Make Me Up (Killer Style 3)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bored didn’t e

ven begin to describe his tone.

She wrapped her fingers around the bars and pulled herself closer. “Cam,” desperation put a shrill twist to her voice. “In the park. There was—”

The detective cut her off. “I warned Cam that you two couldn’t run forever.” Reggie glanced around at the cell’s occupants, who’d stayed clear of the detective. He lowered his voice. “He’s okay. He’s working on something, but I’m hearing talk.”

Her grip tightened around the bars. “Diamond Tommy?” Just saying his name gave her the same shivers as when she was twelve and had chanted Bloody Mary into the bathroom mirror at midnight. Only this time, the threat wasn’t only in her imagination.

The detective gave her a curt nod. “I’m doing what I can, for Cam’s sake, but you keep your head up.”

She looked around. Unease dug its claws into her shoulders. The crime boss had promised retribution if she didn’t beat feet out of town. Any one of the women in the cell—even the officer outside the door—could be a plant with murder on the brain. Maybe he’d send back the two dirty cops who’d brought her in.

“You’ll be arraigned first thing tomorrow morning,” Reggie said in his normal booming cop voice as he walked away from the cell. “After that, it’s county until you make bail, assuming the judge grants it.”

She gulped over the fear blocking her throat. “And if he doesn’t?”

He paused at the security door with his keycard in mid-swipe. “You don’t want to think about that.” He slid his card across the reader, and the door buzzed open.

Drea went back to her seat on the bench and kept her back flat against the cement wall. She’d be thinking of little else tonight.

…

Cam knew what was coming as soon as Sylvie and Ryder walked through the door looking as pissed as avenging angels with Jägermeister hangovers. Roscoe and Lee filed in after them, carrying black duffle bags of tactical gear. The women, however, seemed to only be carrying grudges.

“I know.” He held up his hands palm first. “I fucked up.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Sylvie said.

“You ever think of calling in help before you’re hip deep in shit?” Ryder asked.

Defensiveness hunched up his shoulders. “Like you’re one to talk.”

Ryder didn’t have a quick retort for that one. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d had to call in all the favors he could to get his old hostage rescue team to fly to The Andol Republic without any notice and save her bacon—not to mention that of her fiancé, Devin. But he’d done it because she’d been a friend in need. And now it was his turn to ask for his friends to call in some markers. If he had to admit his culpability to do that, so be it.

“You’re right, but I promise it was the best of two shitty options.” He lowered his voice so only Sylvie and Ryder would hear what came next. “I’ve outrun trouble my entire life, but this wasn’t about that. It was about saving Drea.”

“So stop running.” Sylvie jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “Stand your ground.”

“Ain’t nothing gonna stop me.” And it wouldn’t. He’d never let it again. “But I’m doing it alone. I just need you guys to help me get the details right. I can’t ask you to put your lives and freedom on the line for me.”

“Screw that,” Ryder said. “This is you and Drea we’re talking about. You’re family.”

The declaration hit Cam dead on. Besides the judge and Reggie, he’d never really had a family before—at least not one like this. He looked around the room at the Maltese Team and the stubborn determination to help he saw on all their faces nearly leveled him.

“Whether you want to be or not,” Sylvie added. She turned to Alex and Roscoe. “Don’t you agree?”

The guys both agreed.

“Glad to hear it.” Sylvie nodded, still not smiling at him but not glaring daggers either.

“Now that the touchy feely crap is out of the way, can we get down to business?” Lee poured himself a cup of coffee.

Cam made short work of bringing the team up to speed on everything that had happened since Natasha Orton died.

“Reggie’s watching over her while she’s in the holding cell tonight, but if we don’t get her out of police custody tomorrow, Diamond Tommy will get to her in county.” The idea set off Cam’s gag reflex. “He’ll pay off the guards to look the other way and she’ll be lucky if she makes it a week.” Cam’s stomach shriveled at the thought. “We’ve got to get to her before he does.”

“So we post bail.” Roscoe’s solution was as straight to the point as the Southern transplant.