The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 2)

“I am.” José glanced at the window, and wanted to change the subject—like he had some kind of nuptial survivor’s guilt. “Light’s getting low early now.”

“Winter is coming. Anyway, enough about ex-wives and the weather. Tell me what you know so far about Officer Roberts.”

“Yeah, so the coroner bumped the autopsy up and performed it this afternoon. I just got the results. We got a bullet.”

“Good. Ballistics working on it?”

“Yup. Meanwhile, Treyvon and I went through Roberts’s apartment.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing we didn’t expect. Old takeout in the fridge. Beer cans in the recycling bin. No signs of a struggle or a robbery. We didn’t come across any car keys, but they could have fallen out of a pocket when he was in the river. Same with his wallet.”

“What about the car?”

“Haven’t located that yet. It’ll turn up.”

“This city is getting too violent.” Stan cursed again. “Maybe I just need to go on a vacation, get recharged. Or retire, like you.”

“You got a good pension.”

“No, I got good debt. I had to second-mortgage everything to pay Ruby off—so she could afford that other wedding dress of hers. And anyway . . . normal life is expensive.” He shrugged. “Then again, I could always get another job after this one. Maybe I can open a food truck. Or drive one, as it were.”

“Do you cook?”

“Okay, something else then.” The captain motioned around his desk. “Come on, I’m too old school for this job now. Look at this shit. Everything’s about computers, and has been for a decade. Maybe longer. I’m next to useless.”

“The officers love you. You got a lot of loyalty among the rank and file.”

“That new mayor, though. She’s going to run me out.” Stan shrugged. “Maybe I only need a sailboat.”

“For, like, recreation?”

“As an escape.”

“Have you been on the water before? Do you even swim?”

“Are you just here to poke holes in all my future plans? And I’m just talking about sailing off into the sunset. Hey, so what are you going to do with all your free time?”

José laughed softly. “I’ma start by going an entire week without getting woken up in the middle of the night.”

“You have low standards, my friend.”

“Fair enough.” José got to his feet. “Have fun at Mr. Fontaine’s.”

“Hey, do you need any other resources to help you with both those cases?”

José shook his head. “Treyvon and I got this. And everyone in the department is helping.”

“That’s great. That’s how it should be.” Stan shifted his weight up onto his worn loafers and held his forefinger on high. “Listen, before I forget, can you give me a copy of the most updated report on Roberts? I’m hounded by cameras everywhere I go, and I need to be prepared for the questions with all relevant details. Controlling your expression when you’re confronted by shit is harder than you think, and the press seems to know everything.”

“Man, I’m glad I don’t have your job.”

“I just want to be prepared.”

“Of course. And I’ll get you everything before I leave tonight.”

“Hate to ask you to stay late.”

“It’s my job. At least for another four weeks.”

Goodbyes were said, and then José closed the door behind himself and gave a wave to Willie, the captain’s executive assistant, who was back at her desk in the waiting room.

Homicide was just down the hall from the chief ’s suite, and on the approach, he could hear the murmuring voices of the bullpen out in the corridor. Walking into the open area with its cubicles and fast-talking detectives, he felt an old, familiar charge go through him. It wasn’t pleasurable, per se, but he didn’t dislike it, either.

The idea of never experiencing the adrenaline surge again made him feel like he was in a kind of mourning.

Trying to keep himself from overthinking everything, he headed for Trey’s desk and thought about Stan’s chief shit—and was so glad the force didn’t have some disconnected bureaucrat sitting in that chair.

If that man was serious about leaving, too, José had another reason to be glad he was retiring.

Things were going to change in the CPD if Stan was no longer in charge.

And not in a good way.

Back at the prison camp, Rio’s mind was churning as she returned to those private quarters upstairs. As Mayhem entered the code again and sprang the lock, she walked in and stood over the bodies of the two guards. As an undercover officer, there were rules and regulations about things she could and couldn’t do, and she wasn’t exactly sure how many she had tripped up in the last twenty-four hours. Then again, everyone back in Caldwell no doubt thought she was dead.

Not that that gave her a pass.

“Just outside, then?” she said. “Where exactly?”

This gruesome task was necessary. She needed to get a sense of the exterior of the facility, and she was running out of time. They were liable to blindfold her on the way out when they left after dark, so if she could see the exterior of the building now, it would make it easier to identify and locate the operation, wherever it was.