Chapter 3 Max
MAX
“The little bitch really hit me,” Logan hisses, while he checks if his nose is broken. He rubs his face with the sleeve of his jacket, but all it does is spread more blood in his short beard. “Now stop cuddling her, this isn’t make-a-wish.”
Reluctantly, I hand Mrs. Holton over to him. He throws her over his shoulder and as we cross the street, we hear Sam yelling at Mr. Holton.
Logan unlocks the car, but when he opens the trunk, ready to throw Mrs. Holton in there, I clear my throat.
He sighs, drawn out and deliberately loud.
Just like he does every time he’s unhappy with my—as he calls it—good cop approach.
In my opinion, it’s more like I’m a decent human being, and he’s Logan, but no matter how you want to put it, it gets on his nerves.
Drops of blood run over his lip and I reach out to wipe them away. I can’t see him like this. Not because I’m worried, but because it gets me fucking hard.
A few years ago, I would have questioned myself for this train of thought, but then I joined Task Force Phoenix and met Logan. Now, I just roll with it. Rolling a little too freely sometimes, according to Logan.
“I should sit in the backseat with her,” I say.
“No.”
“She could throw up. You don’t know how she reacts to your cocktail. Aren’t you close to exceeding your limit this quarter? And now you want to risk killing a witness? Bold move, Logan.”
“Shut,” he groans, throwing her into my arms, “up.”
I walk around the car with a smile on my face.
“Witnesses cause problems, that’s why you don’t leave ‘em. Why are you even in the military? Walked up to the wrong booth on career day, didn’t check twice where you put your signature?”
Okay, someone is extra snarky today.
“Saw a K9 and thought they’d let you play with puppies all day?”
I don’t bother interrupting him and just let him blow off some steam while I try to get the girl in our car.
“You’re way too nice for this. Too soft.”
One day, I’ll create Logan-Bingo cards for the guys and me.
Too soft. He says it like my conscience is a bad thing. Unfortunately, his lack of empathy is among the reasons I would jump into a volcano if it got me his attention. That, and his dick.
A little out of breath, I flop down in the backseat next to Mrs. Holton. Getting an unconscious person in a car and keeping them upright while buckling them up proved to be quite the challenge. A failed one, too, because the person doesn’t stay upright.
Logan turns around after starting the engine, far from delighted as he sees that Mrs. Holton’s head is now resting on my lap.
“Do you believe in fate?” I ask, grinning.
“No, but I believe in Charlie being unable to do a proper background check.” He reverses out of the garden and after making a harsh u-turn once we’re on the street, he searches for my gaze through the rearview mirror. “If I find out you planned this, Max, I swear to God—“
“Focus on the road.”
Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Logan searches the pockets of his tactical vest. He holds up a filled syringe for me to see before he drops it on the passenger seat.
“There’s still a dose of the Cabrera Good Night Special left, so you better not test my patience unless you want some.”
“Is that your idea of foreplay?”
I kick my feet against his seat as I get comfortable and Logan resorts to digging his nails into the steering wheel.
With a smile on my face, I look down at our fresh addition. Neither she nor Logan know about their luck yet, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
“Haven’t you stared at her enough in the past 48 hours?”
“I was observing the house. You know, doing my job.”
“So they pay you for stalking married girls?”
“It’s not stalking if it’s part of a mission.”
I look out of the window until I’m sure Logan is no longer monitoring me through the rearview mirror.
For the last two days, we were staying in the house across from our target, Mr. Holton. Sam got a nervous rash seconds after entering the building and Captain Rockwell had to scout the surrounding area, something he coincidentally remembered once it became clear we had to clean part of the house.
I’m not a neat freak like Sam, but everyone has a line. Mine is at fossilized crusty plates in the sink and scratching sounds that come from inside mountains of undefinable material. Since we were the only ones left, Logan and I had to set up our camp in the biggest bedroom on the second floor.
When I saw her for the first time, all the dirt and piled up garbage bags ceased to exist. Early morning sunlight shone like a halo around her as she got ready for her day, and I simply ignored the piece of trash lying on the other side of her bed.
I watched her every move, mesmerized by how she did the simplest task.
Seeing her pick up mail became the highlight of my day, and I only slept once she got in the car and drove off to work.
I offered to take over the night watch, just so that the others could get some rest and definitely not because I wanted to stare at her for another hour or two.
No one addressed it, which made me think I was being subtle.
“She knows about the shit her husband’s doing. Can feel it in my gut.”
“That’s the protein bar you stole from Sam. Does she really look like a criminal to you?”
“We’re solving cases based on looks now, sunshine? Grew a pair of all-knowing eyes? We should call the Supreme Court, maybe they’ll even build you a pretty throne. Max, just imagine, you could be the Helios of our time.”
“I’m surprised you even know who that is,” I snap back. Logan drives over a pothole instead of around it, forcing a groan out of me. “You don’t have to mock everything I say.”
“You hear the stuff that leaves your mouth, right?”
He laughs and reaches behind his seat to squeeze my thigh. How am I supposed to be mad at him for more than thirty seconds? I suppress a grin and Rockwell’s voice comes through the radio for our periodic check-in, demanding Logan’s attention.
Just three more hours and then we’re finally back at base. I can’t wait to have a long, steaming hot shower, or drop by a decontamination chamber.
Now matter how hard I think about it, I don’t get why they sent us for this job.
Thinning out the front lines of a local gang isn’t what we usually do, and I have a suspicion Lieutenant General Sanders had a say in this matter.
As if Logan needed more reasons to pull out his nails and make him eat them.
I spend the remaining drive either dozing off or staring at the girl in my lap, and soon, Logan greets the guy at the base entrance before driving into the compound.
Our quarters are still a few minutes away, located somewhat remote from the other buildings.
Back when I joined the task force, we were the only ones living there, until one of the main buildings had to undergo renovations.
After the incident, the rookies learned to avoid our house.
So now it’s just us and another task force that moved in shortly after Sanders’ arrival on base, but since they are located overseas most of the time, we don’t run into each other often.
“This,” Logan points at the girl in my lap while we wait for the garage door to open, “ends right here. Put her in a cell.”
He parks the car, throws me the keys and walks over to Sam and Rockwell, who are already busy bringing Mr. Holton to his new, temporary home. I bet Logan’s happy I’m not arguing about it with him, but the truth is, I wanted to take care of her. Taking care of putting her in a cell, I mean.
I open the reinforced door to the cell block, carrying Mrs. Holton bridal style. Logan exhales deeply and when Rockwell and Sam come out of Mr. Holton’s cell, they just shake their heads at me before resuming their conversation.
I hate how fragile she looks as I put her down on a metallic detention bed, and when I think about getting a blanket for her, Logan calls my name. As if he can smell that I’m being too nice again.
“Ass over here, Vaughn,” he barks when I don’t react.
Sighing, I close the door to Mrs. Holton’s cell and join the others in the hallway.
“Cleanup crew’s already at the house,” Rockwell says, looking up from his phone.
“I talked to Governor Emerson on the drive back here. He asked me to keep Mr. Holton in detainment for a while, to see if we can find out how much he knows about the 203. Guess they’ve been crossing a few lines lately. ”
“Oh, so we’re the police now?” Logan asks, searching his pockets for cigarettes.
“Governor Emerson would be grateful if we handle the issue for him,” Rockwell states dryly, knowing how to avoid discussions with Logan by now.
“If this means I have to go back to the hell-house, I’m out.” Sam swats a non-existent bug off of his shoulder, lowering his brows. “You know I don’t have to do this. My wife is rich. I could resign right-fucking-now.”
“This isn’t a summer job, Lieutenant Ryves, and I’d like to remind you that your six-year contract is still running. Got really prissy since you married her,” Rockwell adds under his breath.
“You are calling me prissy?” Sam snaps back. “Who had to take care of the fucking racoons, Arthur? Who?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, punching Sam’s arm. “I could have lured them out. Rodents love me.”
He digs his index finger into my shoulder, towering over me as he speaks. “You stay the hell away from anything that’s not a cat or dog. I’m not going to repeat what happened in Belarus.”
Logan taps his foot, his lack of nicotine becoming more and more obvious.
“How are we gonna do it? Can I go in? Ten minutes and you’ll have your confession.”
We haven’t had a captive in a while, and Logan needs them to decompress.
Usually, Rockwell and Sam go in first for interrogations.
Rockwell talks, and Sam looms in the background.
If that doesn’t work, they call Logan. When Logan doesn’t get any good intel, it turns into a job for someone with a pressure washer and a strong stomach.
“We need reliable information, not something he said because you made him shit his pants.”
“Then why am I still standing here?” Logan groans and shoves his hand in the pocket of Sam’s vest, fishing out his lighter.
“No smoking in the—“
Looking straight at Rockwell, Logan lights his cigarette, takes a few deep drags and ashes onto the floor of the cell block, grinning when the cigarette hangs from his mouth again.
“Sergeant Vaughn, you and the imp talk to Mrs. Holton.”
“What’s an imp?” Logan mumbles, but Rockwell is still talking and I’d rather not be the one explaining it to him, anyway.
“Keep him under control,” Rockwell says, directed at me. “Our intel doesn’t show any involvement on her part, so please try not to traumatize her.”
“Pathetic how it only takes a pretty girl for all of you to lose your backbone.”
“So you think she’s pretty,” I say with a grin so big it makes Logan flash Sam’s lighter right in front of my face.
“Careful, sunshine.”
“Maybe she is willing to give you guys some information we can use against her husband. It’s worth a try now that she’s here,” Rockwell interrupts Logan’s flirtations.
“Has he talked during the drive?” I ask.
“Not really,” Sam answers. “Started off all cocky and loud, but once we called Cantrell to report back, he shut down. Turned whiter the closer we got to base. Weird fella.”
Sam shrugs and turns around to follow our captain to Mr. Holton’s cell. Before they go in, Rockwell looks over his shoulder, nodding his head at Logan.
“Cabrera, play nice. This is an order.”
Logan gives him a thumbs up, but his face says ‘keep talking, I’m going to fuck shit up either way’.
I’m not exactly thrilled about having to keep him under control, because the leash that could hold Logan has yet to be invented.
“I need a shower. That house was nasty,” he says while he puts his cigarette out against the concrete wall. “Call me when she wakes up.”
Judging by the amount of tranquilizer he gave her, she’s going to be out cold for another hour or two.
“I could also use a shower,” I suggest, but Logan shuts me down immediately.
“You were so good at watching her, why stop now?”
Yeah, I should have seen that one coming.
“And Max,” he says, leaning closer to whisper in my ear, “don’t you fucking dare to go in there and talk to her on your own.” His voice is barely more than a low growl and the way he’s grabbing a fistful of my hair makes tingles shoot up my spine.
“You want to keep being my good boy, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble, and Logan rewards me by softly patting my cheek before he leaves. Well, at least I have enough time to get my boner under control.
The only thing keeping me from falling asleep with my back against Mrs. Holton’s cell door is the interrogation taking place down the hallway. Judging by Rockwell’s tone of voice, Mr. Holton is anything but cooperative.
I’m drifting off again, but the sound of reluctant knocking against metal shakes me awake. For a fraction of a second, I contemplate talking to her. Just to prepare her for what’s about to come.
Speaking of the devil, Logan enters the cell block. Wearing a fresh uniform, downing the rest of his energy drink before he crushes the empty can in his hand and holds it out to me.
The grin on his face is a tad too excited, given the situation.
He’s so fucking beautiful.
“Showtime, sunshine.”