I shoot off a text to Evander, letting him know I might need some help with the Russians, and his response is immediate.
Evander
Anything you need.
I tell him that I will fill him in later and then make the phone call I’ve been dreading to make, but I need help, and this is the only person I know who can get it done.
“Hello?”
“Can we meet?” I ask.
“Where?”
“Loading docks on 64th.”
“Done.”
I pullmy Ferrari into the loading dock parking lot twenty minutes later and pull beside a white Dodge Challenger. Zane is casually leaning against the side of it, one leg crossed over the other, arms crossed over his chest, his usual mirrored sunglasses covering hiseyes. I climb out of the car, and he peeks into the car before I shut the door.
“You came alone?” he asks.
I raise an eyebrow over my own oversized sunglasses. “Yes. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” I peek into his car and see a guy on the passenger side. “You didn’t?”
“We were working when you called.” He slides his sunglasses down his nose, letting his eyes run slowly down my body. “You look good,” he says, pushing them back over his eyes.
I roll my eyes. I’m in jeans, a t-shirt, and my boots. I’m not dressed to impress. I choose to ignore that comment. “Since you were working, I’ll get to it.” I hand him the folder on the foster home. “Proof that they’re dealing out of that house with four kids all under the age of six.” I can’t tell him about Lucas and Landon because he will make me turn them over since they are technically still underage.
Zane opens the folder, flipping through it. I hear the passenger door open, and his partner steps out. He is tall, a trim body, but you can see his muscles moving under his shirt, light brown hair, and sunglasses like Zane’s. He looks more like a model that just stepped out of GQ than a detective. He leans against the car beside Zane, taking a slow stroll with his gaze looking me over and I instantly dislike him. That’s a power move to put someone ill at ease. I hate to tell him, but he has the wrong bitch.
“You must be the infamous Alessa Poletti,” he drawls.
“And you are?” I ask and tilt my head to the side, letting him know his little tactic didn’t work.
“Jay Hoover.” He holds out his hand for me to shake, and I look down at it, then look back to Zane, dismissing him. Asshole move, but something about this guy gives me the wrong vibes.
Zane is trying to cover a smile by rubbing his top lip. “We good?” I ask. I need to get out of here. I don’t like that his partner got out of the car.
“How am I supposed to explain where the tip came from?”
I shrug and jerk the folder from his hand. “I’ll findsomeone else.” I pull my door open, and Zane reaches out, grabbing my arm. I look at him and then look pointedly at his hand until he drops it.
“Wait a minute. I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”
His partner snorts. “You going to do dirty work for the Poletti princess?”
I push my sunglasses up on my head. “If you call getting kids out of a fucking foster home that sells drugs, and pushes the older ones into gangs to make them money dirty work, then yeah, that’s what I asked him to do.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Anything for the Poletti’s is dirty.”
“Get back in the car, Jay,” Zane barks, standing up from his relaxed position.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Now,” Zane growls, and I have to hide a grin.
Jay stomps off, slamming the door when he gets back in the car. I look back to Zane. “Temper tantrum much?”
“He’s not your biggest fan. I’ll see what I can do.” He holds his hand out for the folder. I hand it back to him, and he brushes my fingers when he takes it, even though he had plenty of room to grab the end. He crosses his arms back over his chest, the folder tucked under his arm. “What happened the other day?”
