Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“ S o, how’s it going?” Noah asked Rochelle Davis the following morning.
It was half an hour before their team meeting, and Noah was showered and changed, thanks to someone having picked up some clean clothes from his new house. Sleep had done wonders for him, and apart from the odd ache, he felt fine. Well, if you didn’t count his slight limp. He pulled up a chair at the borrowed desk their boss had set up in the large office and stretched out his sore leg in front of him. If he could have willed it to heal faster, he would have.
“Let me see.” She folded her arms as she stood beside the desk, surveying the room. “Half the police force is upstairs, tramping over Annabelle’s apartment while the crime scene techs pry bullets out of her walls. We’ve been on this case barely a day, and one of my team’s already injured, another is aggravating the local cops, and our client can’t be removed from the building for fear she’ll have a complete psychotic break.”
“So, it’s going well then?” Noah fought a smile.
“Going great,” she said wryly. “The ADA just chewed my ear off about moving her witness to a safe house, and I had to tell her that wasn’t possible. Which was fun.”
“You spoke to Annabelle’s doctor, though, right?”
“Yes. And I agree with her diagnosis. Taking Ms. Simmons from here by force would cause irreparable psychological damage and be completely irresponsible.”
Noah had known Rochelle for years, but it was still easy to forget that before becoming an FBI agent, she’d been a certified medical examiner and forensic pathologist. Dressed in a pristine gray pinstripe pantsuit, the statuesque African American woman screamed law enforcement rather than medicine.
“How are your injuries?” she asked him.
“I’ll be fine in a couple of days,” Noah assured her. “Worst was my leg, and it’s barely a scratch. What’s going on here?” He nodded toward the partition the triplets were removing.
“We’re creating one large office space. I want this team where I can see them. Especially those three.”
As they worked, the triplets were arguing with each other. Something about a girl they’d all liked and who she’d loved best. It made him feel old.
Rochelle perched against the desk, close to Noah, and lowered her voice. “I have no idea what Lake Benson was thinking, bringing those three on board. A hacker, a thief, and a conman? They’re professional criminals, and this is a reputable security team.”
“I prefer the term fixer to conman, Boss,” Harris MacDonald, the most clean-cut triplet, said. “We also have great hearing.”
“And criminal records,” Rochelle said, apparently unfazed.
“Not me,” was Harris’ smug reply.
“And our records are based purely on misunderstandings,” added the one with a beard and awful Hawaiian shirt, which made him Evan, their resident hacker.
“Aye.” The last triplet, Logan, grinned. “We’re reformed. I only steal for you now, Boss.” He batted his lashes at her in a blatant attempt to appear innocent.
Rochelle looked skyward. Probably praying for patience.
Noah felt sorry for her. But not so much that he’d take the job off her hands. “Wish I’d been there when Violet found out they were on the team,” he said.
Apparently, Violet had arrested the brothers a few times when they caused trouble as teens in Glasgow. She considered them the lowlight of her police career, and to say she wasn’t their biggest fan was putting it mildly.
“It did take a while to talk her down,” Rochelle said.
“And we thank you for that,” Logan called out. “Officer Lee’s a wee bit temperamental.”
Evan elbowed him. “You don’t need to call her officer. She isn’t with Strathclyde Police anymore.”
“Nope,” Harris added. “She’s in America. With us… and she’s armed.”
The brothers paled. Or perhaps it was a trick of the light.
“Concentrate on your task,” Rochelle told them. “This is a private conversation.”
There was much grumbling, but the triplets got back to work.
“Where’s the rest of the team?” Noah asked Rochelle.
“Violet’s in with the detectives, giving her statement. They’re good guys, sound cops. But even they realize this situation is untenable. They’ve mentioned, more than once, that it would be better if Annabelle were moved. They’re not wrong.”
“Yeah, I met them last night, Johnson and McMillan, right? It’s hard to argue with them. In any other circumstance, we’d have the client out of danger in a split second.”
“They’ve got their hands full with this mess,” Rochelle said. “I just spent half an hour with them, explaining that Violet was given clear instructions not to fire at the men in the cars downstairs. Who knows what she’s telling them now. Nothing helpful, that’s for sure.”
“Obviously, you didn’t order her not to shoot the cars,” Noah said with amusement and a hefty dose of sympathy.
“Apparently, my orders have to be spelled out for some of my new team. You’re up next for your statement. You gave them your weapon already?”
He nodded. “Handed it over to the local cops as soon as they arrived.”
They’d need it, seeing as he’d used it to kill a man.
“You had no choice,” Rochelle said as though reading his mind. “It was them or you.”
“I know.” It wasn’t the first time he’d taken a life in the line of duty, although it never seemed to get any easier. But then, he wouldn’t be too happy if it did.
“Rodrigo’s upstairs,” Rochelle said. “He’s keeping an eye on the cops—seeing as we don’t know who we can trust right now.”
“Good. Nothing much gets past him.”
“So I hear, though I’d be much more comfortable if I knew exactly what his skill set involved.”
“Good luck getting that info,” Noah said.
He’d first met Rodrigo De la Cruz in South America when they’d faced off against a cartel. Nobody knew who he’d worked for, exactly, only that his cover had been blown, and rather than taking a new assignment with his no-name agency, he’d signed on with Benson Security.
“Katrina’s at the hotel, sorting out the last of our permits and paperwork,” Rochelle continued. “And I have no idea where Abasi Otieno is.”
Noah arched an eyebrow. “Is he still joining the team?”
A large part of him hoped that the former London mobster would change his mind about Benson Security. Why he wanted to join in the first place was a mystery to everyone who knew him, and why Lake Benson had offered him a position was even more confounding.
“That’s anybody’s guess.” She lowered her voice further. “You knew him in London. Exactly how concerned should I be about having him on my team?”
“I didn’t know him well. He’s connected to the London office through their tech specialist, who treats him like a brother. Her actual brother was Abasi’s best friend, and the two of them helped run a London mob for years. Marcus, the brother, was being groomed to take over before his father killed him. When he died, Abasi went into revenge mode and burned the organization to the ground. He’s dangerous and connected. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”
Rochelle let out the faintest of groans. “Just what we need. I’m already dealing with three baby criminals who act like puppies that need training. Not to mention the ticking time bomb that is Violet Lee. I do not want to add a renegade with a serious criminal background to the mix.”
“He does have skills and connections.” Noah played devil’s advocate.
“So did Al Capone.”
He didn’t want to make things worse by telling Rochelle that he thought Abasi was a whole lot more dangerous than the famous Chicago gangster.
“Look,” Noah said, “I was a cop. You’re ex-FBI. Rodrigo was with some kind of law enforcement agency. Violet, for all her faults, was still a good police detective. Not everyone on your team has to be taught how to play with others. Half of us already know how to toe the line.”
“And the other half don’t even know where the line should be drawn,” Rochelle added.
“Then there’s Katrina Raast,” Noah said. “Lucky number nine. Neither law enforcement nor a criminal.”
“No, she brings a whole different set of problems to the table.”
While it wasn’t public knowledge, Noah was aware of Katrina’s history—he’d worked alongside her brother in London. “Katrina’s worked hard to put her experience behind her. She’s smart and capable. She won’t let you down.”
Rochelle rubbed her temples. “This team’s full of misfits and castoffs. How the hell are we going to make it work?”
“Don’t look at me, Boss .” Noah grinned. “That’s why you get paid the big bucks.”
“Asshole,” she muttered.
“Yep.” He laughed. “But a smart asshole who had the sense not to take responsibility for this team.”
“You also skipped out on the task of fortifying this building. It’s the only way we can keep Annabelle safe. I’d really like to not screw up our first job as the new Benson Security office.”
Noah winced, and this time, it wasn’t in pain. “Fortify the building? Who’s footing that bill?”
Rochelle gave him a wry smile. “Questions like that are the reason why they offered you the job of heading up this office before giving it to me.”
“I don’t want that kind of responsibility. That’s why I gave them your name.” He grinned at her. “You’re welcome.”
“Oh, I can’t thank you enough for volunteering me,” she said dryly as she studied him. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll survive. Don’t worry about me doing my job.”
“You’re the only one I don’t worry about,” she said grimly.
Noah hadn’t lied. He was going to be fine. He wasn’t even that badly injured. Although it was clear his pain meds were wearing off. His head had begun to throb, probably from the piece of monitor glass that had embedded itself in his scalp and had to be removed at the hospital. He now sported an attractive white bandage where a chunk of his hair used to be. On top of that, he had a bruise the size of a toaster oven on his back and stitches in his leg where a bullet ate a chunk of flesh.
Sure, he was lucky the bullet hadn’t caused any real damage, but it still felt like he’d gone several rounds with his buddy Beast—a professional mixed martial arts fighter. There once was a time when Noah barely noticed an injury, but these days, he all but creaked when he walked. He sighed as he watched the triplets remove the old partition between the offices to make one large, open-plan space. Their youth and endless energy made him feel every one of his thirty-five years.
A door banged open behind Noah, and he turned as Violet stalked back into the room. One of the triplets opened his mouth to say something to her, but she held up a hand as she glared at him and barked, “No.” He shut his mouth again.
“That was fast,” Rochelle said.
“They’re bringing in another officer to talk to me. Apparently, the one I spoke to wasn’t capable of taking my statement.” Violet glowered. “I have no idea why.”
Noah had a good idea why. She’d either pissed them off or scared the crap out of them.
She cocked a thumb over her shoulder. “You’re up. Good luck. American cops are dumb as dirt.”
“I was an American cop,” Noah reminded her as he levered himself out of the chair.
She simply stared at him as though he’d proven her point.
“Where are they?” he asked.
“First office beside the stairs.” She looked at Rochelle. “And just a heads-up. From the behavior of the cops out there, I’d say police royalty has arrived. Guy’s in uniform and doesn’t look happy. Must be the big boss.”
“Great.” Rochelle fastened her suit jacket before following Noah to the door. “I’ll head him off. You’re on guard duty, Violet.” She gestured to the room where Annabelle slept. “Nobody goes in or out.”
“Got it.” Violet sat at the desk, her back to the triplets and her eyes on the storage room door. “As long as I don’t have to deal with Copy, Paste, Repeat over there, I’m fine.”
“We heard that,” one of the triplets said.
“The rest of you,” Rochelle said, “carry on in here and monitoring the law enforcement personnel upstairs. We’ll postpone our briefing to later today.”
There were nods of agreement as Rochelle headed out of the room.
Noah followed her into the hallway. “Has it occurred to you,” he said, “that the owner of the building may not like the fact we’re moving in?”
Her expression hardened. “She doesn’t have a choice.”
As Rochelle went to introduce herself to an unhappy police chief, Noah let himself into the small office by the stairs and shook hands with the two detectives. One was around Noah’s age, and the other a kick-in-the-ass off retirement. They had the sharp-eyed yet world-weary look of cops who’d seen pretty much everything.
“Take a seat.” Detective Johnson, the younger of the two, gestured to the empty wooden chair across the desk from them.
McMillan studied Noah with open curiosity. “Atlantic City cop, huh?”
“Twelve years,” Noah said with a smile. “Made it to detective.”
Johnson smiled back. “We looked into you. You had a good track record before you left the department.” He glanced at his partner. “Benson Security is an interesting choice.”
McMillan shifted in his chair, his shirt straining over an ample belly. “Most cops wait until retirement before going the rent-a-cop route.”
Noah wasn’t offended. He understood their cynicism. When he’d been on the force, he’d encountered his fair share of security officers who thought they were full-fledged cops. Or worse, that they were better.
“I wanted a change of scenery,” he said easily.
Johnson tapped his pen on the open folder in front of him. “I’m sorry about your wife.”
Yeah, they’d done their homework on him. Made Noah wonder what they’d managed to dig up on the rest of his new team. From their position, the Benson Security Houston team must seem like a bunch of criminals and burned-out cops.
Noah nodded, acknowledging the detective’s condolences. “Do we have a problem here?” He was tired, sore, and not in the mood to tiptoe around the issues.
Johnson’s expression suggested he appreciated getting to the point. “Mac and I were discussing the new players in town. You’ve been here about five minutes, and already, bullets are flying.”
“Hey.” Noah spread his hands wide. “The Demons attacked us. It was shoot back or lay down and die.”
Johnson’s lanky frame was perfectly relaxed as he smiled. “We’re not questioning the shooting. It was definitely justified.”
Inside Noah, a wary tension uncoiled. Although he knew he was in the right, there was always a question mark over these things until they were thoroughly investigated.
“What we’re questioning,” McMillan said, “is the validity of your team.” He ran his hand through thinning hair. “Some of your buddies have criminal records.”
“And,” Johnson added, “some have no records at all. We still haven’t been able to verify that Rodrigo De la Cruz actually exists.”
“I can introduce you to him if you want,” Noah said helpfully.
“Smart-ass,” McMillan muttered. “Just what I need. Six months off retirement, and I get to deal with a hot shot new group full of smart-asses and wild cards. My luck stinks.”
Johnson grinned at his partner. “You have three ex-wives, a second mortgage, and a heart condition. Your luck’s been nonexistent for years.”
“Go screw yourself,” McMillan said with an easygoing smile.
“So”—Johnson turned back to Noah—”you know you need to get the witness out of here, right? Forget all that agoraphobia bullshit. If you guys stay here, you’re nothing more than a sitting target for the Demon Brothers.”
“Rochelle’s talked to you about this,” Noah said. “Leaving isn’t an option.”
“Then you’ve got a death wish,” McMillan said in disgust.
“Nope. I have a woman who’ll lose her grip on reality if she’s forced out of her home. And a vicious gang out to kill her before her court date. Oh, and a team who barely knows each other, let alone trust one another. Not to mention a bullet wound in my leg, a bruise that covers my back, and a patch of skin missing from my skull. That’s what I’ve got.” He leaned forward, staring the two men in the eyes. “Nothing about this job is easy, so I got to say, Detectives, if you can’t help, I don’t have a whole lot of time for you.”
McMillan gave him a shrewd, assessing look while Johnson considered him with a tad more respect than he’d previously shown.
“What can we do to help?” McMillan said at last.
Noah sank back into his chair with a sigh. “Regular patrols past the building would be a good start.”
The two detectives shared a look.
“We can do that,” Johnson said.
And Noah felt like he’d made it over another hurdle. Only a million more to go.