Page 45 of Shadows of Justice

“Were you running, chica?” Leo’s deep voice rolls over me. “You sound out of breath. Have I caught you at a bad time?” I can hear the cheeky smile in his tone, beaming at me from the other end of the line.

“Just . . . cleaning,” I say lamely, drawing my bottom lip in between my teeth. “Have you got anything?”

“Sí,” he says. “How soon can you be here?”

Chapter Fourteen - Unsaid Things

Wednesday, July 22nd

“Why the Crimes Against Children unit?” Leo asks me, refilling my whiskey on the rocks and handing it back to me.

I shrug. “Because kids can’t fight for themselves. Someone else needs to be an advocate for them.” I fiddle with my napkin. “There were times I wished that someone would do that for me, you know?” He nods slowly, scrutinizing me so closely that I want to squirm, but I don’t. I hold his gaze.

“Well, hopefully after this is all over, you’ll have that FBI position waiting for you,” he says, but there’s something in his expression. That crackling, unsaid thing between us that always prickles my senses when I can tell that he’s not saying everything that he wants to.

Leo had steaks waiting when I arrived. He wanted us to eat before he told me what he’d found out about the Valley Dogs. It feels selfish to be chatting over expensive whiskey and fancy cuts of meat when all of this chaos is happening around us and people’s lives are in danger. It makes me feel rushed, but I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy every second I get to spend escaping it all for a moment of calm with him.

After dinner, he leads me back up to the third floor, to his office. This time, I notice that on the way we pass a lap pool, a gym, a bathroom, two guest bedrooms, and finally his master suite. As we pass his room he quickly closes the door, concealing an unmade bed and clothes strewn about.

Leo has a messy bedroom. Why do I find that endearing?

It’s just so human.

Maybe it’s because I just like adding to my collection of little facts about him. You know, like serial killers collect locks of hair.

The computer is already unlocked and the screens are all on something different. He hastily types a few things in, and one of the flat screens that had a grid of surveillance camera footage showing parts of a residence goes dark. He looks uncomfortable and doesn’t provide any explanation, so I don’t push.

I guess I’m not the only one with trust issues.

He clears his throat and begins explaining to me what he’s heard over the last three days via surveilling the Valley Dogs’ residences and cell phone conversations. There wasn’t much until early this morning, when he picked up on a call in which a member said that he would be doubling security at “el nido,” or, “the nest.”

“The nest?” I ask, my heart racing. “What is that?”

“My question exactly,” Leo says, turning to his computer. “I researched it in every way I could, cross-referencing it with every known address that the Dogs have ever mentioned, any of their business fronts or known residences, but nothing. I couldn’t figure it out.”

My face falls, disappointed, but he holds up a finger.

“There’s something else,” he says. “I tracked imports of the three main materials needed for building the MG-T12, those being aluminum powder, iron oxide, and thermite. Now, thermite is used for a fuck-ton of industrial work, so tracking that would be a complete needle in a haystack, as well as aluminum powder, as its used in anything from printer ink to ceramics.” He pauses, and my breath catches when he looks up at me with complete joy.

“But iron oxide?” I ask, and he winks at me.

“A most rare resource,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Especially for a nightclub owner to want in his stockroom.” I blink, completely confused on what the fuck he could be talking about.

“I don’t get it,” I say, and he turns to his keyboard and types with lightning-quick speed.

One of the screens shows a map of LA, and it zooms in on his coordinates after he’s finished. It brings up a street in Panorama City, a dicey neighborhood in northern San Fernando Valley.

“This is a gentleman’s club,” Leo begins, “and it’s the delivery location for twenty pounds of iron oxide this afternoon. Check out what it’s called.” He leans back in his rolling chair, proud as punch. I crane my neck to read the title from where I’m standing at his side.

“The Roost,” I say, and gasp. “You think ‘the nest’ was code?”

“It’s our best shot,” Leo says. “They know I’ve been listening in—it’d figure that they’d be careful of what they say. Oddly, it’s not officially owned by any Valley Dog associate that I can dig up. In fact, it’s weirdly difficult to trace ownership back to a legitimate person at all. The owner—a Charles Lipsky—appears legit, but if you peel back the curtain, it’s a fake identity. But anyway, that’s not our focus. Given the details, I think there’s a big chance this place is involved with the MG-T12.” He suddenly looks down for a moment, seeming to try and find the right words. “You should try again with your captain. With the oxide delivery as evidence, this is a solid lead. You could clear your name.”

“He’s not going to listen to me, Leo,” I say. “He told me if I bring it up again, it’s the last straw. And besides, I’m not thinking about my job right now. Let’s just go there—to the club! If we can get evidence of the oxide’s presence, we could stop this ourselves.”

“Absolutely not!” Leo thunders, surprising me with his sudden domineering tone. “It’s way too fucking dangerous, Viv. And besides, no one like us just goes to The Roost without a reason to be there. It’s members only—where deals are done, and obviously, where illegal, bomb-making materials are stored. It’s not a ‘for the public’ type of venue,” he says, punctuating the air with his fingers. I cross my arms and start to pace.

“The wedding is in two days,” I say. “We’re running out of time. They know what you look like, but maybe I could sneak in . . .”

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