Deadly Assets (Badge of Honor 12)

Just as she jumped onto the bed, Tyrone’s cell phone—which he had tossed on the couch next to his black Ruger 9-millimeter semiauto pistol when he had undressed—began ringing.

Or, perhaps more correctly, it began rapping.

Hooks had recorded songs he had written on the computer, and from those digital files had created ring tones, then transferred the rings to his cell phone, where he had linked them to the telephone numbers of select members of his crew.

“Damn it!” he said, recognizing who was calling without needing to look at the phone screen.

“Anything wrong?” Carmelita said, watching the skinny Tyrone walk quickly to the couch and grab the phone off the seat cushion.

He ignored her, then snapped at the caller: “You better be calling to say it’s done.”

Carmelita could hear the male voice of the caller but could not make out what he was saying, only picking up on his tone. He sounded, she thought, excited in a nervous way—maybe even scared.

“Look, man,” Tyrone said angrily, his eyes darting at Carmelita then away, “we’ve been over this. You gotta just do it. You hearing me? ’Cause if you don’t, you know what happens.”

There was no reply for a moment, then Carmelita heard the caller mumble, “All right.”

“Don’t say it—do it! Let me know when it’s done. No surprises.”

Hooks ended the call, and was about to toss the phone back on the cushion when it made a Ping-Ping! sound.

He looked at the screen and read the text message: “Yo, King. Bags in AC safe. All good here. TV news keeps showing smash & grab. That dude really dead???”

Tyrone turned his back to Carmelita, then thumbed a reply: “News says 1 dead 1 shot. Stay there. No casinos!! Lay low til I say.”

He nodded as he glanced at the crushed velvet pouch and thought: Lucky they got to the Shore quick. Five-Oh really got to be looking hard for them, especially since he killed that guy. Damn good news that loot’s locked up.

Right after he hit SEND, the phone made another Ping-Ping!

“Damn,” he said in a hiss, then flipped the switch to silence the phone.

He suddenly felt the warmth of Carmelita’s skin against his back, then her arms wrapping around him, her gentle fingers finding his curly black chest hairs. She rested her chin on his shoulder. He could feel her moist breath on his ear.

“You ever shoot anyone, King?” she said.

Hooks jerked his head.

“Why the hell you say that?”

“You rap about it,” she said, her tone playful but serious. “You got the nine. Just wonder sometimes if you’ve done it.”

She buried her face in his neck as her right hand slipped down to his belly and then to his groin.

Hooks inhaled deeply.

“Well, baby, I rap about some super-hot sex, too, so what do you think?”

He exhaled as he glanced at the phone screen and saw that the text massage read “Call me QUICK!”

“What’s that text about?” Carmelita said.

“You oughta not ask so many questions,” Hooks said sharply, turning from the phone toward her.

She stuck out her lower lip in a pout—just as her hand grasped him in a way that left no question she wasn’t really pouting.

After a very brief moment he grinned, tossed the phone back beside the pistol on the couch, and said, “But that one’s about nothing that ain’t gonna wait!”

He then roughly pulled a giggling Carmelita back across the room to the bed.