Make Me Up (Killer Style 3)

Caitlyn gave her an assessing look. “Because nothing’s fucked up about you except your makeup.”

At least nothing that the other woman could see. Inside, it was a totally different story.

Cam didn’t bother to turn the lights on at the safe house while he spilled the entire story to Reggie over the phone. He told him everything from the shooting at Drea’s apartment to what they’d found out about Fergus to the confrontation with Knight in the park woods.

“So do you know who’s on shift tonight at county?” he asked. He sat in the gloomy kitchen, alone in dusk’s last dying light, and waited for his friend’s answer as his stomach lining cannibalized itself.

The sound of shuffling papers came over the line. “Shit.” Reggie sighed. “Stefford’s on the clock tonight. IAD hasn’t pinned anything on him, but trust me, he stinks. This is not good. You gotta get her out at soon as you can.”

“Fuck.” He’d made the best call he could at the time with the information he had. “Can you stick close by tonight?”

“Oh yeah, that’s not going to draw attention at all,” Reggie deadpanned. “But yes. I’ll do it.”

“Thanks man.” He hung up.

That would take care of tonight, but Knight had been right. If they didn’t get Drea at the station, they’d get her in county. They had to get her out of there before she got transferred. She’d go to arraignment first thing in the morning. There was no judge in the world who would give her bond after she’d been on the lam—thanks to him.

If only they could break her out. The station had too much security for that. He paced the kitchen, unable to forget the nugget of an idea. He paused in front of the kitchen window, scanning the road for Lee and Roscoe. A black van drove by. It was big and bulky, similar to the kind he and his paramilitary team had used for prisoner transport.

The plan crystallized in his mind before his next breath. It was crazy. Nuts. It would be difficult for one man to carry off, but not impossible. Then he’d do whatever it took to get Fergus to confess to the cops. That would clear Drea of murder and expose Diamond Tommy’s scheme so he had no reason to go after her any more.

He couldn’t do it though if he went off halfcocked. He needed intel. His fingers hit the first number in his speed dial.

…

“This is a harebrained scheme with forty to one odds it will work,” Reggie groused, though with just enough curiosity to give Cam hope.

“Never tell me the odds.” It was only half a joke. He couldn’t think about even the slightest chance of failure with Drea’s life on the line. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—fail.

“Stop quoting Star Wars. You’re no Hans Solo, and Diamond Tommy sure as hell ain’t Darth Vader.”

No, he was worse. But it didn’t matter. Cam would do whatever it took to save Drea. He’d made a promise, and he meant to keep it. “I need your help. She’s…special.”

“Really? What a total shocker.” Reggie’s sarcasm came through loud and clear. “I figured the cow eyes and putting yourself in Tommy’s crosshairs was just because you were fucking bored.”

Despite the no-shit-Sherlock tone, Cam knew the man as close to him as a brother wouldn’t leave him swinging in the wind. “So you’ll give me some intel?”

The other man sighed into the phone. “What do you need?”

He filled Reggie in on the plan, hung up, and went back to twiddling his thumbs when all he wanted to do was rush out the door with his guns blazing. But he couldn’t go off like a rogue agent this time. He’d learned his lesson.

Lee was a total dick, but if he said he and Roscoe would show, they’d show. Until then it was just Cam and the guilt twisting him inside out. He’d played it fast and easy in Harbor City without any real plan, trusting his luck would get Drea out of trouble. But when it mattered most, he’d failed her. Spectacularly.

Tires crunched over the gravel drive.

He crossed the kitchen and pulled back the red checked curtains. A familiar Dodge Charger sat in the driveway. Tony’s car. But it wasn’t his boss behind the wheel. It was Sylvie. Ryder sat in the passenger seat. Ryder he understood. Besides begin Drea’s best friend, she was a Maltese investigator. But Sylvie? That just meant he was in for an ass chewing—not that he didn’t deserve that and more.

Alex Lee pulled up a second later in his Prius, yet another reason not to like the guy. Will Roscoe parked his black truck on the street.

Cam pulled a mug from the cabinet next to the window and poured himself a cup of coffee. It was going to be a long night.

…

A loud buzz sounded loud enough to make Drea’s teeth ache, and the door at the end of the hallway opened. Detective Reggie Watts walked through. He looked haggard compared to when he’d questioned her at the Orton’s. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling fucked over.

He glanced down at his clipboard. “Sanford.”

She jumped up and ran to the bars, ignoring the other women’s hard stares. “Is he alive?” Her heart thundered in her chest. If he said no, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.