“Hennessy, you make any headway with that interview?”
I’d finally tracked down one witness to a shooting after a drug deal gone bad, and he’d refused to give me anything useful.
“Not a single fucking thing,” I replied, looking up at Mac Fortier. He was another detective on the drug case that I wasn’t supposed to be working, but when budgets got cut, the department put me on it anyway.
In the end, it wouldn’t matter. I wanted to close it more than anyone. My brother had been killed during one particular raid on this case that had turned into a clusterfuck, and during the internal investigation, evidence had surfaced that he was dirty.
I knew one thing to the core of my soul: my brother wasn’t a dirty cop.
My father had retired within weeks of my brother’s death, and I’d been bounced around the department because they weren’t sure what to do with me anymore. I’d been the youngest detective on the force once upon a time, headed for the top of the food chain, and now they just wanted me out.
But no matter how badly they wanted to rid the department of Hennessys, I’d refused to leave. And they were insane if they thought I’d rest before I’d restored my brother’s reputation.
“Well, that fucking sucks. Was the guy scared to talk?” Fortier asked.
“Yeah. Didn’t even want to be seen coming or going from the station.”
“So there goes that lead.”
I grunted, because it didn’t merit a response.
“We’ll get ’em. I’ll shake down my CIs and see if I can get any more names of anyone who might have been in the vicinity. There’s gotta be someone we can get to talk. Enough people are on parole in that area that we just need to find the right one who has something to lose if they don’t cooperate.” He flashed me a smile. “It’s their civic fucking duty.”
Fortier was a bulldog when it came to chasing leads. He had a year or two on me in seniority, but he didn’t delegate much. He seemed to actually enjoy still getting down in the trenches. Plenty of others didn’t.
“You wanna grab some lunch, man?” Fortier asked. “I’m starving.”
“Yeah, sure. You got a place in mind?”
“That little café down the street has a good po’boy, if it isn’t packed with tourists.”
That little café he was talking about was kitty-corner from Noble Art, which would give me an excuse to duck in and set up the date I’d promised Valentina I’d be taking her on. And I would be taking her on that date.
Once I’d realized what her issue was, I’d handled it. The fact that she thought I saw her only as a victim was ridiculous. Yes, I’d always remember that night. How could I forget it? But that didn’t change the fact that she was a strong, beautiful woman.
We hustled through lunch, me eager to get on with asking Valentina out, and Fortier eager to start calling his CIs to meet and hopefully shake out some more leads.
When Fortier exited in the direction of the station, I said, “I’ll catch up with you later. I’ve got a stop to make.”
His eyebrow went up and he turned. “You realize I’m a detective too, right?”
“What’s your point?”
“You’ve been staring at that place over there like a crack whore on the lookout for her pimp. Try to be more subtle when you finally get over there. Women don’t go for nice guys. You’re a cop. That’s fuckin’ dangerous. Don’t act like a pussy and water that shit down. Own it. Use it. Get the girl.”
Sage advice given, Fortier slapped my shoulder and strolled off.
Too bad my being a cop was the biggest hurdle I had to overcome with this particular woman.
HOW MY LIFE WENT FROM not knowing Valentina Noble existed to having her on my mind constantly, I didn’t fucking know. It would probably help if I wasn’t keeping tabs on her to make sure she was staying out of trouble. Regardless, I could see her sitting at her desk—a simple glass top with four black legs that hid nothing, including how her skirt rode up her legs when she crossed and uncrossed them.
A taste. I’d only had a taste of her, and it wasn’t nearly enough. I knew it was a bad idea, but since when did I care? I’d had plenty. Somehow, I was still breathing. Against all odds and shit.
A customer walked into Noble Art and my little duchess rose from her seat, a smile spreading across her face. Not the forced and fake kind either. It was real, genuine, and I liked the way her eyes lit up with excitement. The mercenary side of me said it was because she was about to make some fat cash when she sold something to the poor fuck, but the other part wondered if she was really just that happy.
Happy. I didn’t remember what that was like. I’d just been existing, day to day, wondering which bullet might end me. A rival gang’s or a cop’s. Didn’t matter where the shot came from, because either would snatch me from this life and toss me into the next.
I needed to walk away from where I stood before I did something stupid, like go inside and drop some freshly laundered cash on a piece of art I didn’t need, didn’t want, and didn’t fucking understand—all for the chance to see her light up like that. Would she smile at me? Nah. I’d probably get her glare. But at least that would be better than the fake smile. Fuck the fake smile.
I wanted real.
I wanted her.
Valentina smiled again at her customer as I pushed away from the door frame I was leaning against. Something caught her eye and she froze, her gaze locking on me.
I raised my chin in her direction before melting into the crowd without looking back. I had work to do.