Dirty Ex-Mas Read online

  “Did you just say Reed is here?”

  I nod.

  Her mouth drops open. “Reed Reed? My Reed? Reed Roberts?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Ohmigod, how do I look? Is my hair okay? Ugh, I’m all sweaty from cleaning. I can’t believe you made me clean the bathroom. Do I smell like toilet bowl cleaner?” She turns and looks at herself in the mirror. “Oh, I look good in this tank top.” She smiles and turns back to me. “Okay, I’m going to go out there and pretend like I don’t know he’s here. Then I’m going to act surprised. Then, I’ll ignore him. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  We both leave the restroom, but I let her head out to the bar before me. I shut my eyes and lean against the wall, banging the back of my head against it a couple times. It’s frustrating when Mack comes in. But if he didn’t come in, I’d never see him. And if I never saw him, I would miss him even more. Still, I don’t know which is worse.

  When I do see him, he runs so hot and cold with me. Based on how he greeted me it seems like today will be nice. We will act civil toward one another, maybe even complimentary, with a little flirting, and I’ll escape from the encounter only slightly scathed.

  The days where it’s clear he hates the very sight of me are the hardest. When his gaze is cold, his mannerisms are detached, and every word out of his mouth is for the sole purpose of causing me pain. Those are the days I must physically stop myself from running back to him and begging for forgiveness. I see the pain on his face, and I want to make it go away. Slay all the demons inside him and erase every speck of betrayal in his eyes. Instead, I shut down, turning off every single emotion inside me until he leaves. Only then do I allow myself to disappear into my office, lock the door, and cry until I have nothing left.

  I hit my head against the wall one last time to knock some sense into myself before I go back out there to face Mack again.

  “Careful with the goods, don’t break that beautiful head.”

  I swear the tips of my smile and the strings to my heart are directly tied to the sound of his voice. Both start to move as soon as he speaks. I wait until his heavy steps have stopped in front of me before I open my eyes. Mack’s soulful brown ones are shining back at me.

  “How are you doing?” he asks softly, running the back of his hand along my cheekbone.

  I lean into his touch, but force myself to put my hands in my back pockets to avoid touching him back.

  “Good. You?”

  “Miss you.” His voice is low and gruff. He moves to place his hands on the wall above my head and leans in, his forehead close to touching mine. Our lips mere inches apart.

  “Don’t tell me that,” I whisper.

  “Can’t help it. You’ve got my soul, babe.”

  His eyes lock onto mine, and I can’t look away. Just once I’d like to live in a world where criminals and law enforcement can co-exist. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. One of us has to be the strong one, I just wish it didn’t have to be me. I wait until I can’t take it any longer before looking away. The urge to kiss him way too strong. I was wrong before, the good days where he loves me, they are just as bad.

  “Your burgers should be up soon,” I tell him trying to duck under his tree-trunk sized arm to get around him.

  “Hang on a sec.” He grabs my upper arm to stop me, pulling me back into place against the wall. “I didn’t just come back here to remind myself of what I can’t have.” He looks at me pointedly. “I also need a favor.”

  “Anything, you know that.”

  Mack lowers his voice even further and pushes his nose into my hair, his lips grazing my ear. “Not anything, obviously. If it were anything, we’d be in your office with you bent over your desk and my cock buried deep inside you.” His breath tickles my neck and goosebumps decorate my arms. I shiver at the thought of being with him again.

  He pulls his head away slowly, capturing me in his hard gaze. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, babe.”

  I nod, hating my acquiescence, yet not doing a thing to change it.

  “Now, let’s try this again. I need a favor.”

  “I’ll try to help if I can,” I say, my voice shaky. It drives me nuts that he has this effect on me. He’s the only man ever to penetrate my ice-cold exterior.

  “Can you use some of your sketchy connections and get me whatever you can on David Tremblay?”

  I look up at him, in surprise. “David Tremblay? As in Quinn’s ex? Reed’s friend? That David Tremblay?”

  “That’s the one,” he says grimly.

  “Sure, but why?”

  “Main suspect in a sex trafficking case we’re looking into.”

  “Oh!” That piques my interest even more. The scum involved in human trafficking are my favorite scum to eradicate.

  “Yeah, oh,” he repeats. “But for Reed’s sake I want to make sure he’s guilty before . . .” He nods at me.

  Mack has a general apathy for the lines between right and wrong. For him, they are gray and malleable. It’s what allows him to accept what me and my Dirty Darlings do, even though it goes against everything the FBI works toward. Thanks to otherwise confidential information that Mack has passed along, a number of really despicable people disappear before trial, or after being released because there isn’t enough to get them to trial. My girls and I can take all the credit for that.

  In the same vein, much needed—not necessarily legally acquired—evidence has mysteriously appeared courtesy of an unidentified source which helps Mack put away the not-quite-so-despicable guys who need not be wiped off the face of the earth. My girls and I can take all the credit for that too. Because I won’t kill, or have my girls kill, just anyone. It takes a particular breed of contemptible human lowlife for me to do that.

  I have a code of conduct that I follow for choosing targets. I got the idea from a TV show about a serial killer who only killed serial killers and thought it was brilliant. Do I consider myself to be a serial killer? No. My girls? Absolutely not. I think of us more as vigilantes. Contract killers for good, not evil. Even if I am the one contracting the kills.

  “I’ll find out whatever I can today. I’ll call one of the girls in to help,” I tell Mack. “What are you going to do if he’s guilty?”

  “I’m not worried about what I’ll do. I’m more worried about what Reed will do. You’ll have a race on your hands to see who can take him out first.”

  I want to laugh at that, but the look on Mack’s face is serious. So, instead I nod. “I’ll text as soon as I have anything.”

  Mack and I do still communicate. Mostly about ongoing cases. But when it can’t be in person, we use burner phones, which we replace every week. I want nothing on either of our persons with traceable information that law enforcement could ever use against us. Something that I’m far more paranoid about than Mack is. We mostly use them to text and sometimes call. I keep a stockpile of them upstairs for the girls and me anyway, so it’s easy.

  Because as much as I hate to admit it, I need to know I can contact Mack and that he’ll be safe if I do so. And not even that I need to know if I can contact him. I have to be able to contact him. To hear his voice when I need it, send him a message when I’m thinking it, keep a lifeline between us open. Since we can’t be together, it’s all I have left of him.

  He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you.

  “Of course.”

  He heads into the restroom and I make my way back to the bar, still feeling the kiss long after.

  5

  Reed

  I had to have Jenny from research and records repeat what she’d said twice when she called to tell me the sketch had been matched to David Tremblay. She would have called to tell me anyway, since Mack and I are on the case, but since David also came up as a known acquaintance of mine, she was trying to keep the information on the down low for me until I figured out what to do. David and I have been friends since we were kids. So, I won’t rush out and bring him in
for questioning unless I’ve got evidence that is solid as fuck, along with equally airtight backup evidence.

  I know that facial recognition identification from a sketch isn’t always one hundred percent correct. That said, there’s a big part of me that thinks Paula Nelson must be incorrect with her recollection of what her abductor looks like and what she passed along to the sketch artist. But, according the Jenny, the sketch matched David’s face with most of the sixty-eight facial markers used in the identification process.

  Meaning my best friend is trafficking humans in an illegal sex trade and hiding it from me. Which I’d like to believe is unlikely. Or he’s got a doppelgänger here in the city that’s out doing nefarious deeds. Which is possible. Or the FBI facial recognition software is faulty. Which is highly improbable. The more likely scenario being that Paula’s recollection of what this guy looks like is faulty.

  I bow my head and send a silent prayer to the powers that be to make it that last option.

  “Well, hey Reed, I didn’t know you were here!”

  I look up and see Quinn Foster coming toward me behind the bar.

  “Hey Quinn, how’s it going?”

  Instead of answering, she looks at my beer and says, “Drinking on a work day? Naughty boy. Do I need to punish you?”

  I laugh. My dick jumps a bit at her calling me a naughty boy and asking if she needs to punish me. Especially when she’s leaning over the bar in that tank top—her breasts all pushed up and begging for attention. I like Quinn. It’s obvious she likes me. But she dated David a while back.

  I don’t know for certain that it would upset him or that he’d even care. If I remember correctly, they only dated for a few months. He brought her to a BBQ I was at and she and I hit it off. It wasn’t until later that I realized she was his date and I backed way the fuck off. I know that was one of their first dates. I just don’t remember how long they’d been seeing each other, or how much longer after that they continued to see one another.

  All of which makes it way too complicated for me to date Quinn. I need things in my life to be orderly and that situation is anything but. Plus, she’s loud, whereas I’m quiet. And she’s a lot to handle, for lack of a better descriptor. I think I would bore her in a matter of weeks.

  Plus, I don’t know if they ever slept together and I really don’t know how I feel about that. I’d ask David about it, but then he’ll know that I’m interested in Quinn and tell me that I can’t date her. Which will offset the power balance in our friendship. I hate when that happens and it’s not in my favor. And if I ask Quinn, she’ll know that I’m interested which would more than likely lead to us going out, in which case David would find out and get upset. Not that any of it matters if David is the guy in the sketch, because then I don’t give a fuck what he thinks. But I’m still leaning toward that not being the case, leaving Quinn off limits.

  She reaches out and fingers my tie. “I like this tie. It’s a good color for you.”

  My tie is beige. I doubt that beige is a good color for anyone. But I love the way her tits look when she leans over. And I like how it feels when her fingers brush across my chest as she reaches for my tie.

  “We’re waiting for burgers,” I tell her boobs.

  “Oh, yeah?” She leans back, and my eyes make their way back up to her face.

  “Yeah, Mack’s in the restroom.”

  “Mack is here,” he booms as he retakes his stool next to me, then takes over the conversation.

  “Well, if it isn’t the big, bad Mack Murphy,” Quinn says, batting her eyes at him.

  “If it isn’t the cute, little Quinn Foster,” Mack flirts back.

  “You want a refill?” Quinn asks as Mack drains his beer.

  “You read my mind, QT,” he says, passing his glass to her. Sometimes he refers to her as Q, and sometimes as cutie, which he says is QT, but that’s not her initials. They are QF, so I don’t understand the reference, but, I don’t correct him.

  “Touch my tap and die,” Daria says to Quinn, appearing behind the bar.

  “Aw come on. I’ve seen you do it, it’s just a lever you pull down.”

  “You’re working here now, QT?” Mack asks.

  “Yes, I am,” she says.

  “Good for you,” he says then turns to Daria continuing, “I don’t mind a little head from QT.” Daria gives him a look that would scare the shit out of most men, myself included. But Mack just laughs. “You know, if she wants to pull my beer.”

  Daria turns to Quinn and hands her the glass. “Okay, hotshot, pull the lever.”

  Quinn takes the pint glass and practically skips to the tap station. “Which one?”

  “The stout,” Mack and Daria both say then smile at each other.

  Quinn points to each one, reading off the name, until she comes to the Russian Imperial Stout, and stops. “This one?”

  Daria nods once.

  Quinn sticks the glass under the spout and pulls on the tap, dancing slightly in place. Foam fills the glass. She turns to Daria. “Is this a trick?”

  Daria laughs. “No. But there is an art to pulling a beer. Let me show you.” She grabs a clean glass and shows Quinn how to hold the glass just right to avoid the foam and pulls a perfect draft for Mack. “Now, this does not mean you can serve beer. You are still low on my totem pole. But at least now you know.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Quinn salutes Daria and tries to click her heels, they both laugh. Daria disappears for a moment and returns with our burgers.

  I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I see the burger. I throw my tie over my shoulder and take a huge bite.

  “Mmm,” I groan at how good it is. “You could make so much more money as a burger joint,” I say as a compliment.

  “No, I couldn’t.” Daria laughs. I know she’s right; I have a feeling the bar does well, but she takes my statement for the compliment it was.

  Mack finishes with his burger before I’m halfway through mine. By which time a few more customers have filtered in, some at the bar and some at tables. And a waitress is out on the floor.

  “You good,” Daria asks him.

  “I’m always good when you’re around,” he says. She throws a bar towel at him; it lands in the ketchup on his plate. She rolls her eyes and hands his plate to Quinn telling her to take it in the back.

  I’d thought Quinn was kidding when she said she was working here now. So when she gets back, I ask her. “You’re really working here now?”

  She smiles. “Yep.”

  “How do you like it?”

  “It’s still, like, my first hour here. But so far so good.”

  It amazes me how happy she always is. I think that’s part of what draws me to her. Like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. Maybe David won’t mind me dating her once he’s married.

  Maybe he won’t mind now.

  But I won’t ask. Now is not the time. I need to get this case behind me before I can think about anything else, especially my personal life.

  I look over at Mack and Daria talking quietly. She’s leaning on her forearms on the bar and he’s stroking her arm lightly with his pinky finger. You’d almost miss the touch if you weren’t looking for it. I always look for it. And it’s always there. I’ve asked him countless times why they aren’t together when it’s so obvious they have feelings for each other.

  He always responds with some vague answer about it being hard with our jobs what they are. But I don’t buy it. Plenty of other agents marry and do just fine. I know he’s not seeing anyone else, and he makes us come here for lunch at least once a week if not more. Maybe one day he’ll be honest with me about what’s going on. Until then, I’ll just keep looking for clues.

  6

  Mack

  I’m premature in asking Daria to get information on Tremblay. But something tells me Reed will be resistant to acknowledge that Tremblay might be a valid suspect. Can’t say I blame him, the two have been friends since they were young. I’d feel the same if I were him. If D
aria can come up with something solid, it will help.

  Reed’s been quiet the entire drive back to headquarters. Now that we’re here, I know the director will want us to do something about the facial recognition results on the sketch. And that something he’ll want us to do will be a photo lineup. And Reed won’t want to do it.

  We each have an email-memo sitting in our inbox from the director requesting exactly that. This could go two different ways at this point. If Paula Nelson doesn’t ID Tremblay as the guy, we’re back to square one. But if she does, we’ll have to bring him in. If it ends up we have to bring Tremblay in, I don’t want to tell him the real reason we’re doing it. I’m not above bringing suspects in on trumped-up charges to suss them out and see what else we can get.

  If Tremblay is guilty—which I think he is—all we can charge him with right now is kidnapping, and it’s flimsy. We can’t risk going ahead with an arrest until we have something more solid. Plus, I don’t want to alert the other players in the game until we get more intel on their entire operation. Regardless of what Reed wants, we’ll start with a photo lineup that includes Tremblay and go from there.

  Reed makes the call to Paula Nelson to have her come in. If she picks Tremblay out of the lineup, I figure at the very least we can place a tail on him, maybe even a stakeout, and definitely requisition his cell phone records. If anything incriminating should arise from that, we can continue from there.

  It’s a frustratingly slow process.

  Which is exactly why the information that Daria can get is so much more beneficial. What takes us hours to requisition, if not longer, she can get in a matter of seconds. What we have access to doesn’t always include text messages, emails, voicemails; whereas Daria can get anything on a phone that is backed-up to the cloud. She can also get the number of devices that access his IP addresses, both at home and work. Meaning any phones in another name, laptops, tablets, virtual information assistants, gaming systems, and probably a shitload more stuff I’m not even thinking of. Virtual information assistants are relatively new to the playing field, which when hacked act as listening devices. We’re still learning about their capabilities and how to best use them to our advantage. Meanwhile, Daria’s been using them for a while.