Page 66 of Draven

“Do you believe Beresford is aware of the other cells?” Ciaran asks. “And if we can break him, the entire case might crack wide open?”

“I do, yes,” Pete says. “I’ve already put a tap on Beresford’s phone, and he’s under surveillance, but I’m not hopeful he’ll slip up without a nudge in the right direction. He hasn’t gotten this far by being sloppy.”

“What’s your plan?” Draven asks.

“We need to worry him,” Pete says. “Let him think we know more than we do, and hope that forces him into making a mistake—maybe by contacting one of his associates, or tripping up electronically.”

“Or we find a way to force him into taking rash action,” I say absentmindedly, my gaze fixed on the wall opposite.

Draven squeezes my knee beneath the table. “If only it was that simple.”

I turn my attention to him, a fire burning within me with a burgeoning idea that won’t be extinguished. “It may be… if I offer myself as bait.”

Chapter 24

Draven

“Absolutely not!” I roar when Louise explains her plan. The plan, by the way, that both Ciaran and Pete think is a genius idea. I wonder if Ciaran would think that if I suggested we put Millie up as bait.

Answer: the fuck he would.

“I will not allow you to put yourself in the line of fire. The answer is no.”

She widens her eyes. “Allow me?”

Her incensed tone is meant to warn me that I’ve overstepped the mark. Overstepped it? I’ll stomp all over it if it keeps her safe and as far away from this motherfucking disaster as possible.

“I don’t need your permission. I’m a detective working for the state of New Jersey, and I have good reason to believe one of my own is a dirty cop. I owe it to my coworkers, to those women, to Kiera…” Her voice breaks, and she clears her throat. “To my beloved baby sister, Kiera, to bring that fucker to justice.”

“And we will,” I say, backpedaling. I should have known better. Push Louise, and she pushes right back. If I have any chance of dissuading her from this course of action, I’ll have to tread carefully and let her know it’s because I care that I’m worried. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be the one to take the risk.”

Her cheeks pink up, and she rounds on me. “Why? Because you want to do it? You want to be the hero, the big man, the one who looks after the little lady and keeps her safe?” She snorts. “Well, too bad. You’re going to have to sit this one out.”

She folds her arms defensively under her breasts and stares at the wall. Ciaran shifts in his seat while Pete coughs, then checks his phone, probably praying for a call that isn’t going to come.

“Give us a minute, guys,” I say, cocking my head toward the stairs.

The two of them can’t get up quickly enough. “We’ll be in the bar,” Ciaran says, virtually sprinting upstairs, with Pete hot on his heels.

Louise waits until they’ve gone, then she stands, her glare fiery enough to burn my eyeballs from their sockets.

“I’m doing it,” she insists, “with or without your blessing. I have the best chance of tricking him into acting rashly or letting something slip. I work in his goddamn department, for fuck’s sake. I have a reason to be in his office. I know what I’m doing, yet you seem to think I’m incapable. That hurts, Draven, just so you know.”

“I never said you weren’t capable,” I say, towering over her. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Lola. But think about it. You could end up in grave danger.”

“And if I don’t, we might never catch him, or Shala, or the others. This could go on and on, with other families suffering like mine, like Darla Adams’s. Like all those other women’s families have. This is my job, Draven, and I’m good at it.”

“And it’s my job as your partner to take care of you,” I say, my tone dangerously low. “If anything happened to you, I’d…” I grip her upper arms and shake her. “I give a shit, Lola. I fucking give a shit. You hear me?”

The enormity of my admission stuns us both, each staring at the other, waiting for one of us to make a move. I may not have said the words, those four-letter feelings that normal people say, but that isn’t my style. Moonlight and roses and shit are for others, not me. Never me. But that doesn’t mean my heart can’t hurt or that I don’t feel fear and trepidation. It doesn’t mean I’m not racked with worry over the possibility of losing her, and what it would do to me if I did.

She leaps into my waiting arms, hooking her legs over my hips, her mouth seeking mine. Our tongues duel, each one fighting for dominance, neither willing to give an inch. It’s what makes us perfect for each other.

We break apart, and she slides down my body, craning her neck to look up at me. “I love you, too, you fucking asshole.”

I cradle her face, my thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Then, don’t do it.”

She grips my wrists and slowly pulls away my hands. “I don’t have a choice.”

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