Criminal Instinct (17 page)

She slipped her cell back inside her pocket. “No. I think they were just trying to get rid of their witness. They have nothing on me. I’m safe enough.”

“Keep it that way.” He handed her the items. She slipped the knife into her boot, her tools into her pants.

The door whipped open and they both turned.

A little kid wearing a Spider-man sweatshirt, jeans, and little red tennis shoes ran straight for Jonas, waving a piece of paper in his pudgy hand.

“Uncle Jonas! I made this for you at preschool!”

Jonas visibly changed. He kneeled down on the carpet in front of the boy. A big grin transformed his face, making him appear younger and carefree. No more badass Jonas Saven.

The boy had Jonas’s streaked rich brown locks, and smooth tan skin and cheekbones that were high for such a little guy. He would be a looker, just like his uncle. The only difference was the kid’s big chocolate brown eyes.

“That’s great, Elliott. And you signed your name perfectly, buddy.”

Elliott grinned and bobbed his head. “Can we put it up on your glass?”

Jonas eyed Ana briefly, uncertain.

She rocked back on her heels. What did that look mean?

“Sure,” he said, and stood. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s talking to a customer downstairs. She say you didn’t have a meeting.” Elliott’s tone was a little tentative and he glanced at Ana before looking at Jonas again. “Sorry.”

Jonas ruffled his hair. “No problem. She’s a friend, not business, okay? Her name’s Ana. Why don’t you go introduce yourself?”

His nephew walked over. “My name’s Elliott. I’m four years ol’.”

“Good to meet you.” She smiled. She couldn’t help it. He reminded her of a boy she lived with for a few weeks before he was adopted. Bradley had been about the same age back then and had a smile that could melt your heart. Even though the all-white family hadn’t kept Ana, she was glad they had cared enough for Bradley to give him a home. It had been one of the few times Ana had accepted not being adopted for being bi-racial. She held out her palm. “Give me five.”

Elliott giggled, slapped her hand and then held out his own. She slapped him five right back. They both turned toward Jonas to find him staring at her.

“Can we put it up now?” Elliott asked.

Jonas cleared his throat. “Sure.” He walked to a glass cabinet behind his desk that was nearly as tall as him. Elliott hopped along after him as if he had tiny springs in those bright shoes. When Jonas opened the cabinet, Ana saw that paper lined the door from inside. Child paintings and drawings layered the long glass.

That was what the look meant.
Jonas had been uneasy with Ana’s witnessing a family moment. Suddenly her enjoyment of seeing Jonas and Elliott interact didn’t feel so good. What was she doing here? She didn’t belong anywhere near this innocent kid. Not with the kind of people she associated with, and the dirty street life she encountered daily. Jonas hadn’t meant for Elliott to come barreling in and meet her. It had all been bad timing.

“Ana, what’s wrong?”

She met Jonas’s eyes briefly, before looking away. “Nothing. I’ve got to go. Good to meet you, Elliott.” She turned toward the door and discovered Kara standing there. From the tension around her eyes, she wasn’t too happy with Ana being anywhere near her son either.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Jonas reminded her.

Yeah, like she’d forget.

Jonas watched Kara shut the door behind Ana.

“Uncle Jonas, can you take me to the new movie I told you’s about?” Elliott asked.

Jonas smiled. “Not today, buddy. I have plans. How about we set a day for next weekend? I should have things straightened out by then.”

“’Kay. Can I be escused now, Mama?”

“Sure, baby. Go to the playroom and don’t wander off. Because Mama has some paperwork tonight and I have to take you home to Mrs. Williams for a bit.”

“’Kay.” Elliott opened the door and scurried out of the room. Diego, one of Jonas’s best men, followed him.

“You want to talk about it?” Kara asked.

Jonas ran a hand over his hair and down his tail. “About what?”

“I hope it’s business with her. I hope you’re not getting serious with that…” Her words trailed off when Jonas glared at her. “With Ana.”

“Ana and I are not up for discussion. I’ll be out tonight. You can reach me by my cell.”

Kara placed a hand on Jonas’s back. “Yes, you need a night out on the town. Away from business. Ray works you to the bone.”

“I work myself that way, Kara.” He shook his head. “Why are you so set against Ray?”

“I’m not.”

“You used to hang on his every word. Then I don’t know what happened, you rushed into a marriage with Tony. Ever since Tony died, you’ve shunned any effort Ray makes to help you and Elliott.”

“He just gets on my nerves,” she said stiffly.

Jonas wanted to ask about the conversation between her and Ray that he’d walked in on, and why she’d looked hurt, but her eyes started to glisten when she added, “And I don’t want to talk about Tony.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, walking to the door. “I’m going to find Elliott.”

Jonas rubbed at the tension tightening the back of his neck. He was sorry for a lot of things lately. Sorry for bringing up Kara’s dead husband. Sorry for letting things get to him. Sorry for trusting Ana and getting jerked around in the process.

He just couldn’t get Ana’s sad look out of his head. What was that about? She’d stabbed him in the back by withholding her true identity. A wound as painful as if she’d actually stuck that blade she carried into his flesh.

The betrayal had caught him off guard. Surprisingly, it shocked him that she’d been playing on his attraction for her to uncover his secrets. He normally spotted a threat right off the bat, but hadn’t seen Ana stealing the bases. So what if it was her job? If he had meant anything to her at all, she should have stopped, and confessed to him.

Obviously, she hadn’t cared.

What about the way she reacted to Elliott? Was that another glimpse into the softer side of her? Or just another act?

Shit. He walked to the closet door behind his desk, pulled out his punching bag and carried it to the corner where a sturdy hook was attached to the ceiling. He hung the bag.

His experience with Ana made him renew his vow to trust only a handful of people. He yanked his T-shirt over his head and threw it on the couch. When he’d given her the ultimatum to sleep with him, he hadn’t expected for a minute that she’d agree. In fact he’d felt certain she wouldn’t. It had been a last attempt to deter her from looking into his operations, especially where the X deal was concerned. But standing there, the oddest thing had happened. He realized he’d been holding his breath. Waiting. Wanting her to say, “Yes.”

And she had.

The gleam in her eye had jolted him…until he’d figured out she was on to his motive. So he’d called her bluff. Tonight they’d find out just how far she wanted to take it.

Or
fake
it.

He dug out medical tape to wrap over his knuckles. He didn’t want the padding of the glove right now—he wanted to feel his fists hit bag. He felt packed full of tension. He shut his eyes at the movement between his legs. Tense in too many places.

He couldn’t let her get to him. After tonight, whatever happened, they would go their separate ways. No matter how much a part of him warred with that decision. He flexed his hands and pounded his right fist into his palm. Besides, he didn’t need any more distractions. Now that Salvador Tyler was back in the game, he’d bet his ass the dealer was the one who’d taken out Stevie, then Parker, and now Sanchez. Tyler had told Jonas three years ago he’d pay for nearly putting him behind bars.

If Tyler thought he could harm Jonas’s people without repercussions, that bastard was about to get a rude awakening.

Jonas raised his fists and stepped into a fighting stance—feet spread, left foot forward, right leg slightly bent at the knee.

He pictured Salvador Tyler’s face on the bag. The man who’d lured his father into working for him after he had lost his job.

He jabbed with his right.
Thump.

The very man who’d gotten his father addicted to heroin.

Thump, thump.

Jonas gritted his teeth. In his book that meant Salvador Tyler had killed his father.

THUMP—THUMP—THUMP.

Salvador Tyler was about to get paid back.

Ana sat in a foldout chair across from Jay-man in SIDE’s meet room. They were the only two team members in the building. Jay-man leaned his big bulk against Sarge’s desk. A bright white T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and broad torso as if straining to break free, and gray jogging pants covered his long, thick legs. His brown eyes met hers as the overhead lights shined down on his bald head.

How did he keep the skin so smooth without one dark follicle sprouting up to mar the look? Maybe one day she’d ask.

Yeah, right. Not in this lifetime.

Earlier that morning, he’d wiped tears from her face. Her public embarrassment was hard to swallow. Not to mention, it wasn’t something she wanted to rehash.

“How are you doing?” he inquired gently.

“Considering my last few days, just dandy.”

One side of his mouth curled up. “Ana, I called you here to tell you that you’re still in the program.”

Her shoulders loosened a bit. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding herself so stiffly. Yet she was still wary when she asked, “How can that be? I know I screwed up.”

“Yeah, you did. You’re staying on the team, but—”

“I knew there had to be a ‘but.’”

“—you’re officially up for review after the Deadly Adam op. Sarge and I discussed it this morning. If your cover is still good with Saven, we’re keeping you in the operation.”

She gave a nod. No way would she admit that Jonas knew she’d been assigned to get the goods on him. Review meant she could be going back to a cell whether the team solved the mission or not, if the government felt she was more of a liability than an asset to the program. The evaluation hadn’t originally been scheduled until she’d completed her first year. Six months early. Great.

But an early review was better than confessing that her cover was blown and going back to a cell now.

“Ana, this is it. You mess up one more time, step out of line in any way, you’re out—period. No review. Sarge can’t have the team see you get away with the stuff you pull.” He leaned back. “Sarge’s actions are closely monitored. He has rules to follow himself. He steps out of his guidelines, this program is history.”

The program gone. The team behind bars. And for what? Because she couldn’t control her impulsive actions?

Real smooth, Ana
. She rubbed at her face with her hands then pushed her hair out of her eyes.

He shook his head. “I’m going to tell you some things about Sarge, and I expect this discussion to stay between us.”

She frowned, but said, “Whatever you say.”

“Sarge knows he pushes every one of you to the limit. And last night he pushed you despite knowing what happened to Paul, and I think it worried him a little. When Sarge worries, it comes out as anger.”

“Get out,” she said, crossing her arms. “I can’t believe that. Sarge cares only about himself and the SIDE backers.”

“Please, hear me out,” he continued on in his patient manner. “Have you ever wondered why he’s so hell-bent on this operation? Why he fights against the drugs of this city twenty-four hours a day?”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

“He lost his son to a drug overdose about three years ago.”

She blinked. “That had to be hard.”

“Charlie was eighteen, a good kid. Okay grades, into sports. Until his senior year when he started to change. Out partying all hours of the night. Moody, depressed. Classic symptoms. Wouldn’t come home for days at a time. Sarge searched his room and found the paraphernalia—wrappers, straws, pipes. They fought when he confronted him. Charlie was seventeen, so Sarge forced him into rehab. The kid didn’t want to get better and he didn’t. The day he was released he went on another binge and left home. Sarge and his wife searched all over for him. Didn’t even see him on his birthday. Finally Sarge gets a call a month later to identify his son’s body. He’d overdosed on a mixture of PMA and Ecstasy tablets.”

Ana sighed. “The Rave Massacre.”

Jay-man nodded. “Here’s Sarge, a lieutenant in Vice, can’t keep his own kid from the drug filth of the streets. His marriage fell apart, and he dove into his work round the clock. Until this rumor started about a new undercover operation for criminals to narc out drug pushers. Perfect solution. Slime fighting slime. Sarge took leave and met with the head guys in Washington to plead his case and convince them he was the best man to head the team. He had an excellent record and the government liked that. They gave him funding and a trial run for a year. They were pleased with the results at first. We’ve helped put away nearly seventy dealers of this city. But like the Sarge says, it’s not enough.

“During all this time Sarge has been trying to tell himself that all of you mean nothing to him. You’re just another kind of city trash. But I’ve known him for ten years. We didn’t meet at the best of terms. He put away my brother and then sort of took me in so I wouldn’t follow his footsteps. He encouraged me with my law degree and, when this opportunity opened up, suggested me for the position. The man does have a heart. He’s just good at hiding it. He doesn’t want to admit he cares because if something happens to one of you, he doesn’t want to hurt.

“He’s a good man, Ana. You should cut him some slack.”

Ana listened to Jay-man’s story, hating the fact that she could relate to what losing someone close does to a person. She’d cared for Max and when he died, something broke inside her.

Still, it was a stretch to believe Sarge was concerned about the team’s safety. He was too hard, too cold. But now she knew the reason he was like that. He’d lost his son to the streets of San Francisco while he was a Vice cop. Now he was fighting every day to bring down the guys who’d sold his son that first and last lethal dose.

So maybe she’d cut him a little slack. Not much, but some. “Don’t you think Sarge is a little too close to this op…emotionally?”

“SIDE doesn’t get to pick and choose our battles,” was all he said.

She shook her head. “Where do I go from here?”

He smiled. “You don’t think Sarge would have me set a meeting with you and not give you orders?”

“Figured. Why isn’t he here? Too pissed to even look at me?”

“He’s with Paul.”

Abruptly, she leaned forward in her chair. “If he kicks Paul while he’s down, he’ll regret it.”

Jay-man held up his hands. “Take it easy, Ana. He’s making sure the kid’s okay. Paul was hurt during the job. Sarge knows that.” A smile warmed his big face. “You care about him, don’t you?”

She snorted. “Sarge?”

“I’m talking about Paul.”

Her stomach tightened a little. “Come off it. I just didn’t want Sarge to give him a hard time when it wasn’t Paul’s fault.”

“Ana, it’s okay to care for your friends.”

No, it wasn’t okay. Max had always told her friends were a liability. After blowing the deal with Doms, she couldn’t argue that fact. She shifted in the chair. “So what are my orders?”

Jay-man’s smile grew wider, his white teeth bright against his dark skin. It seemed he thought something was pretty damn funny. “Is your cover with Saven still solid?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Solid enough. In fact, I’m supposed to meet with him tonight. I may get him to tell me what he wanted with Dolini.” Among other things. She leaned down to tie her bootlace. “But Saven’s a waste of time.”

“Why do you say that?”

She lingered, making sure her lace was nice and tight. “Turns out Saven has a high disdain for drug dealers, just like Sarge does. My instincts say he’s not involved with any drug trafficking.”

“We can’t ignore the Israeli connection, Ana. There are documented Internet and mail correspondence. It’s also a possibility that Brooks is working drug deals without Saven’s knowledge.”

She leaned back. Jonas hadn’t said not to blow his cover, but it wasn’t her place to reveal his vigilante dealings. Besides, she’d been given another—very slim—chance with SIDE. Her priority was the lethal shipment. That was it. “I didn’t catch any hint of illegal dealings around them or their men. Not even casually. I think DEA has us barking up the wrong tree.”

He eyed her for a moment before he nodded. “I’ll pass on what you said to Sarge. For now, keep your cover with Saven. When you’re not with him, Sarge wants you to do a follow up on Ink Dome’s bartender, Derek Meyer.”

Ana nodded. Sarge was giving her another chance to make up for last night. Time to see if she could pull it off.

Sunday
8:15 p.m.

“Welcome to Drag Night!”

The doorman motioned for Ana to cross the Ink Dome’s threshold. Rock music blistered through the vast nightclub and strobe lights flashed across splashes of bright colors and elaborate wigs.

She expelled a quiet sigh. What a treat.

For a Sunday, the place was jammed with male bodies stuffed in tight dresses, showing off hairy pits and legs. Then again, a handful looked damned beautiful, with their flawless cosmetics and feminine graces.

Wall vents circulated air near the ceiling, but didn’t have a chance against the swirling, accumulative body heat. The tables were full, and Ana had to plow her way to the bar. She’d spotted Meyer right away, but not because of his nifty little porn tattoo or his drag attire. He was torn-up-from-the-toe-up.

Two black eyes, scrapes on the side of his face. His left arm was encased inside a cast, and he limped down the aisle behind the bar in a satiny pink dress and beehive wig the color of a flamingo. Someone hadn’t been too happy with Meyer recently.

He spotted her, his thickly mascara-coated eyes widening.

“Hey, what are you having?” he squeaked. Clearly whoever beat him down hadn’t damaged his vocal cords. He still sounded like Mickey Mouse.

“Beer, whatever’s handy.” She was likely the only real woman in the joint. She didn’t need to add to the oddity by hanging out at a bar without a drink.

Meyer popped a cap on a Corona and handed it over, but when Ana started to pay he shook his head. “On the house.”

Ana lifted her eyebrows. “Thanks.” She motioned toward him with the beer. “What happened to you? Did you have an accident?”

He started to shake his head when someone called for him. “I’ll be back.” He disappeared around the corner of the bar.

Minutes passed. Had he given her the slip?

She was about to go looking for him when he came limping back to her.

“Busy night,” he said. “No, I wasn’t in no accident.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Gay bashers.”

Ana made an O with her mouth and nodded. Not something you wanted to talk about out loud in a crowded same-sex bar. Would likely be a bad thing to stir up the natives.

“So you remember my friend Billy, right? We came in last night. You two took a whirl on the dance floor.”

Even though Meyer’s face was bashed, his eyes still brightened. “Yeah, I remember him.” He stuck his bottom lip out. “He hasn’t called.”

“Well.” She coughed back a chuckle. “He sent me over. He wanted to talk about some—” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “—some X.”

Meyer grinned. “Mmmm.” Suddenly his expression looked uneasy. He muttered something—was that “sorry”?—and limped down the aisle away from her.

Her eyebrows pinched. What had happened? Did he think she was coming on to him? She knew he liked guys.

Something pointy poked her in the back.

She stiffened. “You have exactly five seconds to remove whatever perverted instrument you have against my back,” she said, ready to kick butt. “One—”

A cold hand grabbed her bicep in a steel grip and swung her around. She was face-to-chest with a drab-looking tie. Cautious, she raised her head.

Killer Suit One stood in front of her. Her scalp prickled. She lowered her eyes to the pointy object. A stun gun was pointed into her abdomen. Killer Suit Two flanked his buddy. Now that she had a closer look at the two, they reminded her of the bad guys in that sci-fi flick with Keanu Reeves. In the movie, the bad guys all looked alike.

Same suit, same haircut. Tall, slim, Caucasian.

There
hadn’t
been any better description to give Sarge.

She raised her bottle in a mock salute. “Do you two have the same tailor or something?”

Killer Suit One was not amused. “Move slowly to the exit. Do not try to get away. I
will
hurt you.”

“Maybe it’s the same mother?”

He jammed the butt of the stunner into her stomach. Pain stabbed her, and she gasped. The force caused her to keel forward into his chest and drop the beer bottle. She gritted her teeth, panting past the searing throb, and slowly straightened.

“Let me…guess, you bastard,” she pushed out. “Your parents are really brother and sister.” Killer Suit One released her arm and tore into her hair with a death grip. Tears stung her eyes as she was shoved forward into warm dancing bodies.

Her stomach was knotted with tension, her palms damp. She scanned the area around her. The dance floor was packed tight. She could make a run for it and slip through the bodies quickly, but the Suits were right at her back. Killer Suit One was again digging fingers into her arm.

As they moved to the middle of the dance floor, she knew what had to be done. Her hands whipped out and clenched the biggest arm she could see.

“Help!” she bellowed at the top of her lungs, wrenching away from the Suit. “These guys are gay haters! Help me! They have stun guns.”

Twenty beefy drag queens turned in their direction at once. The Suits started giving sorry little smiles, trying to ease the hostility on the dance floor down a notch.

One massive man who was wearing a red glittery dress and a scary-looking mono brow, making him look like Cindy Crawford on steroids, stepped up to Killer Suit One.

“You got something against gays?” he asked in a deep grumble.

“Ahh—”

Out of nowhere, Ana imagined herself sprouting pointy little horns and a tail. All she needed was a dandy little pitchfork. “They’re the ones who bashed Meyer the bartender.” And just like that…

RUMBLE!

The Crawford Wannabe hit the stun gun out of Killer Suit One’s hand before both Suits disappeared under a pile of bad wigs and shiny fabric.

Ana couldn’t stick around for the outcome. This was her cue to get out fast. She turned—an errant fist rammed into her jaw.