Page 109 of Bellini Bound
“Mm-hmm.” My eyes were already focused back on the screen. I’d been scanning these security tapes at the industrial park for days, searching for anything that would give us a clue as to who now owned our warehouse. But since there were months between the deed transfer and when our security clearance was revoked, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Groaning, I sat back in my chair, rubbing at my tired eyes. There were a thousand better uses for my time, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something.
It was several hours later before I decided to call it quits. Punching my arms through my jacket, I made my way to the elevator, more than ready to cuddle up with Allie on the couch and veg out for the rest of the night. The idea of a lazy night had me reaching into my pocket to shoot her a text to hold off on making dinner because I’d grab takeout on the way home instead.
But before I could hit send, the elevator doors slid open, and I was surprised to find two uniformed police officers inside.
Instantly on alert, I patted my side to make sure my gun was still in my holster. I mean, I never took it out, but it never hurt to double-check, especially when the boys in blue showed up unannounced.
Playing it off like they weren’t here for me, I asked, “Need help finding the right floor, gentlemen?”
One of them smirked, and my fist clenched involuntarily.
His partner didn’t waste any time with pleasantries, reaching for his handcuffs. “Enzo Bellini, place your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest.”
I let out a beleaguering sigh, turning around to present them with my wrists. This wasn’t the first or last time I’d been slapped with cuffs and hauled in. Charges never stuck, thanks to the little piggy who used to owe us a boatload of money, and whose daughter was my wife. And I had a sneaking suspicion he was behind this little charade, likely blaming me for Allie’s decision to cut off all contact.
“. . . Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” the officer’s voice droned on, and I tuned out the rest of the Miranda Rights that were being recited to me.
They patted me down, removing my weapons before escorting me to the lobby and out through the front doors of the building, where their police cruiser sat—illegally double-parked, I might add—along the curb of the busy downtown Chicago street.
The jackass in charge of my handling wasn’t gentle when forcing me into the backseat, laughing as my head cracked against the doorframe.
I took note of his name and badge number.
Officer Isaac Keaton’s days were numbered.
Thankfully, the drive to the station was short, since it was impossible for me to sit properly on the bench seat with my arms pinned against my back. Upon our arrival, I was hauled into an interrogation room and tossed onto a metal chair before my cuffs were removed. Then I was left alone, the red blinking light of the wall-mounted camera my only companion.
They let me sweat it out for a good hour before the door opened, and in walked none other than Police Commissioner Logan himself. My father-in-law.
And like clockwork, the camera was turned off.
Linking my fingers, I stretched my arms over my head, reclining against the metal back of my chair and letting out a low whistle. “Damn, if I’d have known you were so eager for a family reunion, I would have invited you over to our place. It’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than these accommodations.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw ticking. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “Care to explain why your fingerprints were found at the site of an attempted breaking and entering that ended in a shootout with police?”
A bark of laughter burst from my chest.Thatwas the excuse he’d used to drag my ass in here?
Tsking, I chided, “Come on, Logan. Is that really the best you could do?” Not to mention calling it a shootout was bullshit, since none of my men had discharged their firearms at all, let alone in the direction of the police.
He folded both arms across his chest. “I’m not the one under arrest here, Bellini.”
“You’re right. But I don’t recall being offered the opportunity to call my lawyer.”
“That’s funny. Because I’ve got at least five officers who will testify as witnesses to you making a call to your usual attorney. Shame he didn’t pick up, though.”
“Upstanding member of the community, Commissioner Logan, being an immoral cop. Color me shocked.” Letting out an exaggerated gasp, I pretended to be horrified.
“Cut the shit. We’ve got evidence linking you to that B&E.”
My shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Of course you do.”
Logan blinked at me. “What?”
“Did you perhaps, I don’t know, do your fucking job andinvestigatethe last known owner of that property prior to its recent sale?”
“Uh . . .” He looked like a deer caught in headlights.
