No More Mr. Nice Guy (22 page)

I could feel my face beginning to swell as I blinked my eyes open, trying to stay conscious. I'd never felt that much pain in my life, and I'd given birth to a ten-pound baby. Grabbing my throbbing face in my hand, I stared up at Majestic's blurry silhouette feeling nothing but hatred. I had no idea what I'd done to cause this much anger, but I nearly peed myself when he leaned down, his fist balled in a knot, ready to strike me again.

“What did I do?” I cried, praying he would have mercy on me.

“It's what you didn't do. Why didn't you tell me you were at the bar that night Rodney got shot?” For a second, I was so glad MJ was not there, because if he was scaring me, my child would have been terrified.

“I was there, but the last time I saw Rodney he was alive,” I said, trying to defend my actions and hide the ones he didn't yet know about. I placed a hand on the wall, standing up on shaky legs.

“Don't fucking lie to me, Keisha.” He raised his hand high in the air.

“I'm not lying. I don't know anything,” I cried out, trying to manipulate him into taking pity on me. “It was packed in there.”

That's when I glanced over and saw my mother standing in the doorway with a smirk on her face. I just knew she was dying to say, “I told you so.” Majestic was standing over me like he was going to kill me, her daughter, and she was standing there like he was rubbing my feet.

Majestic leaned threateningly in my direction. “Keisha, you fucking skating.”

I avoided eye contact. “I told you I don't know anything. See, this is exactly why I don't want to be with you anymore,” I snapped back at him. Yes, I was scared, but being treated like an animal also pissed me the fuck off.

I couldn't help but notice the malicious glint in his eyes as he answered. “You ain't got no choice in that matter.”

God, I hated the fuck out of this man, and with the exception of MJ, I wished I could go back in time and make a different choice.

“What do you want from me?” I fumed, knowing he could slap me down again for being so combative, but suddenly, I almost didn't care. I hated being at his damn mercy all the time.

“I want you to stop lying and tell me what the fuck happened that night.”

“I was there. I just said I was there, but it was a weekend night, and the place was crowded, so I don't know what happened to your brother.” That was as much as I wanted to tell him. If Majestic knew that I was with Niles that night, I'd be as dead as Rodney.

He took a step closer to me. “So, did you see my brother?”

“Yes. I saw him.”

“And what?” His voice exploded at me.

I took a deep breath. “He was popping all kinds of shit. Talkin' 'bout I needed to leave and go home and take care of MJ. You know Rodney.”

“And he was right.”

I shot him a hostile stare. “He's not my daddy, and neither are you.”

Majestic pointed his finger at me as a warning. “You got one more time with your bullshit. So what else happened that night? Who was this nigga I heard you was with?”

I tried not to hesitate, because I knew if I did, he'd hit me again. “He was just this dude from the Army. Me and Tanya was gaming him and his friend for drinks.” I toned down my attitude and tried to look sincere.

“And this dude and Rodney had beef? Did he kill my brother?”

“No, more like Rodney had beef with him and everyone else in the bar. But he didn't kill your brother. He left the same time as us, and Rodney was alive.”

“You better be telling me the truth.” He seethed in that way that shook me to the core, but I tried to play it off like I wasn't affected.

“I'm not. I swear,” I said, raising my hand like a pledge.

“Next time you need a drink, buy a bottle and stay your ass home,” Majestic said before he headed out the door. I almost collapsed onto the floor with relief that maybe, just maybe, he believed me.

“Why didn't you tell him the truth about you and that boy?”

I turned to see my mother's smug ass challenging me, her hands folded over her chest like I was supposed to answer to her now.

“'Cause it didn't have nothing to do with Rodney being dead!” I shouted at her for always trying to start something. “Why the fuck did you just stand there when he hit me?”

She sucked her teeth. “Shit, have you taken a good look at your face?” she asked as if I had a mirror in front of me. “I'm sorry, but there wasn't no need in both of us getting our asses kicked.”

Before I got out of Bruce's car in front of the modest house, I checked the rear view mirror and saw that Pooh, Eddie, and Shorty had pulled up in an SUV behind us. Although I like to handle business personally, Bruce liked to bring muscle to the party so the two of us didn't have to get our hands dirty.

“Let's do this,” I said to Bruce as we both got out of the ride, the other guys following us.

“What you want us to do?” Pooh whispered when I rang the doorbell and there was no movement in the house.

“There's two cars in the driveway. Somebody's gotta be home,” I answered. “Eddie, go check the back.”

He went to check, then came back, giving me a thumbs up, so we followed him back there. We stepped through the decorative gate to find a middle-aged white couple lounging by the pool, reading the Sunday Times and sipping on mimosas. Hell, I almost hated interrupting such domestic fucking bliss.

“What the fuck!” The man jumped to his feet when he heard the gate close and saw us.

“Isn't this special? Beautiful place you have here.” I smoothly delivered this line, knowing it would convey the right tone of threat and confidence. The man reached to his side as if he was going for his firearm. “Nowhere to strap a gun when you're wearing a bathing suit,” I said with a laugh.

His wife started covering up, throwing a towel over her swimsuit like we were a pack of pussy-hungry rapists, desperate to get a piece of her middle-aged ass.

“Who the hell are you? And what the fuck are you doing here?” he yelled, trying to convey some type of confidence. Obviously, he was used to being in charge and putting people like us behind bars—except this was a new day, and things were a lot different, which he was about to learn.

I snapped my fingers at my men, and they all moved closer.

“You do know I'm a cop,” the white man said, like that was going to stop us.

“Yeah, I'd heard that.” I sat down in a chair and nodded to Bruce, who sat down next to me. “Matter of fact, that's exactly why I'm here, Detective Fuller, because you're a cop.” At the mention of his name, he finally showed recognition that we had the upper hand, and he definitely had a problem on his hands.

“They say when a crime's been committed, you should go to the police,” I taunted. “Well, I'm here to report a crime.”

Detective Fuller looked damn near apologetic. “I'm sorry, but technically I'm not a cop anymore. I'm retired. You might want to call 911 or go down to your local precinct. I'm sure they'll be able to help you.”

I leaned back and put my hands behind my head like I was settling in for a long visit. “Retired, huh? Yes, I think I heard that too.”

That's when Eddie pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Fuller. His wife went ballistic, so Pooh grabbed her, pointing his piece at her head.

“If you don't shut that bitch up, things are gonna get a whole lot worse around here, real fast,” I warned Fuller. Oh, the look of pure helplessness was perfect. I almost wished I had the time to take a picture, but, of course, I couldn't risk the evidence falling into the wrong hands. Boy, did I love seeing a pig utterly helpless for once in his life. I could only imagine the number of brothers he'd had in this same situation.

Fuller called out to his wife, and then he started begging. “Bonnie! Please, please. Don't hurt my wife. You're not going to hurt us if we cooperate, right?”

“No doubt, Fuller. I just want information about my brother.” I gave him a little smile, which seemed to be enough to calm the bitch down.

“Sir, I'm sorry about your brother, but I can't be of any help. I'm not a cop anymore, so I don't have the access like I once did,” he said, full of false sincerity.

“Then maybe a name will bring back your memory. His name was Rodney Moss . . .” I noticed him freeze and his eyes went wide. Bitch better not tell me he didn't remember after I saw it right there on his fucking face. “And you should have no problem remembering him, since it was your last case. You did put in for your retirement the day after his murder, and from the looks of things, you doing all right. Maybe better than all right for a retired cop.”

The good detective got all jumpy and overly solicitous. “Oh, yeah, I remember now,” he said as his memory came flooding back. “He was killed in an alley. Shame that we never caught his killer.”

“Is that a fact? Because that's not what I've heard. I heard you arrested somebody and let him go,” Bruce snapped.

I motioned to the wife, and Pooh grabbed her up by the neck. Of course, she screamed.

“Leave her alone!” The detective shouted like he really wasn't understanding that he had no control.

Eddie slammed his gun against Fuller's head, and he went down like a paper weight. Fuller groaned and started to rise, only to find the pistol pressed against his temple. The wife was finally smart enough to keep her big mouth shut now.

I glanced down at him, my expression as cold and lethal as my men's guns. “You gonna tell me what I want to know?”

“Look, I'm telling you I don't know anything,” he swore, except we both knew that he was lying. I nodded to Pooh, who picked up the wife and plunged her head straight into the pool and held it down. Hell, if he wanted to let the bitch drown, then no problem.

“Nooooo!” Fuller screamed, although he was still not offering up any information. He tried to grab for her, but Pooh pushed her head down deeper into the water.

Fuller finally caved. “All right. All right. I'll tell you what you want to know. Please, please pull her up! Please.” He stared toward his wife as Pooh pulled her up, gasping for air.

“Talk!” I warned him. If he wanted to test me, he'd see that the threat of drowning was nothing.

“There was a guy. I don't remember his full name other than Monroe, or even if that was his real name. What I do know is they took his file and erased all the records of his existence. The brass told us not to say anything, but the next day there was fifty K in a shoebox in my locker with my retirement papers. I got the hint.”

I could see that he was afraid of whoever the “they” was he'd just told me about. I glanced over at Bruce, who I could tell was thinking the same thing.

“Who erased the files?” Bruce asked.

Fuller shrugged his shoulders. “I'm not sure. I wanna say they were FBI or CIA, but I'm not sure. All I know is they had all the bosses scared to death, and that's saying something.”

“That's not enough.” I nodded to Pooh, who immediately dunked the wife again.

“No!” the detective hollered in response.

“You think I'm playing? I'll drown this bitch just as much as look at her.”

He shook his head. “I swear I'm telling you the truth. I don't know who they were. But the woman in charge, I'll never forget her.”

This sounded promising. I raised my hand, and Pooh pulled her from the water, sputtering and shaking.

“Why's that?” I questioned him.

Before he answered, Fuller glanced at his drenched wife, embarrassed. “Because she was beautiful. The kind of woman nobody forgets.”

“In other words, you wanted to fuck her.” I laughed. He didn't reply; he just lowered his head. “You happen to remember the name of this hot piece of ass?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “Her name was Bridget. Bridget St. John.”

I stepped out of the car and headed into my Manhattan condo while Winston retrieved my shopping bags from the trunk. A few seconds later, I stopped, letting him catch up to me so that he could open the door to the lavish lobby. We entered, stopping at the elevator banks so I could retrieve and wave my keycard.

When the elevator bell chimed, I reached for my packages and said good night to him.

“You sure you don't want me to carry these upstairs?” Good ol' Winston was always trying to make my life flow easier.

“No, I could use the workout,” I kidded with him. He handed half of the packages to me, but I could tell he had something to say. “What's on your mind, Winston?”

He looked around the lobby, making sure no one was eavesdropping. “Ma'am, Bridget, I know this may be out of line, but. . .” He began tentatively, but we'd been together so long that I knew whatever he had to say to me had been well thought out if not rehearsed. Winston didn't speak much, but when he did, it was necessary and usually helpful.

“Winston, nothing you say is ever out of line. You're like family. Hell, you're closer to me than family. More like my second dad. So speak freely.”

“Thank you for the kind words, ma'am, but I think you're in danger of crossing a very dangerous line with this one.” Winston looked worried, which was saying a lot considering what we did for a living.

“What exactly are you talking about?”

He handed me the Ermenegildo Zegna shopping bag, “You've never gone shopping for any of them after their initial training. Why are you doing it now?”

“It's just a couple of shirts, a sweater, and a tie.” I glanced down at the bag. “It's no big deal.”

Wilson straightened his back, wearing a frown on his face. “I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to call your bullshit on this one.” He pierced me with a serious expression. “This is a very big deal. This man is taking you off your game. It could get you both killed.”

“I'm fine, Winston. I swear.”

“No, you're not. I see the way you look at him. You want him like no other.”

All my defenses flatlined. “Okay, okay, do I think about fucking him? Yes. Probably more than I should, but it's fine. You don't need to worry.”

“Too late for that,” he admitted, which made me love him even more than I already did. He was always there for me in a way my family had never been. “The only way to get past this is to admit how you feel, to yourself and to him.”

“Winston, it's not what you think, so stop worrying. Go and have yourself a good night. If I need to go out, I'll take the Porsche,” I insisted, basically forcing him to give me the rest of my shopping bounty.

“All right,” he said reluctantly. “Have a good night. Just think about what I said.”

That's the only problem with working with the same people for a long time. They fucking know you.

Loaded down with all my bags, I opened the door to my apartment, dumping the bags. I looked out the window and smiled. I never got tired of my penthouse view of the East River.

“Finally!”

I jumped out of my skin when I heard the voice of someone in my apartment. I reached automatically for the gun strapped to my inner thigh, but then I saw who the voice belonged to.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” I shouted at Niles, who was lounging comfortably on my Italian leather sofa, looking finer than I remembered.

He rose and came toward me. “I'd say you trained me well.”

“Well, you could have gotten yourself killed,” I barked at him, more to hide my excitement at how glad I was to see him.

I took a good look at him. Frankly, close up he looked like shit.

“I need a new assignment,” he said.

“What's going on? You just finished an assignment. Take a few days and relax.” I was concerned. Those bags under his eyes were a telltale sign.

“I need a distraction,” he said, going back to the couch.

“Why don't you take that girlfriend of yours on a trip to the islands and blow off a little steam?”

“No can do. We broke up,” he said. “Well, she broke up with me.”

“I'm sorry, Niles. I didn't know.” I stayed calm, but inside I wanted to jump for joy. How the hell did that woman fuck up such a good thing?

I guess he felt the same way. “Fucking came out of nowhere,” he said.

I went over to the bar, poured a couple of shots of bourbon, then handed one to him as I took a seat next to him.

“Look, Niles, I'm sorry. I know how much you liked her, but it's probably for the best. We already fucked, and in this job, you're going to have to do that again. I'm not sure a girlfriend would fit with your job description.”

He fixed me with an intensely suspicious stare. “Did you have something to do with Keisha breaking up with me? Do you have something to do with her ex being released?”

All I could do was laugh.

“Seriously? Wow. You give me way too much credit. I may be capable of a lot of things, but I can't make a woman fall out of love with you.” I wasn't about to admit that the idea of trying to make that happen had already crossed my mind.

“Look me in the face and tell me you didn't know about him being locked up.”

I stared him right in the face. “I did, but what your girlfriend didn't tell you was that he only had six months.”

“What? That's not possible. She told me he had twenty years.”

I raised my eyebrows, not wanting to suggest out loud that his girlfriend was a fucking liar. “Guess she was mistaken,” I said.

“We're supposed to be partners,” he shot back. “Why didn't you tell me he was released?”

“It was none of my business. Why didn't your girlfriend tell you?”

He chose to ignore that question. “So I need some work. I have to stay busy.” He downed the shot and put the glass on the table. Then he got up and went to stare out the window. I got up and followed him.

“I'm sorry this has you all upset, but there will be plenty of work to keep you busy.”

“Good. The more the better.” He sighed, running his hands over his head in obvious frustration. It actually made me feel bad for him, no matter how hard I tried to block those feelings.

I put a hand on his shoulder and was surprised by the jolt of electricity that went through me. There was some serious chemistry between us. I wondered if he felt it too, and decided to test the waters.

“I know you've heard this before, but the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

He didn't answer for a few seconds, and I took my hand off his shoulder. I was almost expecting him to turn down my offer, and it was pissing me off. Then he took a step closer to me, and I could feel his intensity.

“Is that an offer?” he asked.

My work phone started ring before I could answer him.

“Hold that thought,” I said as I went to answer the phone.

“Hello.”

“Bridget, this is Jonathan. I'm texting you an address. I need you to come to right away.” Before I could tell him to, ‘kiss my ass,' he said, “This is a code Alpha-Omega,” then hung up without waiting for a response.

“Shit,” I mumbled, trying to get my head together.

“Everything all right?” Niles asked.

“I hope so, but I have to go,” I said, hating to have to say it. I could feel his heat from across the room, and all I wanted to do at that moment was rip his clothes off and get busy. But duty called. “Lock the place when you leave, okay?”