Love and Law (4 page)

Once again, I’m nodding my head. How lucky am I to get such a high-paying job at thirteen when Grammy is barely making minimum wage at the restaurant?

“Mister, what will we be selling?” I finally manage to ask.

He grins at me once again, this time reminding me of when my dad would think I’d done something cute or funny. “Son, call me Oculus. And we sell what the people want. What the people need. Welcome to the team.”

“We’ve got another shipment coming in this afternoon, but the fucking police are sniffing around everywhere since that girl was killed,” Oculus growls, dragging me from my memories.

I snap my attention to his. “One of ours?” I ask.

He nods his head again. “The girl was one of our dealers, but it wasn’t one of ours that killed her. I think Blaze is encroaching on our territory again. He’s being pretty fucking blatant about it too, which means they might be attempting a territory takeover. Things could get ugly, Pac, so stay on your toes.”

Just what we need—Blaze’s stupid ass fucking with things again. Last time, some of our best guys were killed in his previous attempt.

“Even though the chick was killed, we’ve had significant success with bitches pushing our product. They seem to blend in more—they are more unassuming. Time for you and CJ to go recruiting again. I think if we stay full and business as usual, Blaze can go fuck himself. His little operation is nothing in comparison to ours,” he huffs.

And he’s right. Blaze is small and insignificant. But Blaze is brazen and reckless. He’s not a smart businessman, but he’s a damn good gangster, which means he’ll do whatever it takes to further his own agenda.

“Since the police will be occupied with the dead girl, let’s do this exchange now. Tell Dison to meet us behind the elementary school in forty-five minutes,” I order hastily, momentarily forgetting that he’s my boss.

Oculus chuckles at my mishap. “See—this is why I hired you all those years ago. When I get ready to retire my old ass, you’re going to continue on just as I would. Your dad would be proud, boy,” he says with a wink.

The mention of my dad sucks the breath out of me, but I puff out my chest a little just thinking about it. And the funny thing is that I’m just as happy knowing that Oculus is proud of me as well.

My next words, which I deliver with a grin, earn me one of his usual glares. “Get to work, old man.” I walk out of the office, leaving him to curse after me.

“SHE’S FOR SURE A DEALER?” I ask as I squat near her body. She’s definitely young—probably seventeen if I had to guess.

“Yeah.” Jim sighs. “We found a little over two grand on her person and around twenty grams of cocaine primed for sale. Whoever shot her had no intentions of robbing her. It appears to be either gang related or some sort of revenge killing.”

He’s getting older and always seems to have a hard time when the victims are young. He’s the only one of us with children. Jake, Miguel, and I are all not only without children, but single as well. Jim’s been married to Molly for twenty-two years.

“Damn, Simpson,” Jake laughs at me. “This could be you next. Are you sure you can stay alive?”

I go to flip him off and tell him to fuck off but Miguel shoves him hard to the ground. Jake scrambles back to his feet, ready to take Miguel on head to head, but Jim is already pulling him back. I’ve managed to put myself in front of Miguel, between the two men.

“What the fuck is your problem, Lopez?” Jake snaps.

Miguel is breathing heavily behind me—so much so that his chest keeps hitting my back every time he exhales. “My problem is you, asshole. Leave her the hell alone, and your sorry ass better do all that you can to keep her safe,” he threatens.

“You two assholes need to cut the shit and get back to work. We’ll keep Maya safe. You know that, Lopez,” Jim assures him.

“Yeah. You’ll be back to fucking her by the weekend,” Jake says under his breath.

Miguel nearly knocks me over to go after him again, but I spin around and put my hands firmly on his rock-hard chest.

“Stop. Cool it, Miguel, so we can work on this case. I need your head clear,” I say calmly and look up at him.

He sadly looks down at my lips and studies them for a moment. Now that we’ve crossed that line between friends and something else, every moment will be like this. Weird.

I start to pull away to get back to the scene, but he grabs both of my wrists and stares intently down at me.

“I’ll keep you safe. No matter if you want me or not, I’ll always do my best to keep you safe. You’re my partner. My best friend,” he promises. And I believe him. He’s had my back since day one.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in! If it ain’t Miss Kerry Washington herself,” Paula gushes as I walk into the salon the next morning.

I roll my eyes at her, hating the comparison. It’s not that I have anything against the actress, but everyone tells me that I look like her. It gets old, and I hate the attention. Once while wearing my uniform in my rookie days, someone asked me what movie I was filming and if they could get my autograph. So fucking annoying.

“Hey, Paula. You’re rocking the Whoopi Goldberg look this week?” I tease, flicking my gaze up at her newly added braids.

She flings them over her shoulder and puts a hand on her hip. “Mmmhmmm, and you know I wear it better than that hussy.”

I laugh at her as I grab a smock and put it on. Thankfully, the salon is half full this morning. Paula has a loud mouth, and I would rather not announce it to the world why I’m getting a new look.

She stands behind me and pulls my hair back as she watches me in the mirror. Paula is actually very pretty. Her face is slender with very feminine features. Even though both of her parents are African-American, she has a more exotic, almost Latino look to her. I’m half convinced that her father isn’t who her mother says he is.

“What are we doing today, sweetie?” she asks.

I scrunch up my nose in disgust. I’d rather just leave my look the same, but if I want to look like a drug dealer, I can’t go in there looking like a conservatively dressed cop.

“Whatever you want,” I tell her in resignation.

Her brown eyes sparkle gleefully at the prospect of getting free rein over my hair. I still wonder why I haven’t fixed her up with Miguel yet. That would solve one of my problems at the moment.

“Oh, honey, don’t tell her that. You’ll come out looking like a drag queen on her wedding day,” the lady under the dryer tells me, looking up from her magazine.

“Gaylene! You were wrong for that. Besides, if you let Miss Paula do as she pleases, you’ll come out looking like RuPaul on the runway—that’s more like it,” the woman on the other side of me chimes in. They both cackle at their jokes.

“Jennifer, you better quiet down or I’m going to let our fresh-out-of-beauty-school girl, Nadine, cut your hair,” Paula threatens.

The women laugh some more but go back to reading their gossip magazines.

“Okay, hot stuff,” she warns. “I’m about to transform you.”

My stomach is tight with nerves—not only about a new hairdo, but because of the job ahead of me. I’ve never done undercover work, and I feel like Sommerhaul is just throwing me to the wolves. But I’m a tough girl. I take down assholes all the time. What are a few more?

Getting into the act worries me. I’m nothing but truthful in every sense of the word. Having to blatantly lie, even if it is to drug dealers, sets my nerves on edge. What happens if I mess up or they can see straight through me?

After hours of yanking, pulling, and watery eyes, Paula finally announces that I’m finished. She worked on my eyebrows and also applied some makeup. Normally, I am always fresh faced, but she said that I needed an edgier look.

When she turns the chair to face the mirror, I gasp. I look fucking intimidating. My dark hair is braided against my head in five braids, which are tied at the base of my neck. Each eyebrow is thinner than I’m used to and my eyes are outlined in black. Dark, purple lipstick stains my lips and my cheeks have a slight pink shade to them. When I frown, I’m shocked to see that I look downright scary.

“Shit, Paula,” I whisper in an almost whiny voice.

She giggles as she pulls the smock from me. Both Jennifer and Gaylene are watching me with eyebrows nearly up to their hairlines. I can tell that they don’t like what she’s done to me, but they wisely don’t say a word.

“You got this, girl,” she assures me, walking me to the door. “I know you won’t say what’s going on, because it has something to do with ‘official police business’, but I have faith in you, honey.”

And in a move uncharacteristic for me, I hug her. She smells good, and it reminds me that I really do need to hook her up with Miguel. They’d be hot together—much hotter than he and I could ever be.

Once I’ve pulled away from our embrace, I yank some money from my pocket and hand it to her. She smiles at me, but I don’t miss the worried look she tries to mask away. I can’t help but let some more anxiety seep into my bones. This is ridiculous. I’ve never once been scared on the job, and I sure as hell won’t start now. Surely I’m not getting soft these days. Fuck getting soft.

“Ready?” Miguel asks. He’s leaning up against the wall in the hallway with his arms folded.

I nod my head and pull on the backpack full of clothes and a few toiletries. I’ve just spent half an hour with Greta at the station picking through street clothes. She had a little too much fun dressing me to play the part. What is it with people treating me like I’m a freaking Barbie doll?

“Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell him, stopping in front of where he’s standing.

He frowns and drops his folded arms. “Come here,” he says gruffly.

I allow myself to be gathered in his embrace and bite my lip to keep from crying. Even though the guys will be watching at all times, I hate the idea of going in alone. Miguel has always been by my side.

His strong arms keep me locked in their grip, but the hug he gives me isn’t a sexual, needy one—it’s one of comfort. I snake my arms around his waist, relishing in the moment. When he starts rubbing my back, I sigh. Pretty soon, I feel his erection between us and I’m doused with a cold bucket of reality. Miguel and I will never be on the same page. Quickly, I pull myself from his grip and walk toward the parking garage.