Page 52 of Gunner

“All the money?”

He nodded. “For every sale they made.”

“Are you saying you did dealings not for Butcher but those he worked for?”

“Yes, but I swear I didn’t know what business they were involved in. They didn’t tell me, and I didn’t want to know. All I did was clean the money they gave me.”

“And you think that makes you innocent because you didn’t want to know?” I resisted the urge to kick him in the head until he was unconscious.

“I didn’t know until afterward. Butcher and I had a falling out just before he died because they wanted me to move too much money all at once. I told them it couldn’t be done without suspicion. That I wouldn’t do it. It was my ass that would get fried if we were caught.”

“Do you have records of the transactions?” I asked.

“I destroyed it all after I heard about Butcher’s death.”

“You have nothing?” Witter practically shouted.

“I had a feeling everything would go south, so I shut things down and got rid of all the evidence.”

“No.” Witter shook his head, his hands balled into his fists. “I don’t believe that. You’ve done too much. Traces should still be out there. You’re going to give us information we can use to trace those transactions to the source. We want to know who wired you and where every dollar is sent after you clean it.”

“But I don’t know—”

“Listen up, you piece of shit!” Witter said through clenched teeth. “I don’t care if you destroyed the evidence. You’re going to find a way to recall the information we need, or I’ll be reading your obituary tomorrow of how you drowned in your own fucking toilet.”

I folded my arms to keep me from fucking around and cheering Witter on. Somewhere inside him was a cop who needed the truth more than he needed to follow the rules. That cop was a helluva lot more interesting, although I still liked fucking with the straitlaced guy.

Maybe a little too much.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” I said. “Dump his head right in the toilet. I bet he’ll be able to find those transaction numbers real quick.”

Witter glared at me, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh, wait. You meant formeto do it?” I laughed. I should have seen this coming. The cop wouldn’t get his hands dirty, so ofcourse he expected me to be the bad guy. I couldn’t even be mad he would use me this way. “All right. I’ll be the bad guy, but later tonight, you have to suck my dick as a gesture of your undying gratitude.”

He scowled, which only amused me more. Whether or not he liked it, he was so going to suck my dick when we got back to his room.

“No, wait!” Paddy flung his arms up in protest. “I have printouts. In the safe. I keep a record of everything.”

I let my arms drop. “Damn, you crumble way too easily. Took the fun out of everything.”

Witter stepped in front of me as though not trusting me not to kick Paddy’s ass just the same. “Show us where.”

He helped a struggling Paddy up to his feet. I moved aside for them to pass me, then brought up the rear. The cop’s rear was fine as fuck. As if he felt my stare, Witter turned his head and gave me a menacing look. I held up my hands. A little looking couldn’t hurt. How was it my fault how well he filled out a pair of jeans?

Or how said ass had felt each time his cheeks slapped into my pelvis.

“Gunner, will you focus!”

Witter’s voice lashed out like a whip. We stood in the living room, Witter and Paddy next to the fireplace. Paddy was on his knees. He popped open a hidden side panel and took out a safe.

“Open it,” Witter said.

Paddy rose to his feet, placed the box on the mantel, and spun the nob. Witter was practically vibrating with anticipation. Depending on what Paddy had in that safety box, he might be able to solve his case. And then what? He would return to hunting me down like a dog in his need to see me behind bars?

“The fuck!” Witter sprang back.

Paddy pointed a handgun at the cop. His hands shook wildly as he used both to steady his aim.

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