Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

Those last two facts are what give me pause. It makes me wonder . . . what could he be up to? And is he thinking clearly?

He’s a smart man, military trained and experienced. Despite the future military career opportunities, he’s a man who might feel he has nothing left to lose except for the one person he holds closest, my Allison.

I wished I’d realized he was behind me, but I have to give him credit that he was rather stealthy in that. Only the building security system, which I’m hacked into, of course, alerted me that the stairwell had been breached.

What surprised me, however, was that he didn’t immediately return to Allie to sell me out.

That has my internal alarm bells beeping. He’s up to something.

We’ve already established that he thinks I’m unworthy of her, but perhaps with this ammunition, he thinks Allie would see the logic of his argument. Perhaps he’s right, that he could spin this in such a way that it would be the tipping point for her.

I don’t think so, but I can’t be totally sure.

My phone rings on the desk, the buzzing vibrating it across the surface.

Seeing Gavin’s name, I purse my lips. He’s on pickup duty tonight, making the rounds to trusted locations, and it should be an easy evening for him. Nothing worthy of a call.

“Yes?”

“Uh, hey, Boss. Sorry to bother you, but I’m out doing pickups. I was doing my check-ins with Logan per protocol, and I saw something he said you’d be interested in.”

There’s a pause I don’t bother filling. Gavin’s a good man, and there are times when his garrulous nature and easygoing talk are helpful. He can put people at ease a lot easier than Logan or myself. Still, I value words like they are nuggets of gold and find that Gavin spends his far too easily, so I sit back, waiting.

When he receives no response, he continues. “Yeah, or maybe not something so much as someone. I’m on the South Side, at Harry’s place. Allie’s brother is sitting on a barstool, nursing his second beer and staring vacantly at the wrestling. Shit show tonight, by the way.”

“That’s it?” I ask, blinking.

Gavin clears his throat. “Yes, sir. Logan said you’d want to know.”

“Thank you, Gavin. That’ll be all. Continue as scheduled for the night.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Gavin says, hanging up quickly.

I set my phone down and lean back, another move on the chessboard becoming visible. I doubt TJ is drinking his worries away. He’s not the type.

He’s plotting.

Two can play that game, and I’m a Grand Master of it. The question, of course, is which piece I should use to counter him? Never do I consider whether what I’m doing is the right thing, whether it makes me more of a lowlife, or perhaps if I’m doing him a favor. No, I just decide . . . who do I use?

I pick my phone back up, dialing a number. The fact that the phone is picked up before the second ring and that a soft voice answers the phone tells me the baby is asleep.

“Hello?”

“Miss Cole, how are you and Violet this evening?”

The way her breath stops for a moment tells me that she recognizes my voice and knows exactly who I am this time.

“Mr. Angeline!” she says, and I can hear her moving before her voice picks up again, this time louder. “How . . . I mean, uhm . . . how are you?”

“Shh,” I reassure her, “No need to wake the baby. I’m just checking in.”

“Oh, we’re fine,” Miss Cole says, relieved but still suspicious. “Although I’m wondering why you’re calling. Robbie’s been good. We’re all good here.”

Her words are stilted, coming bit by bit, but she’s centering herself as the strong woman I know her to be with every syllable, protective of her blossoming family.

“Good, good. Speaking of which, is Mr. Zallow available presently?”

“I . . .”

I know she’s going to tell me no, so I cut her off, letting a threat enter my tone. “Put him on the phone.”

She sighs, and I hear more footsteps, a door open, and then she says in a background voice, “For you. It’s Angeline.”

There’s a rustle and then a deep voice comes on the line. “Yeah?”

I’m not accustomed to being greeted so casually, but this man owes me no respect beyond basic civility. In some ways, it’s refreshing, even if it is something I will need to curtail in the future.

And good form requires me to demand it anyway. “Mr. Zallow. I have an assignment for you.”

He huffs a small laugh. “Polite decline. We’ve gone over this already. My allegiance isn’t to you, and it never will be.”

“Oh, but you do have a previous allegiance,” I remind him, revealing my trump card. “To your military brethren.”

I know he’s a good man at heart and I’m happy to exploit that. That I would invoke his military experience will surely irk him but pique his interest as well.