Page 39 of Shattered

I figured wrong. She sipped it quietly with a twinge of amusement brewing behind her coffee-colored eyes. When we reached the final pub of the night, I knew what she thought was amusing. I literally bit my tongue when she leaned over the wooden countertop and loudly said, “Can I have Sex on the Beach?”

Every person with a dick in the place, and even a few without, were ready to find a pile of sand and make all her dreams come true. Well, that shit wasn’t gonna fly, so I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, staking my claim, and ordered her a Blow Job. The little minx winked at me just before she licked the whipped cream off the top of the drink and poured the rest down her delicate throat in one, cock-throbbing swallow.

Game. Set. And match.

It was now Friday and in a few short hours, we’d be celebrating our two-week anniversary with date number four.

Lanie’s run-in with Little had gone off without a hitch. While she and half our team were neck-deep in the Huntington drug aspect of the case, Keaton and I were investigating the Los Tredos and Bolotov Bratva connection. Sincethe first day we met with the DEA, a war had been waging in my mind, and it was time to come clean.

“The gang who executed my father”—I paused, waiting for Keaton’s undivided attention. When he looked up from his computer, the words I’d been holding back flowed with ease—“it was Los Tredos.”

“Fuck, man. Why didn’t you tell us?”

Why hadn’t I?Because there was no proof. The man who pulled the trigger was never located.

“There was nothing to say. It was all conjecture at that point anyway. No arrests were ever made, and there was zero evidence of the gang’s involvement.”

“Jesus, Koen.” He ran a hand down his face. “You forget, I know you, so I also know you just fed me a load of bullshit. Start at the beginning and leave nothing out.”

So I did.

I laid out how Riley and I had gone through the case files Dad kept locked in his desk drawer at home. Protocol would have had us turning everything over to his captain. Did we? Fuck no. The whole damn department had been tight-lipped regarding anything to do with his current investigation, other than to say he was on the verge of a career-changing arrest.

Our search yielded one item of interest: a notebook filled with initials of who—we assumed—were the players, dates, and locations. Riley still had it in his possession and every year he’d call so we could go through it again, hoping to finally make a connection.

“After all this time, you and your brother are still actively looking into his murder.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

“Yes. Mom needs closure. We all do.”

“And you didn’t think any of this was relevant to what we have going on here?”

“It’s been ten years, Keaton. The asshole who gunned him down was smoke—probably silenced in a permanent way as soon as the deed was done.”

“True, but whoever ordered the hit is still out there breathing easy. We need that book.”

“Why?”

“To see if any of those initials match the current players.”

Shit.

“I’ll call Riley.”

It could’ve gone better, the conversation with my older brother. He was rightfully pissed I hadn’t gotten him involved sooner, nevertheless, he agreed to ship the book out to me next week. Apparently, he was caught up in a bit of his own drama at work and wouldn’t have time until then to send it.

Afterward, I trudged toward Duncan’s office, with Keaton in tow for moral support. He needed to know, even if it meant getting an earful when he found out what I’d neglected to share. I hemmed and hawed outside his door, trying to think of a way to avoid the inevitable. Then the choice was ripped out of my hands when my friend twisted the knob and shoved me inside to face the music.

If I thought the conversation with him and Waverly about my marriage was rough, it didn’t hold a candle to the litany of emotions coursing through my veins. I expected pity, maybe even disappointment. What I didnotexpect were the sparks of rage which registered on Duncan’s face.

“We’ll get these motherfuckers, Koen,” he swore. “Mark my words, they’re going down.”

That was it. No questions. No condemnation. Just a threat and a promise, delivered by the man I considered my mentor and avid supporter.

With our work finished for the day, Keaton and I packed up and headed for our respective cars. Knowing Jade and Henley, the odds of us hanging out over the weekend were pretty high, especially with Lanie being undercover.

He and I both shared the basics with the girls, giving them an adequate—yet downplayed—picture of the mission. The idea wasn’t to scare them, but to prepare them for the possibility they wouldn’t see their friend for a while. Hell, they’d come close to becoming a statistic on the FBI website a short time ago, so they understood more than most the risks associated with being in law enforcement.

With a wave, Keaton disappeared around the corner of the neighboring building as I stepped off the curb. The parking gods had been on my side that morning when I found an open spot across the street from the office. It was a good thing too, since the clouds overhead indicated a powerful fall storm was approaching. Pressing the button on my key fob, I reached for the handle as the first drops of rain fell.

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