Page 39 of Ace of Spades
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nate wanted to punch something. The rage that lived inside him burned hot, threatening to consume him. From the moment he’d seen that Polaroid, it had been bubbling like molten lava, ready to spew.
He walked away, not wanting to give Taylor even a glimpse of what he was capable of. On the pretense of getting a glass of water, he sought calm. Using a trick that sometimes worked, he imagined the rage was a ball of fire in his stomach. Then he visualized it traveling up, past his chest and into his throat. He opened his mouth, giving it an escape hatch. He let out a sharp breath, and the fire with it, and then took several calming breaths. Once he was sure he was in control again, he drank the water. At the sound of her footsteps coming up behind him, he inhaled one more deep breath before facing her.
“Please, Nate. Don’t do this.” She steepled her hands, touching her fingers to her lips as if begging him.
He leaned back on the counter, and as much as he wanted to give her anything she asked for, he refused to let those pleading blue eyes get to him. “Consider it done. And there is no way in hell you’re going to pose as a hooker. Not now.”
She lowered her hands, fisting them at her sides. “I hate you.” She pressed her lips together, her jaw clenching after slinging those words at him.
Hearing her say that cut like a knife straight through the center of his heart, but he managed not to flinch. “Better you hate me than I mourn you.” Yeah, she was pissed, but he didn’t care. Whatever it took to keep her safe, he’d do.
“I want you to leave.” She walked to the door, opening it. “Now.”
Why couldn’t she understand that the game had changed? First thing in the morning, he’d call their profiler, but for now, he’d give her time to think things through. She was a smart woman, and once she calmed down, she would see that he was right.
“And just so you know,” she said as he walked past her, “I’m going to Rothmire in the morning. We’ll just see if I’m off this case or not.”
He stilled, a thousand responses running through his mind, heavy with regret that what had been one of the best nights of his life was ending this way. He doubted she would ever forgive him.
Keeping his back to her, he said, “I’m the lead on this, and my word is final. I’m sorry, Taylor, but that’s just how it is.” He left it at that, although he could have reminded her that going over her team leader’s head was never a good idea. Or that if the situation were reversed, she would have done the same thing. Or that he knew—and had ignored his own warning to himself—it was a mistake for them to get involved. Yet, even though he should, he didn’t regret that last one.
He walked out to the door slamming behind him. As he unlocked his bike, he made a mental list of things he needed to do before the morning team meeting. High on that list was to call Rothmire, get to him before Taylor had a chance to.
He rode to the entrance of her complex, pulling into a parking space. There was no way he was leaving her unguarded now if there was even a remote possibility that Taylor could be a target. But sitting on his bike the rest of the night wouldn’t fly. He called Alex.
“Yo?” Alex said, his voice rough with sleep.
“Need you to bring me the car and then ride my bike home.”
“It’s four-fucking-o’clock in the morning, bro.”
“I know what time it is. Get your ass out of bed and just do it. I’m at Taylor’s. And bring me a thermos of coffee.” He hung up.
Never a patient man, he paced while waiting for Alex. The rage was still there, and with it came the memories. He’d gotten good at keeping them at bay, except when the fire burned. And right now, the fire was out of control.
He’d learned about pain and disillusionment at an early age at the hands of his sire. The old man was a master at teaching his boys those things. Nate never once regretted pulling as much attention as he could onto himself and away from his brothers. Yeah, there were days he could barely walk after a beating, days he seriously considered running away. He would have if not for Court and Alex, too young to take with him and too helpless against their father’s heavy hand to be left alone with the bastard.
Then the day had come when he’d almost killed the old man. Not that he’d never fantasized about it. He had. Many times. But when he’d come upon the son of a bitch beating Alex with the buckle end of his belt—the scars from that day were still on Alex’s back—his baby brother unconscious, his skin a bloody mess, Nate had lost all reason. If not for Court trying to pull him away, and then Alex coming to, bleeding like a stuck pig as he wrapped himself around Nate’s leg, begging Nate not to go to jail while tears stained his cheeks, Nate would have killed his father without remorse. But Alex’s words had penetrated the red haze. If he went to juvie, possibly even prison if tried as an adult, his brothers would have been sent to foster homes.
He’d been sixteen at the time, already bigger than his sire. That didn’t stop his father from getting his revenge. Taylor had wanted to know about the burn marks on his shoulders, and she’d made no comment about the ones on his legs, but he’d felt her touch, knowing themoment she’d discovered them. Fact was, he was ashamed to admit that his drunk, lousy excuse of a father had managed to tie him to his bed while he was sleeping, catching him unaware. No, his father hadn’t let his oldest son’s rebellion go unpunished. He’d had his fill of fun with the burning end of a cigarette.
The boy he’d been had learned to hate, had welcomed the rage, had let it consume him. No, he didn’t trust himself to have a wife or children. If he ever lost his temper around his own child so badly that he used his fists, he’d put his gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. Better not to even go there. But if the man who’d left that Polaroid for them to find was standing in front of him right now, he’d have no problem tearing the bastard apart limb from limb. That he could live with.
Headlights from an approaching car landed on him. He stepped in front of the black SUV that he recognized as his, the vehicle coming to a stop six inches from his knees.
“Dude, you have a death wish?” Alex said, sticking his head out the window.
He did, but not for himself. “Back it in next to my bike.” Once the SUV was parked, he slid into the passenger seat, knowing Alex wouldn’t leave without an explanation.
“Why are we sitting outside Taylor’s apartment?” Alex asked.
“We aren’t. You’re going home.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Our man struck again, only this time he left the body behind a store in Hialeah.” He brought Alex up to speed, the fury that had been riding him since finding the photo still running high.
