Page 95 of Knotted Laces

Includingon Eagles’ games—and most often, bettingagainstthem.

Fucking asshole.

But he also sold a property in Oakland to a local mid-level crime boss who we know is involved in illegal activity. So now it’s putting pieces in place to nail Peter Auclairandstake out the warehouse.

The last week of digging has unearthed up several unsavory actors with their fingers in the criminal pie, all with rap sheets a mile long.

Now it’s a matter of narrowing them down while keeping an eye on the warehouseandshutting down the last outlet of the Lyon’s favorite money-making schemes.

Trading in people.

Innocent women. And girls.

That’s the worst part. They’re trafficking fucking underage girls who have no safe space and get swept up in shit that’s dangerous and over their heads, and they have no way to get out?—

No more.

Ithasto stop.

And well, gee, I wonder where I gotthatdrive to do something—anything—good came from.

Because even though Camhasn’tcalled, my mom’s been blowing up my phone.

Buzz-buzz.

Ugh. Right on cue.

I rub the throb at my temple, skim through the text that’s both a plea and an insult, and then I thank Connie for the coffee and head into my office, doing my best to go about my day. I need to process the intel coming in, need to forward any new leads, and then I have to get out of here early enough to get some sleep.

I was on stakeout duty last night, and though I have tonight off, that doesn’t really mean anything.

The pieces are in place, but an earthquake could hit at any time, rattling the parts free, shaking out some rats who’ll nibble on the corners. It could easily all blow up and when it settles, still make sense, still mean that the puzzle pieces fit, or it could all explode and send everything we’ve worked toward scattering toward the four corners of the planet, never to be united again.

We’re walking the tightrope of time to gather information and time to fucking act already.

But soon enough we’ll be taking that swan dive onto the acting side of the canyon.

And I don’t know exactly how soon that will be.

So, I need sleep.

And tomorrow night I’ll be back on stakeout duty.

I inhale slowly, exhale just as slowly, and push down my fatigue so I can focus on the intel, can do my necessary research, can get through all of my work and go home to rest—and do that all before I have to endure another one of Connie’s pity coffees.

Okay, the coffee’s fine.

It’s the looks that come with it…and the fact that I must look miserable enough that she hasn’t asked when she’s going to meet Cam again…

And that the department dinner for spouses and agents she previously scheduled has mysteriously disappeared from our team’s joint calendar.

My heart throbs, but like I’ve done for the last week, I shove down the hurt and focus on work.

Cam needed space.

I gave it to him.

That was the right thing to do.

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