Page 49 of Hart of Darkness
16
Maggie
Iplayed with my pesky hangnail as I waited for Ted. The gang unit was located on the second floor and tucked away behind a high security door. Using a rope, the police had also cordoned off the stairs with a sign that read, Police Personnel Only Beyond This Point.
Aside from the cop at the front desk, who had his head buried below the ledge of the counter, the station had minimal activity with only the occasional police officer walking by. I thought for a split second that the criminals had decided to take the night off.
I messed with my phone, clearing the apps hogging my battery life. Then I added Dillon to my contacts. I bounced my knee. I wasn’t nervous about seeing Ted, but I was out of sorts over the exchange I’d had with Dillon. If I would’ve kept my mouth shut, I might have been coming down from an epic orgasm right about now.
Stupid me had to open my mouth.
A platonic relationship was for the best. I had to concentrate. I had to crack a nut in the story on the Black Knights, and if anything, I had to find some sort of news that would sell the Sunday paper.
I was flushing out a headline on what had happened to Nadine and how to tie her back to the standoff I’d witnessed. First, I had to get Ted to give me some facts I could print.
Footsteps clamored down the steps, and I was ready to hop up when I spotted Rick. He gave me a warm smile, his high forehead glistening as though he’d walked out of the gym.
“Mags,” he said when he cleared the stairs.
I tucked my phone into my messenger bag and stood.
Rick gave me a hug, something he always did when he saw me. “Good luck with Ted.”
I pulled away. “What’s going on?”
“Rick,” Ted warned as he came down, dressed in his usual attire of jeans, a short-sleeve plaid button-up shirt, and a gun on his hip—standard uniform for the gang unit. Well, not so much the plaid shirt, but the jeans and combat boots for sure.
Rick had the same style of clothing from the waist down, but he didn’t do plaid.
“See ya, Mags,” Rick said as he left the building.
The bald cop at the front desk acknowledged Ted with a dip of his head then went back to whatever he was reading.
Ted unhooked the rope, the light on his huge diver’s watch illuminating. “We’ll talk in my office.” His brownish-black eyes didn’t give away an ounce of emotion, which was typical of a cop, at least a good and seasoned one.
Nevertheless, I knew Ted. I knew when he was perturbed. His lips were pursed, and I could tell by the minuscule movement of his jaw that he was chewing on the inside of his cheek.
Clutching the strap of my messenger bag, I climbed up the steps as if I were scaling the stairs to the electric chair. “What’s wrong?”
His mustache twitched. “If you don’t want your ass arrested, you will do as I say.” His tone permitted no argument.
Suddenly, my teeth knocked together. He knew about Nadine and me. I searched my brain as to how he could know. Dillon hadn’t told him. More than that, I was scratching my head as to how I could get arrested.
“Up.” His voice deepened to a growl.
I squared my shoulders and did as I was told.
At the top, Ted punched in a code.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
That was a familiar sound from when I’d been thrown in a cell a time or two as a teenager. Familiar or not, I shuddered.
A stream of cold air whooshed over me when the door opened.
Reluctantly, I stepped inside what the gang unit referred to as the pit.
We circled desks that were scattered around facing the huge, empty whiteboard. I imagined the board had been flipped over so I wouldn’t see the evidence and pictures of suspects the team had on gang members. Regardless of why I was there, I had the urge to dash over to the board and see if Cory Calderon’s picture was one of the gang members.
