20. Reid
Chapter 20
Reid
I T’S BEEN THREE days since someone bumped into Willa, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s got something to do with the Bunnies. How could it not? I spent the weekend upgrading my existing security system and expanding it to encompass Willa’s place, getting Agatha’s permission to do it on hers as well. I’ve got a live feed that constantly pushes to my phone, and I’m not proud of how much I’ve been checking it.
I’ve never been like this. The entire time I was undercover with the Bunnies, I was calm. I understood the risks, and I was willing to take them.
But here? With Willa? I’m entirely unprepared for whatever this is. It’s suffocating, the constant worry. I can’t get a full breath and I’m entirely on edge. I need it to stop.
My shoes squelch as I run along the beach. I’ve not been on sand since leaving Miami, and I don’t know why I stopped, but my calves are screaming about it right now. After logging a mile on the torturous stuff, I turn up the access path and aim toward home, speeding up in an effort to get everything out of my head. Just focus on the run.
I’m out of breath and nearly ready to die by the time I arrive home. Slowing to a walk, my eyes land on something glinting on my doorknob.
I look around, checking up and down the street, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
Nothing.
Approaching my door, my gut clenches. It’s a white rabbit’s foot.
The Bunnies have been here.
My heart climbs into my throat, and spikes erupt inside my chest. It takes everything I have not to scream in frustration.
Stepping into the house, I pull up the security feeds, but of course, I see nothing. The Bunnies aren’t amateurs. I curse and punch the button to call my chief in Miami.
“MacKinnon.” His voice is gruff as he answers.
I don’t bother with niceties. “They’ve left their calling card on my front door.”
“Shit.”
“Anything you can do from there?”
A sigh comes through the phone. “You know as well as I do that you’re out of my jurisdiction. You’re on your own over there, Mac.”
My jaw ticks. “I figured. What about off the books? Anything?”
“Doubtful. I’ll alert the DA, but you know they won’t do shit over there.”
“Anything will help.”
“You good, MacKinnon? You don’t sound like your usual self.”
“I’m good,” I lie. “Just wasn’t expecting a rabbit’s foot on my front door.”
He grunts. “Going from the deliverer to the receiver.”
“Exactly.” Even though I’d never seen the results, I’d been the messenger of doom for the Bunnies more than my fair share of times when I was undercover.
“Stay alert. ”
“Will do,” I respond. We hang up, and I get ready for work. I stop by Betty’s desk at the station, asking her if she’s noticed anything out of the ordinary and telling her to be on the lookout.
She gives me a look. “Everything all right, Reid?”
What is it with the perceptive women in this town? But I give her what I hope is a convincing smile. “Of course. Just let me know if you hear of anything unusual?”
“Sure thing.”
My uncle has the same reaction as Chief Mu?oz when I deliver him the news. “Shit.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“Course not,” he scoffs. “You said we needed to keep this contained. Have you?”
“Not exactly,” I hedge.
“Not exactly? What does that mean?” His eyes narrow.
“Ox is a really good cop, you know that?” I say instead.
He huffs. “He is. But whatever he does or doesn’t know is on you, son. Not me.”
“Understood.”
“You’re on duty with Thompson today.”
I nod, not happy to be paired with the guy but knowing better than to argue about it, and leave him to it.
Officer Ted Thompson is no more a fan of me than I am of him, and he flicks his eyes at me dismissively when I join him at the front of the station. “Stuck with each other today?”
I don’t bother answering, moving to open the door and gesturing for him to go in front of me. He makes a sound of disgust, and the flare of anger that swells inside me takes me by surprise.
We head to the pier, with Thompson naturally choosing to drive the short distance instead of walking. He’s the exact type of cop that gives the rest of us a bad name, and between the rabbit’s foot this morning and my need to be one step ahead of his surly attitude, my nerves are shot. I leap out of the car the second he puts it in park, filling my lungs with the salty ocean breeze. I clock everything around me: the young teenagers who bounce and jostle each other as they head toward the shake and burger shack on the corner, the number and type of vessels out in the water, the old man who sits and reads the paper outside of the bait and tackle shop just off the front of the pier, the joggers, the moms with strollers. No hint of anyone who’d be with the Bunnies.
Everything is cataloged and filed before Thompson heaves his bulk out of the front seat and joins me, his hands resting on his utility belt and surveying the pier as if he rules over it. He starts for the teenagers. “Looks like we have our work cut out for us.”
I block him, my arms deliberately loose.
“What are you doing?”
“Please tell me why you think you need to talk to those kids.”
His eyes flash. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, MacKinnon.”
“Give me one good reason to speak to them,” I repeat. This asshole has no idea what I’ve experienced in Miami, and I am not dealing with his racist ass today.
His eyes, bloodshot and beady, flit between mine as he considers my words. Finally, he huffs and turns in the direction of the pier. I know he plans to ticket as many people as possible, but I’ll take a handful of twenty-dollar fines over harassing kids for their skin color any fucking day of the week.
Sure enough, Thompson has a grand old time, his enjoyment over ticketing tourists for not having the proper license growing with each one he issues. But after he writes the fifth citation in as many people as he’s asked, I’m done. “What is it with you?”
He turns to me, his expression dangerous. “Me? What is it with you ?”
“They’re here to relax, Thompson, not trying to wipe the pier of fish. What’s your deal?”
He shrugs. “There are signs everywhere. The license is three dollars. They need to learn their lesson.”
I clench my jaw, knowing I should let it go. Arguing with partners—temporary or not, racist assholes or not—puts a target on my back if something goes wrong.
He smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
Well, fuck him then. “Only lesson they’re learning is that you’re a petty prick, and you’re making the rest of us look like pricks right alongside you.”
He laughs, entirely too pleased to have gotten a rise out of me. Then he leans forward and lowers his voice. “Listen up, you little shit. I don’t like you. Coming here from your big city thinking you’re hot stuff when it’s easy enough to see you couldn’t do a real policeman’s job if your life fucking depended on it. You’re slow to react, you probably couldn’t hit a target even if it were served up to you on a platter, and your observational skills are worse than a blind man’s.”
The urge to throat-punch the asshole is high, but I hide it, crossing my arms and regarding him coolly. “You’re a real treat, you know that?”
His ruddy cheeks get redder. “We’re done here.”
“Pretty sure you don’t need a partner to harass the tourists. I’ll finish my shift alone.” I pivot and walk away, already knowing I’ve behaved rashly and unable to give a shit.
He mutters a few words behind me that I don’t catch, but I keep going. If I spend another minute in his company, I’m liable to do something I’ll regret.