Page 95 of Sticks and Stones (FBI Romance/Thriller #65)

The Lunch Box

Three P.M.

Meet-up

W hen they arrived at the café, Greyson was already there, and he had a table for them. As they reached him, they were out of their coats, and had people staring at them as they sat down.

There was no doubt why.

They were still in their vests, but after Diesel had bitten the big one, yesterday, they weren’t taking a chance.

“I ordered us burgers,” Greyson said. “They should be out any minute.”

That worked for them.

Gene was on the outside of the booth, making sure his man was safe.

Screw it.

That protective Gene was back on duty.

“We appreciate you meeting us,” Gene said. “Did Gabe give you a call?” he asked.

He nodded.

“Yeah, he gave me an update. I also have some updates for you.”

That worked.

They’d get this over with then, so they could focus on Bull’s , and how they were going to do it. Gene imagined that backup would be coming soon enough.

“What do you have?”

Greyson slid a paper across the table, and the men checked it out.

It was lab results from everything they’d submitted regarding Corbin’s assault.

“They tagged four samples of DNA from the swabs you slipped to our techs. They ran them and came up with four names.”

They read over them.

‘Mario Turner

Raymond Archer

Miles Radcliff

Simon Aldridge’

The only one missing from the DNA list was Nathaniel Hargrove, but they didn’t doubt that he’d assaulted Corbin too. They had the video as proof.

Well, had. They’d deleted it for Corbin.

“That’s Renegade, Truck, Bullet, and Rebel. The only one who isn’t on there is Nomad,” Ethan admitted.

“Well, we’ve got them dead to rights,” Greyson said. “I’m forwarding that to Gabe. They’ll be handled, I’m sure.”

Oh, likely.

“Also, the clothing had more DNA on it,” he said, slipping them another paper.

Corbin’s and three of the men’s DNA were on the samples.

“That’s where Nathaniel Hargrove’s DNA shows up to the party.”

Well, they got them.

Corbin could rest at ease.

“I hope they all rot in those concrete cages,” Gene said, as the waitress came over with three plates with burgers and fries.

They waited for her to leave before eating and talking about the case.

Greyson slipped another page across.

“That’s the mattress. That’s where it gets chaotic. They found seventy-five different matches of DNA on that nasty ass mattress—including Corbin’s blood. Because he’s a cop, and his DNA is on file, it hit in the system, but I’m the one who went in and printed it out, so no one knows it’s him.”

For that, they were grateful.

Greyson lowered his voice.

“I called Reed, and I’m having the sample shipped to us. I told him it was dangerous, and he was more than happy to have it gone. Gabe wants it in-house. We’ll test the shit that was on it. The more I think about it, the more I don’t believe it’s any of the victims. Someone’s yanking our chain.”

Ethan agreed.

“If we’re lucky, the person behind this doesn’t know that you can pull DNA from shit. If that’s his, we’ll get him.”

That was the plan.

Gene knew they needed to get Greyson up to speed.

“Reed pulled old cases, and he found other tox reports with an unknown drug in their systems,” he said, eating some fries.

“He’ll get us the names, but it looks like this asshole has been doing this for about a year.

That’s before we got here. It makes sense that we went into Bull’s, and they had males being used by the bikers. ”

Greyson whistled.

“We gotta shut this down. I hope the dumped bodies means he’s stopped. I don’t like to see a person run, but I really don’t want more people to be put through this.”

They knew what he meant.

“When they’re ID’d, we’ll do notifies,” Ethan said. “They deserve to be found and sent home.”

They all agreed there.

“As for the rest,” Ethan began, “We should be good. If the person behind this dumped the bodies, and is trying to point this at the bikers as his accomplice, that tells me he’s scared,” he admitted. “I can’t see him grabbing any more, and risking getting caught.”

Gene agreed.

“I’m with Ethan on this. That was a half-assed attempt to slow us down. Only, we’re beyond that. He might think the men are in a regular lockup and not talking.”

That was a good point.

Gene continued.

“We have other issues,” he stated.

Uh-oh.

“What?” Greyson asked.

Gene clued him in.

“The media was sicced on us, and we don’t know how. What we do know is our suspect list is shit. We interviewed Harrison Dunne, who has a sugar daddy who called and ratted us out to the commissioner.”

Greyson laughed.

“Oh, the commissioner called me right before I left here. He left an angry voicemail on my phone. He wants your asses back there.”

Gene grinned maniacally.

“When pigs fucking fly,” he said, having some fries. “He can kiss my ass.”

Why wasn’t Greyson surprised that was his answer?

“He wasted our time, and made us sit there, so we headed out to the scene, blowing him off. Before him, we played games with Julian Mercer. The man’s a creep.”

Greyson lifted a brow.

“Define ‘creep’ ,” he said. “That’s a pretty broad term in our world.”

That it was.

They told him all about how he came to the door and willingly brought up that he was having sex with the victims. Then, how he slept with everyone he could.

Greyson was confused.

“How did he know you guys were heading there?” he asked.

They both shrugged, and Gene took a stab at it.

“The only thing I can think to tie them together is Stafford Townsend. They’re both uber-rich. Maybe he moves in the same circles. Other than that, no freaking clue. We heard he has fingers everywhere though, so who knows,” Gene admitted.

Greyson didn’t like that.

“Neither rich dude panned out. We only have a few suspects, and we’re chasing our tails trying to find a white Benz. None of them own one—that we can confirm. You know that the rich can hide that under businesses. We’ll never find it.”

Greyson didn’t like this.

“What are the chances we’re going to get our asses handed to us with this?”

Ethan didn’t even bother doing the math.

“When don’t we?” he asked. “What I do know is Julian Mercer is going to be problematic. He’s a sociopath, and he’s definitely intrigued by attention.”

No one wanted that.

“So unless we get something from Cash Masters, or we show there and he’s disappeared, we’re SOL,” Gene admitted.

Being SHIT OUT OF LUCK was pretty much an obstacle they always faced.

Before he could say anything else, Gene cleared his throat.

“Heads-up. Two cops are heading our way,” he said, taking a sip of his soda so they didn’t see his mouth.

When Gene glanced over, he recognized the men.

It was Detective Kip Rivet, and his partner, Detective Payton Eastcott.

Oh, this was interesting.

There was no freaking way they happened to cross paths. This smelled like the commissioner, or Oliver Guy.

“Hey,” Kip said. “We stopped in for lunch, and saw you guys here,” he said.

Gene stared at him.

Bullshit.

“Yeah, well, we’re getting lunch. Even Feds have to eat,” he said, as they parked it at the table next to them.

The one cop was curious.

“How’s Corbin doing?” Kip asked.

Gene was honest.

“Recovering,” he said, refusing to give them anything more. He didn’t like games, and all day, that seemed to be what they were playing.

Games with Harrison Dune.

Games with Stafford Townsend.

Games with Julian Mercer.

Oh, and games with the commissioner.

“That’s good,” Payton stated. “Send our regards.”

Uh-huh.

Gene wasn’t mincing words. It was time for everyone to show their hand, and by everyone, he meant them.

“Okay, let’s drop the nicey-nice bullshit. What are you two really doing here? You told us yesterday that you both were pulled off the case over here. Do you have another case you’re working in this part of town? On a Sunday?” he asked, suspiciously.

The one cop laughed.

“You’re paranoid,” Kip said.

Gene didn’t deny it.

That was how he stayed alive.

He.

Questioned.

Everything.

“When it comes to cops in this city, I’ve learned to expect to get bit in the ass by their antics. Just lay it out,” he said. “You’re looking for us, and you’re working in this part of town.”

Kip sighed.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “The commissioner has us watching the bar again. He doesn’t trust that you guys are going to handle it. He wants us updating him since you’re dodging him.”

And there it was.

“On an FBI operation, he has two cops spying on us?” Ethan asked.

Both men shrugged.

“If it matters, we were really here to get something to eat. We’re sitting on Bull’s for the night. He wants this solved for Detective Price. That’s the truth.”

Greyson didn’t like this.

The city commissioner was tangling with the wrong people. The FBI could get mean.

If Gabe got wind of this…

Heads.

Would.

Roll.

That was playing a dangerous game with the Deputy Director of the FBI.

“So he has you sitting on that bar?” Gene asked. “Come on. That’s poppycock too. You don’t believe that, so why should we?”

Kip was to the point.

“We think it’s because he’s worried about a lawsuit,” he stated. “The commissioner knows that the police dropped the ball by letting Corbin go in by himself. He’s been more paranoid than you two. He’s been trying to get information on Corbin.”

Well, he wasn’t getting any.

“Only, he can’t find him,” Payton said. “He’s contacted Corbin’s mother, and she said her son was someplace safe.”

Oh, well, Alice was correct on that.

“We’re being straight up with you. That’s the truth,” he said. “We saw some unmarked cars park near the bar, and we backed up to put space between us. We were going to grab food and head back there in a bit.”

Greyson kept eating, but he warned them.

“Those are Feds. We’re running a sting in a little bit. Our team is getting in place and doing surveillance. If I were you, I’d not go back there. They’ll be documenting all cars and people near the place.”

They got it.

“We’ll stay back. Only, we have to work it. You know how the commissioner is. We have to be there, and now, especially if you’re going in.”