Page 60 of Coffee, Cops, and Tattoos

The more he learned, the angrier Nash became. He could understand why Adam didn’t want to talk about the farm or what he’d been through. Nash grunted as he saved another file.

“That bad?” Lincoln asked from the desk across from him.

“It’s a cult, man,” Nash spat. “It doesn’t matter how they try to dress it up. The church is a fucking cult. Only the pastor and his cronies have any power. The women and children are slaves. I can’t believe that places like this still exist.”

“We know about it now.” Lincoln glanced over his shoulder toward the Lieutenant’s office. “What’s L.T. saying?”

“He’s pissed. Had no idea it was happening in his city. He’s narcotics, though. I don’t see any reason he would have known.” It hadn’t taken any convincing at all to have their lieutenant’s old team digging into the church and the pastor there in Vegas as Nash used Maverick and Adam’s information to do their own invaginating.

“Vegas was his turf. It appears Smith feels the same way. I just got an email from him.”

“What’d he say?” Nash asked. He’d been working on going through old files, buried complaints, with Remy. They’d even found a website run by a couple former children whose parents had been part of the church and had spent time at the farm. It was worse than Adam had told them. The mental and physical abuse. No one should have to be put through that.

He hadn’t spoken to Eric Smith who ran the Vegas team. Smith and Lincoln had gotten close when Smith had been there helping. Nash preferred the calmer Remy instead of the hot-headed Detective Smith.

“He asked if I wanted an invitation to the party.”

“We’re going,” Nash said.

“You aren’t even released to go in the field,” Lincoln pointed out.

“We’re going,” Nash repeated.

“You know you’d have to get approval from the L.T.”

Nash didn’t care what he had to say or do but he would be in Vegas when it was time to shut down the farm and church that had tormented the man he loved.

“Johnson! Delivery!” someone yelled.

Nash looked up to see a young man bundled for the cold hurrying through the bullpen with several bags in his hands.

“Nash Johnson?”

“That’s me.” He lifted his hand. His leg hurt too much for him to attempt standing. The fall the day before had fucked him up again. Nash should have listened to his partner and been more careful.

“Food delivery,” the young man said before placing the bags on the corner of his desk.

“Sorry, man, but I didn’t order anything.”

“Bought and paid for—” The young man pulled out his tablet. “By Lucas Van Blair.”

Nash snorted. Lucas was not happy that Nash was working late. Nash had to do this though. He had to make sure that not only was Adam still safe but so were other children who were still being sent to that camp.

“What’d he order?” Lincoln asked. “I’m starving.”

“Chinese.” The delivery man nodded. “Just sign here.”

Nash took the pad. “Sorry you had to come out in this weather, man.” It had started to sleet earlier that morning.

“Are you kidding me? That tip is going to pay the rest of my rent for the month. I’m grateful.”

“Cool. Thanks.” Nash handed the pad back. “Be careful out there.”

“No problem!” The kid hurried off.

“Green! Rodriguez!” Nash called. “Grab the L.T. Dinner time!”

“Fuck yeah!” Green jumped up from his chair.

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