I jump a foot in the air as my cell starts ringing. Snatching it up, I’m relieved to see Brooks’ name on the caller ID. I swipe to take the call, clutching the phone to my ear.
“Anything interesting?” I ask.
“Very,” Brooks replies over the line, “I trailed him from the field office, all the way to some shitty apartment complex on the far side of Vegas. He was making a little visit to a girlfriend of his. And you’ll never guess who she is.”
“You’re right, I won’t,” I reply, “so tell me.”
“It was Belle Taylor,” Brooks says, “from the Devil’s Playpen.”
“Belle?!” I exclaim, baffled, “The one Tyke is smitten with?”
“The very same,” Brooks goes on, “and I’ll say this, she did not look happy to see him. I heard him screaming from inside her place, and I’m pretty sure she’s down at least one lamp. Something shattered in there—”
“What else did you notice?” I press.
“He went in with a pretty thick envelope,” Brooks tells me, “and he sure didn’t have it when he came out again.”
“You think he was paying her?” I ask, pacing around the penthouse.
“That certainly seemed to be the case,” Brooks says. “I had to ditch him after he left Belle’s place. Got the feeling he’d start to notice me if I kept on him.”
“Good. Better to cut your losses,” I nod. “Shit, Brooks. If he’s paying Belle for sex, he can take the Playpen down for prostitution in a heartbeat. He’ll bring the whole operation tumbling down.”
“Let’s hope the Wraiths vet their girls better than that,” Brooks says.
“But if he wasn’t paying her for sex,” I muse, “what the hell could he have been paying her for?”
“I have no fucking idea,” Brooks says, “but I bet this asshole will be at the Playpen tonight. Maybe he’ll give himself away if we’re there to catch him.”
“He’ll flip if he sees me at the Playpen,” I reply. “He made it pretty clear that stepping foot on his turf will be bad for me.”
“Then don’t let him see you,” Brooks urges. “Besides, I’ll be there. He’s not expecting you to have backup. You’ll be safe, Red.”
“Huh...” I say, pausing in my frantic pacing. “This is what it feels like for someone to have your back.”
“You know it,” Brooks says. I can hear him grinning over the line. “So, what do you say? Want to try and catch a rat at the Playpen tonight?”
“Let’s do it,” I say.
“I’ll come and get you,” Brooks replies. “Shit. Is it wrong that I’m kind of having fun with all of this?”
“See you soon, you crazy bastard,” I laugh, and hang up my cell.
I can feel my heartbeat pounding through my entire body. It’s the feeling I always get when I’m hot on the trail of some criminal or other. Only usually, I’m only tracking my targets through pages of code and internet transactions. This shit with Bruno is real. By all rights, I should be scared shitless to take him on, and I’m sure I would be, if I were going it alone. But for the first time in my professional career—and my life, really—I have a partner. And that feels pretty damn awesome.
The sun is just beginning to set over the teaming neon village of Las Vegas when Brooks and I set off in search of the truth once more. It’s so strange to see him behind the wheel of a car, rather than on a Harley. But I have to hand it to the man—the cage he’s driving does nothing to impede his sex appeal. Tonight, he’s rocking black jeans, a white tee stretched tightly over his pecs, his Dante’s Nine cut, and a pair of weathered steel toe boots. His dark brown curls tumble artfully across his brow—a look I’m sure a thousand city boys would pay good money to mimic. His green eyes are gleaming with anticipation and intention, his inked muscles straining for action. It takes everything in my power not to demand he pull the car over and have me in the back seat.
The sizzling sidelong glance Brooks shoots my way tells me that I’ve cleaned up pretty nicely myself. I’m in full biker chick regalia tonight—daisy dukes, tiny white tank, big sexy hair, full face of makeup, and sky-high stiletto boots. I figure I’ll blend in with the natives this way, make it less likely that Bruno would notice me. And it doesn’t hurt that Brooks is totally into it, either. I return his look with a mischievous smile.
“Eyes on the road, buddy,” I tease.
“Not so easy with you sitting there, looking like that,” he murmurs.
“There’ll be plenty of time for every nasty thing you’re thinking of,” I assure him, “after we take Bruno down.”
“Trust me, I’m committed to the cause,” Brooks says, “I’m willing to put jumping you on hold to go after this guy. And that is fucking saying something, all right.”
We ride along in silence for a spell, the glowing beacon of Vegas falling away in the rear view mirror. We’re going to try and intercept Bruno at the Devil’s Playpen, catch him in whatever diabolical acts he’s been perpetrating. My working theory is that he’s trying to manipulate this case to the benefit of his own bank account. But the specifics are still rather hazy. Hopefully, he’ll give us another clue or two tonight.
“Can I ask you something, Red?” Brooks asks, keeping his eyes on the dark road ahead.
“Shoot,” I reply.
“What’s your end game, with all of this?” he goes on. “The Bruno thing, I mean?”
“Well. He’s clearly trying manipulate the law to his advantage,” I reply. “All I want is for him to get what he deserves. The FBI should know the truth about him.”
“I mean for you,” Brooks clarifies, “what do you want out of all this?”
“I...don’t really know,” I confess, looking out across the dusty, dusky landscape. “I guess I just want to make a difference, for once.”
“You don’t feel like you make a difference at the FBI?” he asks.
“I’m not sure I believe that the law is something to put faith in anymore,” I say quietly. “More and more...this life you lead is starting to make sense.”
“I’m really glad to hear that,” Brooks says huskily. “Not that you’re losing faith in what you’ve always believed in, of course. But I’m glad that you’re seeing things from another angle. Justice isn’t black and white. I know that better than most. It drives me crazy that most of the people in this country trust the legal system implicitly, when it’s as fucked up and corrupt as anything else.”