Chapter 54 – thiago
Fifty-Four
thiago
The wind cuts through the summer heat as we cling to the side of the BearCat while it barrels through the busy city streets. Three more blocks and we’ll be at Los Blancos Warehouse and Parts, the body shop Rafe and several members of his crew operated.
Rafe may be dead, but the men who worked for him are still out there, hiding behind the facade of a legitimate business. As long as they’re free, Remi is still in danger.
The shootout on the highway gave us the break we needed. Between the bodies recovered, the weapons left behind, and an anonymous tip linking the gunmen to Los Blancos, we finally had enough to start digging.
It took nearly two weeks to follow the evidence, work through the proper channels, and secure a warrant. Now I’m hoping they were arrogant enough to leave behind the guns, drugs, or anything else we can use to shut this operation down and put everyone involved behind bars.
“Same as always,” Ryan says, knocking his fist lightly against my helmet.
I nod. “Fast and clean.”
“Fast and clean.” Leaning closer, he raises his voice over the howl of the wind. “Drinks are on me tonight. Frank’s. Eight o’clock.”
“Can’t. Busy.”
He chuckles. “Of course you are. That girl’s got you reeled in tight, doesn’t she?”
I don’t answer because the grin hidden beneath my helmet says enough.
The last couple of weeks with Remi have been the closest thing to normal I’ve had since this assignment began. I’ve been able to spend my nights with her without checking my phone every five minutes or wondering when another order will come through and ruin whatever we’re building.
A big part of that is Elena.
What was supposed to be a few days overseas has somehow turned into weeks, and I haven’t received a single call or text from her since she left. Whatever assignment pulled her away remains classified, so I have no idea where she is or when she’ll be back.
For now, I’m taking full advantage of her absence.
The guilt is still there, but with Elena gone, I can finally breathe. I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder or waiting for the next order that will force me to choose between my mission and the woman who has become the best part of my day.
The BearCat slows as Los Blancos Warehouse and Parts comes into view. Ryan slaps the side of the armored vehicle.
“Game time, Braga.”
I grip my rifle. “Let’s do this.”
“Stack up!” our team leader barks as the vehicle grinds to a stop.
We jump down and move, boots pounding against the pavement as we fan out and fall into formation beside the bay door. Ryan takes his place behind the breacher while I cover our sector, my rifle tracking the windows above the shop.
“Perimeter set,” a voice crackles over the radio.
“Copy.”
The breacher plants himself in front of the steel door and hoists the ram onto his shoulder.
“Police! Search warrant!” he shouts. “Open the door!”
No one answers. Our team leader gives the breacher the signal.
“Breach.”
The ram slams into the steel with a deafening crash. Again. On the third strike, the lock gives way.
“Go! Go! Go!”
The door flies inward, and we pour into the shop. Half a dozen mechanics freeze where they stand, their eyes widening at the sight of armored officers flooding the garage.
“Police! Hands where I can see them!”
“Get on the ground!”
Most of them comply immediately, but one bastard bolts toward the back of the shop.
“Runner!” someone shouts.
I break from the stack and sprint after him. He barrels through a doorway marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and nearly rips it off its hinges. I follow him into a narrow hallway cluttered with tires, toolboxes, and stacks of boxed parts.
“Police!” I yell. “Stop!”
He keeps running and shoves through another door, disappearing into the warehouse beyond, where rows of shelving tower overhead, packed with engines, transmissions, and crates wrapped in plastic.
The maze gives him enough cover to keep me from getting a clear line on him, so I push harder, closing the distance with every stride. He’s fast, but I’m faster.
He makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder and slams into a pallet.
Stumbling from the impact, he catches himself before hitting the floor, giving me the opening I need.
I close the final few feet and launch myself at him, driving my shoulder into his back.
We hit the ground hard and slide across the oil-stained concrete as the impact knocks the air from both of us.
Twisting beneath me, he tries to shove a hand into his front pocket.
“Don’t fucking do it!” I trap his wrist before his fingers can disappear inside.
“Fuck!” he roars, bucking beneath me as he fights to break free.
“Stop resisting,” I bark, wrenching his arm behind his back and snapping a cuff around his wrist.
He curses and tries to throw me off, but I force his other arm into position and secure the second cuff. As I pull him to his feet, a black burner phone slips from his pocket and skids across the floor. Ryan catches up and grabs it before the suspect can kick it away.
“Looks like he was trying to warn some friends.”
“Fuck you!” the man spits. “Bitch-ass pigs. I didn’t do shit!”
“Bag it,” I tell Ryan. “Then take him up front with the others.”
Ryan nods and shoves the suspect toward the front of the shop as the man keeps hurling obscenities over his shoulder.
I turn back toward the warehouse and continue the sweep, finding a door tucked between two rows of shelving that leads into a small office at the rear of the building.
I clear the room, then step inside and pause beside the desk to catch my breath.
That’s when a photograph grabs my attention.
I pick it up, and my stomach drops when I see Remi staring back at me. She’s standing outside the tattoo shop, completely unaware that someone’s watching her from a distance.
Studying the background, I search for anything that might tell me when it was taken or who was behind the camera. Rafe is dead, but whoever took this may not be. The thought of someone following my girl without her knowing sends anger burning through my veins.
Then my training cuts in, reminding me what I’m holding.
If this photograph ends up in the evidence log, the detectives assigned to the case will start asking why Rafe had been tracking Remi.
Her name will become part of the investigation, and eventually, someone will start looking at what happened on the highway.
They may not have enough to charge her, but they’ll dig into her life, her family, and every connection they can find until they uncover something neither of us can afford to have exposed.
I stare down at her face, knowing exactly what I’m supposed to do.
I should leave the photograph where I found it and make sure it gets logged with everything else recovered from the building.
But I slip it into my vest. There’s no gunfire forcing my hand this time and no immediate threat to Remi’s life.
I have time to think about what I’m doing, and that should be enough to stop me.
Unfortunately for me, it’s not.
I continue searching the office as though it had never been there.
Every report I’ve written, every warrant served, and every oath I’ve taken has been built on doing this job the right way.
I know what removing evidence from an active investigation makes me.
But when it comes to Remi, none of that seems to matter.
That should bother me, but all I can think about is whether that photograph is the only trace of her we’ll find in this building.
I hope to God it is.