But rather than making him feel better, that realization made him feel worse. He had no job, either temporarily or permanently, he had no family, other than the kids and their mother, none of whom gave a shit about him, and no real friends. Just the boss who was likely going to fire him and the criminal who . . .
The criminal who’d been mentioned by the bikers the night before. Jericho was on the street now, heading home, and he slowed his walk. They’d been talking about Jericho’s conversation with Mike, and Mike had been about to use Wade to explain why the conversation had happened. Was that accurate?
It wasn’t like Jericho hadn’t known that Wade had ties to the bikers. The bastard seemed to have ties to every criminal in a five-hundred-mile radius. But he’d said something to Mike specifically about Jericho.
Maybe that wasn’t what Jericho should be focusing on. He should be thinking about his job, and how to keep it, or else how to get out of it cleanly enough that he could return to LA without complications. Wade was no longer his problem, and neither were the bikers.
Neither were the feds, but when he got to his apartment building and saw the dark sedan waiting in front of it, he bent down and peered inside, and wasn’t all that surprised when the interior lights flicked on and revealed Hockley behind the wheel. Jericho walked to the passenger side and waited for the window to roll down, but it didn’t.
He was tired. Sleepy tired, but sick-of-it-all tired too. He wasn’t currently working for any law enforcement organization; he didn’t owe a damn thing to the feds. He should turn around and go inside and get some goddamn sleep.
Instead he reached for the handle, pulled the door open, and leaned down to peer inside. “Is it too much to hope that this is a coincidence, you being parked here?”
“Sorry. We need to talk.” Hockley gestured with his chin toward the passenger seat. “Get in.”
Jericho did, and they both sat there for a few breaths. Then Hockley said, “This is confidential. Not for sharing with your boss.”
Jericho didn’t bother mentioning his current lack of such an entity. “Okay.”
Hockley sighed. “The bikers know you were working with us. They know about our deal.”
“How? I mean, did Kayla’s dad tell them?” It was crossing a line, as far as Jericho was concerned. Passing along little bits of information was one thing, but something like this? Telling criminals about someone working undercover was a damn good way to get the undercover person killed. But he’d think about that later. “How do you know what they know?”
“We have our own sources in their organization,” Hockley said. “Which is, again, confidential information that you are not authorized to share.”
Well, he might as well get it over with. “I don’t think I’m going to be sharing all that much with Kayla anytime soon. I’m suspended.”
“Yeah, I heard that.”
It stung more than it should have. “Kayla told you already?”
“I just got off the phone with her. I was suggesting some work you might want to be involved in, and she clarified your status. She didn’t give me details about what you did, though . . .?”
Jericho shrugged. “Intercepting the bikers was the final straw, but, you know, she wasn’t too impressed with me going off with Mike in the first place.” And his efforts in that regard had turned out to be useless, since Kayla had blabbed to her father and her father had sold the information to the bikers.
“Your suspension makes you less useful,” Hockley said.
“Your concern for my welfare is overwhelming. But am I really any less useful than I already was? If the bikers know not to trust me, I wasn’t going to be able to help you with that, anyway.”
“I was thinking more in terms of helping with Kayla.”
“Oh. Shit, yeah, I’m out for that too.” Jericho sighed. “Sorry. I mean, she says the suspension wasn’t personal. She says she’s mad as my boss, not as my friend. So if shit goes down she might still talk to me.”
Hockley gave him a long look. “And you’re not mad at her? You still want to help?”
“I’m a bit mad at her. More for talking to her dad than for suspending me. But Kayla’s Kayla, you know? We go back a long way.”
“Kayla’s Kayla,” Hockley said thoughtfully. “And Wade Granger? Is Wade Wade?”
“Well, obviously, in a technical sense. But—” Yeah, Jericho needed some sleep. Why was he even trying to explain this to someone like Hockley? “It’s like me and Kayla. There’s professional, and there’s personal. She can be mad at me about one, and care about me for the other. You know?”
“So you can deal with Granger on a professional level? Your personal loyalties won’t interfere with that?”
“This is beginning to sound like something beyond a general inquiry.”
“It might be, yeah.” Hockley rubbed his face, and Jericho realized that the fed was probably as tired as he was. “It’s too late to start drinking for real, but have you got coffee in your apartment? We should talk.”
“Yeah,” Jericho agreed. This wasn’t his job, but he couldn’t walk away from it. So he led the way up the walk to the apartment, and Hockley dragged along behind him.
