15. Izzy
15
IZZY
I tug my baseball cap down over my hair as I hurry through the parking lot. I have one shot, one chance to get this right.
Just get into his office, and then the hell out of there. That’s it. Two things on the list. I can manage that.
Let’s be real. I am sure as shit going to get hell for this, but it’s all I have. All bets are this single hunch. An insane, ridiculous hunch that I’m risking everything in my life on, and it’s all for the Hellfire Riders.
Please don’t be wrong about this.
It’s late, which means Reynolds is most likely out of the office and home by now. It also means that the cleaning lady is making her way to his office. She’s the only other person with keys to his suite.
I swipe my ID against the keypad. It flicks green and the door unlocks. I nod to the man stationed at the front desk. I’m grateful he’s new and doesn’t recognize me. Buys me more time. I walk fast but controlled, past my desk. The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and the faint, lingering stench of disinfectant.
The usual hustle and bustle of the station is absent, the halls eerily silent with most of the officers gone home for the night. There’ll be a few stragglers, but as long as I act like I’m supposed to be here, I shouldn’t have any issues.
I weave through the empty hallways, my mind racing.
There are cameras, so I don’t have a lot of time, but I can formulate some bullshit lie about needing to grab something I left at my desk. I am still technically employed here, though I have no idea if helping the Hellfire Riders qualifies me for unemployment.
Whatever. Now is not the time to worry about keeping my job.
Reynolds’s office is at the far end of the station, tucked away in a quieter section by the other detectives. Like clockwork, the cleaner arrives at his office at 10 p.m., unlocking his office.
As I approach his door, my heart rate speeds up.
Sure enough, she’s in there bent over, placing a new trash liner in the basket near his desk.
Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside, putting on my best professional smile. “Hey,” I say, my voice steady.
The cleaning lady looks up, her eyes narrowing then settling in recognition. She gives me a smile then points to her headphones.
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” I start. She tugs a headphone free from her ear. “But I have to—” suddenly words vanish from my mind. Shit. What should I say? “I have a—meeting here. Do you mind coming back in about twenty?”
She hesitates, glancing around the office then at the clock.
“This late?” she asks.
“It’s with Reynolds.”
“Sure. It’s no problem, honey.”
“Thank you,” I say, stepping aside to let her pass.
That could be the worst lie I have ever told in my life, but luckily, she doesn’t seem to care.
She gives me a curt nod as she goes back to humming along whatever tune’s playing in her headphones. Her cart rattles down the hallway. As soon as she’s gone, I close the door, my heart pounding with a mix of relief and urgency. I snap the lock shut as an extra precaution.
I move quickly, my eyes scanning the space.
I’ve never seen his office this much of a mess. If it weren’t for the name plate, I’d think I was in the wrong place. His desk is cluttered, papers and files strewn. That’s odd. It's like he was in a massive hurry. Photographs of crime scenes and suspect sketches are taped to the wall across from his desk, all of them relating to the Puppeteer.
I start with the file stacks on the desk, rifling through.
Article and note after note about the Puppeteer are stacked onto each other. It’s like he’s become obsessed.
Finally, at the bottom of the first stack is Laina’s envelope, waiting for me.
He’s looked it over no doubt, probably found out the location of their clubhouse and the marijuana fields. Bastard. Still, setting the whole field ablaze doesn’t add up. He’d be too liable for something to go wrong. It’s not a smart move and illegal. Reynolds does everything by the book.
I shove it under my armpit, though I’m sure he’s gotten whatever information worth finding out of it.
A sudden noise outside the office startles me, and I freeze, listening intently.
Footsteps.
I slip into the shadows, pressing myself against the wall, holding my breath. I wait five seconds, and the footsteps move down the hall. Whew.
I need to get the hell out of here.
But I need proof, something concrete to take back to Hawk to help them.
I continue sifting through the papers on his desk, searching for something—anything. But it’s all Puppeteer.
I start opening drawers. Pens, paperclips, mundane office supplies—nothing useful. But then my fingers brush against something hard and metallic. A hidden little lock on the side. I need to get inside.
I unfold one of the paperclips, and start working on the lock. My hands are steady, but my mind races with urgency. I’ve never been good at locking picking, but I need to at least try. Sweat gathers on my back.
Please!
As if an answer to my desperate prayer, a satisfying click comes from the lock. The hidden drawer slides open, revealing a small stack of photos. I pull them out and flip through them quickly. My blood runs cold.
“Holy shit.”
They’re photos of me. Black and white prints of me at the Hellfire Riders’ compound, taken from a distance. The first one, I’m walking with Tank inside the clubhouse. His massive arm wrapped around my waist, smiling down at me.
They remind me of the kind of photos Laina takes. There I was. Completely oblivious to the fact I was being watched the whole time. Nausea pools into my stomach, rising up my throat.
What the hell is Reynolds getting up to?
A sudden noise from the hallway startles me.
More footsteps.
I gather the photos into the folder and cling to it with dear life. I’ve run out of time. The footsteps grow louder, closer. I peek through the blinds and see Detective Reynolds’s silhouette down the hall. His face is shadowed and unreadable in the dim light, but there’s no mistaking him. The cleaning woman stops him and they speak to one another.
Panic surges through me. It’s my only shot to get the hell out of here.
I slip out of the office, and dart down the hallway, keeping to the shadows.
I don’t stop, weaving down the hall, ducking behind the desks. I’m near sprinting out of there when I shoulder open the side exit, keeping the files close to my chest.
He's been watching us all along. But why? What does he want from me?
I came here for answers, but now, I only have more and more questions.
The night air is cool and fresh when I finally step outside. I run through the parking lot to reach the bus station, refusing to stop and see if I’m being followed.
“Izzy!” a voice calls out after me.
I yelp, nearly dropping the folder and photos.
“Izzy, wait!”
I glance over my shoulder to see Logan, hurrying toward me. His thinning hair is a mess, and his glasses are perched precariously on his nose. I keep going. Maybe he’ll assume I didn’t hear him.
“Izzy, wait what!”
Dammit!
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to hide the panic creeping up my throat. I have seconds until Reynold’s emerges.
“I was just dropping off some report on a case,” he says, oblivious. He motions to the leather bag hanging off his shoulder. “Is your suspension already over?”
“No. Uh—no—I needed to grab a few things.” My eyes dart toward the front doors and Logan’s face.
“Well, I could’ve gotten them for you.”
“No, that’s alright.”
He gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know, we should grab a coffee sometime. Just you and me. I think we’d have a lot to talk about.”
I force a polite smile, though every instinct is telling me to get away. “Maybe another time, Logan. I’ve got a lot going on right now.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans in closer, lowering his voice to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, Izzy. Don’t be like that. You never know what you might find out over a cup of coffee.”
I take a step back, keeping my tone light but firm. “Thanks, Logan, but I really need to be somewhere.”
He sighs, the friendly mask slipping just a bit to reveal a hint of frustration. “Fine, fine. Just thought you might be interested to know we’ve had a big hit on the Puppeteer case.”
My heart skips a beat. “Really? What did you find?”
Logan’s eyes gleam with a kind of twisted satisfaction. “We’ve connected the Puppeteer to the Hellfire Riders. Detective Reynolds is moving in on them soon. He’s got something big planned.”
I struggle to keep my expression neutral. “That’s…interesting. Thanks for the heads-up, Logan. I’ve really got to run, but maybe we can catch up later.”
He smirks, as if he knows he’s rattled me. He reaches, catching my wrist in his clammy, sweat covered hand.
“You know, no one’s ever told me no before.”
I meet his gaze head-on, my heart pounding in my chest. “Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
He laughs, but there’s an edge of menace in it.
"You know, I like that," he whispers in my ear, his hot breath making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "It's sexy." His grip tightens on my wrist, and I struggle to keep my face blank.
The moment Logan's hold constricts, all of my senses heighten. His eyes gleam with a dark hunger that sends chills down my spine.
"Logan, you're fucking hurting me," I say between gritted teeth, hoping my voice won't betray the fear that's starting to coil in my stomach. I’m ten seconds from kneeing him in the groin, but I don’t have time to fight my way out of here from this creep.
“Am I?” he asks.
Before I can react, a large hand grabs Logan's wrist, prying his fingers from mine with a force that leaves no room for resistance. I look up to see Tank standing there, a wall of muscle, every part of as chiseled as he is terrifying. The moonlight catches the hard lines of his face.
There’s no mistaking the deadly promise in his eyes. He’s not just defending me; he’s issuing a warning.
Logan yelps loudly as I hear a sharp crack.
“Touch her again and I'll do more than just break your hand,” Tank growls, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine for an entirely different reason.
Logan’s face pales as he looks up at Tank, realizing just how outmatched he is. He stammers, trying to find his voice. “I-I didn’t mean anything by it. Just a misunderstanding.” He furiously blinks away the tears collecting in the corner of his eyes.
Tank’s grip tightens for a moment, making Logan wince before he releases him, shoving him back with a controlled, almost casual force. Still, the motion causes Logan to nearly topple over.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Tank says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And don’t let me see you near her again.”
Logan stumbles back, his eyes wide with fear and humiliation. He mutters something unintelligible before turning and practically running away, casting one last terrified glance over his shoulder.
As Logan disappears into the night, I turn to Tank, my heart still pounding but with a mix of relief and admiration.
There’s no way I’ll be keeping my job after this. But I also don’t care.
“Are you okay?” Tank checks in, his voice softer now. I nod, looking up at him, realizing all the fear and panic I felt earlier has completely vanished. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, tilting his head as he takes me in.
“Good, then I can do this.”
With one motion, he lifts me up, tossing me over his shoulder.
“Hey, Tank! What are you doing?” I almost shriek, but my words are muffled as he covers my mouth with a rough hand.
“Getting us the hell outta here. This is the last time I’ll get this close to the police headquarters.” He darts down the sidewalk toward his bike parked at the road. “I’d tell you how much trouble you’re in, Izzy, but you’ve heard that speech too many times.”
Tank throws me on the back of his bike, my stomach pressed against him and the vibration of the bike as he starts the engine.
“I’m going to start putting a leash on you, girl,” he mutters as he kicks the gas.
I glance over my shoulder as we peel away.
Logan stands with his back to the entrance, his shoulders slumped and head down. He cradles his hand against his chest, a look of pain and defeat on his face.
Reynolds steps out of the headquarters then, he sees Logan then looks up to me.
Logan’s face is an ugly mask of hatred, but it’s the expression on Reynolds's face that fills me with dread.
There’s no emotion there, just a cold, calculating stare that seems to bore into the back of my skull even as we disappear in the darkness.