Page 29 of Love Me Darkly
“Go now. I want the results the second you get them.”
“You got it.”
“Jones!”
Jones was the only agent who hadn’t swarmed him the second he’d stepped through the door. He sat in a corner of the room, shoveling donut holes into his mouth from the baker’s box resting on his lap. He snapped upright at the sound of his name.
“Sir?”
“There was a mention of ‘the NOLA house’ on the wiretap last night. It’s where the women are being stashed and prepped for transport out of the city. Find it. Start by cross-referencing known brothel busts, city complaints, and anonymous reports within the last six months. Look for addresses connected to shell companies or cash-only real estate purchases linked to Valemont Holdings. If you find a house with signs of heavy foot traffic and dark-windowed vans making frequent stops—flag it.”
Jones was already on his feet, polishing off his last donut hole before tossing the box into the nearby trash can. “Consider it done.”
Smith was up next. “I shadowed the prick with the tattoo last night. He stayed for the entire night and left pissy drunk with a couple of friends to crash at a house a few miles from the club. I don’t think it’s his place, though. Just a flop house. He’s there now, sleeping it off.”
“Stay on him but don’t engage. Photo surveillance only. Until we see him doing something that could be construed as a crime, our hands are tied. But keep me updated on his movements.”
“And what’s Carlisle going to say to that?”
Mateo rolled his eyes. “Carlisle is my problem. Follow tattoo guy and keep me posted.”
He turned to Williams last. She had been watching him in silence this entire time, her dark eyes sharp and assessing. She was dying to say something; Mateo could feel it.
“What?”
She sighed. “How long have we worked together, Sir?”
Mateo quickly did the math in his head. “Nine years. Why?”
“I’ve questioned your methods and your reasoning a lot over those years.”
“No one does it like you, Williams.”
Williams raised an eyebrow. “And yet you keep me around.”
He couldn’t help a half-smile at that. “You’re the conscience of this team. And I’m arrogant and set in my ways. I need someone to call me out on my bullshit sometimes.”
“Right now, for instance.”
Mateo snorted. “First Donovan, now you.”
Williams straightened and squared her shoulders with impressive rigidity. Mateo had always been of the opinion that she would have made one hell of a soldier. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t respect you, Sir.”
“That’s always been obvious.”
Her gaze softened, becoming earnest. “Just watch your step going forward. Carlisle called me after she talked to you last night. She’s concerned that you’re too close to this. Your emotions are causing you to act recklessly. It’s not like you to go rogue, and we need you on this team, Sir.”
“Snapping a few pictures hardly qualifies as going rogue.”
“Maybe not, but it’s a slippery slope. I get it, okay? I was on the scene when SWAT arrived at your house. I saw Mari’s body. I saw your blood on the bathroom tiles. I was there when you woke up in the hospital and were forced to confront the loss of everything you love.”
Mateo rubbed a hand against his chest, which was suddenly tight. “Your point, Williams?”
“We all understand how badly you want this guy. And you, and Mari, and Angelica deserve justice. Those women, too … no matter their background, they deserve justice. But if you aren’t careful, you will lose your chance to deliver that justice. Protocol says it’s not supposed to be you, but it is. If you want it to continue being you, get your head in the game. Respectfully, Sir.”
Mateo wanted to be irritated with Williams but found he didn’t have the energy. It was simply her way. Of everyone on the team, she was the most dedicated to the rules, more than Mateo had ever been. She came from a family of law enforcement officers and government officials and believed wholeheartedly in the pursuit of justice. Mateo had once seen himself in her, but now found they were nothing alike.
Justice. A word heavy with meaning. The pursuit of it had been his life’s work in some form or another. But he couldn’t believe in it anymore, couldn’t bring himself to cling to those old ideals. What he wanted was darker than justice. It was more permanent. It involved the rending of flesh and the spilling of blood and the breaking of bones.
