Make Me Up Page 14

  “Good morning, sunshine. All this trouble for a piece of ass. Not the best choice you coulda made, bro.” Knight shook his head in mock sympathy. “Now you’ll have to explain all of this to Tommy. He is not going to be very happy with you.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” But it didn’t matter. If he couldn’t find and save Drea none of it mattered.

  “How long do you think she’ll make it at county? Twenty-four hours? Twelve? Five?” Knight laughed. “She’ll spend tonight in a holding cell, but as soon as she’s been arraigned, that bitch is burnt toast.”

  “Not all the cops in Harbor City are dirty.” Reggie would watch out for Drea. Cam knew it as well as he knew the sun would come up in the east.

  “But do you know exactly which ones are?” the other man snarled the question. “Tommy does and he’ll find a way to get her. He always does.”

  “I’m gonna kill you, Knight.” And it was going to feel good. Cam thought he’d left that part of him behind in Bolivia. He hadn’t.

  Knight rolled his shoulders, arched and cracked his neck. “You’ll have to wait your turn. People have been wishing me dead since the day I was born.”

  “Well, I’m moving to the front of the line.” Loose and ready, he flexed his fingers and stood light on the balls of his feet. Knight might think he had the advantage because of his reputation and obvious crazy, but Cam wasn’t fighting for the thrill of it. He was fighting for Drea. No way in hell would he lose.

  “Today is not your day, pretty boy.”

  Knight shifted left, but not in time. Cam’s first punch landed with a bone crushing crack against Knight’s jaw. The other man’s head snapped back. He stumbled out of Cam’s radius and nearly tripped over one of the exposed tree roots.

  They circled each other in the small clearing. Cold as a winter’s day in Siberia, the Iceman was in full force. Cam’s pulse slowed. His vision sharpened. He didn’t anticipate Knight’s reactions so much as he knew on a gut level what would happen next. It was like having an out of body experience. There wasn’t any past or future—only now.

  The goon shook off the hit and stormed full blast across the clearing, his body low and hands fisted. His shoulder hit Cam right below the ribs. That’s when Knight rose to his full height, tipping Cam off balance and sending him to the ground with enough power to knock the wind out of his lungs.

  The ground was where fighters went to die. Cam rolled and sprang to his feet.

  Knight was ready. The other man’s fist slammed with deadly accuracy into Cam’s nose. The crack echoed inside his head and the warm rush of blood flowed down his face. The metallic taste hit his tongue, but he didn’t even stop long enough to wipe the blood away.

  He answered with a right hook that smashed into Knight’s cheek. The other man reeled back. Cam pushed his advantage and followed with a kick to the solar plexus that knocked the thug to the ground.

  Knight curled up, reached for his boot, and pulled out a switchblade. “What’ve we got here?” He twisted his wrist and made the silver glint in the late afternoon sunlight peeking through the tree tops.

  “Too afraid to fight man to man?” Cam expanded distance between them, circled, searched for a weakness.

  “Not as worried as you should be about your pretty face right about now.” Knight grasped the knife tighter. “I’m going to enjoy slicing you up.”

  “You can try.”

  Knight snarled and lunged.

  Cam pivoted and minimized the amount of his body available to be a target. At the same time, he reached out with his left hand, made contact with Knight’s shoulder, and shoved the other man forward.

  Knight sailed forward. His foot snagged on an exposed tree root. He went down face first like a felled oak and landed hard enough that the leaves on the ground bounced upward.

  Then…nothing.

  Cautious, Cam moved forward, ready for the other man to spring back to life. But Knight didn’t move. One hand—his knife holding hand—lay trapped under his body. He edged closer and kicked Knight’s leg with his steel-toed boot. Nothing.

  Ignoring every it’s-all-over signal his brain was sending, Cam listened to the prickly itch eating its way across his gut and took a step back—

  Knight turned over and stabbed where Cam’s proverbial gut had just been, then popped up and brandished the knife. “You know she’s as good as dead anyway. She’ll never make it to trial alive. Shit, she’ll be lucky to make it to arraignment.”

  He slashed through the air. The blade connected with Cam’s forearm and sliced through a good chunk of skin. Cam struck back before his brain had time to process the pain burning through him. He rammed the heel of his palm into Knight’s nose, which snapped like a twig. He followed up with an uppercut to the chin and a hard jab to the squishy mound of flesh and cartilage that used to be Knight’s nose.

  The other man collapsed to his knees, head and torso held upright while blood poured down his face, and his eyes rolled back until only the whites could be seen. He raised the knife, but it fell from his hand. It hit the ground at the same time as Knight crumbled to the dirt, knocked out cold.

  Cam didn’t need to take a closer look to know that this time Knight wasn’t getting up. At least not until the paramedics arrived. Of course, with the paramedics would come cops. Cam would make the call as soon as he got far enough away not to get caught up in the snare.

  Adrenaline tapering off meant his pain sensors ramped it up. His entire forearm hurt like he’d been filleted. He glanced down at his bloodied arm. He sort of had been. Cam yanked off his T-shirt, wrapped it tight around his bleeding arm, and jogged toward the park’s western entrance.

  His Victory Jackpot was waiting for him right where he’d left it. He pulled his helmet from the saddlebag and tried not to notice Drea’s helmet. He’d given it to her as a loaner for the quick ride from the Orton’s brownstone to Drea’s brightass apartment, but now he couldn’t imagine anyone else wearing it.

  He merged into traffic and called Maltese HQ. It was time for backup—God help him—and a plan. For once, it looked like flying by the seat of his pants would cause more trouble than it would help. He couldn’t save Drea by himself and he couldn’t do it without a plan. Whatever it took to make that happen, he’d do it.

  “Maltese Security, this is Alex Lee.”

  Of course that asshole would pick up. “Give me ‘Los.”

  “Not available.” Lee sounded as happy as a kid who’d just won a lifetime supply of Sour Patch Kids. “What did you fuck up now?”

  Cam turned onto the Waterburg Bridge. His arm throbbed, Drea was on her way to holding, he needed to call in every favor Reggie owed him, and this prick was busting his chops. “‘Los set up a safe house for me. I need him and Tony to meet me there ASAP.”

  “No can do. They’re elbows and alligators with another client right now.” He paused. “Roscoe and I are all you got.”

  Wasn’t he a lucky fucking guy? If it wasn’t Drea’s life on the line, he’d have told Mr. Know It All to piss off. Instead, he ate the words. “Meet me at Fifteen Parsnip Lane in Waterburg in thirty.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I won’t cry for you, my mascara’s too expensive.” - Adriana Lima

  Drea was cried out, emotionally exhausted, and her butt was about to go flat from sitting on the bench in the holding cell at Harbor City’s eighth precinct. No one would talk to her. She’d screamed herself hoarse trying to get the guards’ attention, but they’d ignored her with practiced ease.

  What she wanted was talk to Cam’s friend Reggie. He’d know if Cam had made it out of the park alive. Knight was crazy, but Cam was bigger and smarter. In a fair fight she didn’t doubt Cam would wipe the floor with the thug. But it hadn’t been a fair fight. Acid ate away the lining of her stomach.

  A woman in an aquamarine bandage dress, a pair of fishnet thigh highs with the knees ripped out, and flip flops quit pacing right in front of Drea. She stood with a hand on her cocked out hip. The smell of whi
skey and burnt vinyl hung around her like an invisible stomach-roiling cloud.

  “Move over. My feet are killing me in these piece of shit jail-issued flip flops.” She chomped her nonexistent gum.

  Too tired to argue over a foot of hardwood bench, Drea scooted over.

  “I’m Caitlyn.” The woman flopped down.

  “Drea.

  Caitlyn twisted her long red hair into a knot on the top of her head. “Let me give you a piece of advice, sister. Do not pick a fight with a bouncer at an Irish bar—especially not when he’s your brother-in-law. Fuck, I need a cigarette and a shower.”

  Drea had no idea what to do with that information. “Look, I’m not really—”

  “In the mood to talk.” The girl made a dismissive gesture with her hands. “Yeah, no one in here is, but if I don’t talk to someone, I’m going to go nutty. The whole thing was a mess. It’s not like I meant to set his car on fire.”

  “You torched someone’s car?” Drea couldn’t help but ask.

  “Not just someone’s—my brother-in-law’s. And I didn’t torch it. I shot a flaming arrow through the window.” She rolled her unfocused eyes at Drea and shrugged. “It’s not like he was in it.”

  It was like watching a live episode of a crazy reality show: Drunk Jailhouse Confessions. She’d watch the shit out of that show curled up with a glass of wine and the latest issue of Chantal fashion magazine.

  “Did anyone get hurt?” Drea asked, sucked in despite herself.

  Caitlyn hiccupped and turned a light shade of green that made Drea inch away. The story was good, but it wasn’t worth getting puked on good. The other woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her color returned to its previous porcelain shade, augmented by a smattering of freckles across her nose.

  “No one got hurt.” She shook her head. “Just his ugly fucking Trans Am. Who drives a Trans Am anymore? And don’t call it a classic, it was a junker.”

  Apparently at the end of her tale, Caitlyn leaned back against the cement wall.

  The curiosity was killing Drea. She had to know. “What happened to your shoes?”

  Caitlyn lifted her right leg and arched her foot to better show off one cheap plastic flip flop. “Ditched ‘em when I took off running after the car exploded.”

  “Smart plan.” Drea chuckled. The image was too ridiculous not to. “So you’re going to be arraigned tomorrow?”

  Caitlyn nodded. “We all are. Hopefully, my sister will post bail. If not, I am so screwed. I’m too pretty for county.” She gave Drea an assessing up and down look. “Dude?”

  “Huh?” She knew she looked like a hot mess, but she’d never been mistaken for a guy before.

  “A guy. Are you in here because of a guy?”

  Drea stiffened and crashed back to her own shredded reality with a hard thunk. “What makes you say that?”

  Caitlyn gave her an assessing look. “Because nothing’s fucked up about you except your makeup.”

  At least nothing that the other woman could see. Inside, it was a totally different story.

  Cam didn’t bother to turn the lights on at the safe house while he spilled the entire story to Reggie over the phone. He told him everything from the shooting at Drea’s apartment to what they’d found out about Fergus to the confrontation with Knight in the park woods.

  “So do you know who’s on shift tonight at county?” he asked. He sat in the gloomy kitchen, alone in dusk’s last dying light, and waited for his friend’s answer as his stomach lining cannibalized itself.

  The sound of shuffling papers came over the line. “Shit.” Reggie sighed. “Stefford’s on the clock tonight. IAD hasn’t pinned anything on him, but trust me, he stinks. This is not good. You gotta get her out at soon as you can.”

  “Fuck.” He’d made the best call he could at the time with the information he had. “Can you stick close by tonight?”

  “Oh yeah, that’s not going to draw attention at all,” Reggie deadpanned. “But yes. I’ll do it.”

  “Thanks man.” He hung up.

  That would take care of tonight, but Knight had been right. If they didn’t get Drea at the station, they’d get her in county. They had to get her out of there before she got transferred. She’d go to arraignment first thing in the morning. There was no judge in the world who would give her bond after she’d been on the lam—thanks to him.

  If only they could break her out. The station had too much security for that. He paced the kitchen, unable to forget the nugget of an idea. He paused in front of the kitchen window, scanning the road for Lee and Roscoe. A black van drove by. It was big and bulky, similar to the kind he and his paramilitary team had used for prisoner transport.

  The plan crystallized in his mind before his next breath. It was crazy. Nuts. It would be difficult for one man to carry off, but not impossible. Then he’d do whatever it took to get Fergus to confess to the cops. That would clear Drea of murder and expose Diamond Tommy’s scheme so he had no reason to go after her any more.

  He couldn’t do it though if he went off halfcocked. He needed intel. His fingers hit the first number in his speed dial.

  …

  “This is a harebrained scheme with forty to one odds it will work,” Reggie groused, though with just enough curiosity to give Cam hope.

  “Never tell me the odds.” It was only half a joke. He couldn’t think about even the slightest chance of failure with Drea’s life on the line. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—fail.

  “Stop quoting Star Wars. You’re no Hans Solo, and Diamond Tommy sure as hell ain’t Darth Vader.”

  No, he was worse. But it didn’t matter. Cam would do whatever it took to save Drea. He’d made a promise, and he meant to keep it. “I need your help. She’s…special.”

  “Really? What a total shocker.” Reggie’s sarcasm came through loud and clear. “I figured the cow eyes and putting yourself in Tommy’s crosshairs was just because you were fucking bored.”

  Despite the no-shit-Sherlock tone, Cam knew the man as close to him as a brother wouldn’t leave him swinging in the wind. “So you’ll give me some intel?”

  The other man sighed into the phone. “What do you need?”

  He filled Reggie in on the plan, hung up, and went back to twiddling his thumbs when all he wanted to do was rush out the door with his guns blazing. But he couldn’t go off like a rogue agent this time. He’d learned his lesson.

  Lee was a total dick, but if he said he and Roscoe would show, they’d show. Until then it was just Cam and the guilt twisting him inside out. He’d played it fast and easy in Harbor City without any real plan, trusting his luck would get Drea out of trouble. But when it mattered most, he’d failed her. Spectacularly.

  Tires crunched over the gravel drive.

  He crossed the kitchen and pulled back the red checked curtains. A familiar Dodge Charger sat in the driveway. Tony’s car. But it wasn’t his boss behind the wheel. It was Sylvie. Ryder sat in the passenger seat. Ryder he understood. Besides begin Drea’s best friend, she was a Maltese investigator. But Sylvie? That just meant he was in for an ass chewing—not that he didn’t deserve that and more.

  Alex Lee pulled up a second later in his Prius, yet another reason not to like the guy. Will Roscoe parked his black truck on the street.

  Cam pulled a mug from the cabinet next to the window and poured himself a cup of coffee. It was going to be a long night.

  …

  A loud buzz sounded loud enough to make Drea’s teeth ache, and the door at the end of the hallway opened. Detective Reggie Watts walked through. He looked haggard compared to when he’d questioned her at the Orton’s. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling fucked over.

  He glanced down at his clipboard. “Sanford.”

  She jumped up and ran to the bars, ignoring the other women’s hard stares. “Is he alive?” Her heart thundered in her chest. If he said no, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bored didn’t e
ven begin to describe his tone.

  She wrapped her fingers around the bars and pulled herself closer. “Cam,” desperation put a shrill twist to her voice. “In the park. There was—”

  The detective cut her off. “I warned Cam that you two couldn’t run forever.” Reggie glanced around at the cell’s occupants, who’d stayed clear of the detective. He lowered his voice. “He’s okay. He’s working on something, but I’m hearing talk.”

  Her grip tightened around the bars. “Diamond Tommy?” Just saying his name gave her the same shivers as when she was twelve and had chanted Bloody Mary into the bathroom mirror at midnight. Only this time, the threat wasn’t only in her imagination.

  The detective gave her a curt nod. “I’m doing what I can, for Cam’s sake, but you keep your head up.”

  She looked around. Unease dug its claws into her shoulders. The crime boss had promised retribution if she didn’t beat feet out of town. Any one of the women in the cell—even the officer outside the door—could be a plant with murder on the brain. Maybe he’d send back the two dirty cops who’d brought her in.

  “You’ll be arraigned first thing tomorrow morning,” Reggie said in his normal booming cop voice as he walked away from the cell. “After that, it’s county until you make bail, assuming the judge grants it.”

  She gulped over the fear blocking her throat. “And if he doesn’t?”

  He paused at the security door with his keycard in mid-swipe. “You don’t want to think about that.” He slid his card across the reader, and the door buzzed open.

  Drea went back to her seat on the bench and kept her back flat against the cement wall. She’d be thinking of little else tonight.

  …

  Cam knew what was coming as soon as Sylvie and Ryder walked through the door looking as pissed as avenging angels with Jägermeister hangovers. Roscoe and Lee filed in after them, carrying black duffle bags of tactical gear. The women, however, seemed to only be carrying grudges.