Protect and Serve (2 page)

“And what do I get in return?” he asked me like I knew he would, only there was a twinge of desperation in his voice, a concern that ran deeper than I’d expected. He sat up. “I mean, sure, there’s some satisfaction in watching this guy get put behind bars for the rest of his life. And from what I understand, he deserves it. It’s not like I don’t want to have a hand in putting him there. But you have to understand, detective—the price I’d pay for that… it could be steep. What guarantee can the police offer me that I’m not going to end up in one of those shipping containers like those girls?”

I frowned. I didn’t think we’d released that detail yet, but men as powerful and rich as Nathan had a way of getting information. Some jaded beat cop had probably forked it over for a small fee. I counted my blessings that at least the culprit hadn’t talked to the media—as far as I knew, anyway.

“You don’t have any family,” I said, watching as he grimaced, “so there’s only you we’ve got to worry about. We’ll move you to a safe house, someplace that Wallace’s men won’t be looking for you.”

Nathan shook his head. “I’m staying here.”

“You can’t. This place—well, I’m sorry to say it, but compared to the rest of the city, it stands out like a sore thumb. Your address isn’t exactly private information these days, either. I’m pretty sure half the population’s been to one of your parties, which means if the mob is looking for you, you’re making yourself damn easy for them to find. And if they do…”

I trailed off, hoping Nathan’s imagination would fill in the blanks. He stood up, turned his back on me, and visited the bar at the far end of the room, prying a tumbler from the other side along with a bottle of what looked like whiskey.

“This is my home,” he said as if I’d somehow forgotten. “But I’m not going to pretend like Wallace’s men don’t scare me, because they do. I’m not the fighter type. I guess you’d call me more of a lover.”

Although he wasn’t facing me, I distinctly detected the smirk in his tone when he said that last bit. A moment later, he cast a glance at me over his shoulder as if to confirm I understood what he was implying. I shook my head, and he continued:

“But that being said, I’m not about to let some IRA rejects run me out of my home. There are some things a man just can’t abide, and for me, turning tail and running is one of them. So if we’re going to do this, detective, then we’re going to do it my way. The city can spare some officers to guard my home, I’m sure, and if not, there’s always private security—”

I held up my hand, signaling for him to stop talking. He frowned and opened his mouth to speak again, but I gestured more firmly this time, settling my gaze on the floor as I listened hard to the silent, empty house.

It wasn’t so silent anymore. There were footsteps downstairs, heavy and deliberate. I closed my eyes and focused, trying to ascertain how many there were.

Two… three… four… five…

There were five men downstairs. I was sure of it. I finally looked back up at Nathan and whispered:

“Were you expecting any company?”

He shook his head, flattening his lips into a thin, grim line as I stood and slipped my sidearm out of its holster.

“I didn’t call for backup,” I told him.

Then, holding up my hand again to signal Nathan to wait, I readied myself for the worst and approached the study doors.

I listened carefully. I could hear them talking on the first floor. They all seemed to still be centered in the atrium. I wet my lips, surrendering to the pulse of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I hadn’t come here prepared for a fight. Not a firefight, anyway. But that was the thing about being a cop: whether you knew it or not, your life was always on the line.

Stay,
I mouthed to Nathan, hoping to get my point across. I couldn’t have him in the crossfire. If things went south, then it was best he was out of harm’s way. I might need a clear shot.

He sipped his whiskey like the sounds downstairs were nothing, but I could see his hand was shaking. His emerald eyes stayed trained on me as I quietly opened the door and slipped out into the hall.

Outside of the study, I could hear their voices much more clearly. They weren’t being subtle in the least. Were they hoping to flush Nathan out?

If so, that probably meant they’d come prepared to subdue him. I hoped to God that they hadn’t considered the possibility that Nathan owned a gun.

There was a lilting brogue that might have been charming under any other circumstances coming from the stairs. “Oi, make sure you get the rugs and the drapes. Don’t leave any room untouched.” I took that to mean he was the leader, and most likely the one I should be speaking with.

Nathan’s mansion wasn’t exactly easy to get to. Though it was still within the city limits, it toed the line. It’d take backup ten, fifteen minutes to get out here in full force. I didn’t have that kind of time. I’d have to negotiate.

I stopped at the end of the hall leading to the rail. Through it, I could see the man on the stairs. He was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans with a pair of scuffed-up work boots, but I didn’t see any weapons on him.

As I surveyed the rest of his crew, I didn’t spot any on them, either. That was good. That meant that these were just thugs hired to beat a little sense into Nathan.

Or, judging by the gas cans they were carrying, burn down his house.

I came around the corner fast, gun drawn, and aimed at the one on the stairs, their blue-eyed leader with a pathetically stereotypical Celtic band tattooed on his bicep.

“Police,” I said, breathing evenly to steady my gun. It was easy to let nerves and adrenaline get the better of you, no matter how experienced you were. “Drop the gas. Now.”

The other four paused, glancing at their ringleader, who regarded me with one of the coldest stares I’d ever suffered. Then he shrugged his massive shoulders and set the can down on the stair beside him, holding up his hands, his palms facing out.

“We don’t want any trouble, miss,” he said, his voice low and gravelly and filled with dark promises. Despite his hulking frame, there was something distinctly serpentine about him. “Just came to have a little chat with Mr. Hale, is all.” He looked past me and down the hall. “Is he in?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m
Detective
Williams,” I replied. I wasn’t about to give up any more information than I had to. “And you’re trespassing on private property.”

“Well, I’m Francis O’Rourke, and the garden door was wide open,” he insisted, those glacial eyes sending icicles straight into my core. “Figured we’d come in and see if our
friend
was about. Ask him. He’ll tell you.”

There was no way I was bringing Nathan out here. We’d be swarmed in seconds. A cool bead of sweat raced down my spine. I was glad that I was sweating in places this guy couldn’t see. I didn’t want him to think I was nervous.

But somehow, I got the impression that he already knew. I felt like he could smell it on me, like his crooked grin mocked the blood rushing in my ears. This was a bad situation. There was no denying that. But there was also no reason to add any fuel to the fire.

So to speak.

“I know who you are,” I said, keeping an even tone. “You’re Peter Wallace’s men. And I doubt, given Mr. Hale’s sizable estate, that you’re carrying those gas cans in here to help ease the burden of his fuel costs.”

Not a single one of them uttered a word. I had their attention, though. That had to count for something. There was no way these guys were going to let me arrest them without a fight, and I wasn’t ready to die protecting Nathan’s pompous ass. Rules be damned.

I continued: “I’m giving you a chance to walk away. Get out of here and don’t come back. Tell whoever Wallace’s right hand man is to back off, or…”

“Or
what
?” O’Rourke sneered, eyeing me defiantly. “You’ve got no backup, girl. You’re all alone here with me and my boys. Sure, you might be able to take out a few of us, but not all. I’m willing to bet that you miss at least once, and that’s all it’ll take.”

“And then you’ll go away for killing a cop. You know what they do to cop killers on the inside?”

He smirked and glanced down at the gas can near his feet. “Nothing, Detective. Not a damn thing if they never find the body.”

I clenched my jaw. This was not going well. “You’re threatening me? I’m giving you fair warning. Leave now, before things get ugly.”

“And I’ll say it again,” he replied, taking one step up toward me. “Or
what
?”

“Or,” Nathan said, coming out behind me with his drink still in his hand, “she’ll shoot that gas can at your feet and ruin your whole day.”

That seemed to give O’Rourke pause. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he glanced down at the can.

“You’re bluffing,” he said.

Nathan shrugged. “All it takes is a spark. I’m willing to bet that from this angle, the shot will knock the can backward down the staircase and right into your boys, torching every single one of you before you can even think to run.”

“Of course, there’s always the possibility she doesn’t hit it on her first shot,” he continued, and for a moment, my guts twisted. What the hell was he doing? But he shot me a sideways glance and smiled, and I kept my mouth shut. “And hey, maybe the can won’t explode, but that gun she’s holding is a standard issue Sig P220 full of .45 ACP. Ten in the magazine, one in the chamber,
and
she’s got the high ground. Do you have any idea how big of a hole that will leave at this range?”

He swaggered to my side, taking a long draught from the tumbler and licking his lips before again regarding the thug, almost like he’d forgotten about him.

“How much ground do you think you can cover before she unloads her clip? Your friends down there might get away, if they run, but I’ll take great pleasure in knowing that
you
most certainly won’t.”

O’Rourke didn’t answer. Behind him, his groupies shifted uneasily. No one took their eyes off me, but I could tell that some silent exchange was going on between them. I hoped that none of them could tell I had no idea whether or not Nathan’s little plan was going to work.

I could hit the gas can, sure. But could I make it blow? That seemed like something straight out of an action movie. I preferred to keep the business end of my gun pointed right where it belonged: center mass on the Irish asshole with the big mouth.

Standing next to me, Nathan seemed so calm. I could feel his stoicism, his self-assuredness radiating from his body. I took the safety off my weapon and nodded in agreement.

“So, what’ll it be?” I asked him with far more certainty than I actually felt. “You boys wanna do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

I didn’t have to wait long for an answer. O’Rourke’s face pulled taut in cold, hard rage, and then he turned and descended the stairs, his men following soon after. My eyes found themselves firmly planted on the oversized handgun tucked into the back of his waistband.

“Leave the gas cans,” I instructed, finally tearing my eyes away from them to look up into Nathan’s face.

He waited until they’d shut the door to look down at me. Then he produced the faintest of smiles.

I holstered my gun. “Thanks,” I said, though it pained me to do so. Nathan was a bit braver than I’d given him credit for. “You really think a bullet would set the gas off?”

“No,” he answered, downing the rest of his whiskey in one harsh gulp. “I don’t. And I’m pretty sure the boys downstairs would have riddled us with holes before you took down more than two of them.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I replied, a shiver passing through me. He was right, of course. I only had a clean shot on two of them, at best. Even if we ducked back into Nathan’s office, they could have lit the house and left us to smolder…