23. Bradley
brADLEY
“How are you feeling?” Frank smirks at me across the table, clinging to the amusement of the entire situation while I sit with a slightly throbbing headache and an unsettled gut.
“Fine,” I reply stiffly.
“I can tell. Imagine. You finally get laid after years of me telling you to get your dick wet, and she drugs you. And runs. What on earth did you do to the poor girl?”
My eyes narrow. “I’m not against bodily harm in the workplace.”
Frank shoots me a mocking smile that lasts until Raven sighs deeply into her laptop screen, taking all of our attention.
“Did you find something?” I ask.
“She’s finally stopped moving,” Raven replies. “But I don’t see why we couldn’t just pick her up at the diner. Aren’t you working this hard to keep her safe?”
“I am. But she’s running for a reason, and that reason will keep her trying to run until I can nail both of them.
If she leads me right to her brother, I can snatch them both up and then we can get to the bottom of this whole mess.
Finding that other car and the rest of the diamonds should put everyone to bed happy, don’t you think? ”
Raven’s lips purse as she looks up at me from under her sandy lashes. “I like this side of you,” she murmurs. “You seem lighter.”
“Are you sure?” Leaning up from the desk, I lightly ruffle the top of her hair. “I feel heavier.”
“Change is an adjustment,” she replies, her fingers flying across the keys. “But this is a good change.”
“Because he found his heart?” Frank remarks.
I shoot him a warning look wrapped in a good nature born from the years we’ve been friends and accept the piece of paper from Raven that carries her scribbled handwriting.
“This is the address,” Raven replies. “Just a small warning, but that puts you in Russian territory, so make sure you carry your card.”
“Will do. Thank you, Raven. Call me if she moves.”
“Sure.”
Ten minutes later, Frank and I drive toward the address Raven found for us.
Tracking Zira’s phone leaves an odd guilty feeling nestled just beneath my ribs.
It’s a sensation I’m not used to, but given that it’s the one thing I can do to ensure her safety, and that of her brother, then guilt shouldn’t be factored in.
So why won’t the sensation shift?
Frank drives and I rub at my chest with the heel of my hand.
“You good?” Frank shoots me a glance.
“Yeah, I’m just… dunno. Too much to drink last night, I think.”
“Sure that’s all it is?”
“What else could it be?”
“Well, you opened up to someone for the first time in years. Sure, you could tell yourself it was just sex, but we both know how you feel about that. Casual sex isn’t a thing for you, never has been. Otherwise, Cassian would’ve gotten you laid years ago.”
“I don’t think it’s that serious,” I say while continuing to massage.
“Isn’t it? You sleep with her, she drugs you and runs. At the very least, it’s a blow to the ego.”
“For someone like Ruslan, maybe. I’m not angry at her. Concerned, sure. And I guess…” A deep sigh rushes up from the depths of my soul. “I thought I was getting somewhere with her. I thought she just needed to feel welcomed and cared for and she would come to me and talk. Instead, she ran again.”
Frank nods slowly. “Maybe she’s more scared than she let on.”
I nod and quickly grow distracted by the sudden buzz of my phone. “Maybe. Hold on a sec.” Pressing the phone to my ear, I take a calming breath. “Damian.”
“Bradley. I’ve been waiting for your call.”
“About?”
“You’re kidding me, right? It’s been days since we last spoke. I’ve got the Cartel breathing down my neck so close that you’re lucky I’ve even got enough teeth to talk to you right now. Please tell me you’ve got something.”
“I have a lead,” I assure him. “I’m following it as we speak and as soon as I know something, I’ll call you.”
“That’s it?”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” I remind him. “I get you’re in a tough spot. Do you want me to send someone from the Suit over? Cassian’s available, or Valentina.”
“The Cartel don’t give a shit about the Suit, that’s why they’re such fucking trouble.”
“They don’t abide by us, true, but that doesn’t make them immune to our power. Say the word and I’ll send someone.”
A long silence follows and Damian sighs deeply. “No. Last thing I need is people finding out I needed guards from the Suit. I don’t need to look weak.”
“Is that really how you view us?”
“No, but you know what I mean. Fine. Call me when you can.”
“I will do. Take care.” Hanging up, I groan slightly.
“I’ll never understand that. In one breath, they come to us for help, to manage the world and keep the bloodbaths out of the streets and the government turning a blind eye to everything every single family does in this state.
And then in the next breath, they refuse our help because it makes them look weak. ”
“It’s the collision of egos,” Frank replies. “There’s always a—”
He’s cut off by the sudden loud wail of a police siren behind us so Frank guides the car to the side of the road, allowing ample space for the vehicle to pass. Unfortunately, it doesn’t and the sirens blare louder.
“Are they pulling us over?” I glance into the mirror, unable to make out anything other than the glare of headlights.
“I think so,” Frank replies.
“Didn’t he run our plates?” My stomach tightens slightly as Frank is forced to slow the car and pull over. Wasting time with this puts Zira even further away from me. “Idiot.”
“Guess not,” Frank remarks. The window lowers with a soft swish and we exchange a glance. “Is the mayor pissed at you?”
“Hardly. He sent Valentina flowers last week as thanks for keeping the city safe.”
Frank scoffs lightly. “Maybe her refusal to return his affection has finally driven him to the edge.”
Behind us, the police car stops, and two officers get out of each door. They mirror one another as they approach our car and then one immediately blinds Frank with an unnecessary flashlight.
“License and registration, please,” he barks.
“Geez.” Frank winces, blinking quickly. “That’s really not necessary. Run our plates.”
“License and registration,” the cop snaps again. “I won’t ask a third time, dammit.”
“Do it,” I instruct Frank. “His job loss will be worth it.”
“The fuck you say?” snaps the cop who stopped at my door. “You got something to say?”
“Yeah, I don’t have time for this,” I remark. “Run our plates and see who we are, and I’ll take your groveling apology tomorrow night, how does that sound?”
“We got a smart talker,” the cop near me remarks. “They always have so much shit to say.”
“If words won’t be enough, then take this.
” Reaching into my pocket, I remove my Suit ID.
A sleek, electronic card about the size of a credit card is the one tool I have that lets me, and the other members of the Suit, move around the city freely.
To every criminal, it’s a sign we’re more powerful than them.
To every government agent, it’s a symbol that we’re the true keepers of the peace in this city, and to law enforcement, it’s basically a get-out-of-jail-free card because the work we do to keep the criminal world spinning and not overflowing into carnage in the streets is more important than anything as ridiculous as a traffic stop.
These two idiots apparently didn’t get the memo because as soon as I show him the card, he darts away from the car door and whips his gun out of its holster.
“Out of the car!” he barks. “Come on, get out of the damn car!”
Just looking down the barrel is enough for my chest to twinge. Frank and I exchange a glance as the cop next to him follows suit with his weapon, seemingly not caring for whatever information he gained when he ran Frank’s info.
“Fine.” I pop the door handle. “But you’re making one hell of a fucking mistake. A career-ending mistake. A life-ending one if I’m in a bad enough mood.”
“Out of the car!” the cop yells again. “Hands on the roof, spread your legs! Move! Do it!”
Despite the fact that I’m already complying, the overeager officer shoves me and kicks at my ankles to try and force my legs wider.
I refuse as I place my palms flat on the roof of the car.
Every second wasted here is a second longer Zira has to escape with her brother, and then I’ll never be able to help them.
“He’s armed!” yells the cop near Frank. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us you have a gun?”
“You didn’t ask,” Frank replies calmly. “Listen, I don’t know what this is but you’re both losing your badges, you understand? Even if you don’t know who we are, you ran my license.”
“Shut up!” The cop shoves at Frank, shouldering him against the car hard enough for a flash of pain to dart across my friend’s face.
Anger clouds my thoughts in an instant. “Call your boss,” I snap.
“Call your boss and—” The flash of the gun being raised behind Frank’s head cuts off my demand.
With all my strength, I throw myself against the car, causing it to rock into Frank, who stumbles in alarm at my sudden movement.
Turning, I drop to my knees, whip my gun out of its holster, and shoot the cop behind me as he raises his own gun.
In the same second, I land flat on my back and shoot under the car, catching the other cop on the ankle, and he screams in pain and stumbles backward.
By the time I climb to my feet, Frank’s put two in the chest of the stumbling cop and they both now lie dead in the street.
“The fuck was that?” Frank pants as I hurry to join him. Our eyes lock and he flashes a smile. “Thanks.”
“Yeah. You good?”
He nods and keeps his gun trained on the dead cop. “What a mess.”
“I’m not so sure.” Holstering my gun, I kneel next to the cop and start patting through his pockets. “I understand trigger-happy newbies, but they were far too quick. And ignoring who you were?” I glance up at him. “Check his phone, see what popped up when he ran your license.”
Frank retrieves the fallen device from the ground and moves next to me while I pull car keys, gum, and an old burger wrapper out of the dead man’s pockets.
“Here.” Frank drops to his haunches and shows me the screen. “It’s got all the info.”
Right there in black and white is the agreed-upon warning attached to Frank’s license that he’s free to go under classified action. “So this bastard ignored it.”
“Ego?” Frank asks, pulling his phone from his pocket and holding it to his ear. “Ruslan? Yeah, we need a clean up.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, but as I stand, trying to understand why the hell two cops would pull us over and try to shoot Frank without hesitation, when a dark smudge on the dead man’s wrist catches my attention. Lowering back down, I pick up his limp hand and push his shirt away from his sleeve.
Swirls of dark ink streak up his forearm in an array of twisting vines and leaves all combining around a lucky clover.
“Fucking Irish,” Frank curses over my shoulder. “Think this was Damian?”
I drop the limp hand with a curl of disgust in my gut. “If it was, I’m going to kill him.”