Page 11 of Deadly Force

THREE

Caleb

I perch on the chair by the table, whistling as I grab a screwdriver from my bag, and begin repurposing the camera Brooke has given me. Each screw I remove clatters softly onto the table, a metallic percussion marking my progress.

Ten minutes later, fingers cramped from the careful work, I’ve jammed an extra clip into the cavity I created and still managed to close the camera housing. The modification isn’t pretty—slight gaps where the casing doesn’t align—but it'll do. The downside: I won’t be able to access the ammo without destroying the camera, making it a one-time emergency stash.

On the table, my phone blips. I toss the screwdriver back in my bag and pick it up.

“Morning, sunshine. You’re up early,” I say.

Delilah groans in my ear. “I forgot to put my earplugs in.”

I chuckle as I pull out my weapon and check the ammo count. “You have something for me?”

She yawns so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear. “Yeah. Mick’s sister has a rep for sticking her nose in where it’s not wanted.”

I glance up and catch a glimpse of Brooke walking around, brushing her teeth while trying to put her shoes on.

Shaking my head, I return my attention to Delilah. “You’ve been talking to the local LEO?”

“If you mean talking, my AI shook hands with their AI, so I was able to take a peep at her records.”

I lower my voice, frowning as I push a bullet back into the clip. “She has a record?”

“More like they keep tabs on her. Kind of a ‘What is she doing now’ file. I think it’s more to protect themselves. She’s kind of... tenacious.”

A little red light starts flashing in my brain. Another warning that this isn’t going to be as easy as I first thought. A nosy reporter with no fear is dangerous to law enforcement. She might think she’s doing the right thing, but civilians have zero experience or understanding of how things actually work in the real world.

“No arrests?” I ask.

“No. Not yet.”

"Not yet" is an accurate assessment. For someonelike Brooke, who’s always hungry for the truth, following the law to the letter may not be a priority.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Hang on…”

I slide the rest of the bullets back into the clip while I wait, listening to her tap away.

“Not sure if this is important, but there’s a note on her file from a… Sgt. Guthrie. Looks like he left it a few years back before he retired. Says she’s always involved in something. He even has a nickname for her. Gonzo.”

“Gonzo?”

Delilah laughs. “Yeah. Had me stumped too. Sam was here with me, and she knew all about it. It’s a style of journalism. Usually the reporter’s right in the middle of the action.”

I search my memory banks and wince when I recall the journalist who liked blurring fiction with fact. And drugs. A whole lot of drugs. “You think Brooke’s emulating a maniac like Hunter S. Thompson?”

“I don’t know. But it would explain how chill she is.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

“Can you do a background check on Guthrie for me?”

She pauses. “I can... but you’ll have to get in line.”

Brooke appears in the doorway, tugging a black blazer over a creamy blouse, wearing a skirt andstrappy sandals with a heel. Her black hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s swiped her lips with shiny gloss, but it’s her eyes that draw me in. Emphasized by tawny makeup and mascara, they’re a deep well of brown, and they seem to pierce right to the marrow.