girl I helped get
away from the cops last night. She has nothing to do with this, or with us.”
Garrett turned. “Quentin, any news?”
The tall African-American man shook his head as he looked
away from the window. “Nothing concrete. After the raid on the drop today, he’s
gone to ground. That deal has been postponed indefinitely, according to my
contact.”
“Fuck.” Garrett’s fist landed on the table, making Trent’s
camera pieces jump. “How could we have been so close?”
“We’ll get him,” Trent said calmly as he retrieved a lens
that had fallen with Garrett’s display of temper. “I promised you a long time ago
that we’d get him, and I meant it. Don’t doubt us, man.”
“Now this certainly is interesting,” Reg mused aloud, one
hand rubbing his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. His shaggy hair fell forward
as he leaned closer to the screen. “Indeed.”
“What is it?” Garrett rounded the table to look at Reg’s
computer screen.
“I seem to have stumbled upon Mr. Ford’s private
email account. Oh dear me,” Reg said mildly as he took screen shots of the most
recent message. “The street race may have been a setup.”
“For what?” Garrett crouched beside Reg’s chair, watching as
he scanned through the rest of the message. Garrett read aloud from the screen.
“Since the first try failed, I want insurance on the second race. Ramirez’s car
won’t make the finish line, you get me? I’ll let you know when to move.”
Reg hummed deep in his throat. “Despite his crowing, he’s
quite a clever little fuck.”
Quentin snorted, leaving his position by the window. “Smart
enough to have his race opponent fucked over before the race. Won’t be much of
a contest there.”
“No, it’s more than that.” Garrett stood, his brain racing
as he tried to make sense of what Reg had just found. “There’s something here,
I’m just not quite seeing the whole picture.”
Garrett’s fist thumped against his palm, the quick sting deliciously
clarifying. Suddenly his synapses were firing faster and more calculating as he
considered. “I need to find out who this Ramirez is. What are the stakes of
this thing? Why does he care so much about a street race? Quentin, how fast can
you get up with your contact?”
Quentin pulled his smartphone from his pocket. “Right now.”
“See if they know anything about this Ramirez guy, and what
Ford stands to gain. What’s the prize? If I’m right, then this just might be
our chance to finally put him away.”
As Garrett waited for Quentin to make the call, a nagging
feeling dogged his steps. He was awfully afraid it might be hope.
Chapter Eleven
Mia dressed carefully for Sunday at the convention. It was
the last day, and if she was going to come through it with her employment still
intact, she’d have to really wow them.
Shimmying into a leopard-print wiggle dress, she smoothed it
down her hips. Black fuck-me pumps completed the outfit, and she clicked her
way into the bathroom to take advantage of the better light and large mirror.
Too bad this time she was alone in here, she frowned. Her hair finally
submitted to an intricate twist at the base of her neck. Large, ornate horn
earrings added just the edge she was looking for. And as she put the last touches
on her deep-red lipstick, she couldn’t help but wish Garrett was here to see
her.
Her look wasn’t perfect, of course. Wispy curls struggled to
escape their confinement and her belly wasn’t flat beneath the dress. Her arms
jiggled too much and her nose wouldn’t ever be what she considered cute. But
just for a moment, Mia closed her eyes and imagined herself as Garrett would
see her.
Drop-dead gorgeous.
Her lids popped open and she glared at the girl in the
mirror. “Bitch. Forget about him. He doesn’t want to see you again.”
With purpose, she strode from the bathroom and grabbed her
gear. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say to Jules to apologize for missing a
whole
away from the cops last night. She has nothing to do with this, or with us.”
Garrett turned. “Quentin, any news?”
The tall African-American man shook his head as he looked
away from the window. “Nothing concrete. After the raid on the drop today, he’s
gone to ground. That deal has been postponed indefinitely, according to my
contact.”
“Fuck.” Garrett’s fist landed on the table, making Trent’s
camera pieces jump. “How could we have been so close?”
“We’ll get him,” Trent said calmly as he retrieved a lens
that had fallen with Garrett’s display of temper. “I promised you a long time ago
that we’d get him, and I meant it. Don’t doubt us, man.”
“Now this certainly is interesting,” Reg mused aloud, one
hand rubbing his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. His shaggy hair fell forward
as he leaned closer to the screen. “Indeed.”
“What is it?” Garrett rounded the table to look at Reg’s
computer screen.
“I seem to have stumbled upon Mr. Ford’s private
email account. Oh dear me,” Reg said mildly as he took screen shots of the most
recent message. “The street race may have been a setup.”
“For what?” Garrett crouched beside Reg’s chair, watching as
he scanned through the rest of the message. Garrett read aloud from the screen.
“Since the first try failed, I want insurance on the second race. Ramirez’s car
won’t make the finish line, you get me? I’ll let you know when to move.”
Reg hummed deep in his throat. “Despite his crowing, he’s
quite a clever little fuck.”
Quentin snorted, leaving his position by the window. “Smart
enough to have his race opponent fucked over before the race. Won’t be much of
a contest there.”
“No, it’s more than that.” Garrett stood, his brain racing
as he tried to make sense of what Reg had just found. “There’s something here,
I’m just not quite seeing the whole picture.”
Garrett’s fist thumped against his palm, the quick sting deliciously
clarifying. Suddenly his synapses were firing faster and more calculating as he
considered. “I need to find out who this Ramirez is. What are the stakes of
this thing? Why does he care so much about a street race? Quentin, how fast can
you get up with your contact?”
Quentin pulled his smartphone from his pocket. “Right now.”
“See if they know anything about this Ramirez guy, and what
Ford stands to gain. What’s the prize? If I’m right, then this just might be
our chance to finally put him away.”
As Garrett waited for Quentin to make the call, a nagging
feeling dogged his steps. He was awfully afraid it might be hope.
Chapter Eleven
Mia dressed carefully for Sunday at the convention. It was
the last day, and if she was going to come through it with her employment still
intact, she’d have to really wow them.
Shimmying into a leopard-print wiggle dress, she smoothed it
down her hips. Black fuck-me pumps completed the outfit, and she clicked her
way into the bathroom to take advantage of the better light and large mirror.
Too bad this time she was alone in here, she frowned. Her hair finally
submitted to an intricate twist at the base of her neck. Large, ornate horn
earrings added just the edge she was looking for. And as she put the last touches
on her deep-red lipstick, she couldn’t help but wish Garrett was here to see
her.
Her look wasn’t perfect, of course. Wispy curls struggled to
escape their confinement and her belly wasn’t flat beneath the dress. Her arms
jiggled too much and her nose wouldn’t ever be what she considered cute. But
just for a moment, Mia closed her eyes and imagined herself as Garrett would
see her.
Drop-dead gorgeous.
Her lids popped open and she glared at the girl in the
mirror. “Bitch. Forget about him. He doesn’t want to see you again.”
With purpose, she strode from the bathroom and grabbed her
gear. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say to Jules to apologize for missing a
whole
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