Page 100 of Garrison's Creed

Emilio started in again. “David and I—”

“Do you not see what’s happening?” Sugar butted in again. Jared dragged Emilio closer to Sugar, most likely to put them both in headlocks. “He’s giving up the details. You need a clean arrest. All of this will get thrown out. Someone fucking arrest him already or else some million dollar an hour mob lawyer will have him out in time for baked ziti and a nice bottle of Chianti.”

“Get out, Sugar. We’re not the arresting type.”

“You need this to be legit. You’re going to lose it all. Imagine what Nicola will lose.” She looked to each of them, at their weapons, and threw up her hands. “All this testosterone and muscle, and you all got nothing? No badges?”

Jared shook Emilio, looking frustrated ten times over. The guy winced, his jacked-up arms reaching toward their breaking points. Jared growled, “You want local blue and white here, be my guest. Call nine-one-one. Try explaining this scene to—”

“Jesus H. Christ. This is why I shouldn’t give a king rat’s ass about the people I meet.” Sugar slapped her hands on her hips, cracked a bubble, and shook her head. “ATF. Emilio Gianori, you are under arrest for whatever the fuck you’ve done wrong and we can prove. You have the right to remain silent.

“Anything you say, or Jared All-Brass-No-Brains Westin drags out of you, can be used against you in a court of law, where we’re going to prosecute your mobbed-up ass for every single thing we can find.

“You have the right to your corrupt attorney who’ll buy a private island somewhere with all the money you’re going to spend on appeals. Said money-making attorney can be present, if your pansy ass requests. If you can’t afford one because Papa Mobster cuts you off for being a moron, one will be provided for you. I’ll make sure you get one of my personal favorites. Keep answering questions if you want. Keep providing us details. It’ll all be used against you. I cross my heart.

“Do you understand these rights, as I have explained them to you, or do you need me to take a breath and repeat myself?”

Cash choked on a swallow. “Holy fuckin’ shit.”

Sugar smirked. “Shut it, cowboy. Jared, you have any bungee cords in that bag of yours?”

Jared looked stunned at Sugar. Cash understood how he felt. “Cash, cords are bottom of the pack.”

Cash nodded numbly and went to grab them, his mind spinning. The familiar clack of Sugar’s heels pounded behind him. She beat him to the bag, rifled through Jared’s stuff, and snagged the ties.

Who is this woman?

Bungee ties in hand, she glared at Jared. “I assume you don’t have cuffs anywhere either.”

He smiled, almost as if he took her slam as a dare. “Actually, I do.”

“Yeah, I bet.” She stepped to Emilio and palmed his wrists, pushing them toward the ground. The man cried out. “Whoopsie, did that hurt?”

A second later, she wrapped the cord tightly around his wrists, knocked him behind the knees, and let him fall over. Sugar grabbed his ankles, repeating the wrap-and-knot procedure, then looped one last bungee cord, tying his hands and ankles together. Emilio lay on the ground fighting his bindings. Sugar put his thrashing movements to a quick halt with a boot stomp into the mobster’s hip.

Jared stepped toward her. “If I was ever going to fall in love with a woman, it’d be one who could hogtie a grown man.”

“You couldn’t handle me, big boy. Don’t worry your pretty head over it.”

Cash choked back a grin. First Mia. Then Nicola. Now Sugar. Jared had a soft spot for kickass women.

“Don’t smile, cowboy. I’m not thrilled with either of you for pulling me out of deep cover.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The hairs on Nicola’s neck prickled, and she pushed as far as possible into the opposite car door. The backseat of this swanky sedan was too small, and she was suffocating in it.

David snickered to himself, finding humor in something after his near meltdown at the airport hangar he’d demanded to visit. He snickered again. Probably the transmission jammer he’d set up within the last few hours, seeing as her phone had stopped working somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

That also meant the listening bugs were likely not transmitting. Must’ve found one she’d placed in his room or on his clothes. Maybe he’d even found all of them. It had taken him two days to clue in.

Not a very good spy.David didn’t sweep his hotel room? Who doesn’t do that?Especially since he sold intelligence, his care-and-concern factor seemed dangerously low, or maybe his ego-factor was tremendously high.

“Nicola, we have one stop before we drop you off. Is that acceptable?”

Is that acceptable? No, it’s not.But refusing wouldn’t do much in the effort of intel gathering. “Fine. No problem.”

She wondered if the jammer was on him or in the carry-on bag by his feet. For as nice as that bag was, he was sloppy, leaving the thing everywhere. Helpful for her though.

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