Page 28 of Disavowed

“What does that change?” the captain asked.

“We need to focus on citywide events identified on that thumb drive, the ones with the largest number of high-level dignitaries,” he said.

Lt. Frye cleared his throat. “If the Pyramid is all about making money off contract hits, who’s footing the bill?”

Narrowing his eyes, he stared out the window as he wrestled with his growing suspicion that this hit wasn’t just about money. “The leader—they call him ‘the boss’—said he planned this job himself, and that’s a serious break in the Pyramid’s MO. The boss has never been known to have anything to do with the individual plans for any hit. That falls to each of his operatives.”

He paused, still struggling to put the pieces together. “I don’t know for certain who the boss is. Yet.”

Gray stared intently at him. “But you’ve got a hunch.”

He met Gray’s silver-gray gaze, and the feeling of déjà vu was crystal clear. The events he may have precipitated nearly fifteen years ago were coming back to haunt him. “Colonel Bud Marsden, United States Army. Delta Force.”

“You’re shitting me.” Gray raised his brows. “I heard the man was dead. Killed in an RPG explosion.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Dom said bitterly. “His body was never found.”

“What makes you think it’s him?” Gray’s forehead creased. “If you’ve got information I don’t, I damn sure need to hear it.”

“We all do,” Lt. Frye said.

“Right now it’s only a hunch. Pure speculation, nothing more,” he reassured them. “My D.C. contact is checking on a few things. If I can firm anything up, I’ll let you know.”

“You said the boss planned the job himself,” Gray said. “You think it’s personal?”

He nodded. “I think the boss contracted the hit. As soon as I figure out why, it may lead us to identifying the target.”

“Makes sense.” Capt. Fazioli met Dom’s gaze. “Stay on it and keep us posted.”

“Meantime,” Gray added, “we’ll continue coordinating with the commissioner’s office and every citywide department to keep tabs on events involving the greatest number of high-level dignitaries.”

Lt. Frye let out a frustrated breath. “It’s a needle in a fucking haystack.”

“Then let’s do this.” Dom straightened and took a deep breath. “They’re already checking up on my background story.”

“Very well.” Lt. Frye rose and came around his desk. He extended his hand to Dom, and they shook. “Don’t get your ass killed, Carew. The next time I see you, the commissioner will be pinning a medal on your chest.”

“No need,” he said. “Watching the Pyramid crumble will be my thanks.”

“Detective Carew, it kills me to say the words.” Capt. Fazioli came forward and stood at attention. “From this point forward you are disavowed. The NYPD will not acknowledge you in any way, except that Detective Yates will remain your POC. You will not meet anywhere in public or on department property. You will report only to Detective Yates, and he will keep us updated on your progress.”

“Understood.” His throat constricted, but not because he had any doubts about the shitstorm he was diving into. It was because this was about to turn into one of the most horrendous days on the job he’d ever had.

Lt. Frye placed the call to IA, and two minutes later there was a knock on the door. Capt. Fazioli rose to open it, admitting IA Detectives Chavez and Simonetti. As Dom had recommended, the door remained open just enough for voices to carry outside to the squad room.

“Detective.” Capt. Fazioli directed his attention solely to Dom. “Empty your pockets.”

Dom hesitated and stared at the IA detectives. Slowly, he emptied both his pockets and removed a clear plastic baggie containing oxycodone that he’d stolen from the evidence locker that morning. The evidence sticker was prominently visible on the outside of the bag.

“Detective Dominick Carew,” the captain’s voice rose. “For stealing evidence, misuse of alcohol while on duty, and overall misconduct, your employment with this department is hereby terminated. Remove your weapon and badge and place them on the lieutenant’s desk. Also give us your department keys and access passes.”

Dom clenched his jaw. Even though this was part of an undercover ruse, it was as if the earth were being torn out from beneath his feet. When he tugged his duty weapon from its holster and laid it beside his detective shield on the desk, it was like leaving a piece of his soul behind. The only other time he’d felt so bereft was when he’d left Afghanistan. Anika, the woman he’d thought he’d spend the rest of his life with, had already been dead six months by then, but leaving her torn, broken body behind in an unmarked grave had given him no peace.

He knew this was for his own good, but as he turned to leave Lt. Frye’s office he glanced back one more time at the gold shield he’d worn for the last ten years and wondered if he’d ever put it on again.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and pulled open the door. As expected, every face in the squad room was pinned on him. Some wore expressions of shock, others anger. After all, they thought he’d just betrayed everything they stood for.

When he strode from the lieutenant’s office, the squad room was dead silent. Not a single phone rang. As he limped down the aisle, accompanied by the two IA detectives, he couldn’t look at his colleagues, couldn’t bear the intense scrutiny of their stares. The only light at the end of the tunnel was that if he didn’t survive this assignment, every man and woman in the department would be told the truth. That he hadn’t gone bad.