Meridian waited until Ex was sound asleep and stayed that way before he eased out of his room at quarter to six in the morning.
“You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” God growled in the prosecutor’s face. “You better be. Because you better not be fuckin telling me that you’re throwing out another one of my arrests.”
Syn—their sergeant—surged forward and shoved his forearm into God’s chest, pushing him away from the arrogant prick. God felt as though his head was going to explode. There was no way this bullshit could be happening to them again.
“Lieutenant Godfrey. You don’t have enough to hold Jason and Marcus Stewart on accessory to murder. He and his brother weren’t even in town when that happened. They both have alibis.”
“From girlfriends! That’s hardly air-tight!” God barked. He knew he was getting dangerously close to doing harm to the man in front of him but he was tired of the new deputy district attorney blocking their every effort to protect Atlanta. “And what about the possession and selling charges?”
“Your videos are speculative at best,” the man said as he pulled at his yellow paisley necktie the more God fumed in his face. The new prosecutor couldn’t have been any more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old, fresh from his internship in the magistrate’s office, with a firm, scared stick up his ass. “The images are dark, I could have a problem with arguing identity. Their attorneys could argue entrapment here. On two of these videos, you’re using an undercover officer.”
“Since when is that inadmissible? Let the goddamn jury decide, Mr. Rowland,” Syn spoke next, still keeping himself between God and the nervous state attorney.
“God, ease back.” The captain told him. His boss was trying to be diplomatic, but even God could see their captain was also fed up with their cases being tossed—some with what they considered to be concrete evidence. Instead of the prosecutor taking it to the grand jury and letting them decide on the evidence, he himself kept releasing their busts back onto the streets faster than they could pick them up.
“Look. I’ve already sent in for their release,” the attorney said after picking up his shiny new briefcase—a graduation gift perhaps—and standing in front of the office door.
“What!” God yelled. “Why did you do that?”
“Were you not listening?” Mr. Rowland sighed. “They asked for lawyers hours ago. You’re done.”
“No. We’re not done questioning them on the drive-by last month. You know, the one that killed a teenage kid with a scholarship to Georgia Tech. Or do you not fucking care about that?” Their captain was around his desk now, his eyes narrowed on the attorney who’d begun to sweat around his starched collar. He could obviously see they weren’t buying the bullshit he was selling.
“I do care, Captain Meyers.” Mr. Rowland smoothed his hand over his ugly tie again, shaking his head as if they just didn’t get it. “I also care about the reputation of this precinct and our district. Your prized detectives are just getting off a restriction from their own SWAT unit for unfit behavior. My office is not taking any more risks. We want clean busts, and even cleaner evidence. I’m sorry to have to do this, fellas, really. My decision is final. I won’t go to court without everything I need to get a conviction. I would think you all would understand winning. And I know your jobs aren’t easy out there. My job is hard too.”
“Fuck you,” God snarled in the man’s face, cutting off his crap. He felt his husband’s hand curl around his bicep and squeeze, the touch cooling his irritated skin. Leonidis Day was the only person alive with the ability to move him. After several tense seconds God took a few steps back, gritting his teeth against the barrage of insults on the tip of his tongue. When the attorney was at a safe distance, Day released him, his fingertips dragging down his forearm before reluctantly pulling away.
“Jesus. What the hell is going on, Cap?” Syn grumbled, sounding exhausted. God and Day couldn’t have asked for a better sergeant to help them run their task force. Syn was smart, diplomatic when needed and hardcore on the streets.
“I don’t know, Syn. But I’m gonna find out.” Captain Meyers pulled a couple of files from inside his desk and yanked his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “I’ll get back with you all soon. Go home. Get some rest. God, you look like shit. We’ll talk on Monday. I need to check into something.”
God felt as if he’d been run over by a semi. He’d been operating on fumes for days and now he felt as if not only was his body crashing, but so was his mind. He ambled from the Captain’s office, through the quiet bullpen and into their department. His men were all there, despite the horrid hour, waiting on him to give them positive news... news that he didn’t have.