“You are asking me a question you already know the answer to.Yes, I do.He is a low-level dealer that I had the good fortune of meeting, though he wasn’t able to provide much information at the time.” She doesn’t falter at the question, but I can see her posture stiffen slightly, unsure how much they know about what took place between her and the dealer lying dead in the photos.
“He was found murdered last night, shot execution-style with an unlit cigar shoved down his throat,” Bronly relays, watching her face for a reaction he won’t get.
“An unfortunate way to go,” Harper looks up from the photos to meet Bronly’s stare, “but at least it’s quick,” she grins. Well, fuck me, that’s terrifying.
Harper may be able to laugh at hearing this news, but I’m struggling to keep the concern from my face at Bronly’s relay. It’s another message for Harper, another threat. The cigar wasanother warning from the Jester to butt out of their business, tobehave.Letting Harper know every move made against them doesn’t go unnoticed or without retribution.
Bronly, to his credit, doesn’t break eye contact with a sinister-looking Harper, “Look, we know you talked to the dealer thanks to Colton.” He waves a hand in my direction.No need to point, they know who Colton is.“And we also know he walked out of here in one piece.”
At the news of my blatant lie to a superior, I expect maybe some brownie points thrown my way, maybe even a little forgiveness.All I get is the slight tensing of her jaw as she nods along with my lie, knowing damn well that Bob left in decidedly more than one piece that night.
Anders takes over the monologue of information, like they practiced their timing in the car to catch Harper in some dramatic gasp or outrage. Apparently, they weren’t reading any of my reports to James over the last few weeks, or they took no time to learn the behaviors of their target.
“We want to believe you aren’t behind this Ms. Mathers, and while Agent Graves has maintained your innocence, he also wasn’t able to provide anyproofof that innocence.” I flinch at his words, seeing a moment of confusion flit through the group across from me, no doubt wondering who Agent Graves is. The confusion is short lived as Sadie’s face contorts in rage for not recognizing earlier that my identity had been forged. She wanted to believe I was who I claimed to be.
Anders continues, not aware of the damning effect his words have on me salvaging any relationship with the group across from us. “Between this murder last night, the history of your family and of those that work here,” his eyes dart to Sadie, “and what appeared to be a message drop to you this morning, we had to act.”
Wade speaks first, his voice pitched low, “What are you suggesting?”
Bronly, the dumbass, just can’t stop himself from throwing this bit of information in their faces, like he’s a genius and not some power-hungry sadist with a department of data to fuel his arrogant tirade. “You have a junkie working at the same club that is tied to drug trafficking, who’s to say she hasn’t taken herexpertknowledge and turned it into a career?”
Even hearing Wade’s anger at the beginning of this conversation could not have prepared me for the wrath that pulses around him as he stands, the chair he once occupied toppling over behind him as he makes to lunge across the table, Bronly’s neck a target gleaming in the low light of the club. A small hand settles on his arm, instantly halting him from any forward progress. Harper is looking up to meet his eyes with a subtle shake of her head.While it may appear this is a move designed to keep from getting on the DEA’s bad side, to keep an employee in line, I know what she’s telling him.Not your kill.
He's breathing hard as he grabs the back of his chair from the floor and rights it before settling back in, chest rising and falling as he struggles to bring his temper in check.
“Smart move,” Bronly snides from where he sits, blissfully unaware that the damage either Mathers’ sister could inflict would see him begging forWade in minutes. At least Wade has Harper’s guidance to steer him away from a possible assault charge. I, on the other hand, have no such person in my corner, just my own will-power that I can feel unraveling the longer we sit here. Wade simply grins, no doubt his imagination running through fantasy after fantasy of ways to make Bronly suffer.
Get in line.
“How did you know I got a message today? Yourinformantwasn’t with me,” Harper asks, spitting the word out with such venom, it takes everything in me not to wince.
Both Wade and Sadie look at Harper, it’s subtle, but a hint of doubt creeping in that only someone who knows all their tells would be able to see. My own reaction is not quite sodignified as the reality sinks in that she kept this from me today.
Hypocritical? Absolutely. Knowing the ground I walk is crumbling under each step doesn’t seem to be aiding in my self-preservation as I growl, “And why wasn’t I told about it?”
Harper doesn’t acknowledge my question, just raises an eyebrow at Anders, waiting for her own answer.
Look at me
“We’ve had you trailed outside the club since early this morning, once we got wind of the dealer’s death last night, and it paid off. Agent Graves could monitor you inside well enough, but we had the perimeter on surveillance in case he couldn’t be present for something,” answers Anders.
“Ah,” is all Harper gives them in response, lightly thrumming her nails against the top of the table.
Anders and Harper stare at each other for long enough to make the rest of the table shift uncomfortably, waiting for one of them to break. You never realize how long three minutes is until it’s filled with silence and tension.
Bronly helps them out, breaking the silence and, to Anders chagrin, declaring Harper the winner of what I can only assume will be the first of many power struggles.
“Well, what was the message? You claim innocence and yet have done nothing to prove it.”
Him, Harper looks at, but the smile is anything but friendly.
“Have you learned nothing in your time with the DEA honey?Idon’t need to prove my innocence,youneed to prove I’m guilty. And since I’m sitting here inmyclub, not an interrogation room, my rights haven’t been read to me, I am free to walk out whenever I damn well feel like it, I feel confident that I am not under arrest,” she stands, gracefully putting both palms against the table, “because you cannot prove I am guilty ofanything.”
I can no longer claim that she is calm, though still notshowing an ounce of worry, rage is starting to penetrate the stoic shield. She leaves the table, and before I can decide whether it’s a death sentence to follow her, she’s reappearing from her office, envelope in hand.
She tosses the envelope on the table, the contents peeking out as she returns to her seat.
“I am not involved with whomever is running thisoperation. I have been doing everything I can to stop it and figure out who is truly behind it. These lovely messages are threats to back off, which I have no intention of doing. So, are you going to do your jobs or should I keep doing them for you?”
