Head Above Water (Nightshade MC Book 4) (5 page)

“We didn't have to,” Monroe chuckled as the women walked over. “Beth, this is too much. We can't possibly eat all of this.”

“Don't worry, you don't have to eat it all now. We've got plenty of boxes to take things home.” Beth looked to be in her sixties, with totally gray hair and a tattoo of a snake down her arm. “It's good to see you, James. It's been too long.”

“It's good to see you too, Beth. I'd like you to meet Drea. Drea, this is Beth Williams.”

“It's great to meet you, Drea.” Beth gave her a once-over look. “It's about time you brought a girl around, James. We can catch up later. I'll leave the two of you to eat and get back to your conversation.” She set the plates down on the table quickly. Before she left, she laid a hand on Monroe's shoulder. “It's good to see you smiling again.”

Drea watched as Monroe looked down at the table. What Beth said had affected him, so she gave him a minute and didn't say anything. “You're probably wondering what that was all about,” he said when he finally looked up.

“I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't curious, that's human nature, but I don't expect you to explain it to me.” Drea knew that everyone had the things they wouldn't, or couldn't, talk about. If this was one of those things for Monroe, she could respect that, and her gut told her that it was.

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Drea assured him. “Wow, this is a ton of food. And it all looks great. I was hungry, but now I'm starving.” She  settled her napkin on her lap. “I don't even know where to start.”

“I'm starting on the outside, working my way in,” Monroe told her. “Are you one of those women who don't eat on dates?”

Drea let out a snort of laughter, reached for a mozzarella stick. “No, I'm really not.”

The meal was full of food and the sort of small talk Drea remembered from previous dates. They figured out some things they had in common, and before she realized it, they had plans to go to the movies over the weekend. Beth came back over when they'd finished their dessert. Drea excused herself to go to the ladies room to give Monroe and Beth a chance to catch up. When she returned to the table, the woman was gone. Monroe rose to his feet when he saw her. “You ready?”

“Sure, if you are.” Drea had thought that maybe they'd have coffee or something, but she saw the table was already nearly cleared. It occurred to her that maybe he wasn't having as good a time as she was. Her mind raced for something else to say but came up blank.

“Are you in a rush to get home?”

“No,” she replied.

“Want to go for a ride?”

“I'd like that,” she said as relief rushed over her. If he wanted to go for a ride, he couldn't have been having that bad of a time. “Unless you're in a rush to get home,” she added nervously.

“If I was in a rush, I wouldn't be talking about going for a ride.” He stepped over to her, took her hand and squeezed. “I think that this is the best dinner I've had in a while, and it's not just because of the food. We've got a lot in common,” he pointed out as they exited the restaurant.

“I noticed that,” Drea followed him to his bike. He let go of her hand to retrieve the helmet she'd worn earlier. “So, where are we heading on this ride?”

“I hadn't thought about it, really. You got some place in mind?”

Immediately, Drea's mind went to one place, her place, but she couldn't just invite him back to her house. It wasn't who she was. “Why don't we just ride and see where we end up?” she suggested instead.

Chapter Four

Anzaldi wasn't at the meet. Instead, he'd sent his second-in-charge, Ricardo. It wasn't the first time that it had happened, but for some reason, it had Monroe's nerves on edge. As far as he could tell, no one else was getting a vibe, so he kept his eyes open and his mouth shut. When Manuel and Einstein had the last crate off of the truck, Train stepped forward, crowbar in hand, to open the shipment, just like they always did.

“Wait!” Ricardo's voice rang out. “There's no need for that today.”

“Do it,” Buster told Train. “Maybe you forgot how this works, Ricardo, let me remind you. We do the drop, we open the crates. Doesn't matter what's inside, but we see it. Don't make us get hostile.”

Train got the top off of the crate in record time. Inside were  counterfeit designer hand bags, most so ugly that Monroe couldn't understand why anyone would want to carry them. He'd seen countless crates of bags like these, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, so what was the problem?

Something definitely wasn't right. Now, he could see that he wasn't the only one who felt it. Train stepped forward, grabbed a purse and tore through the protective wrapping. Monroe was ready for anything, but when Train opened one, it was just money. “What didn't you want us to see?”

“It's not what I didn't want you to see. It's that, regrettably, I do not have the envelope you're expecting once the boxes are opened. Perhaps I should have said something earlier, but I hoped that I'd get a call things had been resolved.” Ricardo spoke slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “There was an incident yesterday, a robbery.”

“Anzaldi got robbed,” Buster's voice was heavy with disbelief. Monroe could hardly believe it himself. Anzaldi's operation was solid, heavily protected with both virtual and physical security. “I find that really hard to believe.”

“It was cleverly orchestrated, obviously very well planned. They got away with a significant sum of money as well as several other items of value.” Ricardo looked as uncomfortable as possible, pained to admit that they had been vulnerable to such a thing.

“We're sorry for your troubles,” Buster said. “As far as this shipment goes, you can pay next time.”

“That is much appreciated,” Ricardo said as he motioned his men forward to grab the crates. “We'll be in touch, soon.”

Buster nodded. “Alright, it looks like you've got this covered. Time for us to go. Let's ride out.” He spoke casually.

Monroe knew that it was a front; Buster wasn't feeling casual about anything. None of them were. The tingling of his nerves had turned into a pit of lead. Something wasn't right. He was still blown away that Anzaldi had been robbed. Both Bones and Ace had raved about his security system. It would take someone exceptionally talented, or very lucky, to bypass that security and get out without being caught or killed.

The ride back to the clubhouse seemed to take longer than it usually did. Once there, they headed upstairs. Once the door to the room was closed behind them. Monroe took his seat and waited for Buster to speak. All eyes were on the President. Trouble was obviously brewing. It was the last thing that Nightshade needed at the moment. They'd had enough trouble to last a lifetime.

Finally, Buster broke the heavy silence. “Ace and Bones, I want the two of you on a security review. Make sure there's no way anyone can come at us electronically. Train, you double check our personal security. Right now, we need to be on a high alert for trouble, just in case. Monroe, see what you can find out about other robberies in the area. I doubt that Anzaldi reported it happening to him, but check and see. Everyone else, I want you out on the street, talking to people, seeing what you can find out.”

“I think that Einstein and Bones can handle the electronic stuff,” Ace spoke up. “I've got some people that might know something I'd like to talk to.”

“Works for me,” Buster replied. “Onto our next issue, what do we have on Frankie Gagliardi?”

“He's a professional fuck-up, basically,” Einstein explained. “He spent most of his years riding on his father's coattails. Tony Gagliardi was bad ass. Since his father died, and left all of his money to Drea, Frankie's floated from thing to thing. His last venture, a strip club which featured a glitter ball pit, folded in six weeks. He's broke and my guess is desperate.”

“I'm thinking that he came to Detroit, to Drea, so that she could help him out. The porn business is big money, it's almost a sure thing,” Ace pointed out. “The money she inherited from her uncle and father is almost gone. She bought the shop and house outright. In the past few months, she's been paying some bills from Love and Lace out of her personal accounts, which are pretty sparse. I'd say, conservatively, she's only got two months before what she has is gone.”

Monroe wasn't surprised that Ace had dug into Drea's finances or that Love and Lace wasn't doing well. It was dead in the middle of an area that was still rebuilding; most people didn't have the disposable income for extras. “That's probably why she's reopening the business now, to help her cousin and because she'll lose her shirt if she doesn't,” he spoke out.

“Possibly. I don't really care why she's doing it at long as she keeps her word,” Buster told them; he'd already filled them all in on his meeting with Drea the day before.

On the other hand, Drea had never said a word about it the night before, not even mentioning that Buster had been in the store. It made Monroe wonder what else she wasn't saying, what she was holding back. The ride that they had taken after dinner had been full of such thoughts. He'd had his fill of women who held things back with Maggie. By the time that he dropped her off, Monroe was seriously wondering if there was even a point in trying to pursue something with Drea.

“I think that we should reach out to Anzaldi,” Manuel spoke up. “Offer him help because it's going to get us more information if we do. Right now, we don't know any details of the robbery. We need them.”

“Manuel, reach out to him and make the offer. We've got a lot of balls in the air right now, between club business and construction business. Let's make sure we keep track of all of them. And before we leave, we need to talk again about prospects. Has everyone given it some thought?” Buster asked.

Monroe had. He wasn't sure that Justin and Shawn were cut out to wear the Nightshade patch, but out of the current hang-arounds, they were the best choices. “Are we voting on it now?” he asked.

“You know what they say, there's no time like the present. Any objections?” Buster looked around the room. “Shawn first, like I said if he's approved, I'll sponsor him myself.” Monroe wasn't too surprised by that. In the past few weeks, he'd noticed Shawn around Buster more and more.

The vote went around the table. They all agreed, though Monroe was sure he wasn't the only one to have some reservations because of the past. No one voted against Shawn. The second vote, for Justin, took longer, even though Bones spoke for him. Monroe voted to bring him in, even though he was sure the kid would wash out before the prospect period was over. Right now, they needed the bodies.

Once the vote was over, Train went downstairs to get them; he had a great angry face that he could call out on cue. When the two men walked in the room, they both looked leery, but neither of them looked scared. Monroe wasn't sure how much of that was balls or bluff; they'd find out soon enough.

“You know why we called you here today?” Train demanded. Under different circumstances, he'd have made one hell of a drill instructor.

“I figure you've got something to ask us,” Justin spoke first.

“You think that we brought you up here about prospecting?” Train let out a laugh that echoed through the room. The rest of Nightshade joined in; only the potential prospects didn't laugh. Monroe watched them both carefully. Justin was more relaxed than Shawn; the larger man had his hands clenched into fists.

“It's the only logical reason,” Justin pointed out.

“So you're a smart guy, huh?” Buster rose to his feet and stared Justin down. “In this case, you're right. That's why you've both been called here. Got anything to say?”

“I'm sorry that I'm going to have to say no. You see, my mother, well, she's sick. And I'm all she has. I know that if I prospect, I put Nightshade before anything. If something happens to her and I'm not there... she deserves better than that,” Justin said.

“You love your family, there's no shame in that.” Buster smiled at the man. He turned his attention to Shawn. “You haven't said much, Shawn.”

“Just taking it in,” Shawn replied. “I'm interested. Let's do it.”

<#<#<#<#

Monroe pushed the mower down the last strip of grass and wiped a trail of sweat from his brow. He'd spent the better part of the day working in the yard. He'd tended to his mother's roses, surprised that they'd survived, even thrived, during the years of neglect when he'd been too busy with his life.

When he'd graduated the academy, he'd started to come home less and less because of his schedule. He'd worked long shifts to begin with and never turned down overtime. Even when he'd been assigned foot patrol in the worst parts of the city, he'd kept his eyes on the prize. For Monroe, the prize had been a detective shield. His ticket to the detective shield had been catching a rapist who'd struck six times in as many weeks.

Monroe wouldn't have been in the position to make the arrest if it hadn't been for Nightshade. Royal had contacted him, through his mother, told him when and where he could find the man and that there would be enough evidence to arrest and convict him. It would have been stupid to look a gift horse in the mouth, so Monroe had made the arrest, and the accolades had followed. When he was presented with the badge, he felt like he hadn't earned it, like he was a fraud, but he took it anyway.

It was the first step on a slippery slope. Several times, Monroe had been on the verge of handing the shield back, resigning and admitting that it hadn't been good police work that had led him to the arrest. Each time, it was Royal who talked him out of doing so. Royal had said to think of the greater good, the people were safer because he had a badge. The details didn't matter, it was what he did with it that mattered.

Eventually, he'd managed to find a balance between being a friend of the club and a cop. He had the best record in the department, was assigned major cases over other detectives who'd been there longer. It had brewed some hostility, but for the most part, Monroe had loved his life. At the time, he hadn't seen that he was working so much he'd pushed his family aside. That painful knowledge came later, when he'd lost his parents and grandmother within a year of one another. His father had been no big loss, he'd never been around much anyway. Losing his mother and grandmother had been a blow; they were the two constants in his life.

With his grandmother and mother gone, he'd closed up the house and left it. There was no money in any of the estates to pay the mortgage. He couldn't afford the payments and his rent, so the house went to foreclosure, and he threw money out a window at a place that kicked him out the first time he was late with the rent after his professional life crashed. Monroe had known that he was on a slippery slope, being a source for Nightshade, but he'd thought he could navigate it without issue. He had, until Harris had shown up with her eyes on advancement. He'd lost his badge, his credibility and everything else. He'd been at his lowest. No job, no place to live. Couch surfing from friend to friend; his friends in uniform were least likely to offer him a hand. When things were the darkest, it was Nightshade who had been there. Monroe had found his place, in the least likely place.

It wasn't lost on him that he'd joined the academy to get away from streets that were filled with gangs and crime, and now here he was, part of an MC and on the wrong side of the law more often than the right. Monroe had thought maybe he'd have regrets, but he realized he'd had more regret as a cop.

Now, he was able to do things he never could behind a badge. Right wrongs that would otherwise be dismissed on a technicality. Nightshade took out the trash. Trash like Gagliardi or Josh, men who would have slid through the system only to land right back on their feet once more, unscathed and free to keep doing the same thing over and over.

Monroe stowed the mower away in the shed, walked through the back door and to the fridge for a beer. He drank it standing in front of the open fridge, the cool air a sharp relief from the overbearing heat of the day. He took a second beer, turned away from the fridge to head for a shower, and his phone rang. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Drea replied. “You busy?”

“What's up?” Monroe was a little surprised at the call. It had been a few days since they'd had dinner, and she hadn't reached out. He had, texting her, but her responses had been short and to the point.

“That's not really an answer,” she pointed out. “Anyway, the power's been off here at the store for like three hours, so I'm calling it a day. I thought maybe, if you weren't busy, you might want to come over and hang out. I can make us something for lunch.”

“Yeah, I can do that. I just got done in the yard. I need to shower, but I'll meet you at your place,” Monroe replied as he opened the second beer.

“Sounds good. You remember where it is?” Drea asked.

Monroe did. He'd known where she lived, from the investigating that they'd done already, but he hadn't let her know that. “I remember,” he replied. “Should I bring anything?”