Page 20 of Draven

“Boss,” I say, “Good morning.”

“Get your ass to work, Rhodes,” he bellows, almost bursting my ear drum. “Or so help me God, I’ll make it my mission to ensure you’re so miserable, you’ll pray for death or retirement—whichever comes first.”

I steel my spine and ready myself for battle. “I can’t,” I say, deciding to say as little as possible and just let him blow himself out like a tornado whose source of power is suddenly snatched away.

“Wrong answer. We have crimes to solve, and the state of New Jersey pays you to do your goddamn job.”

“Crimes to solve,” I parrot. “Hmm, that we do, sir. That we do.”

A hiss of breath comes down the phone line the moment my barbed comment hits its mark. “For fuck’s sake, Rhodes. I’m sympathetic to your family troubles. I’m not a robot. I get how devastated you must be that your sister is missing. But if you get in the way of the FBI, that’s your career over. Finished. Is that what you want?”

“I’m not getting in anyone’s way, sir,” I say, keeping my voice low and steady despite the knot in my stomach doubling in size. “I’m simply requesting some long overdue vacation days.”

“Denied,” he hits back.

“Then, I’ll take my request to the captain. I’m sure he’ll understand how difficult it’s been for me to continue as normal since my sister went missing.”

A long pause sends my pulse skyrocketing. I picture steam coming out of his ears at my bold threat.

“You listen to me, Rhodes, and listen good. I’ll sign off on your vacation, but if you cross even the thinnest line, I’ll throw you to the wolves. Get me?”

“Yes, sir.”

The line goes dead without another word, so I prop myself against a nearby wall and wait for my heart rate to slow.

I have a week to find Kiera and pray that my career remains intact in the meantime.

Chapter 9

Draven

During the entire thirty-minute journey back to the motel, my dick barely deflates, but I can’t wipe the smile off my face. If Ciaran could see me now, grinning behind the bike helmet, he’d sign me into the local psyche ward. Arguing with Louise always seems to have the same result: a hard-on that keeps on giving. The flare in her eyes when I pushed her up against the wall and clamped my hand around her throat tells me everything I need to know.

She likes to be dominated.

I won’t give her what she craves, though. I’ll wait until she begs, which she will… eventually. And when she does, I’ll pound her into next fucking week.

I park the bike outside my motel room and cut the engine. Despite Louise storming off in a snit and sending a clear message she’s severed our partnership, sooner or later she’ll come scuttling back. She won’t allow her fury at me to get in the way of saving her sister.

Since leaving the bogus witness’s place, a plan has begun to form in my mind. I need intel, but not from law enforcement. This needs to come from the inside, from the underbelly of the trafficking world.

Luckily, I have just the guy in mind.

Moretti.

There isn’t a chance that obnoxious, cocky bastard will talk to me voluntarily, especially after I crushed his balls and broke his nose during his arrest for trafficking and prostituting young girls. He got off lightly in my opinion. But one thing Moretti does have? Contacts.

To have a chance of getting Moretti to talk, I’ll need leverage.

I scan the list of names on my phone before locating the one I need. Pavel Hajek and I met a few years ago when I was still working for the NYPD. He owns a private investigative firm in Washington D.C., and since starting up my own firm, we’ve worked a few cases together. He’s a good person to know, and his style is very similar to mine. He doesn’t mind bending a few rules if it means hitting pay dirt.

“Pavel,” I say. “Listen up. I’ve got the perfect job for you.”

I let Pavel in on my plan, and his guffaws of laughter grow the more I speak.

“You’re an evil bastard,” he eventually says.

“True, but I get results. Set it up. Pull in anyone of your choice. I’d say three or four should be enough. And call Octavia.”

---