My first thought, after digging up all those pieces of information, leads me to believe he’s involved with the drug trade. Theillicitdrug trade. The flashy clothes, flashier car, and the fact that I can’t find much information about him or his company only reinforces that belief. And if that’s the case, if he’s a lowlife drug dealer, I’m sure as shit not going to let him get anywhere near Brynn.
I may not be able to have her, but there’s no fucking way I’m going to let a scumbag like that get his greasy paws all over her.
Not as long as I’m drawing breath, my dick is swinging, and my ass is pointed to the ground.
There’s a knock at the front door. I turn and walk through the house, my mind still spinning. I open the door to find my old friend, Curtis Vaughn, there. He holds up a manila folder and waves it at me.
“Burke,” he says. “Got coffee on?”
“Come on in,” I reply.
Standing on one side of the kitchen island, I pour him a mug of coffee as he perches on the stool across from me. I’ve knownCurtis since we were in high school. We’re tighter than brothers. The shit we’ve endured would make the hair turn gray on lesser men, but it’s only served to make our bond unbreakable. He’s a man I would take a bullet for.
Curtis is a police detective now, living his life by a strict moral code and an unwavering desire to punish bad guys—two things that formed during his tumultuous upbringing. We have all those things in common. He tried to get me to join the force with him, but I find the rules and regulations he’s signed up to far too restrictive for my taste. I can do a lot more good for a lot more people when I don’t have to check in with a dozen bosses and lawyers before I can act. No fucking thank you.
We both stand in silence, drinking coffee—black, of course—and I’m reminded of what Brynn said. Steady. Reliable. Consistent. The corner of my mouth quirks upward.
“What are you grinning at?” Curtis asks.
“Something Brynn said,” I reply as I stare into my coffee mug.
“Who’s Brynn?”
“The barista at the coffee shop,” I tell him. “She said those of us who drink our coffee black are predictable.”
“Nothing wrong with being predictable,” he replies. “Besides, I don’t like those stupid coffee drinks they make these days.”
“Same,” I respond. “Anyway, what do you have?”
His eyebrow rises slightly. “You say this guy came into your coffee shop?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He grimaces. “There’s not much I can tell you about him, unfortunately.”
“Can't?” I ask. “Or,won’t.”
Part of Curtis’ code is that while he is willing to feed me information when I need it, he won’t if it’s part of an ongoing investigation or might put a case at risk. I respect that. And I would never ask him to betray that code, nor would I ever want to put him in a precarious position. I’m simply glad he’ll share non-critical information with me when I can't dig it up on my own.
“Can’t,” he said. “There just isn’t much on this guy.”
Curtis takes a sip of his coffee, then sets his mug down gently. I know him well enough to know when he’s got more to say, and as I study his face, I see that look right now. It’s not like him to draw things out, though. He’s not a showman like that. It tells me he’s uncertain about the information that’s in the folder sitting on the counter.
“At least, there’s not much on him on paper,” he says.
“No?”
He shook his head. “This guy is slick. He has no paper trail,” he says. “But he’s been connected to some really bad guys. Nothing’s ever stuck to him. Not even close. But the Department’s been looking at him for a while. The FBI even came out to watch the guy, but gave up. Nobody has ever been able to link him to anything solid.”
“Running drugs?”
“Started with drugs,” he says. “But he’s also been rolling with some guys known to be running girls, too.”
“Running girls?”
“Supposedly. At least, he’s been seen in the company of ‘guys known to be’,” Curtis says. “But as I said, we’ve got no proof he’s running girls on his own. We can’t arrest him based on who he’s hanging out with.”
“In my experience, birds of a feather tend to flock together.”
