Miles steps closer, leaving only inches between us. He stares at me with his dark hard-set eyes. I take in a short breath and exhale. The whole police department is filled with sounds of ringing phones, furious typing, and agitated people. It doesn’t help me relax.
“Not here,” I repeat. I hate this place. Nothing about a police department makes me feel safe.
“Why don’t we leave?”
“Music to my ears. Let’s get outta here before—”
A woman in a tight pencil skirt waves her hand near my face, cutting me off. “Sir?” she says, no patience in her tone. “The lieutenant will see you now.” She’s holding a mug of coffee but doesn’t offer it—she keeps it close, like a precious object.
I hold back a sigh of irritation and return my attention to Miles. “I need to answer some questions. I’ll be right back. Then we’re leaving.”
Miles replies with a curt nod, and I turn to follow the woman. The bustle of the station creates a white noise that drowns out footsteps and low-level thought. We’re at the lieutenant’s door before I know it, and I glance over my shoulder, unable to catch sight of Miles.
The secretary opens a door labeled Lieutenant Rhett Walker and ushers me into the office. I step in and the lady follows, a smile widening across her face, before speaking in a singsong voice.
“Hello, Lieutenant Walker. Here’s the private investigator you asked for.”
The man standing behind the desk is hunched over, reading a stack of papers, but offers a quick nod. “Thank you, Monica. Keep trying to get ahold of Deputy Chief Charleston. I need to speak with him as soon as possible.”
“Of course! Right away.” She walks over to the cluttered desk and holds up the mug of coffee with both hands. “It’s early. I thought you might need a pick-me-up.” She places it on the corner of the desk and continues, “I added some milk and cinnamon, just like you like it.”
The lieutenant stops what he’s doing and straightens his posture. And now I understand what this lady is so wet in the panties for.
Lieutenant Walker is a solid guy—taller and more muscular than I am, that’s for sure—and he holds himself with a confidence you can’t fake. His styled black hair and striking green eyes add together to make for a perfect model, and he wears his uniform like he was born for it. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he has the whole female population riding his nuts.
I stare longer than I should.
“Thank you, Monica,” Lieutenant Walker says, a distant disinterest to his voice. “I appreciate your forethought.”
She smiles wider, if that’s even possible, and then backs out of the room, waving as she goes. I stifle a chuckle. The lust is thick. I can only imagine the things she does when they’re alone.
“And thank you for waiting,” the lieutenant says, drawing me out of my musings. “Are you Michael Shelby?”
I shake my head and stay close to the door. “I’m—” Nicholas Pierce is what I want to say, but that was my name before my new identity. It takes me half a second to remember my new, much less appealing name. “—I’m Percy Adams.”
Percy Adams.
What a terrible name.
I didn’t have much of a choice, though, and Percy is at least mildly similar to Pierce, so much so that most people assume it’s my nickname rather than my given surname. I try not to think of it often, which might be why I almost forgot it.
The lieutenant walks around the desk and gives me an odd scrutinizing look. “You’re Shelby’s trainee?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “What of it?”
My terse tone must not go over well with him, because he crosses his arms and regards me with a harsh seriousness. “What were you doing trespassing on private property?”
“You’ll have to ask Shelby. I don’t decide what cases we work on.”
“What did he say to you last night when you went to the North Union Rail Yard?”
“He said, ‘Hey, you want a paycheck? We’re going to the North Union Rail Yard.’ Then I got in the car. The end.”
Lieutenant Walker narrows his eyes. “My investigators say there’s evidence that you, Shelby, and his other trainee, confirmed dead earlier this morning, broke into the rail yard. Why don’t you tell me a little about that?”
I force a laugh and shrug. “What is this? Shouldn’t you be a little more concerned with the kidnapping and trafficking? Who gives a fuck about trespassing? You really think a district attorney is going to prosecute hero detectives after they saved twenty people? I don’t think so.”
“This isn’t about the trespassing,” he says, his fingers gripping into his arms, his knuckles turning white. “This is about the fact that Shelby has been involved in three separate instances of breaking the law in conjunction with this very same criminal activity. I’d like to know what’s going on and how Shelby got his information.”
“That makes one of us,” I drawl.
Lieutenant Walker lets out a long exhale and walks over to me. He relaxes a bit, dropping his crossed arms, and meets my gaze. “A man died tonight. This isn’t a laughing matter. Next time it could be you or Shelby.”
“Shit happens.”
He grits his teeth. “You don’t care at all?”
“I don’t wanna die, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“But you’ll do whatever is asked of you—so long as you get a paycheck.”
I let my silence do the talking.
I know it’s a lowlife mentality, but it’s not like I have many options. I dropped out of high school, my mother is in prison, and my father killed himself drinking and driving. Not to mention my résumé includes a laundry list of corpses under the “references” portion. I can already hear the callbacks.
Lieutenant Walker opens his mouth to speak but then stops and stares. I lift an eyebrow.
“Have you ever been to the City of Noimore?” he asks.
“Never,” I reply, probably a bit too
