Maybe I should struggle to get Rhett’s gun. Not because I want to fight my way out of custody, but because suicide by cop is still technically an option. An option I won’t have once Jeremy comes to collect me.
“A word of advice,” Rhett says as we travel down the long, empty corridor. “Don’t make up bullshit about dirty cops to take the heat off yourself. Judges prefer straight-up honesty.”
“Then me and judges have a lot in common.”
“Don’t start. You’ve already said too much.”
“Shelby really wanted to catch his kid’s killers. He gave me all his hard evidence on the cops. He said I should turn it in if he died. I guess there’s going to be a shitstorm in your department.”
Rhett pulls me to a stop. “You have proof?” he asks, curt. “Physical proof?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“My house.” I offer him a one-sided smile. “You wanna take a detour on the way to the slammer, Princess? I don’t give a fuck. Either we’ll get it, or Miles will turn it in tomorrow after he hears what’s happened.”
“Miles knows where it is?” Rhett mulls over the bit of information before pushing me back into a walk. “I’ll get it with him later tonight.”
The statement sends a twinge of rage through my system, like he’s insinuating he’s going to do something else, but I hold it back, a little shocked at how fast I went from not feeling anything to full-blown anger.
Rhett stops at a metal door and pushes me through. The chill of the parking garage greets me with a powerful whoosh of air rushing to get inside the hotel. Rhett keeps ahold of my arm as he steps out with me. Standing around an armored police van, dressed for an insurgency, are thirteen special-response unit officers, one of which stands six inches taller than the rest.
“Deputy Chief Charleston,” Rhett says, his voice betraying his shock. “I… didn’t think you’d be here. How did you even—”
“Thompson called me,” the larger man interjects, the grate of his voice deep and baritone.
He steps forward, and I have to tilt my head back to take him all in. I recognize him, the deputy chief of police from Noimore, from all the news interviews and reports on television. The camera doesn’t capture his full imposing presence, however. I’m no drug expert, but he doesn’t take steroids—he eats them. His muscles strain against his skin, threatening to burst out if the guy flexes too hard.
“Why didn’t you take the team to apprehend this man?” Deputy Chief Charleston asks. “If he double-crossed and murdered Shelby, he’s dangerous.”
“I’ve worked with this PI in the past. I knew I could handle him,” Rhett responds, relaxing a bit as though in the company of friends rather than the shark tank we’re actually in. The other twelve guys fan out a bit, some with their rifles hanging on straps over their shoulder. They could heft them at any time and waste us; it wouldn’t take much effort.
I didn’t look at the name on the police list, but I do remember Shelby mentioning Deputy Chief Charleston, the ringleader for the police force when it came to this human trafficking business. And if Thompson called the deputy chief over when Rhett came to get me—me, the PI trainee who helped Shelby, the man who has info on corrupt cops—I’m willing to bet I know what’s happening here.
I’m not gonna make it to a jail cell.
“I’ll take it from here,” Deputy Chief Charleston says, confirming all my suspicions. “I’m head of the task force investigation, after all. I want to be the one handling this.”
“Of course.”
Rhett grabs my arms and forces them behind my back. I don’t struggle as he handcuffs me, nor do I protest when he pats me down and takes my keys and cell phone. Once he’s finished, he escorts me the ten feet over to the deputy chief.
I know a lowlife when I see one, but Deputy Chief Charleston doesn’t appreciate the way I stare. He scowls and then smiles.
“Pieces of shit like you don’t deserve the comfort our prison system offers inmates,” he says, slow and menacing. “If it were up to me, we’d have a fast lane to the electric chair.”
I don’t reply.
There’s nothing to say, really. I could attempt to call out his hypocrisy, but he might actually believe I’m the scum and he’s the hero. Getting a criminal off the streets—no matter the means, be it criminal itself—could be his end goal. Which, I guess, he’s succeeding at.
Not to mention we’re on his turf, not mine, and he’s packing all the heat. I’m gonna keep my fucking mouth shut. It’s the smart move.
“There’s one other thing,” Rhett says, obviously not in the same boat as me when it comes to keeping quiet. “Pierce mentioned that Shelby had some information regarding dirty cops.”
Oh, Jesus Christ.
I swear the parking garage gets three degrees chillier the moment Rhett finishes his sentence. Each and every one of the special-response guys gets tense, and they exchange knowing glances. Rhett isn’t in on their operation. That much I’m certain.
And if they were willing to kill Shelby to keep him quiet….
Rhett never should’ve admitted he knew.
“Is that true?” Deputy Chief Charleston asks me. “You tried to disparage my fine brothers and sisters in uniform?”
What am I going to say? Yes? No? Either way, I’m fucked. I grit my teeth and stare.
Without warning, and much faster than I expected, Deputy Chief Charleston punches me in my undefended gut. His muscles aren’t for show—I swear I feel organs burst—and I lose my breath as I hit my knees and then fall forward, my forehead hitting his polished boot. Hot, blinding agony rips through my body.
“Charleston!” Rhett barks. “What’re you—”
The deputy chief chortles, eliciting similar responses from his men. “He was resisting arrest.”
“No, he wasn’t! He’s been nothing but cooperative! It’s abuse of your authority to strike a man in custody!”
Rhett kneels down and places
