Page 10 of Vicious Hearts

No shit. The fucked-up little weasel deserves a beat-down, and I'm glad he got one.

The news lady is still talking.

"Detective Tate Hillard gave a statement this afternoon."

The shot cuts to Tate. He looks tired, but he always does. Trying to be a good cop in this shitty world will put years on a man's face.

"Farraday is under guard in the hospital at the moment." Tate's eye's dart sideways, then back to the camera. "I'd be lying if I said I cared about his well being, but vigilante behavior in maximum security is a serious issue, and the notoriety of the criminal has no bearing on the matter. Thank you."

I know what hewantsto say. He wants to laugh his ass off and make a personal request to finish the piece of shit off with his bare hands.

My cell phone is ringing. I switch off the television, swipe my thumb over my cell phone screen, and put it to my ear.

"Freddie."

"Benedikt, you slippery motherfucker." Freddie is as annoyingly jovial as ever. Can someone have a punchable voice? "Finally got your feet on the ground again?"

Freddie Dubois is my handler and the only person I contacted before disappearing. Even then, it was only to tell him to leave me the hell alone. Literal fucker that he is, he never tried to call me again, but he's obviously had someone on the lookout for me. He probably knew I was coming home before I even left Europe.

"I've been climbing mountains. I didn't go to Mars."

"You may as well have done," Freddie huffs, "but I'm not interested in your little holiday. Are you still soul-searching or can I put your name on the board?"

He has this way of talking about his agency like it's a Burger King.

Mezhdunarodnaya Komanda Ekspertov, or MKE for short, roughly translates as 'International Expert Team.' It's a suitably vague term, but essentially it's an organized crime skill bank—ex-cons, terrorists, assassins, mobsters, money launderers, and hackers. You name the service you need, and as long as you can pay, Freddie Dubois can procure a professional to assist. He's a recruitment consultant of sorts, but one who keeps a harpy knife in an ankle holster and could deliver you a nuclear warhead like a pizza.

When Detective Hillard joined the precinct in our territory, we made it known that he needed to make friends with us as his colleagues had. He refused to play ball. But idealists like him are not usually cynics, which makes them gullible.

Hillard was shopping for a freelance profiler who could move fast on The Dollmaker case. Freddie had his ear to the ground, so when he heard, he brought the issue to my attention.

I was local, available, and had the correct skillset. I had to fudge my qualifications, but other than that, I got the gig legitimately and on merit, posing as a private investigator and forensic criminologist.

Thekommissiyawere delighted. In his panic, Hillard took his eye off the ball and ended up in the one place he didn't want to be—the pocket of the Bratva. I did the job straight, but by the time he realized I had mob connections, it was too late. If Hillard's most celebrated and successful case were tainted with the knowledge that the Bratva was involved, it would call into question every collar he got in his many years of unimpeachable law enforcement. His career would be a dumpster fire, and he'd go out in disgrace.

Now he has to keep on the right side of the mob, and I'm back in the good books. Kind of. I could have capitalized on my success if I hadn't disappeared for half a year just because a woman messed up my head.

"Freddie, I just got back. Not yet, alright?"

"Come on, you gotta need a payday," Freddie laughs. "How much of your fee did you give to that charity?"

All of it.

"Some. I like to do a little bit of good now and again."

"Yeah, right. The Dollmaker was caught and convicted, and you got paid. Then you vanished. Did I offend you with what I said that day we were fishing?"

"I don't remember what you said. We were drunk as fuck."

That's a lie. Idoremember. I was trying to haul in a marlin, and he started telling me to embrace the person I am and let love in. To take a chance on the girl I was obviously obsessed with instead of thinking I was too messed up to be anything more than lonely. I distracted him by hauling that big fucker of a fish right into his lap.

He had no idea what he was talking about, but it got to me.Everythingwas getting to me around that time. With the murder case done and dusted, I was restless.

When the wedding invitation came, I was glad of the distraction. A week in paradise might have helped to quieten the constant chatter in my head.

But it didn't. Not with Roxy there.

"I'm glad you're back," Freddie says, breaking the awkward silence. "Give me a call when you've pulled your head out of your ass, okay?"

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