Chapter 2 – Freya
The place was a mess when I walked in.
Cluttered desks, papers flying, phones ringing, and loud murmurs from my colleagues created complete chaos. I knew what their excuses would be; they were ordinary detectives like me, just trying to be efficient, doing their jobs—being the crime-fighting superheroes of Los Angeles—trying to disrupt the drug trades that poisoned our city’s dark streets.
My response?
Absolute nonsense.
There were neater ways to get the job done.
I marched past a few aisles, raising my nose to look away from the clutter. Occasional laughter and keyboards clacking broke up the blaring barks from one man or another, yelling some information from his office.
I carefully turned around the cubicles, heading to my desk. To my left, Mila had her head buried in more heaps of paperwork. Thick brows were drawn while her nude-painted lips moved inaudibly.
She smiled when I craned over her section to pry into what she pored over. It was a surveillance transcript.
I faked a yawn and backed away. “Boring.”
“Morning to you, too, Freya.” Beaming, she raked clipped fingernails through her brown pixie cut and inclined in her chair.
Playfully, I aimed a finger gun at her. “It’s Detective Fox to you, lady.”
She lifted her hands in mock surrender with a chortle and stretched forward to resume her surveillance transcript review. “My apologies, Detective . I’ll remember to tell the barista that the next time I ask him to put a label on your cup.”
With a wink, I asked, “What’s today’s flavor?”
“Macchiato.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
She flashed an appreciative smile as I strutted over to my desk. The aroma of delicious coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet scent of freshly printed papers. I settled into my chair, the worn leather creaking in protest, and skimmed through the color-coded sticky notes alongside documents neatly piled on my desk.
Reports, reports…and a few unfinished reports. Sighing, I dropped back against the seat, and my gaze swept across the room, taking in the familiar landscape of my colleagues’ workstations.
Across from me, John’s eyes were intensely fixed on his computer screen. Locks of trimmed blond hair fell over pretty blue eyes, and toned muscular arms leaned on his desk close to the computer.
I took a sip of my macchiato.
“Morning, Officer,” I greeted rather loudly. On purpose, of course, just because I could.
It was our little routine, greeting each other like strangers every morning, just to tick each other off. He liked it; I knew he did. Else, he wouldn’t have looked up from the screen with that charming smile that got me every damn time. The man could pass as a model, and he wasn’t even trying.
I lifted the cup to my lips again.
So, here was the thing: I didn’t have a lot of “friends,” and there was a time in this office when I did have a crush on that galoot. I couldn’t be blamed, not when he was a heartthrob who looked like another Malibu Ken. Even if, technically, blonds weren’t my type.
What is my type, though?
Another sip from the cup.
I didn’t even have enough experience to know if I had one.
“Spacing out again, Detective?” he chimed from his desk with a slanted smirk. “You seem to be doing that pretty often these days.”
He wasn’t lying. I had been zoning out a lot rather frequently. But how could I not when I desired a life more exciting than heaps of reports and different flavor tweaks of macchiato every morning? No offense to Mila or the barista . The coffee tasted amazing.
“Again, Freya.” He rolled his finger in a circle, motioning to the look on my face. He looked like he wanted to laugh and tease at the same time. “Thinking of a life on an exotic island as a boudoir photographer?”
I laughed. “Boudoir photographer? No way. Doesn’t even relate to the island scene. I was thinking travel photography. How about that?”
“Whatever. All I know is, you’re stuck here, with me, in this department, on that desk.”
I made a face. As much as I entertained the idea of having John as a forever friend, I didn’t want to stay stuck on this desk for eternity. “Did you read the papers today?”
He arched a brow and stroked his beardless chin. “Yeah. Nothing extra. Just some small cartel that got busted with a truckload of fentanyl and crack. If anyone asked me, I’d say they were pretty silly using a road that leads to a security checkpoint. Fucking amateurs.”
“Sounds like you’re on their side.”
“Like hell I am.” His fingers went through his hair. “I’m just saying…if you want to get a job done, do it well. Give us a good run for our money.”
I caught myself grinning so hard. John was one of those officers who loved their jobs, like me. He had heart, put in the extra hours, and was as dedicated to the cause as the word “dedicated” itself. When anyone else downplayed those efforts, it pissed him off—a lot.
“As you said, they’re amateurs. They didn’t know any better. So, give them time. After they get out, in maybe six or nine years, they’ll come out tougher or broken and submissive to the state.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right, like I’m going to wait six to nine years for them to get out. What about you? What’s new?”
I dropped my cup atop the desk and folded my arms across my chest. “Well, uh, I know we’re narcotics, but I couldn’t help it; I delved into some legal stuff. Found something juicy there, too. So, there’s this crazy story about a divorce lawyer who later got married to her client’s ex-husband.”
That shocked John as much as it shocked me.
“What? No fucking way. That’s…that’s heart-wrenching. It’s insane!”
I made a gesture with my hand. “The world is crazy.”
“ P e ople are crazy,” he emphasized.
“As crazy as they are awkward.”
That threw him off. The shift of his eyes gave it up; he’d caught on quickly but opted to play dumb. “What?”
I made a suggestive glance between Mila’s desk and his. “Being so close yet worlds apart. That’s awkward.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” His muscles flexed as he pulled himself back to his computer.
“You and Mila, dummy. I heard you two hooked up at Max’s promotion celebration party last night.”
He eyed me, his blond brows raised high above eye level. “You weren’t there.”
I’d heard from one of our loquacious colleagues who’d secretly thought John and I were a thing, prompting him to text me that little secret in confidence—protecting my best interest because he cared.
“Nope,” I said, stretching my arms out. “Needed some me time. Joker: Folie à Deux and a good sleep. But Clinton’s quite chatty about these things.”
Or maybe it was because Clinton thought I’d “break up” with John and finally agree to go to dinner with him. If it was amusing, I might have laughed.
When John didn’t say anything else, I piped up, “Didn’t know you liked Mila?”
“I don’t.” His jaw made a small tick, and he wore a look akin to regret-slash-frustration. I wondered why. “We had one too many. She was drunk. I was drunk. The sex was good.”
“Ah….”
“Don’t ah me, Fox. It’s not happening again.”
The corner of my lips curved up. “Thought you said the sex was good?”
His answer came in a heartbeat. “It was, but Mila’s…. She’s got her walls up high, you know? Shifty eyes, behaves weird, laughs too low…that freaky sort of thing. She’s not my type.”
Yet, you slept with her, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue and opted for something else. “Or maybe you’re not hers. Did you ever think about that?”
He flashed that charming smile again, dragged his gaze from his computer, and stared at me. “Like that’s even possible. I’m every girl’s type. Have you seen these muscles, babe?”
My laughter was hearty. Another thing I liked about John was his once-in-a-while good sense of humor. He knew how to throw it in right when you least expected it.
“Cocky much?”
He was grinning now, making wiggly eyebrows. “Besides, I have eyes for someone else.”
That piqued my interest. “Who?”
“I’m looking at her right now.”
My cheeks heated up, and, at that time, I wanted to splash a bit of macchiato on his face.
Faking a frown, I flipped him the bird. “Ha. Ha. Very funny. Tell me…what’s the buzz around here for?”
He rolled his eyes like my question couldn’t be processed. “What are you, an intern? It’s always buzzing in here.”
More seriously, I looked around, my gaze sweeping over every cubicle. “Yeah, but today’s racket is a bit higher on the charts, don’t you think?”
John assessed me, trying to figure out something I couldn’t decipher, and when his brows creased, I knew he didn’t find whatever it was he sought.
“Wait, hold up…you don’t know?”
Now, the hush of his tone and the crease of his brows skyrocketed the peak of my curiosity.
I leaned forward. “Know what?”
“About what happened last night? Strange that Clinton didn’t fill you in. The news is everywhere. While some of us were at Max’s, Clark finally got Yezhov in cuffs.”
The sudden buzz around me faded into a silent drop in the background, and the only thing I could hear, other than the timbre of John’s baritone, was the sound of my own beating heart.
Gone was the coffee craving and subtle desire to keep the jokes going with John.
Yezhov in cuffs?
That was News. That was the kind of news I’d been diligently waiting for. The kind that awoke delicious thrills and kick-started an active engine in me. The kind that made taking this job seem worth it.
I wet my lips and repeated more slowly, “ Yezhov ?”
The last time I checked, I had successfully identified only three Yezhovs. One was so ghostly we only knew of his existence but had no traces of life activities. The other was dead, and the last was the one who had haunted my dreams for two consecutive years.
So, it had to be him.
“Egor Yezhov?”
The kingpin of the Russian mafia with a notorious reputation here in Los Angeles. The only problem was that they never found anything to pin him down. No evidence. His crimes were rumored, and not even a single one had any proof to arrest him.
That was until now.
John’s head bobbed up and down. “Uh-huh. Clark finally got him. Him and his accomplice, who turned out to be guess who? His fucking lawyer. I didn’t hear much about what happened to that one ‘cuz he’s not in custody. But Egor was busted at The Reindeer’s Hotel with a knife to Ronan Gallagher’s neck.”
I gaped and blinked.
Attempted murder.
A man like Egor with a knife to anyone’s neck was not a joke. That knife was a weapon, definitely wielded to be used. I’d seen him in action, firsthand.
He tried to kill Ronan, who was, unfortunately, another one of the thorns up our asses. Another mobster nuisance in our city. And from what we’d confirmed from our sources, he was the heir to the Irish mafia throne.
Both Russian and Irish families controlled more than ninety percent of the drug trade in the city. But if Egor was in trouble now, it would spell doom for the empire he ruled.
I kicked my chair back and rose to my feet.
John stopped talking and peered at me with suspicion. “Hey, where are you…where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back,” I called over my shoulder as I half-walked, half-marched through the chaos to the sergeant’s office.
When I got there, two men were rising from their chairs, shaking hands with grim looks. Both were tall, with broad shoulders clothed with the uniform, symbolizing allegiance of service to our great country.
The faint thumps of my heart against my chest reechoed in my head, but I swallowed down the intimidation and knocked.
I’m doing this.
Sergeant Keith was the first to spot me. A small professional smile appeared on his lips, and he motioned for me to step inside. “Detective Fox. Come on in.”
I stood beside a chair but didn’t bother to sit. My appearance in his office had “super urgent” attached to it.
With my hands clasped behind my back and my head held high, I cleared my throat.
Confidence, Freya.
“Good morning, sir. I sincerely apologize for the sudden interruption, but I respectfully request permission to conduct an interview with the man in custody, Mr. Egor Yezhov.”
The other man beside me, with brown hair and hard eyes, gave me a condescending glare and faced the sergeant. “Who hired the girl?”
Whoa! Asshole much?
It took every bit of discipline and self-control to not give him a side-eye and tell him he had a bit of spinach stuck between his teeth—even if that was not true.
I might not have been as sturdy as they were— being a solid five-four between their looming frames already makes that freaking obviou s—but if given a chance, I could tackle his grown behind, respectfully, of course.
I clenched my jaw and restrained myself just as the sergeant intervened, sparing me from committing bloody murder.
His chuckle sounded like a grandfather’s amusement at his grandchild’s silliness. “The girl? Nonsense, Clark. Freya here is the youngest detective in our narcotics department but one of the best we’ve ever had. The most capable, in fact. Her skills and intellect are unmatched. She has solved all cases thrown at her.”
Officer Clark then decided to make me the object of his scrutiny. “Exercise your skills and intellect somewhere else, girl. We’ve got your supervisors, who are even bigger experts, already on the job.”
Just a chance, Sergeant Keith. Just a chance, and I’d wipe this grown man’s ass. Very respectfully, of course.
I held back my tongue from saying something that could cost me my job and instead focused on getting my point across.
“I know a weakness.”
He didn’t hide his surprise and doubt. The sergeant looked equally interested. “You do?”
“Yes, sir. I just need one chance”— to prove you wrong, douchebag— “to prove myself useful.”
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the sergeant came to my rescue. “She has never disappointed in the past,” he said to Clark.
And Clark thought hard. The lines between his eyebrows burrowed deeper as he pondered. Then, they finally relaxed.
“Fine.” His brows dipped in a warning when he said, “Fifteen minutes, and no more.”
Yes!
I maintained my composure. “You will not be disappointed, sir.”