Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“ H ow long’s he been down there?” Noah stood, arms folded, staring through the window at the street below.

“Coupla minutes,” Rodrigo said. “I came to get you as soon as we spotted him on the cameras.”

A large, brand-new SUV was parked illegally on the opposite corner of the intersection, facing the warehouse. Leaning against its hood—ankles crossed and sipping coffee from a to-go cup—was Eddie Hanson. His aviator sunglasses made it difficult to see exactly where he was looking, but the angle of his head suggested his attention was firmly on Annabelle’s building.

“What’s he doing?” Evan jostled his way through the rest of the team for a better view.

“Trying to intimidate us,” Rodrigo said.

“No.” Noah wasn’t convinced. “I think he’s taunting us. He’s telling us that last night’s events had no impact on him or his business.”

“The guy has balls the size of boulders,” Harris muttered.

“Psychopath,” Abasi said. “I know the type.”

Rochelle hurried into the room. “I was on a call with Lake. What’s going on?”

“Take a look.” Noah stepped to one side to make room for her.

Her lips pursed. “Katrina? Call the detectives, please.”

“On it.” Katrina turned from the group, her phone already at her ear.

“You don’t want to handle this yourself?” Noah asked his boss.

She shook her head. “The cops can handle this one. I’m surprised you aren’t arguing the decision.”

He held up his hands. “I got the message. You’re the boss.”

“For now,” she muttered before looking past him to Violet, who was glaring at the Demons’ leader—even though he couldn’t see her. “And no shooting him either.”

“Hey,” Violet said. “I’ll be a good team player from now on. Even I can keep it together until we disband in a week or so.”

“Somebody should shoot him.” Abasi’s tone was low as he studied Eddie. “He won’t stop.” His dark eyes met Rochelle’s. “Ever. The trial, a conviction, none of it will stop him. I’ve seen this before; he’s got us in his sights, and he won’t let go until he’s dealt with us.”

“You mean kill us, right?” Evan asked, swallowing hard.

Abasi just stared at him.

“Aye.” Evan nodded. “You mean kill us.”

To Noah’s surprise, Rochelle didn’t immediately shut down Abasi’s view. “I agree that Eddie’s much more dangerous than I initially thought him to be. He seems very… driven.”

“Psychotic almost?” Noah offered.

“Yes.” Rochelle stared down at the murderer, looking thoughtful.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Again. It was a good job that Annabelle didn’t have any close residential neighbors; recent events would have had them running for the hills.

“The detectives were already on their way here,” Katrina said as she joined them at the window.

“I wondered at the fast response,” Noah said.

Only the sheer blind stopped Eddie from seeing them all, although Noah was certain he knew they were there.

“Does Annabelle know he’s down there?” Rochelle asked.

“No.” Noah watched as the two detectives climbed out of their vehicle. “She’s in the middle of an online art class.”

“Good,” Rochelle said. “That’s good.”

In the street below, the detectives approached Eddie, who remained relaxed. There was a lot of gesturing, and at one point, Johnson got out his phone—no doubt a threat to take Eddie in. At last, with a chilling smile, the Demons’ leader pushed away from the hood of his car and sauntered to the driver’s door. Before he got in, he grinned up at the warehouse and saluted.

The team, along with the two cops, watched him drive away.

As the detectives got back into their car to park it outside the warehouse, Rochelle turned to Evan. “Where are we on the Demons’ money?”

“We’re still doing that?” He looked surprised. “I thought because we’re quitting the team, you didn’t want anything else happening. I mean, stuff the cops won’t know about.”

“No, I never said to stop hunting for their money.”

“Good.” Excited, Evan sat at his desk. “Because I have something.”

“5-O are at the door,” Rodrigo said. “I’ll let them in.” He left the room.

Evan carried on. “I need to check a few things, but I think we’ve found the banks the gang, and their leader, use to stash their funds.”

“How long until you’re sure?” Rochelle studied the screen, her eyes sharp.

“End of the day? Tomorrow morning at the latest. I think.”

“Good.”

The main door opened and closed. The cops were on their way up.

“What do you want me to do once I find their money?” Evan said. “Just come tell you?”

“No.” As Rochelle straightened, she caught Abasi’s eye. “Take it all. Abasi will help you with where to put it.” The former mobster inclined his head in approval. “Make sure there’s no trail back to us,” she ordered Evan.

The rest of the team stared at their boss, open-mouthed.

“I thought we didn’t do this kind of stuff anymore,” Violet said.

“That isn’t what I said,” Rochelle told her. “I said there’s a hierarchy here. I’m the boss, and I get to approve or veto any plans we come up with. It’s the only way to keep us all safe.” She plastered a sudden smile on her face. “Gentlemen,” she said as she walked toward the cops. “Thanks for the assist outside. Have a seat. Can we get you a coffee?”

“I don’t think we gave the boss enough of a chance before we blew it,” Violet muttered to Noah, her attention on Rochelle.

“Speak for yourself,” he said before walking over to join her.

Detective Johnson sat with a sigh. “Mr. Hanson sends his regards.”

“I bet he does.” Noah pulled out a chair opposite them. “Doesn’t his visit contravene the conditions of his bail?”

Johnson gave Harris a grateful smile as he took the offered mug of coffee. “It would, only, technically, he doesn’t know where the witness lives or anything about her. As far as he’s concerned, he has no information on her whereabouts and just stopped over the road for a coffee.”

“Yeah, and he has no idea why his gang members keep turning up here either,” Noah said, disgusted.

“He reckons he’s stepped back from the gang to concentrate on his defense for next week’s trial.”

McMillan waved off the offered coffee. “Thing is, we can’t prove either way that the gang was here with his blessing or that he knows for sure that Annabelle lives here. Although we can say he knows it now, because we just officially ordered him to stay away from the witness.”

Johnson sat back in his chair. “Don’t expect him to listen to us. The guy’s a complete psycho.”

“We figured,” Noah said. “How are the women?”

“As well as can be expected.” McMillan reached for the donut box in the middle of the table and opened it to check if there were any left. His eyes lit up when he found two to choose from. “They’re all awake now. We’ve put guards at the hospital in case the Demons come looking for them, but they aren’t talking yet.”

“Mostly, they’re crying,” Johnson said.

Katrina came up beside Noah, standing much closer than usual. “Do you have female officers talking to them? Counselors?”

“Yep.” McMillan frowned. “This isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with this kinda crap. Sick bastards.” He took a big bite of donut, making powdered sugar billow over the desk.

“They’re malnourished and dehydrated,” Johnson said. “Most of them were drugged at some point and are going through withdrawal. Don’t worry, Ms. Raast, we’re well aware these women are victims, and we aren’t pushing any of them.”

“Good.” She nodded stiffly before mumbling about having work to do and leaving the room.

“We were on our way over to talk to Mr. Otieno about shooting one of the Demons,” McMillan said around a mouthful of donut. “But Johnson here got a text from the DA saying we don’t have to bother.”

Johnson gave Abasi a wry look. “Apparently, it was self-defense. Still not sure how a guy who’s hog-tied and lying face down in the dirt could attack you, but whatever. We have our orders, and there won’t be any more inquiries into the shooting.”

“For future reference,” Violet said, “would it have still been self-defense if the wound was a little more life-threatening?”

“It’s self-defense because the DA’s in a hole and doesn’t want to be buried under the dirt your team’s generated,” McMillan said. “But to answer your question, you can’t call shooting an unarmed and restrained man self-defense under any circumstances. If the injury had been more ‘life-threatening,’ it would be considered murder. Something Mr. Otieno is very familiar with, isn’t that right?” He cocked an eyebrow at Abasi.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abasi said.

“Yeah, right.” McMillan helped himself to another donut, seemingly unbothered by the sugar coating he’d given his cheap suit.

Johnson set his empty mug on the table and stood, making McMillan follow him—donut in hand. “You got lucky this time,” he said to the team. “Not just Otieno over there; all of you. If the DA wasn’t desperate to use what you found, you’d all be under investigation. And trust me when I tell you, the charges would stick. I suggest you change how you operate from here on in. Unless you want to end up in adjoining cells with Eddie and his gang.”

He nodded his goodbyes and strode from the room, followed by McMillan, who was too busy eating to acknowledge anyone.