Men of Danger by Lora Leigh
“Did that Queen B give you the blues for ten days, man?” Lowell laughed and coughed, but Zach bristled.
“She’s not that way— is really good people, Lo. And I need to talk to you about what probably put you here.”
Lowell and Anne Marie gave each other a look.
“I’m serious, man,” Zach said. “You met with her, and then the same day you got sick, you only had an in-house meeting with your partners— Mike Epps and Vernon Knox, right?”
“Yeah,” Lowell said slowly. “Mike had been to Philly and had brought back some Philly cheesesteaks for me, him, and Vernon . . . that’s probably where I got that mess from— food poisoning . . . cops are thinking that maybe some pesticides they were spraying at the store or some flea-and-tick stuff they had around there for the guard dogs got in the food . . . those places are filthy and just my luck, I got the steak with some bull in it.”
“That’s why it was so bad, the doctors said,” Anne Marie interjected. “They said it doesn’t dissolve in water or liquids, only in oil and fatty solutions . . . so if some got in a cheese-steak, Lord have mercy.” She fanned her face and shook her head. “Probably had them nasty pit bulls as guard dogs running around in the back of the store, folks don’t wash their hands, and what ever was on the dog or near their grills got in my Lowell’s food . . . but at least they’re not trying to blame me and tear our family apart. I told ‘em I’d take a lie detector test. They know I’d die for that man, puh-lease.”
Lowell smiled. “But I’m cool, now— after what you did, man, we’re on Straight Street. Can’t thank you enough.”
Zachary pounded Lowell’s fist, but didn’t smile. “Let me ask you this. How did you get to Anita Brown? Who was the contact? It’s not every day you can run up on a heavy-weight celeb like that.”
Lowell’s smile widened. “I told you. Mike had a contact inside her organization . . . and it was through him that we got the hookup. Everybody’s got some family from the old neighborhoods, man— Mike had some that came up with the big boys and worked us in.”
Zachary nodded. “Cool. You get some rest.”
ZACHARY’S VIBE WORRIED her. It was what he didn’t say as much as what he said. Anita reached for the telephone and called the number that she swore she’d never call again in life, and then opened up the other extension and began recording when Jonathan Evans answered the phone.
“So, ten days helped you clear your head?” Jonathan murmured, trying to sound sexy and failing miserably.
“A little,” Anita said. “I just wanna make sure we’re cool since we have to work together.”
“Why wouldn’t we be cool, baby? I know we went through a thing about that chick at the last awards ceremony, but you know that didn’t have anything to do with me and you, right? That was purely physical . . . what we have is deeper than that.”
Anita just looked at the telephone, wondering how she had allowed herself to stay with a man like him for so long. “I figured the money problem would have pissed you off though.”
Silence crackled on the line.
“What money problem?” Jonathan finally said, his tone instantly all-business.
“The three hundred large it cost you to lay out for security on my tour.” She waited, expecting him to flip— but he laughed.
“Baby, now why would I stop paying for your basic expenses, just because we had a little altercation? I pay that kind of money every time you go out on tour— it’s the cost of doing business. It’s in your contract, love. Ten men while out of the U.S. at thirty large a day to cover you and your entourage; three men for local coverage at five hundred a day.”
“You do?” she said quietly.
“Of course. Ron handles all that mess and makes sure my paper is straight— runs it through legal. What’s the matter with you, girl? You high or something? Now that shit I’m not dealing with, because then you’ll mess with my moneymaker— your voice.” Jonathan Evans let out an impatient huff. “Okay, so you want some attention. Fine. If you’re done having tantrums, we’ll go to dinner tonight if you want, but right now I’ve got business to handle. Tour was good?”
“Tour was excellent.”
“That’s my baby. Knock ‘em dead. See you tonight, your place. We’ll get back to the way it should be, then go eat late.”
“Yeah.”
Anita put down the telephone gently and then went in the adjacent room to stop the small recorder. It was time to call family.
“SOMETHING FUCKED UP is happening, man,” Derrick said. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“If Anita wants to talk, then we need to listen,” Pop Brown said, looking at his boys.
Antwan sucked his teeth and folded his arms, looking out the window. The eldest Brown went back to the phone, eyeing his sons as he spoke.
“We each got a thousand dollars a week— wire transfer,” he said, glancing at Derrick and Antwan. “I got all the papers, bank statements. So whatchure problem now?”
ZACHARY CHECKED HIS BlackBerry, walked up to the Brooklyn brownstone, and leaned on the bell. He waited patiently for Lowell’s partner to buzz him in. He knew they’d both be there, anxiously waiting on the signed off contracts with Anita Brown’s signature— the one thing necessary for them to invoice Jonathan Evans.
The moment the door buzzer sounded, he pushed open the heavy door and followed the hall to the offices on the first floor. Mike Epps opened the door with a wide smile.
“Hey, Zach, what’s up, man? Who knew you’d be in town and could go stand in for Lowell? How was the bitch tour?”
“Yo, Zach,” Vernon called out.
It wasn’t planned, but it was reflex. Zach threw the roundhouse punch without needing time to think about it. Mike Epps hit the floor and Vernon Knox backed up.
“The tour was fabulous,” Zach said, looking down at a stunned Mike Epps. “And although I can’t prove it, I know you and your cousin, Ron Epps, poisoned my boy Lowell . . . just to throw him off the job. Wasn’t supposed to kill him, just back him off so you could switch around the guard slate, get a bunch of jacklegs in there at a couple hundred bucks a day— same way you’ve been skimming off Anita’s brothers and father— charging Evans the full rate, paying them half. Dude has so much money he can’t watch it all, so a lot falls through the cracks, huh? But I wasn’t supposed to be in town, so I messed up the party. You probably sent the stalker notes, too, you rat bastard!”
Mike Epps spit out a tooth while Vernon gaped at him.
“Is that true, man?” Vernon said, coming around the desk.
“I’ll fucking sue you for assault,” Mike sputtered, spitting blood and picking up his tooth. “You need to take your Rambo ass out of here before you get hurt. You think you can roll in the big leagues, run with the big dogs, and not have to pay some dues? Lowell is so damned stupid, thinks if you do an honorable job and run a tight ship, you’ll get noticed.” Mike pushed up and dusted off his suit.
“Tell me you did not poison our partner, man,” Vernon said, grabbing Mike’s arm. “And tell me you didn’t send terror threats to that woman!”
Mike shrugged away from Vernon’s hold. “So his cheese-steak was a little tainted— was only a little bit of the meds that Evans makes Ron put on his precious dogs . . . damned dogs eat better than most people I know. Wasn’t enough to kill Lowell, just to make him sick enough to stand down and get out of the way for a minute. I didn’t have jack to do with the letters. For that, go see her brother Antwan— he dropped them, and had every reason to cover his ass with a little job security, just like Ron and I had every reason to keep the Brown brothers on the job. Lowell was about to fuck everything up.”
“You are out of your goddamned mind!” Vernon shouted, pointing at Mike. “I want it on the record that I didn’t have anything to do with this foul madness.”
“This partnership is dissolved anyway, because that Queen B bitch is acting crazy and erratic . . . by this time tomorrow, Evans will have another one, and me and Ron will
“You know what, man?” Vernon said, shaking his head. “This is beyond fucked up. I’m out.”
“It’s about who you know at the end of the day, and I was the one who knew somebody. My cousin is on the inside; that means I am, too. Don’t get it twisted,” Mike shouted, pointing at Vernon.
“Yeah, it is about who you know,” Zach said, holding up his open Blackberry and then pressing the buzzer to open the front door. “I know a couple of people in the Department of Homeland Security . . . Anita knows a few cops who wouldn’t mind a Police Athletic League donation— not sure whose jurisdiction it falls under, but some of this could have had international implications.” Zachary leaned on the wall as the door opened and three burly suits came in wearing wires in their ears.
They nodded at Zach; he nodded back and glanced out the window as the police cruiser pulled up with Ron Epps in the backseat.
LOVE ME ’TIL DEATH
Lorie O’Clare
CHAPTER 1
CHASE REED SQUATTED over the victim. There was a thin roped bracelet around her left hand. Interesting.
“Sir, you can’t be here right now.”
Chase straightened, ready to pull out his badge. At least they’d finally turned off the strobe lights on the dance floor.
“I’m a special agent.” He paused, staring into dark green eyes. The woman pursing her lips didn’t blink as she focused on him. If he weren’t face-to-face with her he’d have missed the quick once-over she gave him. Too bad none of the ladies here in the club tonight came close to looking as good as this one did.
“I don’t care who you are,” she began, pointing to the other side of the yellow tape they’d just set up. “Wait. What did you say? Special agent, as in what?”
“FBI. I’m off duty but happened to be here.”
“Uh-huh.” She marched away from him, pulling her phone off her hip.
Chase watched her shift her weight, but looked down when she glanced over her shoulder, more than likely asking her supervisor if FBI were assigned to this case. He knew what the answer would be before she did. Taking advantage of the moment, he squatted again, getting another good look at the thin, twisted rope bracelet around the young girl’s wrist. He would swear it was the twin to the bracelet found on the dead girl last week.
“Look here,” the woman announced, standing on the other side of the dead body, glaring down at him with her hands on her hips. “FBI isn’t on this case, which I’m sure you know. Please leave.”
“Don’t want to see my credentials?” He reached into his back pocket.
The officer instinctively backed up, putting her hand over her gun and unhooking the clasp that held it to her belt. He’d be amused but knew she was serious. She didn’t know him from Jack.
“It’s okay,” he told her, holding one hand out to her, palm up, while easing his wallet out of his jeans and then flipping it up as he brought it around slowly for her to see. “Don’t get nervous on me.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking horse,” she snapped, eyeballing his identification. Then she took it from him, again walking away, this time with his entire wallet. Damned good reason to follow her in his opinion.
There were two other officers on the scene. The bartenders remained on their side of the bar, all of them appearing to be in shock. They’d finally cleaned out all the customers, who less than an hour before had filled this popular nightclub to where he wouldn’t be surprised if they exceeded the fire marshal’s code for capacity. Another man, ten years or so older than Chase, stood to the side of the scene and glanced at Chase’s wallet when the lady cop brought it to him.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, stepping around the hot investigator and meeting the older guy’s pensive stare. “That has all of my money in it.”
She held her grip on the leather wallet, scowling at him when he tried retrieving it.
“Chase Reed, Special Agent, huh?” She sounded disbelieving. “How come I don’t know you?”
“Did you get a good look at the body brought in last week from the club down the street?” he asked, ignoring her condescending tone. “And I live here. I decided to go out tonight.”
“I know every field agent working in Wichita. You aren’t one of them.”
“I said I live here. I didn’t say I worked here,” he corrected her. “Last I heard, enjoying downtime wasn’t a crime, although I know some supervisors who might argue that fact.”
Her badge was hooked to her front belt loop, making it impossible for him to see her name. Light red streaks ran through her blond hair, a shade he would bet was natural and explained her fiery redhead’s temper. Her cheeks flushed as she studied his face and then dropped her gaze to scrutinize his identification.
“An FBI agent, on or off the clock, would know enough not to interfere with a crime scene,” she said blandly.
Maybe one who followed the rules. “You’re right. I know that. I couldn’t get a good look at her bracelet from the other side of the yellow tape, though.” He wouldn’t point out that a good law enforcement team wouldn’t have allowed him to cross the tape. She didn’t look as if she were in the mood for insults.
“I’m sure you don’t mind if I run this in.” When she looked back up at him, she’d pressed her lips into a crooked, rather triumphant smile.
“I’m going wherever you take that wallet,” he told her, nodding at it.
“Why do you care about the bracelet?” the older guy asked, speaking for the first time. His badge was also attached to his belt, a convenient trick every detective used to keep anyone from knowing their name unless the officer wished to offer it.
“Are you two assigned to this case?” Chase asked.
“Maybe. Tell me about the bracelet,” the guy insisted.
As one law enforcement person to another, he had a right to ask. Chase had an obligation to share what he’d noticed, or so some would say. Protocol had never been a strong point with him. The lady detective walked away from the two of them, once again on her phone.
Chase held up his index finger. “One minute,” he told the guy, who immediately looked put out. Chase strolled after the lady, really liking how her blue jeans hugged her narrow waist and showed off one hell of a nice ass. She wore a loose-fitting blouse that was a thin, pale pink fabric. Her blondish-red hair tapered past her collar. His gaze lingered on her bra strap, visible through the shirt, before he stepped around her.
“This is Detective Ashley Jones,” she said, her soft, sultry voice adding to the hot little package she made up. “I need to run a check on an ID,” she continued.
Chase crossed his arms over his chest, glancing over her shoulder when the ME showed up. If it were his case he’d take a few more pictures of the body before moving her. He committed her position, the expression on her face, the skimpy outfit she wore all to memory before the ME blocked his view. Detective Ashley Jones was watching him when he returned his attention to her. She had compelling dark green eyes.
“I see,” she said, running her thumb over the indentions of his badge that she’d slid free of the small leather case he usually kept it in. “Oh really?” Her cheeks flushed an attractive rose shade, making her blonde hair around the sides of her face stand out more.
She was getting the scoop on him now, and he was grateful for the fact that computers only offered the facts. Whoever the pretty detective spoke to had looked him up on the system but didn’t bother placing a phone call to hear his supervisor’s opinion of him. Chase gave thanks for small favors.
“Here’s your badge and wallet,” she said, handing it to him when she hung up the phone. “And if you wouldn’t mind stepping over the yellow tape,” she added, giving him a harsh look although she probably knew now she couldn’t force him anywhere.
Chase accepted his badge, nodded to the sexy detective, and let her do her job. Stepping over the yellow tape, he paused at a nearby table, which hadn’t been wiped off since the young girl, who’d
Avoiding the stickiness on the tall, round table, he slid his badge back into its leather case and then put it back in his wallet. He checked to make sure the hot little number of a detective hadn’t lifted any of his cash before he slid his wallet into his back pocket.
“May I ask you a couple questions?” Detective Ashley Jones asked, stepping over the yellow tape and then walking up to him.
Her blouse buttoned down the front and the top two buttons were undone. He could see the slight outline of what looked like a lace bra through the thin material. A hint of cleavage could be one hell of a distraction during any interrogation. Chase lifted his gaze to those compelling green eyes, more than aware she watched him while he took in her figure.
“Only if I can ask a couple questions as well,” he told her, and when her expression turned guarded, he decided he liked how she looked better when she was on edge. He wondered what else would put that pretty blush on her cheeks. “I’m Chase Reed,” he offered, extending his hand.
Her smaller hand was warm, soft, and her handshake firm. “I know who you are. We just went through that, remember?”
“So am I going to have to rely on overhearing a phone conversation to know who you are?” he asked.
“I’m Detective Jones,” she offered, sliding her hand out of his. Flipping a small notebook open, she glanced at the table next to him, but then looked farther on at the other tables. “Care if we have a seat?”
Chase liked how she was soft-spoken. He imagined more than one guy might make the mistake that she was gullible, or easily manipulated. Her blonde hair and distracting figure were more than a distraction. Chase didn’t make assumptions about people that easily, though. He pulled a stool out opposite Ashley Jones when she chose a table and sat. This one didn’t appear to be sticky.