No More Mr. Nice Guy (23 page)

During the entire ride home from the city my mind was only on Bridget. There was no doubt that if she hadn't received that phone call, we would have ended up in bed. Damn, if that woman didn't have me feeling like I could lift a whole lot of weights or do something superhuman. The question was, how did I feel about that, especially with us being partners and her ice-cold demeanor most of the time? I was glad I was pulling in the driveway so I could talk to Willie about it. He would already know once he saw my face that something had gone down. I never was good at hiding things from my uncle.

“Hey, Niles, your mother is taking a nap.” Tanya jumped up as soon as I came into the living room, because sitting right there between her and Willie was Keisha. This girl didn't even have the decency to face me though.

Willie got up and took Tanya's hand. “We gonna give you two a minute.” Ignoring my raised eyebrows and funky attitude, the two of them hustled out of there quick. Keisha still hadn't looked up at me, which was making me even madder than just seeing her in my house.

“What are you doing here?” I snapped, pissed that I had to have one moment of my day interrupted by her. When she finally turned her head toward me, I took a step back and just stared at her. Somebody had beaten the shit out of her, leaving her eyes puffy, with black and blue marks and scars all over her face. I quickly reminded myself that Keisha and her face were no longer my problem.

She bowed her head as she came over to me. “I need to talk to you.”

“Then talk so you can get the hell out of my house—then do me a favor and don't come back.”

“Please don't be mad at me,” she said breathlessly. “It wasn't my fault. I swear.”

This bitch must have confused me with someone who still cared. “Really? So . . . you coming to answer your door while you got your baby daddy laid up, or you fixing him a nice plate then telling me to leave and slamming the door in my face. What part of that is not your fault?” I seethed, overwhelmed by the memory and suddenly feeling like it had just happened today.

She tugged at my sleeve, pleading with me. “Niles, please listen.” I snatched my arm away from her. She looked really pitiful, but I was beyond caring. This woman had broken my heart and treated me like shit, and now she wanted me to act like it was some kind of mistake? Naw, I was the one who had made a mistake by ever trusting this unfaithful bitch. If she had bruises all over her face, it was her own fault for going back to that asshole in the first place. Still, I felt something deep inside of me, something like pity and concern for her well-being, and I wanted her to leave before it escaped and she thought it meant I forgave her.

“Keisha, I swear you need to leave!” I took her arm and led her down the hall and out the front door, but she was relentless.

“Niles, don't do this. I need to talk to you. It's life or death, and that's not a joke.” She had big crocodile tears rolling down her face, like that was going to soften me up.

“Please. You look like somebody already tried to smash your face in, so you a whole lot closer to death than me,” I retorted in full asshole mode.

“You think I want this? You think I want to be with this monster? To have him touch me?” she screamed at me.

“It don't matter what I think. You are with him,” I reminded her.

“Yes, but I don't want to be!” she pleaded, grabbing onto my arms again.

“Then answer me one thing: What was he doing there?” I asked.

“I didn't know he was getting out of jail,” she said, steady lying again.

“Bullshit. So he happened to get out of jail, and he happened to be in your house that day? What you think, I'm a fool and I'm gonna buy this? What is your angle here?”

“But I didn't know he was getting out of jail. I had already broken up with him. I told him about you. I told him that I was in love with you,” she said, begging me to believe her—except I didn't. I couldn't, because the evidence didn't back her up.

“You fucking think I'm crazy enough to believe this?” I fumed at Keisha for wasting my time with this bullshit and dredging up old wounds. I don't know if it was the job that had made me so cold, but even looking at Keisha's damaged face, I couldn't let down my guard and show her any sympathy.

“Niles, I'm sorry. I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart. I am. You need to hear me when I say be careful. Majestic is crazy. He is insane and dangerous.”

“I'm not worried about your baby daddy.” I laughed in her face. She didn't seem to understand that her worry and her man were her problems.

“You should be,” she said, shaking like a leaf. “Do you think if I had any choice I would have stayed with him? He threatened to kill me and then to give my baby a new mother, and he would have done it, and nobody would have ever found my body.”

“Then you should have trusted me. You think I sweat bullets over some bully who's such a pussy he has to put his hands on a woman? You let your fear of him keep you from telling me the truth. See, what you don't seem to understand is that your fear of losing me should have motivated you,” I told her.

“I know,” she whimpered like a puppy that had just been kicked. “Just please be careful. He thinks you had something to do with his brother's death, and he may come after you, Niles.”

“That would not be in his best interest to come looking for me right now,” I warned her and then turned and went back into my house. My handlers at Dynamic Defense would have been proud. Somehow during my training, Bridget must have removed my heart and filled my veins with ice water, because this Niles was not the same man I used to be. The question was, did I miss the old one?

I knew I should have been concentrating on the fact that less than an hour ago Jonathan had uttered the words no operative in our organization wanted to hear—code Alpha-Omega—but I could not stop myself from thinking about Niles and the fact that I was one kiss away from him fucking me just the way I needed it. My Agent Provocateur panties were sopping wet from desire for that man, but I had to pull it together before I reached my destination, because code Alpha-Omega was no joke.

A block away from the address Jonathan had given me, I ran right smack into the middle of a full-scale police investigation.

“Hello.” I waved over an officer. “Can you tell me what's going on here?” There had to have been at least fifty people, including suits, standing around the yellow tape with long faces. I noticed the coroner's truck parked in the driveway.

“Uh, ma'am, this is an active investigation,” he said, his eyes way too interested in my cleavage.

I flashed him the FBI credentials I carried around for just this occasion, because I needed to get in there and see Jonathan, who could tell me exactly what went down and why he felt I needed to be there.

“You're going to have to speak with Captain Meyer. He's the officer in charge.” Once he saw my badge, the cop wouldn't stop talking until I rolled up the window.

“No problem,” I said as I waved him off and parked. Checking out the faces as I sauntered past, I could see that people were shook. This certainly wasn't the kind of neighborhood where they were used to a full-scale police presence.

As I headed into the backyard where all the action seemed to be happening, another officer tried to cut me off. I retrieved my badge, gave it a quick wave, and kept stepping. I spotted Jonathan, who was talking to a white-shirt captain and a rather dapper detective. He nodded at both men then headed my way.

“We've got problems,” Jonathan began without even looking up at me.

“What's going on?”

“Have you seen the crime scene yet? Have you seen it?”

“No, and who's the Alpha-Omega on?”

He gestured for me to follow him.

“If you haven't guessed yet . . .” He sighed, stepping over the yellow crime scene tape and pointing. “It's on you, Bridget.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, following his finger until two dead bodies came into view across the yard next to the pool. When I got closer, I saw that it was a man and a woman, and each had taken one to the head. What I saw next made me take a step back.

“Fuck!” I stared at the bodies, sprawled out on the patio, where my name had been spray-painted in large red letters. “Who the fuck are these people?”

“The woman's name is Bonnie,” Jonathan said. I could feel his stare. “The man, as you can see, no longer has a face. His name was Fuller. You may remember him as Detective Fuller.”

“What the fuck is this all about?” I asked, suppressing the panic I felt rising in my chest. “How'd my name get down there?”

Jonathan shook his head. “I don't know, but this isn't good. You've been compromised.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I just don't know how this happened. I covered my tracks. I know I did.” The one thing I could never be accused of was being sloppy on the job.

“Then you need to try and fix this. You do not want the folks upstairs getting wind of this.”

There was really no reason for his warning, because my ass was already worried.

This was a top level threat, and I knew to treat it as one. My bosses were a secondary concern, because the first had to be my fear of someone coming after me. If they were willing to kill for the information I had, then they weren't about to give up with just two dead bodies.

“I need to find out who talked and who they talked to. This was not supposed to happen. It was quick and dirty.” My explanation sounded flat even to me.

Jonathan looked me sternly in the eyes. “Yeah, well, somebody sang like a goddamn canary, and there is no telling what Fuller said to the killer or killers before he died.”

“Other than my name, I don't think he knew that much.” My mind was already racing as I tried to remember exactly how it went down the last time I saw Fuller at the station.

“Well, one thing is certain: If our superiors find out about this, they will take Monroe from you, and they may put you on a desk—or worse.”

I swear I saw a faint smile on his face, like he'd be happy for that shit to happen. I took a deep breath, my mind bouncing from this situation to Niles. No way would I want to lose him, and for more reasons than Jonathan knew, but I was smart enough not to say anything about our “coworkers with benefits” situation.

“So you need to figure this shit out, Bridget, and quick,” he pressed.

I started thinking about Niles and how he figured into this and, well, it really got me worrying. “I need to go,” I told Jonathan as I took one more look at Fuller and his wife lying dead on the ground.

“And you better hope like hell that you're not the next one on their list,” he quipped, but I knew for certain that there was someone else they'd be looking for. I only hoped they didn't have his name.

Majestic and I were greeted with smiles and brotherly love as we stepped into B. Smith's restaurant on the pier in Sag Harbor for lunch. The brothers we were supposed to meet were already seated in the back of the restaurant, so we sat down across from them, even though both Majestic and I hated having our backs to the door.

“Hey, man, good to see you back out on the streets,” said Vegas, the darker, more muscular of the Duncan brothers. He stood up and gave Majestic a quick hug as we approached him and his younger, more studious-looking brother, Orlando.

We'd been summoned out to the East End of Long Island to meet with our suppliers, and since it was off-season, the place was nearly empty. Coming out here was one of the only ways to stay off the radar, since the Duncans didn't like to be seen with criminals. These guys were part of the biggest and best-run drug distributors on the East Coast, and after dealing with the janky-ass third string dealers, we'd graduated a few years ago and moved up to their level. Our business had boomed ever since, and them being brothers and having a family-run company only served to strengthen our alliance. They liked that we'd been lifelong friends who now worked together.

“Vegas Duncan, what's happening, baby?” Majestic sounded excited like a little kid.

“Just trying to make it happen, my brother,” Vegas replied as we all took our seats.

“This place is known for their seafood, so go for it.”

Majestic turned to the waitress, a cute bottled blonde with big tits and an aggressive smile who probably dreamed of one day landing herself a yacht owner with a penthouse in the city.

“Give us two seafood platters.” Majestic ordered for both of us because he knew I'd never met a shrimp or a lobster I didn't love.

I handed her the menu. “And I'll take a Coke.”

“Two,” Majestic shot out then dismissed her, ready to get to down to business.

Vegas Duncan was a real no-bullshit guy who didn't mince words or play by anybody else's rules. For the most part, we'd always landed on the same side, but I was sensing he wasn't happy today. I glanced over at Majestic to see if he was worried, but he was so cool I couldn't get a read.

“My brother tells me you guys have increased your business twenty percent in the last year,” Vegas said.

“Yeah, things have been good. My man Bruce here—” Majestic wrapped his arm around my shoulder—“really held things down while I was away.”

“I ain't do anything you wouldn't have done, bro,” I replied.

“Well, the Duncans appreciate your hard work. As an extra incentive, we'd like to extend you a discount of three less on all your future business,” Vegas said.

Majestic and I turned to each other, grinning like we were ten years old and had just come downstairs to find new bikes under the Christmas tree.

“Wow, thanks, man. You know we appreciate it,” Majestic answered.

“But there is one catch.” Vegas's words poured cold water on my internal celebration.

“And what's that?” I asked, leaning toward him.

“We hear you have an issue with a woman by the name of Bridget St. John.”

Majestic didn't seem at all surprised that word had gotten back to them. Hell, the Duncans ran New York. There wasn't shit that got past them, especially when you put a hundred grand on a woman's head.

“Hell, yeah. We think she had something to do with my brother's death.” His tone left no question of his intent to do bodily harm to her.

The waitress dropped our drinks, and reading the energy, she quickly shot the hell out of there.

Orlando Duncan, who had stayed silent until then, spoke. “That's not good for business.” There was something about his highbrow attitude and tailored suit that told me college boy had never spent a moment getting his hands dirty in the streets. I assumed the reason he was even there had to do with Vegas showing him the ropes.

Majestic ignored him and turned to Vegas. “You got three brothers, so no disrespect, but don't tell me that you'd let a motherfucker continue to breathe once they'd put one of y'all in the ground.”

Vegas stared at Majestic for a moment, tensing his jaw muscles before he spoke. “I'm truly sorry for your loss, but we can't have varying factions that we do business with going to war. Bridget is connected to some folks who you don't want to make your enemies.”

Majestic shot me a look that let me know he was not about to back down. I'd seen it too many times.

“Hey, she gives me no choice,” he said in response to the gauntlet Vegas had just thrown down.

Vegas leaned in until they were damn near eyeball to eyeball. “That sweet deal and all, the one that made sure you only got six months, didn't have much to do with your lawyer. We needed you out on the street doing your job, selling our product. You understand?”

Majestic didn't even blink at the revelation that the Duncans had been behind his release. “And I really appreciate that, but none of it is going to bring my brother back or make the motherfuckers who took his life accountable. There is shit you do in life that calls for serious payback, and this qualifies.”

“Then you need to understand that you and Bruce are on your own. I can't protect you if you don't heed my warning. This woman is connected to some very serious people.”

“Then consider me warned,” Majestic shot back, not giving a fuck about this threat.

“This means that you are no longer under the Duncan family protection. We can't get involved in this situation.”

Majestic leaned back in the booth and spoke calmly. “Then you got to do what you gotta do.”

Vegas motioned to Orlando, and they got up, but not before he dropped two crisp hundred-dollar bills on the table before the two of them bounced. “Your meal is on the Duncans.”

The waitress, who now appeared slightly terrified, dropped our food as she stared at the money on the table. She might have been scared, but she wanted that tip.

“Anything else?” she asked, not as chirpy as earlier but trying her damndest to put a smile on her face.

I shook my head in response, and she got lost.

I was worried about Majestic. “Look, I know you two go way back,” I said to him, “but you do know you just told the heir apparent to the biggest Black Mafia family in the country to kiss your ass, don't you?”

“Yeah, and? What did you want me to do? I'm not caving to the Duncans, the Russians, or anyone else.”

“What are we gonna do now? They're not gonna sell us any product.”

Majestic still didn't seem bothered at all. “The man in the west is our protection and our supplier now. We already buy our guns and swag from him; we might as well add dope. Long as we got him and his cousin Alejandro on our team, we don't have nothing to worry about.”

“Even though the Duncans run the business in New York?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“Not anymore. We about to be their competition, 'cause I'm not bitching up for nobody, and them thinking I should means they deserve us taking it all.”

“Then we need to plan a trip to Los Angeles,” I told him. “And we'll go straight to the source.”

A gigantic smile spread across his face, as we both tucked into our seafood platters, which, I have to say, were damn tasty. “Set it up.”