Page 53 of These White Lies
“It’s fine?—”
“No.” His tone brooks no argument. “We need to get the antibiotic cream on before we do anything else.” He’s already on his feet, broad shoulders tense as he strides toward the door. “And you seriously need to lose that word from your vocabulary.”
“Brady, stop.”
He halts mid-step, pivoting to face me.
I sit up slowly, bracing my hands on the bed to take most of the effort. “With everything going on… and being so tired before… I didn’t ask. I want to know what Detective Simpson meant.”
His posture stiffens, and then after a beat, with what looks to be a conscious choice, he relaxes a shoulder against the doorframe.
“You promised you’d tell me,” I persist. “He said, ‘These aren’t people to mess around with.’ He made it sound like you knew who they were.”
Brady sucks in a long breath and then blows it out in an audible sigh. “When I first met you… four years ago… I was undercover for an international task-force. That’s why I didn’t want to give you my name.”
My chest tightens. “Because it wouldn’t have been your real one?”
“No,” he hedges, eyes darkening. “I was under with my real identity. My assignment was to infiltrate as a corrupt cop. I didn’t want you to get pulled into it.”
The pieces click together in a way that makes my stomach flip. “Carrow was involved? That’s why you were in his office that night?”
“Yes.” Brady’s lips quirk. “A vision in a gold mask interrupted me before I found anything.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Are you saying it’s my fault?—”
“Of course not. It wasn’t my only attempt. I never found any evidence of criminality—nothing I could prove anyway. Only that he’s a scumbag who covers his tracks well. Six months after we met, I was pulled out.”
“Why?”
He paces a few steps across the small room, and then back again, clearly agitated. “Because what I found was making certain people… uncomfortable.”
I frown. “Uncomfortable, how?”
“I identified several local police officers who were either actively involved in crimes or taking money to look the other way for high-profile citizens. Citizens who, it turned out, were also criminals.”
My mouth falls open. “That detective? Simpson?—”
“I never got the proof he was dirty,” Brady grimaces. “However, I found plenty on his captain. Simpson’s little comment earlier pretty much proves he was involved in some way.”
He’d been undercover. Did he have to testify against other officers? Is that why he isn’t in law enforcement anymore?
“It also implies he knowswhythey are after you,” Brady continues. A dark look crosses his face, and I shiver. “That’s good. I can convince him to tell me.”
I’m not sure I want to ask how.
I feel my pulse thudding in my neck. “Then youdoknow who’s behind this?”
Brady shifts his weight, and one of his hands balls into a fist. “I don’t know for sure. Sera’s looking for a connection. She’s running your ex’s name against known members of this organization.”
A chill slithers down my spine. I can see the tension in the air as easily as if he’d written the words.
Whoever they are, they are scary.
“Is it like… the mafia or something?”
His expression hardens. “It’s better if you don’t know the details.”
Something snaps in me, and I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the tug in my stitches as I get to my feet. Adrenaline and frustration drive me on.
