Page 32 of Striker

CHAPTEREIGHT

Ophelia didn’t knowwhat to think or feel. She had multiple people in multiple rooms waiting to be interviewed, including the man who had thrown her whole world into chaos.

If she was honest with herself—and it was about time she was honest with herself—Dean’s reappearance in town, getting shot and re-evaluating her life, her sister’s distress, and her mother’s disdain all in a short time had pushed her into emotional overload. Maybe she did need some space, an empty place where she could decompress and the time to do it.

But she had neither of those things right now.

She mentally scrolled through the list of people she’d brought down to Metro.

The man she needed to talk to about her ongoing investigation, Logan Patrick Carter, aka Bullet, had been nothing but cooperative. He was a former gangbanger for the Boys in the Hood gang, but that had been when he was young. Now he was a highly successful graphic artist. His parents were killed in a car accident when he was eighteen. That’s when he’d removed himself from the gang. Impressed with that feat, she was even more impressed that he was raising his younger brother Jackson Flynn Carter, seventeen and a sister, Sakura Carter, fifteen. She had been a foster, born in the US of Japanese descent, but his parents had adopted her just before their deaths.

Gage Moore, aka Apex, was the James Dean look-alike. He must have heard that his whole life. He was taller than the famous actor, but his features were a dead ringer for him. He was also impressive. His Marine record stood for itself. He had one blemish for an altercation with some thugs who had attacked his boss, Avedis Belsky, the owner of Ave Automotive. There was no surprise there. Master Sergeant Moore had been a protector and guardian.

Then there was Dean, aka Striker, his SEAL call name. She knew the pertinent facts about him, but after pulling his record, she realized how secretive his life had been. There was very little information except his service dates, his awards and medals, and that he had been a Special Operator.

An uneasy feeling slipped over her, the same one she’d had when she first saw Dean handcuffed and splayed across the hood of that cruiser. So much had happened to drown it out, but the fear was back. She covered her face and sighed. He always seemed to have a secret, one she couldn’t breach or that he refused to trust her with. She’d just chewed out her mother over him, and the shock of finding him involved in her investigation was still reverberating inside her. Maybe, like she thought, she should get some distance between them.

She recognized her vulnerability where he was concerned. She recognized that she had a weakness when it came to him. It wasn’t his looks. She was often around handsome, dangerous men. It could be the way he kissed her, talked to her, the memory of it alone melting her a little. He seemed to be able to reach her in places she hadn’t ever experienced with another man. She closed her eyes and took a hard breath. She was being stupid here, letting Dean’s behavior distract her.

Back on track, she thought lastly of the most curious of the foursome, Dr. Jessica Scott. Knockout blonde. She had been a Marine and had a degree in mechanical engineering from MIT. Her record was also somewhat bare. She worked for the Pentagon as an analyst. Was fluent in Russian. Her family—parents and two sisters—was from Rhode Island. Her mom was a retired teacher and her dad a retired Marine. They owned a small marina on Conanicut Island that looked like a family affair.

She walked to the interview room for Logan Carter. He was the most pressing of the four of them. He had the answers she was looking for.

She opened the door, and he shifted his head to look at her. She sat down behind the plexiglass dividing the table between them.

“Am I under arrest?”

“No. But this is a pressing matter, and it’s urgent that I get the information I need. You have been very cooperative, Mr. Carter, but after I pose my questions, you are free to answer or not. You will also be free to leave.”

He relaxed back in his chair. “Ask your questions, Officer Barr. I will do my best to answer them.”

“Do you know this man?” She pulled Chris Farmington’s photo from the crime scene and slid it over to him.

He picked it up, his eyes bleak. “I always knew Chris was a dead man walking. So, yeah, I knew him, but we didn’t pal around if that’s what you’re asking me. He and I were in a now defunct gang. He started something on his own.”

“You know what that was?”

“Yes, I do. I make it my business to keep track of people from my past in case they think they can tap me for something I’m not interested in doing.”

“I see. Self-preservation.”

“Yes. That’s what it was like on the streets.”

“Not now?”

“No. I make a good living. I’m not doing anything illegal.”

“I never said you were.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Sorry, Officer, just reacting to being in a police precinct.”

“I get it. What was Farmington into?”

“Chris was nothing but a racist asshole. He joined some group calling themselves The National Boys. Bunch of white supremacists nutjobs.” He scrutinized her. “You might want to talk with your boy, Dean Teller. He’s looking for information about some military weapons.

“It’s more than that.”

“What more?”

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