy in your operation. That’s not negotiable. And you tell me where your boss is. After you three ID him, we’ll discuss your charges.”

  “What kind of shit deal is that?” A vein bulged in Moe Dog’s neck.

  “The best offer you’re gonna get. So, where is he?”

  Moe Dog shrugged. “No idea.”

  John stared him down, and tension crackled between them.

  Charlie finally spoke, “He wasn’t from around here, but we can do some digging. And yeah, I’ll ID the fucker if you bring him in.” He shot a look at Moe Dog, as if daring him to say anything. “Louie was my cousin.”

  Wyatt’s stomach flipped. They’d have at least one sure ID.

  John picked up his phone. “Gimme your full names and numbers, including your fourth man who’s not here. None of this nickname bullshit, and don’t even think about leaving town. I got eyes all over this place. If I don’t get a lead on this guy in a week, I’m taking you both downtown. If I get a fake, you’ll be riding wheelchairs instead of bikes.”

  Moe Dog scowled but gave John the information and slunk out of the bar with Charlie.

  Wyatt massaged his temple, his head hurting. “I’m floored. No idea what any of this is about.”

  “These thugs are scared shitless of whoever killed Capello. That’s why they won’t give him up. They’ll ID him, but they won’t be the snitches to turn him in. It’d be suicide.” John glanced at the bikers getting louder at the bar. “Time to leave.”

  Trish came over to their table and stopped next to John. “You guys want another round?”

  “Nope. Just the tab,” John said.

  She wrote something on the bottom of their check and placed it on the table. “Sure thing.”

  John picked up the bill. He stared at it, and his eyebrows raised.

  “What’s up?” Wyatt asked.

  “I’ll tell you outside.” John tossed some bills on the table and stood.

  Wyatt followed him out the door. What the hell was going on? This was crazier than sandlot football. No rules with split-second decisions that could make or break the game. Constantly on the defense.

  John faced him. “Sorry for the smack-down, but I couldn’t let you hit that dick in front of me. We had them where we wanted them and were damn lucky no one in the bar went all Hell’s Angels on us.”