Also available from Pride Publishing:
Kansas City Heat: Page’s Price
Jenna Byrnes
Excerpt
Chapter One
“Back the hell up before I blow your fucking head off.”
Eugene Page raised his hands in a sign of surrender and shook his head. “Hey, man, we were invited by Rio Escada. He’s right behind us. Check it out.” He motioned behind him to the front door of the run-down little house they’d just entered, and held his breath. Hopefully the greasy-haired dude with the Glock wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later.
The suspicious thug squinted at Gene and the pretty blonde next to him, then called, “Rio? What the fuck, man?”
Gene’s drug dealer stuck his head in the door. “Aw, step off, Carlos! Freddy knew I was bringing these guys around. They want to make a purchase and it was more than I could handle.”
Carlos frowned. “Did you frisk them?”
Rio waved a hand. “Hells yes.”
“What-the-fuck-ever. I’m gonna do it again.” He tucked his gun into his pants and stepped in front of Gene.
Gene raised his hands to allow the search.
Carlos patted his legs, waistband and chest. Then he turned to Gene’s companion and smiled.
She stuck her bottom lip out stubbornly. Short, spiky bleached hair gave her an appearance of toughness. At the same time, the smeared black mascara under her eyes betrayed her vulnerability. That was his Bobbi, one tough cookie who was definitely in need of a fix. Not backing down, she eyed the man who was apparently Freddy Silva’s bodyguard and set her jaw.
With a chuckle, Carlos frisked her legs and groped her crotch before going higher and squeezing her breasts.
Gene grimaced. “Seriously, dude?” Bobbi was a good sport but he hated standing by while that happened.
Sticking a toothpick between his teeth, Carlos grinned again and motioned them to follow him.
Shooting an annoyed look at Rio, Gene wrapped a possessive arm around Bobbi and led her after the bodyguard.
Rio followed them through a beaded curtain into another room with a table and four chairs. “Freddy, these are the people I told you about.”
Gene surveyed the man sitting behind the table, playing solitaire with a well-worn deck of cards. He was hispanic, forty-ish with gray-tinged brown hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache and beard. His Hawaiian shirt belied their Midwestern locale, though it had been hot enough this summer that the beach sounded pretty damned appealing. So far the autumn wasn’t showing much sign of cooling down.
Freddy gazed up from his cards. “Rio tells me you’re looking to make a purchase.”
Gene nodded. “Ten grams of heroin, at the going price of three hundred per gram.”
Pausing mid-deal, Freddy looked at him. “Three hundred is for an individual’s use. You’re going to resell it. Therefore I’ll need four hundred per gram, or four thousand dollars.”
“That’s bullshit!” Gene snapped, rubbing the needle marks on his wrist. “You’ve already marked it up at the three hundred rate. You’re getting your cut.”
Freddy resumed dealing his cards. “Supply and demand, my friend. You want what I’ve got. If you want it badly enough, you’ll pay my price. Of course, you’re free to take your business elsewhere.”
Gene stared at him and responded with little emotion. “I think you know why I can’t do that.”
Freddy grinned. “Of course. I had you checked out when Rio gave me your names. Your pretty little girlfriend has two strikes in the state of Kansas. If you go across state lines and get tapped, she’ll go away for a long time. And in Missouri, my partners and I are in control of things. A fact of which you’re fully aware.”
Frowning, Gene wrestled with the expensive decision.
Bobbi tugged at his arm and rubbed her face on his shirt. Nearly a head shorter than him, she was the perfect height to cozy up to his shoulder. “Geno, I need it, baby. Plus, when my cousin takes it to Minneapolis, we’ll make back the four thou and then some.” She glanced at Freddy and added hastily, “We know we can’t sell around here. We’d never infringe on your territory.”
“That’s wise.” Freddy cocked at eyebrow as he gazed at them.
Gene wiggled his fingers nervously as he thought about it. He spoke quietly into Bobbi’s ear. “The price is steep, sugar.”
“I get that. But I need it. It’ll be okay. We’ll bump our price to Celia. I promise. We’ll make it back.”
Freddy’s shit-eating grin never wavered. “Aw, com’on, Geno. From the looks of your fidgeting, you need it as bad as the lady.” He pulled a baggie from his pocket and waved it in front of them. “This is what you want. This is what you need. Don’t fight the cravings.”
“Fuck you.” Gene shivered, his hands shaking, and he tried to calm himself. He finally shook his head. “I don’t have the extra thousand.”
“I do!” Bobbi reached between her breasts and pulled out a wad of cash. She handed it to him. “It’s from Mama’s Social Security check, so I gotta pay her back.”
Shaking his head, Gene pulled his money from his jeans pocket and tossed it all on the table in front of Freddy. “That was a stupid thing to do, Bobbi.”
“What?” She blinked. “We’ll pay it back.”
Freddy scooped the cash up and counted it quickly. He tossed the baggie to Gene then glanced behind them at Rio and nodded. “Go ahead. Suede has the rest in the back.”
Gene knew there was a real possibility that Rio would double-cross them and keep on going, right out of the back door. And if Suede Santana truly was there, Gene wouldn’t put it past a dealer with his reputation to cheat them, either. It was time to wrap things up.
He looked at Bobbi and spoke the words his team was waiting to hear. “Damn, you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, don’t you? You know I’d do anything for you.”
She nuzzled his shoulder happily, purring like a satisfied kitten.
Rio headed to the next room just as a loud pounding rattled the front door of the small house. “KCPD! Open up!” The crack of splintering wood indicated the police hadn’t waited for anyone to answer. They’d busted their way in.
“Fuck!” Bobbi squealed, and they each glanced around for the nearest exit.
Freddy fumbled the cash and it flew over the table and floor. He scooped up what he could, then threw open a window and dove out through the screen, head first.
Bobbi nodded at Gene then ran for the back room.
He followed Freddy out of the window and had nearly caught up to him when two cops in body armor descended on them.
“KCPD! Freeze, assholes!” One of them tackled Freddy to the ground.
The second officer landed on Gene and they dropped and rolled in the grass.
“Son of a bitch!” Gene screamed at Freddy. “Did you set us up? You stupid motherfucker!”
“Quiet down.” The cop tugged Gene’s hands behind his back and cuffed him. “You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
The other officer dragged Freddy to his feet by his cuffed hands. “You listening, scumbag? You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. You both got that?”
Another cop in full gear joined them. “Judging by the amount of money they left on the table, they can both afford attorneys.”
Gene struggled as they shoved him toward a patrol car. He glanced around and spotted Bobbi and Rio, both cuffed similarly, plus the bodyguard and a couple of other people from the drug house. The last man he spotted was the one who held his interest. He’d heard about Rastafarian drug dealer Suede Santana, but hadn’t met him yet. The man was everything his reputation had said he was, and more. Tall, with brown skin and long black dreadlocks, he appeared quite the force to be reckoned with.
“In the car.” One uniformed officer opened the back door of the black and white and another held Gene’s head while pushing him inside.
They managed to bump his head anyway. “Thanks for that,” he told the officers sarcastically. “Fucking police brutality.”
“Aw, bite me.” The cop slammed the door and went around to the driver’s seat.
Gene turned and peered out of his window. Bobbi was assisted into another patrol car. He’d lost sight of Santana. The driver of his vehicle took off and he couldn’t watch any longer. “In a hurry?”
“What, something you wanted to see? My tour ends at three. I get you back and have just enough time to punch out and pick the boys up from summer day camp.”
Gene shrugged his shoulders to work out the kinks and tried to shift mental gears. “They enjoying that? What are they, about eight and ten now?”
“Jimmy’s nine and Kyle just turned eleven. Camp is great. They get swimming lessons and lots of physical activity. Little buggers come home beat at the end of a day. Makes me feel better about vegging out in front of the TV at night. But this heat, man, it’s draining. I’m tired when I get home too.”
“I hear you. Nine and eleven? Shit, O’Brian. Time flies.” Gene worked his shoulders again as they began to ache. There was no better way to do it, but buckling a person up with a seat belt when his hands were cuffed behind his back was uncomfortable as hell.
“It does, Page. It definitely does.” O’Brian pulled up in front of the police department and manhandled Gene from the car. He led him through the lobby, shoving him past other people waiting to be booked, and took him directly into a back room.
Once they were out of everyone’s sight, he unfastened Gene’s cuffs and pocketed them.
Gene stretched his arms, wiggling his hands to get circulation back.
“There you go, man. I’m off to sign out.”
“Thanks. Hey, O’Brian? I owe you and Kieffer one for the knock on the head. But right now I’m going to have a word with Brady, who tackled me to the ground, and Wyman, who called me an asshole. Those guys take way too much pleasure in all of this.”
O’Brian laughed and kept walking. “Good luck with that, Detective.” He disappeared around the corner.
Gene chuckled. Oh, to be a beat cop with regular hours again. He and his team had several hours of interrogations ahead of them before they could even think about calling it a day.
He wandered through the back hallways until he reached the bullpen of his department, the Major Crimes unit.
Robin Crouch was already back at her desk, firing up her computer.
“Hey, Bobbi. Damn, your ride must have been at the end of his tour too. O’Brian was hell-bent to get me back so he could punch out.”
She laughed. “Yeah, Ryder was too. Which is fine. We made it here before Rio, Freddy and Suede arrived.” She waggled her eyebrows and pulled a KCPD T-shirt from a drawer then slipped it over her head to cover the sexy tank she’d been wearing undercover.
Gene smirked. She’d noticed Santana as well. From a distance the guy seemed to be all legs and dreadlocks. He was interested in getting a closer look. He repeated the name in the same sultry tone she’d used. “Suede. Did you get a look at that guy?”
“Only long enough to see that he’s one tall drink of water. My gaze didn’t get much higher than his boots and denim-clad legs before I was forcibly injected into the black and white.”
Gene grinned. “I know, right? Those guys were playing it up just a little too much if you ask me.” He glanced down at his dirty Henley shirt and debated changing, but decided he didn’t feel like extending the effort. After being undercover at some of the nasty places they went to, the only way to truly get the funk off was a hot shower. His cleanup would wait.
He licked his thumb and rubbed the needle-mark makeup on his wrist. He could try to get rid of that, at least. The whole scene made him feel slimy. It was important work, and worthwhile. Yet some days the job depressed him worse than others.
Robin gazed at him. “You were convincing today, Gene. You’ve got those withdrawal shakes pegged. Freddy was totally buying it.”
Gene rubbed his temples then drew his hands back through his dirty brown hair. “So I’ve got that going for me. My mom would have been so proud, God rest her soul.”
His fellow detective folded her arms across her chest and gave him a look. “She would have been proud, Page. Don’t mistake the sleazy feeling coming off an undercover assignment as an indictment of the work we’re doing. We did good today, man. We took at least three drug dealers off the streets, and gave wake up calls to their scumbag associates. This is why we’re here, remember?”
He gazed at her levelly. “I know. I’m also smart enough to know that five more dealers will pop up to replace the three we brought down. We need to hit these people harder, deeper. Get the ones behind the curtain, pulling the strings.”
“We’re working on that. You know as well as I do it’s a slow process. When I worked undercover in Wichita, we didn’t see a whole lot of progress day to day. But over time we made some headway. Kansas City is bigger and, believe it or not, it seems like things are happening pretty quickly here.”
“I get that. It’s just frustrating, is all. None of the other departments I’ve worked in over the last ten years required such slow and painstaking efforts. Sometimes I just want to solve something, you know?”
“I do.” Robin nodded.
The two other men on their team entered the bullpen and headed to their desks. The taller of the two detectives, an African American with dark skin and a short black afro said, “Hello, you two common criminals. Nice job out there today. We’ve got Freddy and Santana in interview rooms and the rest are in holding, waiting their turns.”
Gene gazed at him. “Wyman, you get too much joy out of this. The ‘freeze, assholes’ line hurt. It really did.”
Kevin Wyman laughed, exposing his bright white teeth. “You were fleeing and eluding. That’s the way we handle scumbags like youse.”
Gene glanced at the second detective, a Greek-god clone with shiny blond hair pulled back into a short ponytail. “And you, Brady. I think you pulled something when you tackled me.” He rubbed his upper arm.
Len Brady chuckled and squeezed Gene’s shoulders as he passed his desk. “Sorry, partner, but we had to make it realistic. We couldn’t tackle Freddy and expect you to take yourself down.”
“Sure,” Gene teased. “You just wanted to get your hands on me.”
Brady grinned. “You got me. Man, if I was gay, you’d totally be my type. Unfortunately, I think Mira and the kids might have something to say about that.”
Gene waved him off. “Yeah, well, you’re too pretty to be my type, so we’re good. What’s the plan with the interrogations? You taking one and Kev the other?” Gene knew that if he and Robin were to stay undercover, they couldn’t be made as cops. They’d have to observe the questioning through two-way mirrors.
Their chief joined them. Captain Elliot Day led the task force and Gene respected the man and his calm attitude. He knew the other team members did, as well. He’d liked Captain Storey in Property Crimes, his previous gig, but Day had a totally different personality. He ‘got’ the undercover mentality, and gave his team a little more flexibility and leeway to get the job done. “Boys and girls, we have a situation,” Day announced.
Gene glanced at him. “Please tell me these busts were by the book. I tried to watch, but when O’Brian hauled me in, he was in some damn hurry.”
“No, the busts were clean. It’s something different. And, Page, since this case is your baby, I want you to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.” He crooked a finger, motioning for Gene to follow.
Glancing at the others, Gene rose and followed the captain.
“The rest of you can watch from the window,” Day added.
The other detectives hurried to catch up.
As they passed the interrogation rooms, Gene could see his boss was taking him in to talk to Suede Santana. He hesitated. “Robin and I haven’t been made, Captain. I thought we could stay undercover and see what else we could dredge up.”
Day placed a hand on the doorknob. “We already dredged up something, Page. Check it out.” He opened the door and motioned for Gene to precede him.
Gene entered slowly, studying Santana as he did.
The dark-skinned man gazed right back at him, surveying him from top to bottom before nodding slowly. “Pretty much what I figured. I guessed you were cops.” His thick accent sounded Jamaican.
Bristling at the comment, Gene folded his arms across his chest. He’d taken to undercover work and everyone on his team agreed he was a natural. He looked younger than his thirty years and had the ability to think quickly, often having to improvise off the top of his head.
Robin had the same skills and youthful appearance. They’d established ‘Geno’ and ‘Bobbi’ as a couple in the local drug scene and worked well together, with their teammates as backup.
He stared at Santana. “What made you think I was a cop?”
“You’re too well-groomed, for one thing.” The accent was gone.
Gene blinked, unsure what to think about the suspect who was apparently something more than met the eye. He glanced down at his filthy shirt and ratty jeans. “Oh, right. I do look like I just came from church.”
“Look at your fingernails, all neat and clean like a stock broker’s might be. Your skin’s a healthy tan color. The needle marks on your wrist are a good makeup job, but the next time your artist needs to give your skin a yellow pallor. Same goes for the little blonde chica you were with. She’s pretty, almost too pretty. The drug life is a hard one. It takes a toll on everyone who’s in deep. She needs a few more bags under her eyes, and she might want to chip a nail or two in that expensive manicure.”
Gene turned to the captain. “You can tell her that, okay?”
Day looked at the two-way mirror. “I think she heard.”
His attention once again on the suspect whose hands were cuffed to a ring on the top of the table, Gene added, “So we’re bringing this guy on as a technical advisor, or what? Do you have any more valuable information to share with us? Like the names of the next guys up on the food chain, perhaps? That would interest me more than your opinion of my undercover techniques.”
The corners of Santana’s mouth twitched. “I might, but I’ll still offer my opinions.” He glanced at the captain. “I assume you checked out my story?”
Day tossed a folder on the table and opened it.
Gene glanced down at paperwork with the federal government’s Drug Enforcement Administration logo at the top of it. Santana’s photo stared up at him, with the name ‘SA Rafael Vega’ beneath it. Special Agent.
He tried to keep his jaw closed as he glanced at Santana—or Vega—whatever the man’s name was. “You’re a fed?”
“I am, mon.” The Jamaican twang returned. “Special Agent Rafael Vega.”
Gene pointed to the paperwork. “I can read. How long have you been undercover?”
Vega leaned forward. “I’ve been in—all in—for nearly two years.” No hint of the accent again, just a deadly serious tone. “I don’t go home to my nice, clean bed at night. I live like the rest of these people do, moving from flophouse to cheap, scuzzy motels as needed. My agency has been tracking the Montoya Cartel for about five years, and we finally decided to put someone on the inside to see if we couldn’t break things open. We’re close. Very close.”
Pacing as his captain unfastened Vega’s handcuffs, Gene asked, “Have you ever been busted before?”
Vega rubbed his wrists. “No.” He did not appear happy about it.
Gene had to smile. “Chalk one up for the KCPD.”
The agent slapped his palms on the table. “The KCPD almost lost two of their detectives today. Freddy gave the order to take you out once the money exchanged hands. Did you see how quickly Rio Escada hightailed it out of the room? He knew what was coming. The bodyguard with the Glock was going to shoot the two of you.”
“For a measly four thousand dollars?” Gene gaped. “It’s not like that’s a lot of money to those guys.”
Vega shook his head. “You were moving too fast. It wasn’t clean and it wasn’t safe.”
“We’d purchased drugs from Rio at least a dozen times. He knew us. What we wanted him to know, that is.”
“Rio is a small fish in a big pond. If he’d complained about it, Freddy would have taken him out too. If there’s one thing I’ve learned these past couple of years, it’s that there’s no loyalty among thieves or drug dealers. Especially drug dealers. You went from buying small amounts to buying a sizeable quantity, and dealers don’t like that. They don’t trust it.”
Gene frowned. They might have moved a little too quickly, but he’d ended the operation before anyone had gotten hurt. I know what I’m doing. More than the big shot DEA agent thought, anyway.
He’d been intrigued by the guy from the moment he’d seen his photo, and that was before Gene had found out the man was actually on his side. Handsome was putting it mildly. The tall, well-built stud was all legs and muscles, including a broad chest and sculpted abs, which were better viewed in person through his tight-fitting polo shirt. He wore a closely cropped beard and mustache, which Gene found hot as hell. The hunk in real life was much sexier than his photos. And he’s a good guy, not really a drug dealer. Score.
There was something perplexing about the stranger, a mysterious air that wasn’t strictly tied to him being an undercover fed. Santana had cockiness and attitude to spare. Gene couldn’t be sure how much of that was an act and how much was Vega’s personality in real life. Good cops were generally confident to the point of being cocky. The federal agents he’d dealt with in the past all had attitudes, no doubt about that.
Those weren’t normally the traits he looked for in his personal relationships with men. Something about this one had his heart racing and a hard-on firming up in his jeans. He sighed, knowing there wasn’t one thing he could do about it, other than work with the guy to bring down their common enemy. But it seemed the job had just got a good deal more interesting.
“Okay,” he admitted reluctantly. “You say we moved too fast. You think our cover is blown?”
Vega shrugged. “Not sure. I’ll need to get back out there and talk to some people. First you need to book me because I’m confident they’ll send a lawyer to bail me out. If I’m not here when he shows, my cover will be blown.”
Gene nodded. “So book me too. Robin and I are willing to see this thing through. I made a big fuss, yelling at Freddy for setting us up. Hopefully that’ll throw a little suspicion off us.”
“Freddy and Rio are nobodies.” Vega gazed at him. “If I spread the word that one of them set us all up, you should be okay. But if I do that, I’m gonna need something in return.”
Gazing at him levelly, Gene asked, “Such as?”
Vega stared at him. “You.”