Teasing the Crime Lord (The Dangerous Men #1)

Chapter 1 The Assignment

The Assignment

Mira

As I pass through the security checkpoint, I badge into the facility and fix the staff with a tight smile.

Their smiles match mine as I drop my bag on the conveyor belt and shed my coat.

Our smiles silently agree that we would rather be tucked in bed in our pajamas in front of the hearth with a cozy who-dun-it novel with our fur babies while the Weather Channel droned on in the background.

Oddly specific, but anything is better than braving the wintry precipitation and a possible Nor’easter.

“It’s a cold one, eh?” Officer Swinson greets me.

I shuck off my gloves and wiggle my fingers at him. “My fingertips aren’t blue yet.”

He grunts and says, “Give it a few weeks. I have one more year in this joint until I retire south.”

“No need to rub it on our faces,” I whine, passing through the metal detector.

“Keep your chin up, kid. Thirty years will pass before you know it. You’ll be sipping Mai Tais on a Florida beach in no time.”

“Hard pass on Florida. I plan to live the remainder of my life on a cruise ship,” I say, gathering my belongings.

“I looked into that. Believe it or not, it’s cheaper than a nursing home. Personally, I can’t stay in one of those homes so they can neglect and abuse me.”

I smile. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Jerry, but you’re more likely to be abused and neglected in your home by a relative, friend, or personal caregiver than you are in a facility.”

“Bullshit. Remember that big story that came out about that nursing home over there off, uh, off East Central?”

“Vaguely.”

“They were audited after someone tipped the authorities off that the staff was running some sort of pill ring. The bastards were stealing the patients’ narcotics, leaving them suffering in agony for a buck.”

“I’m aware. We housed the doctor and nurses here during pretrial, but what I said still stands. When an elderly individual is cared for at home, there is less oversight, leading to prolonged abuse.”

“Hmph. Whatever the case, I’m looking forward to sand, waves, and tropical drinks. I’ll send you a postcard every once in a while.”

“Please don’t. You might send me into a jealous rage,” I joke before entering the secured door leading to the elevators.

My black boots squeak against the polished floors like that unfortunate episode of SpongeBob SquarePants.

I try to adjust my gait to see if I can circumvent the annoying sound, but it’s of no use.

I arrive at the elevator bank just as the red arrow above Elevator B flashes.

The door whooshes open, and a guard steps out.

We nod politely, and I’m pleased to see that I’ll enjoy the short ride to the third floor in silence.

I swipe my badge, lean against the cool walls, and pray for the Lord to give me strength as the car ascends.

Please, God. Let it be a good day.

* * *

I glare at the empty coffee pot and wonder which of my trifling coworkers decided to take the last of it.

I require copious amounts of caffeine to get through the next ten hours, and so far, my coworkers are proving to be a stumbling block.

I open the cupboard above the coffee maker and frown when I see a green bag labeled decaf and a few weak-ass coffee pod cups that might as well be decaf.

I heave a sigh of relief when I find a bag of off-brand regular-strength coffee tucked away in the back of the cupboard.

It isn’t my favorite, but it’ll have to do.

“Officer Talbert,” I hear behind me. I close my eyes briefly and prepare to receive yet another invitation for coffee or lunch from Officer Driscoll—as friends, of course, because he’s too pussy to ask me out on an actual date.

Not that I want him to, but I can’t stand people who beat around the bush. I love confident men, and Officer Gabriel Driscoll is not one of them.

“Officer Driscoll,” I respond, trying to keep my tone level, not wanting him to even think there is the smallest window of opportunity for him.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night?” he asks as I dump a generous serving of coffee grounds into the coffee maker.

“Just preparing myself for this ten-hour shift. You know how that goes.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m just coming off one myself.”

I raise a brow and glance at him curiously. “What are you still doing here? I’d be running towards the nearest exit if I were you.”

“I wanted to catch you. You enjoy jazz music, right?”

“I do.”

“Great. There’s this jazz band playing at The High Hat on Saturday night, and I was wondering if you wanted to go see them with me.” I open my mouth to respond. “As friends, of course,” he rushes out.

Of course.

Truth be told, Officer Gabriel Driscoll is a fine specimen of a man. On paper, he’s probably on most women’s vision boards, but the man is a brown-noser and needs to grow a backbone.

“No, thank you, Officer Driscoll. I don’t need a friend; I need a man.”

The shock on his face is palpable. He’s probably not used to rejection and is used to the opposite sex throwing themselves at him ever since he started puberty and grew taller than his friends.

“Talbert,” a voice barks from the breakroom doorway.

“Yes, sir?” I respond, straightening my posture when I realize it’s Chief Brennan.

“Meet me in my office in five,” he demands.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

“Driscoll, your shift ended. Get out of my facility.”

“Yes, sir, Chief Brennan,” he agrees, but makes no effort to move, most likely wanting to clear the air between us before taking his leave.

“Now, Driscoll.” He scurries off, and I focus on the percolating coffee maker to avoid Chief Brennan’s sharp gaze. “Four minutes, Talbert,” he says with a grunt before storming away like a man on a mission. All I can think is that I fucked up in some way.

But how?

* * *

A manila folder drops on the desk before me. My eyes land on it, and I wonder if it’s my file and if I’ll be cleaning out my locker once this conversation is over.

Chief Brennan places his meaty fingers on the folder and eases it in my direction.

I don’t ask any questions and accept the folder, fearful of annoying the fuck out of him.

I open it, and my breath catches in my throat.

Inside is a dossier on none other than Nikolai Solkov, the Obschak of the Russian Mafia.

I stare at the man’s mugshot, and my mind immediately starts thinking bad things, like how I wouldn’t be opposed to biting those smirking lips or wrapping my fingers around that thick, tatted neck.

“We have Nikolai Solkov in custody.”

My head snaps up. “Here?”

“Yes, he’s downstairs in the basement.” The basement is where we keep the most heinous criminals or criminals we don’t want the public to know about for reasons that are above my pay grade.

“That dossier should tell you everything you need to know about him. He’s the accountant for the Russian Mafia, but he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty—he loves it. ”

My eyes scan the charges—extortion, money laundering, wire fraud, murder, witness tampering, fraud, robbery—the list goes on.

“What was he doing on American soil?”

Chief Brennan shrugs his shoulders. “He won’t say. Not that I expected him to. Those bastards live by a code. He’s the kind of man who’ll cut his tongue out of his mouth before ratting.”

“Where was he caught?”

“Trying to cross the border to Canada. We think a border agent was supposed to guarantee his safe passage, and shit didn’t go as planned.

A dedicated border agent suddenly quit a few hours before his shift with no explanation.

His superior paints the agent as a stand-up guy who is pleasant, never calls in sick, works hard, and has goals of rising through the ranks.

According to the superior, the agent sounded squirrelly on the phone.

The agent is missing, and they’re trying to locate him now.

We’re waiting on his financial records and credit report to see if there have been any significant changes in the last couple of months. ”

“Why didn’t Canada take him into custody?”

“They didn’t want to deal with Solkov and were elated to hand him over. I can’t say that I blame them.”

“When is he going to pretrial?” Chief Brennan swirls his thumbs around each other as he leans back in his office chair. “He’s not going…is he?”

“That’s above our pay grade.”

“Say less, sir.”

“We just need to keep him here until the powers that be determine what they want to do with him. That’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“I’m assigning you and another officer to guard Solkov on rotating 12-hour shifts until he receives the boot. Any questions?”

“Why me?” I ask in disbelief.

“Why not you?” he challenges.

That’s a good fucking question. I follow the rules, treat the prisoners, coworkers, and superiors respectfully, and do the job without complaint. Why not me?

“I usually have good intuition when it comes to people, and my gut is telling me that I can trust you. Can I trust you, Officer Talbert?”

I didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. If this goes off without a hitch, you may be promoted to sergeant. You can go home to get some rest; you’ll take the evening shifts.”

“Thank you, Chief Brennan. I won’t let you down.”

“You’re dismissed, Officer Talbert.”