Riding Dirty (12 page)

“What have you got for us?” Vargas asked.

Cole had a few options for this meeting. His first was to say nothing. Vargas wouldn’t pull him from the assignment this early. Law enforcement was a bureaucracy, like prison. Making a change required paperwork and judge orders and endless red tape bullshit.

Cole’s second option was to feed Vargas misinformation. Doing so might get Cole fired, but he’d like to see how long he could get away with it.

His third option was to give up Dimebag Arno. Cole had reservations about implicating Dimebag and White Lightning, but only because his uncle might go down with them. He didn’t want to betray a family member unless he had no other options.

After two nights of soul-searching, Cole had decided on number three. He’d thought about Mia a lot. Although he couldn’t hope for a future with her, he wanted better for
himself
. He wanted to change. He also wanted to survive. Refusing to cooperate with the cops meant going back to Chino and finishing his sentence. He couldn’t get a transfer at this late stage. The next time AB came for him, he might not be so lucky.

Cole’s family loyalty went only so far. He’d spent almost four years in prison for arson. Cole wasn’t sorry he’d torched the liquor store of a known wife beater, but he resented the hell out of the circumstances. Bill had loaned the store owner money against Cole’s wishes. When the jerk didn’t pay, Bill ordered Cole to step in.

Bill’s poor business decisions had also led to Rylan’s death, and he’d made veiled threats toward Cole. Why should Cole protect him?

So he told Vargas about his run-in with Dimebag Arno, in limited detail. Cole didn’t mention his uncle’s interruption or their resulting conversation, but he did speculate that Bill was working with White Lightning.

Investigator Bruce seemed surprised by the news. Vargas remained impassive, his expression bland. Nothing rattled him.

“You suspect your uncle of taking a cut of their drug earnings,” Vargas said.

“That’s right.”

“Did you discuss this with him?”

“No.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“He doesn’t like to be questioned,” Cole said.

“You have a history with the Arnos.”

“So?”

“It just seems a bit...ironic that you’ve offered information regarding the alleged criminal activities of your biggest rivals.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“Yes, I think you’re lying.”

Bruce frowned as if he disagreed with Vargas. The rookie needed to learn to hide his emotions. He was too eager and earnest to be an effective interviewer. But Cole understood what Vargas was doing, even if Bruce didn’t.

“I also think you’re withholding,” Vargas said. “There’s no way you caught Dimebag Arno on hotel property and didn’t ask your uncle about it.”

“So you believe I fought Dimebag?”

“I believe you fought someone.”

“You’re welcome to pay him a visit. His left eye should tell the tale.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Good,” Cole said, glancing at Bruce. “I was beginning to think you guys would rather harass me twice a week than investigate. But that’s a typical cop thing, I guess. Shaking someone down is easier than getting off your asses.”

Bruce took offense to this insult. His blue eyes narrowed into slits and he deferred to Vargas, as if asking permission to unleash on Cole.

“Thank you for that thoughtful critique of our job performance,” Vargas said. “We’ll remember it if you’re ever in trouble.”

Prick. Cole quit while he was ahead.

“As entertaining as your stories about street fighting are, the information is worthless. You saw a member of a rival gang—”

“Club,” Cole said.

“Gang,” Vargas insisted. “You saw a piece of shit gang member at your uncle’s hotel. Maybe he was meeting his whore there.”

Cole didn’t bother to argue with him. The DA investigator specialized in MCs. He knew as much about the business as any outlaw, if not more. There was no way a rival member would use his uncle’s hotel for pleasure. The Hidden Palms was Dirty Eleven territory.

“I gave you a good tip, and you know it.”

“I need you to ask your uncle about his involvement with White Lightning.”

Cole rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if considering it. “We’ll see.”

Vargas leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think this is working out.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not holding up your end. The amount of time and effort we’ve invested in your assignment is disproportionate to what you’ve delivered so far. If you don’t question your uncle, I’ll pull you.”

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Vargas just stared at Cole, unflinching. “Do we have an agreement, or should we take you back to Chino?”

Cole wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. Vargas was bluffing; they wouldn’t pull Cole. “I can’t promise you anything.”

After a long, tense moment, Vargas accepted this answer. “We need to talk about your ankle monitor.”

“What about it?”

“Have you tampered with it?”

“No,” Cole said, his heart pounding. Now he understood Vargas’s urgency. At first, Cole had doubted that the monitor was bugged. Cops were cheap. Criminals often had better technology. But if the device had a voice recorder, Vargas probably knew Cole had been muffling it. That was the reason Vargas was pushing so hard for information. He had proof of Cole’s failure to cooperate.

“Some parolees attempt to disguise their locations by covering the device with aluminum foil or other materials.”

Cole arched a brow. “Does that work?”

“Any deliberate interference will trigger the alarm.”

“Has my alarm gone off?”

“It’s not reporting your locations as often as it should.”

“Huh.”

“Let me take a look.”

Cole stretched out his leg as Vargas knelt beside his chair. Cole stared at the top of Vargas’s head, looking for weak spots. His hair wasn’t thinning on top, but he had a few grays. Cole wouldn’t mind giving him a few more.

“What about water?” Vargas asked.

“What about it?”

“You’re not supposed to submerge it.”

“You said it was waterproof.”

“I said you could shower.”

“I’ve been in the Jacuzzi tub a lot,” Cole said, stretching his neck. “Sore muscles.”

Vargas used the key to unlock the device and remove it for a closer study. Cole felt ten pounds lighter as soon as the damned thing was off. Good riddance to that ball and chain. Vargas placed the monitor on the table, still attached to the charger. “This system isn’t cheap. If you fuck it up, you’ll have to pay for a replacement.”

Cole shrugged. He didn’t care about money. Never had, never would.

After a series of tests, Vargas deemed the monitor acceptable and prepared to attach it to Cole’s ankle again. Cole tensed at the man’s touch. He didn’t like being poked and prodded and shackled, his every move tracked. He felt sick about the whole fucked-up situation.

It took Vargas a minute or two to lock the device in place. Cole grew increasingly uncomfortable with Vargas’s proximity and resentful of his ultimatum. “You look good down there, Investigator,” Cole said. “You sure you haven’t done time?”

Vargas released Cole’s ankle. “If you think I look good, you’ve done too much.”

“Your shrink girlfriend would look better.”

Without changing his expression, Vargas fit the key into his fist and punched Cole in the calf with it. The pain was exquisite.

Cole swung his arm toward Vargas, ready to backhand him into the stratosphere. But the blow didn’t connect. Vargas ducked and grabbed Cole’s wrist with his left hand, yanking him out of the chair. Cole wasn’t sure what happened after that. It was a red blur of fists and fury. One minute he was trying to put Vargas in a headlock. The next Cole was facedown on the carpet with his hands wrenched behind his back.

Mia burst into the room, drawn by the commotion. Her eyes widened with distress and disapproval.

Some of the tension left his body, replaced by a twinge of regret. He didn’t want her to see him like this. Flying off the handle was no way to convince her he didn’t have anger issues. It was no way to get in her pants, either.

Vargas sensed the change in Cole’s demeanor and released him. Bruce, who’d also joined the fray, scrambled to his feet. Cole didn’t know how they’d taken him down so quickly. Vargas appeared as cool and unflappable as ever, though his dark hair was tousled. Bruce was ruddy and out of breath.

“What’s going on in here?” Mia asked, frowning at all three of them.

Vargas didn’t answer. If there was anyone he wanted to impress, it was Mia. Cole felt a surge of possessiveness and pride, because she’d never be with Vargas. She belonged to Cole. She was
his
.

“Mr. Shepherd became agitated when I replaced his ankle monitor,” Vargas said. “Maybe I cinched it too tight.”

Fucking liar. Cole didn’t dispute him, but he wouldn’t forget.

“Does it need to be adjusted?” Mia asked.

“It’s fine,” Cole said, rolling down his pant leg.

“I can take him early, if you boys are done wrestling.”

“We’re done,” Vargas said.

Cole rose to his feet. He made a point of towering over Bruce.

“I need to see you after the session,” Vargas said to Mia.

She paled at the request. “Of course.”

“Get some ice for Shepherd,” Vargas said.

Bruce hurried to do Vargas’s bidding. Cole followed Mia into the hall, his body still surging with adrenaline. Before heading into her office, he stopped by the men’s room to check his injuries. His cheek was scraped. He rinsed his face with cool water and donned the neoprene muffler over his ankle. Then he joined Mia in her office.

She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly upset.

Bruce brought the ice pack a second later. Mia thanked him and closed the door, giving the pack to Cole. It was a freezer gel pack, wrapped in paper towels. He placed it against his cheek, studying her. Remembering how she’d looked with her lips moist and red from that berry drink. How fucking sweet she’d tasted.

“Relax,” he said. “I didn’t say anything about us.”

Her mouth, not sweet at all now, pursed with displeasure. She walked toward him, fingertips tapping on her upper arms. She was wearing a boring blouse today. Demure, with prim buttons to her throat. No worries; he had a vivid mental picture of her plump, pretty nipples spilling over the cups of her bra. His dick swelled at the memory.

She braced her hands on the armrest of his chair and brought her face close to his. “Don’t ever tell me to relax.”

He stopped fantasizing about her tits and met her gaze. She looked pissed.

She let go of his chair and started pacing the room. “Do you really want to change, or was that bullshit?”

Cole didn’t like being scolded, especially when he’d done nothing wrong. It wasn’t his fault that Vargas had attacked him. He also wasn’t sorry he’d told her to relax. Fuck everything.

“Why should I change if I can’t have you?”

“You sound like the boy who won’t clean his room unless he gets a cookie first.”

“I can wait for the cookie.”

“I’m not a cookie, Cole.”

He tossed the ice pack aside in frustration.

“The reward for change is staying out of prison. Living a clean life.”

“I’ll never be clean,” he said, touching the patch on his chest. Dirty Forever. He might betray his uncle, and the club, but he wouldn’t betray himself. He couldn’t deny his true nature. He wasn’t going to become a productive member of society.

Her gaze followed his fingertips and her expression grew pensive, as if she was thinking of the men who’d killed her husband. Comparing him to them.

The other night, he’d told her they could fuck with his cut on. Now he wanted to throw it across the room. Either that or get up and walk out. Her disappointment was destroying him. He’d do anything to erase the sadness in her eyes.

Talk about your feelings.

Her suggestion reached out to him like a lifeline. He’d rather wrap his arms around her than talk, but touching her wasn’t an option. He
did
want to change. He
did
want to control his anger and stay out of prison. Most of all, he wanted her. Desperately.

“I attacked Vargas because I was feeling...defensive.”

She sank into the chair in front of him. “Why?”

“He threatened to pull me from the assignment if I don’t deliver some specific information.”

“Is that what set you off?”

“No,” he said, scowling. “I hate wearing the ankle monitor. I hate having my personal space invaded. So I decided to make him uncomfortable, too.”

“How?”

“I told him he looked good on his knees. And when that didn’t get a reaction, I told him you’d look even better.”

She rested her elbows on her thighs and buried her head in her hands with a groan.

“He hit me first, but I deserved it. I insulted you.”

After a moment of contemplation, she nodded her understanding. “You’re both at fault. What about the other bruises?”

Cole fingered the bruise on his jaw. He’d been goaded into fighting Dimebag, just as Cole had goaded Vargas into fighting him. “I jumped a rival club member for talking shit about my brother.”

“This story sounds familiar.”

“Yes.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that your hair-trigger temper makes you easy to manipulate?”

He hadn’t thought of it that way before. Most people gave him a wide berth, and anyone who messed with him paid the price. But he paid the price for his impulsive actions, too. Escalating the situation wasn’t always the right choice. Maybe Dimebag had been looking for any excuse to draw on him. Cole was lucky his uncle had stepped in.

She picked up her notebook, taking a deep breath. “On Tuesday I asked about your relationships with women. Do you want to pick up there?”

“Sure,” he said, agreeable. This shouldn’t be too bad. He had no issues with women.

“You’ve mentioned intimacy as one of your goals.”

“Yeah.”

“What does it look like for you?”

He pictured her naked, spread out before him. “I don’t know what you mean.”