Page 85 of Beyond the Badge: Nox

“Holy shit,” Torres grumbled the same as what Nox was thinking. “That could get messy.”

Decker spun his chair around. “Messy. Bloody. A whole shitload of things.”

“Let the bikers hit the floor…” Finn sang, changing the familiar song’s lyrics to fit the situation.

A chorus of groans rose since Finn thought he was an expert singer when that was the farthest from the truth. The man got an A for effort, but an F for execution.

Nox’s brow furrowed. “How the fuck is a Sicilian fitting in with that MC?” Most—if not all—of those bikers were pasty white. He was surprised that someone olive-skinned would pass the Demons’ scratch and sniff test.

“Not sure if he’s Sicilian,” Crew answered. “He could be half or none at all. They could be paying some random asshole off the street to be their eyes and ears.”

“Right. He could be some druggie they’re paying with meth,” Cabrera suggested from across the room.

“Doubt that,” Decker told her. “Meth-heads are unreliable. They’d want someone able to pay attention and report back all the little details. They’re either paying this dude in cold, hard cash or he’s one of their goons. Sicilian or not.”

“Did Fletch sneak a photo so we know which one he is?” Torres asked. “If we know what he looks like, we can scan the footage to see how long he’s been around and if he looks sketchy.”

“He texted it to me,” Crew answered. “The pic sucks and is a bit grainy since he had to do it on the down low. I’ll email it to everyone on the team, so you all have it. Torres, if anyone spots him on video, maybe snag a few still shots if they’re clear, so we have something to tack up on the board with the rest of them.”

Cabrera snagged the keys to one of the pool cars off the hook. “All right, I’m off to go sling some drinks and dodge some sticky fingers at Hawg Wild.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Crew announced.

Nox shared a glance with Finn. One side of his redheaded brother’s mouth pulled up. Then he made an “O” with his fingers on one hand and plunged his index finger from the other in and out several times in the universally known hand motion for fucking.

As soon as the door shut behind Camilla Cabrera and the task force leader, none of them bothered to be quiet about it.

“They’re fucking, aren’t they?” Torres asked.

“My guess,” Nox answered.

“Of course they are,” Finn agreed. “Don’t you notice how tense he gets around her sometimes? Like he’s working hard not to say the wrong thing around us? Something that’ll give away that Cabrera has seen his tiny pickle?”

Decker laugh-snorted. “He’s also struggling not to touch her in front of us. He knows he’ll be flayed open if he does.”

“If heisdoing her, her father being one of the top dogs at the DEA must keep him puckered twenty-four-seven,” Finn said.

“No doubt,” Torres answered. “You couldn’t pay me enough to touch one of the top brass’s daughters.”

“Good call since you’re married,” Nox reminded him.

Torres huffed, “I meant if I wasn’t, Fort Nox. In fact, I’d have more than a puckered asshole. I’d have heartburn, indigestion and diarrhea.”

“You sound like a candidate for Pepto Bismol,” Finn laughed. “Should I sing the jingle?”

As he opened his mouth to belt it out, everyone yelled, “NO!” in unison.

Nox’s mouth twisted into a half-grin.

“You don’t sing to Mel, do you?” Torres asked.

“Every night,” Finn boasted and puffed out his chest.

“And she hasn’t smothered you with a pillow yet?” Decker asked.

“Guess not, since I’m sitting here still breathing.”

“Damn shame,” Torres muttered.

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