Page 24 of Daddy's Pursuit
“Something big?” Athena said.
“I hope. Possibly a development regarding our old friend.”
Iris noticed the look Athena gave the detective.
She wondered what that was all about—and who their old friend was—but didn’t ask. It wasn’t any of her business.
She smiled when Jack looked back toward her. “I’m glad you’re doing good here, honey. How about I pick you up later after I get off and take you out for some ice cream?”
Excited butterflies danced in her stomach. Was this a date? She wasn’t sure. But whatever it was, she’d gladly accept time with the hot, sexy cop!
“That would be awesome!” she said, not bothering to try and hide the excitement she felt welling up in the pit of her stomach.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll see you tonight, about seven.” He smiled one more time at her, told the Aunties goodbye, then hurried out the back door.
Iris didn’t know what was going on, but it was obvious it was something big.
She just hoped Jack Daddy was safe.
Because she already couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to him.
Chapter Fourteen
Jack was at war with himself.
On one hand, he wanted to charge into the warehouse, guns blazing. Of course, he couldn’t actually do that. There was such a thing as the law and even suspects had rights. He respected that.
And he wasn’t some Old West cowboy. Los Angeles had changed a lot since it had been one of the farthest towns west in the U.S., back when Mexican ranchers and farmers, white cowboys, and settlers from the east converged on the area, all working to build a fledgling community.
Now, it was one of the most populated cities in the United States, only second to New York City. That progress brought with it all kinds of laws and rules. So, long story short, Jack couldn’t handle this the old-school way that ran in his blood. The way his grandpa did back when he wore a badge and fought gangsters in that area in the Thirties and Forties. Or how his great grandpa did when he rode as a guard for a stage line.
Jack had to do this by the books. The fact that this case was personal couldn’t play a role in anything. Every I had to be dotted. Every T crossed. Otherwise, when he finally did catch Frank Holloway, the damn case might get thrown out. He’d seen it happen more than one time and it boiled his blood.
Plus, he had no desire to kill anyone. No normal person did, right? He’d avoid bloodshed if it was within his power to do so.
So, he wouldn’t go all lone cowboy here. He’d play this straight.
It was tough, though. Because he wanted to breach that warehouse and kick some ass.
Instead, he rolled his unmarked cruiser to a stop and got out to greet the other detectives and officers who’d assembled.
“So this is real?” he asked Detective Greg Marshall. “I’m not dreaming?”
Greg, a man of about fifty-two years with a slight middle-aged paunch to his belly and thinning, graying hair, chuckled. “Ask and ye shall receive. The surveillance team picked it up last night on the club’s wire. According to that conversation, they have six million worth of guns stashed just on the other side of that wall.” He jerked his head toward the looming warehouse that rested in the back of an aging industrial lot. All around were other warehouses, some in better shape than others. The one Jack cared about looked pretty good, with no visible broken windows and minimal damage to the outside walls.
“Was Frank at the club last night?” Jack asked.
His temper was threatening to flare up. He hadn’t had a read on the suspect’s location for months. If he’d been in the nightclub he owned and Jack hadn’t been alerted, then he was going to be royally pissed.
It looked like that was the case, because Detective Marshall nodded. “But the intelligence team didn’t realize who they were listening to until later.”
“You mean we could have had him last night?” Jack growled.
Marshall raised a calming hand. “Easy. They didn’t realize it. The audio is hard to hear. And get this, no one saw him coming in our out. But this is verified. It’s him.” He held up a smallaudio device, hit play, and stood still as Jack listened to the conversation recorded last night.
“Son of a bitch,” Jack said, once it was over. “It was him.”
He’d know that voice anywhere. He’d heard it too many times not to. But that personal history between Jack and Frank didn’t matter right now.
