Page 12 of Forbidden Devotion

The screen was small and the video grainy, but there stood twelve cops huddled around the corner of a shipping container. All of them had their vests on, and five of them had riot gear—neither Marino had mentioned riot gear. There really were no dogs.

I watched as the cops checked their weapons, trying to decipher individual pixels, when Jen’s smile got even wider as audio played through the phone. I gasped.

“Hacked the bodycam records for that,” Jen said proudly. “I’m working on editing it to fit the video resolution.”

“Don’t get heated,” a voice warned. “I know we want these damn Marinos off the streets, but if we don’t play by the book, then he’ll walk. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” someone said, while a few others echoed similar sentiments.

“So no antagonizing,” the lieutenant continued. “Do not fire unless fired upon. Do not touch them unless they touch you first. Don’t get in their faces. Don’t give them any excuses, alright?” More agreements.

“If they shoot?” someone asked.

“Then put bullets in their damn heads.”

“Let’s hope they’re trigger-happy then, huh?” Laughs all around. I was all but salivating in excitement.

“Let’s fuckin’ hope,” the lieutenant agreed, sounding like he was grinning. “But act like that’s the last thing you want, alright? We do this the official way unless they give us a good excuse. De-escalate and make a show for the cams. Riot control, stay hidden. Bodycams only come on if shots get fired, okay?

“And remember, whoever ends up searching the box, intel says it’s the third light down. Drugs are in the lampshades. If intel’s wrong, start opening all of them. There’s one in each box. Got it? Good. Safeties off, cams on. We move when the box is open. Watch for my signal.”

Then the men fell silent, the only noise being the crane and an occasional gull. I couldn’t see the Marinos from this angle, so the arrest itself wasn’t visible, but I didn’t need it to be. I was thrumming with excitement. Fuck the financials, this case was won.

“Jen,” I breathed, unable to contain my glee. “Marry me.”

Jen threw her head back and cackled, playing along. “I’ll have it edited by tomorrow morning. How do you feel about a fall wedding?”

If I’d had any romantic inclination towards women, I’d have kissed her right there.

“You just handed me a win on a golden platter, you can have anything you want.”

“How about a pizza?”

“Oh my god, yes, I’m starving! I was so nervous I barely ate at lunch.”

We settled in and started talking specifics about the audio, then about life in general, and by the time the pizza arrived, all my fears had slid right off me. I had a shoo-in case, a damn good friend, and warm cheese—and soon, I’d have my first professional win to my name.

Chapter Eight

RICHARD

Three days. It had been all of three days, and I was already utterly exhausted.

“How does he do this?” I sighed heavily, leaning back against the office chair. I had to look away from the papers and planners and calendars and notes—and close my throbbing eyes before they popped right out of my head.

I knew my father was organized; of course I did. I knew he was fastidious with his paperwork and had the memory of a steel trap. I had mastered his organizational skills, but memory, unfortunately, was a genetic factor. I had never wondered why he couldn't have been my father in that sense before, at least not since I was growing up and felt it would make a difference in how he loved me, but now I wanted nothing more. If I had half his memory, I wouldn't rush to write down what he just simply knew.

My mom patted my hand in commiseration. “He’s a little insane, sweetheart,” she consoled. Her marker swished across the page as she transferred yet another one of dad’s events from her calendar onto the paper one I’d be using.

“A Marino family trait,” I complained halfheartedly. She just chuckled.

“Maybe once we gang up on him, he’ll finally start writing things down. God knows he doesn’t listen to me.”

“I hope so,” I sighed, still refusing to look down or even open my eyes. They needed a rest.

“I think he will. He’ll get back and see what we had to go through to collect it all, and it’ll wake him up.” There was a short pause before mom spoke again. “I think he’ll realize,” she murmured, “what he’d be leaving behind for you if he died suddenly.”

My lips pressed together somberly. I knew my dad would die someday, obviously, but I was still so young, and he was in great health, so I never stayed with that thought for long. But I knew my dad thought about it, at least sometimes. He’d been even younger than me when grandpa had died.

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