24. Draven
Chapter 24
Draven
“Absolutely not!” I roar when Louise explains her plan. The plan, by the way, that both Ciaran and Pete think is a genius idea. I wonder if Ciaran would think that if I suggested we put Millie up as bait.
Answer: the fuck he would.
“I will not allow you to put yourself in the line of fire. The answer is no.”
She widens her eyes. “ Allow me?”
Her incensed tone is meant to warn me that I’ve overstepped the mark. Overstepped it? I’ll stomp all over it if it keeps her safe and as far away from this motherfucking disaster as possible.
“I don’t need your permission. I’m a detective working for the state of New Jersey, and I have good reason to believe one of my own is a dirty cop. I owe it to my coworkers, to those women, to Kiera…” Her voice breaks, and she clears her throat. “To my beloved baby sister, Kiera, to bring that fucker to justice.”
“And we will,” I say, backpedaling. I should have known better. Push Louise, and she pushes right back. If I have any chance of dissuading her from this course of action, I’ll have to tread carefully and let her know it’s because I care that I’m worried. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be the one to take the risk.”
Her cheeks pink up, and she rounds on me. “Why? Because you want to do it? You want to be the hero, the big man, the one who looks after the little lady and keeps her safe?” She snorts. “Well, too bad. You’re going to have to sit this one out.”
She folds her arms defensively under her breasts and stares at the wall. Ciaran shifts in his seat while Pete coughs, then checks his phone, probably praying for a call that isn’t going to come.
“Give us a minute, guys,” I say, cocking my head toward the stairs.
The two of them can’t get up quickly enough. “We’ll be in the bar,” Ciaran says, virtually sprinting upstairs, with Pete hot on his heels.
Louise waits until they’ve gone, then she stands, her glare fiery enough to burn my eyeballs from their sockets.
“I’m doing it,” she insists, “with or without your blessing. I have the best chance of tricking him into acting rashly or letting something slip. I work in his goddamn department, for fuck’s sake. I have a reason to be in his office. I know what I’m doing, yet you seem to think I’m incapable. That hurts, Draven, just so you know.”
“I never said you weren’t capable,” I say, towering over her. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Lola. But think about it. You could end up in grave danger.”
“And if I don’t, we might never catch him, or Shala, or the others. This could go on and on, with other families suffering like mine, like Darla Adams’s. Like all those other women’s families have. This is my job, Draven, and I’m good at it.”
“And it’s my job as your partner to take care of you,” I say, my tone dangerously low. “If anything happened to you, I’d…” I grip her upper arms and shake her. “I give a shit, Lola. I fucking give a shit. You hear me?”
The enormity of my admission stuns us both, each staring at the other, waiting for one of us to make a move. I may not have said the words, those four-letter feelings that normal people say, but that isn’t my style. Moonlight and roses and shit are for others, not me. Never me. But that doesn’t mean my heart can’t hurt or that I don’t feel fear and trepidation. It doesn’t mean I’m not racked with worry over the possibility of losing her, and what it would do to me if I did.
She leaps into my waiting arms, hooking her legs over my hips, her mouth seeking mine. Our tongues duel, each one fighting for dominance, neither willing to give an inch. It’s what makes us perfect for each other.
We break apart, and she slides down my body, craning her neck to look up at me. “I love you, too, you fucking asshole.”
I cradle her face, my thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Then, don’t do it.”
She grips my wrists and slowly pulls away my hands. “I don’t have a choice.”
A layer of icy sweat ripples along the back of my neck. “There’s always a choice, Lola, and you’re making it.”
“Don’t you dare blackmail me,” she rages, her cheeks blooming red now instead of pink. “This isn’t an either–or situation.”
“I never said it was.”
“No, but you implied it.”
I walk away, crossing over to the window where rainwater trickles down the pane of glass. I sigh, then turn to face her. “Jesus, you are one frustrating female.”
“I learned from the best,” she says, her anger withering as an unwilling smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.
“Is there anything I can do to talk you out of it?”
A muscle flutters in her jaw, and her stance widens. “Not a thing.”
I growl in frustration. “Then, I need you to do something for me, and if you care about my feelings at all, you’ll agree without argument.”
Louise cants her head. “Oh, yeah? And what might that be?”
“Let’s call it an insurance policy.”
“And you guarantee it’s undetectable?” I ask for at least the fifth time. “That to anyone else it’ll look like a regular tattoo?”
Dayton Somers, one of New York’s wealthiest businessmen, rolls his eyes. “Repeating myself bores me.”
When Louise had dug in her heels, I’d thought of Dayton first. He’s a tech genius, and while I don’t have my finger on the pulse of the latest technology advancements, I knew he would.
I met Dayton over a year ago when I carried out an investigation after his girlfriend had some trouble with her ex. I like the guy enormously, and when Louise insisted on putting herself right in the heart of a dangerous and unstable situation, I’d hoped Dayton would have a technical solution to our problem.
As luck would have it, he does.
“I’ll put an app on your phone,” Dayton continues. “It’ll let you know her whereabouts within a few feet. But remember, it’s just a prototype, so expect the odd glitch here and there.” He turns his attention to Louise. “If you want to go ahead, I’ll need you to sign a disclaimer.”
“Can I pick the design of the tattoo?” she asks.
“Sure,” Dayton replies. “It has to be at least two inches square for the GPS buried in the ink to transmit, but apart from that, there are no restrictions. You can have a flower, or a skull, or your favorite animal. Anything really.”
“What happens afterward? Can it be removed?”
“We can’t remove the tattoo, but we can eradicate the GPS transmission element.”
“Good,” she says. “Because once this is over, I’m not having this big oaf knowing my whereabouts twenty-four-seven.”
Dayton laughs while I glower.
“I like her,” Dayton says. “She’ll keep you on your toes.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter.
Louise nibbles her lip, ignoring me. “Okay, let’s do it.”
“You’re sure?” Dayton says. “You don’t feel like you’re being coerced?”
I snort. “Shows how little you know, Somers. No one forces Lola into doing anything she doesn’t want to.”
Dayton raises an eyebrow. “I know someone else like that.” He’s referring to his wife, Christa, but the slight misty look in his eyes tells me he doesn’t mind one bit.
“I’m good.” Louise turns her phone toward Dayton. On the screen is an image of a tawny owl in mid-flight, its wings fully extended. “Kiera loved owls,” she explains.
I squeeze her shoulder. “It’s perfect.”
“Air drop it to me,” Dayton says. “I’ll have it prepared and then we can get you inked up.”
Louise does the necessary while Dayton wanders over to a tall, oak filing cabinet and slides out a sheet of paper from one of the folders inside. “Read this, and if you’re happy, sign at the bottom.” He picks up his phone and taps the screen. “Got the image. Thanks.”
Louise scans the document, then hands it to me, and I do the same. I lock gazes with her and give a curt nod. She takes the pen Dayton offers and scrawls her signature, then he returns the document to the cabinet.
“I’ll be back shortly,” he says, gesturing to the bar in the corner of his office overlooking lower Manhattan. “Help yourselves to a drink.”
He returns twenty-five minutes later with a heavily tattooed woman in tow. “This is Shawna,” he explains. “She works in our research department and played a key part in developing the technology we’re going to use today. She’s also one of the best tattoo artists in New York.”
Shawna smiles. “Would you mind sitting in this chair for me, Louise?” She indicates the one at the head of Dayton’s large boardroom table.
“Can she be trusted?” I mutter to Dayton.
“Yes,” he replies in a voice low enough so only I hear. “Although I’ve kept the details scant.”
“Good.”
I wander over and take the seat to Louise’s right. “First tattoo, Lola.”
“And the last,” she says, wincing as Shawna begins. “Ow. How have you had so many?”
I wink. “They’re addictive.”
“They sure are,” Shawna says, narrowing her eyes as she focuses on her craft.
“I disagree,” Louise says, flinching again when Shawna starts outlining the owl’s wings. “Shit, that hurts.”
An hour later, Shawna wipes a cloth over Louise’s upper arm and sits back, admiring her work. “It’ll be red for a few hours. Recovery won’t take as long as a normal tattoo as the needle I used is also cutting-edge tech. You need to keep it dry for at least forty-eight hours, and don’t use any soap or deodorized products.”
“Thanks,” Louise says, examining the finished product. “That’s stunning.”
“By tomorrow, no one will know you’ve only just had it done.” She packs up her things and leaves.
“All right, let’s get the app loaded and test it,” Dayton says. “Louise, why don’t you take a walk? You can go anywhere you like.”
“Don’t leave the building.” I growl. “We can test it just fine without having you wandering the streets of Manhattan alone.”
Louise rolls her eyes. “Gettin’ old fast, Draven.”
I plant a hard kiss on her lips. “Get used to it, Lola.”
Dayton chuckles. “You guys are too cute.”
The glare I give him would make most men flinch, but not Dayton. His grin gets wider.
We give Louise a five-minute head start, then I open the application Dayton put on my phone, and a red dot appears, blinking steadily as it inches across the screen.
“She’s still moving,” Dayton explains. “Let’s go find her, big guy.”
“That’s impressive.” He closes the door to his office, and we start to track her. The map is easy to follow, and within ten minutes, we reach the restaurant on the third floor of Dayton’s building to find Louise sitting by the window, nursing a cup of coffee. She grins and waves us over.
“I’d call that a successful test,” she says. “Now, will you stop worrying?”
“I’ll stop worrying when this is over,” I say. “But I admit, I feel a lot better now.” I shake Dayton’s hand. “Thanks. For everything.”
“You know my debt to you will never be paid,” he says. “Anything you need, ever, you come to me.”
Louise downs the rest of her coffee and rises to her feet. “Let’s go eat,” she says. “Tomorrow, it’s showtime.”