Shades of Gray (3 page)

“Wait here,” Sutton commanded as he walked over to a uniformed cop sitting with his hip perched on the edge of a cluttered desk. Danny recognized the cop as the one who’d pulled him out of the window and slapped the cuffs on him, giving Danny’s exposed ribs a not-too-gentle nudge with his boot as a parting gift.

The cop didn’t seem to like Sutton any more than he had Danny.

Whatever Sutton said caused the cop to stand up tall, pushing his body into Sutton’s personal territory. Danny wished he had a cigarette so he could sit back and enjoy the show.

“I said get rid of it,” Sutton barked. His voice drifted across the room, causing heads to turn from surrounding desks.

“I already did the paperwork, I can’t just—” Sutton leaned forward, hand cupped around his ear. “Am I hearing this right? Are you arguing with me?” One long finger came forward and poked the cop in the chest. “Lose it. I’m not saying it again.”

Danny didn’t know which man to root for in this fight, considering he wasn’t exactly feeling warm and fuzzy toward law enforcement types as a whole. He’d have to put his money on Sutton, though, if it came to blows. The quiet ones always threw the hardest Shades of Gray | 15

punches.

The cop picked up a sheaf of papers from the desk and held them in front of Sutton’s face. He shred them with dramatic flair before letting the pieces flutter to the floor. Sutton looked down, and then stepped away from the mess as though it were a pile of fresh dog shit.

“Come on.” Sutton grabbed Danny’s upper arm in an iron grip and pulled him toward the main doors.

“What was that about?” Danny asked.

“Your arrest paperwork. I want it to disappear.” Danny snorted.
Well, it’s official. I’m fucked.
“That’s your big plan? Tear up some paper? Hate to tell you this, Sutton, but that’s not going to throw Hinestroza off our scent for a single second.”

“Let me worry about the details.”

“Why is that not comforting me? Shouldn’t—”

“That’s him, right there! Right there!” The shriek cut across the din, pulling Danny up short.

“Oh, shit,” he breathed, following the sound of the voice to its source.

“What?” Sutton looked in the direction of Danny’s gaze. “Is that Amanda?” he asked sharply.

Danny cocked his head. “How’d you know about my ex-wife?”

“Told you already, Danny. I know everything about you,” Sutton said, not taking his eyes off the woman in front of them. Only her upper half was visible from where they stood: all glossy auburn hair, vibrant red lipstick, and a skin-tight T-shirt that hugged every curve.

“Danny!” she yelled, waving both hands. “Danny!” Sutton stepped in front of him, obstructing Amanda’s view. “Get rid of her,” he demanded as Amanda came barreling past.

“Oh my God, Danny! I’ve been worried sick. You never called me back after you were pulled over.” Amanda belatedly noticed Danny’s blood-soaked shirt. Her already strident voice went up an octave or two. “Danny, what happened?”

16 | Brooke McKinley

“I got hurt during the traffic stop, hon. It’s nothing,” Danny soothed.

“Nothing? You’re bleeding!” Amanda focused angry eyes on Sutton. “Is he under arrest?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then why the hell have you kept him here?”

“Amanda—”

“We had to fill out reports, ma’am,” Sutton cut in.

“While he was hurt?” She shot Sutton a withering glance.

“Typical. Come on, Danny. Let’s get you to the hospital.” Sutton moved forward, blocking her progress. “Actually, I’ll be taking him. Liability reasons.”

“Liability?” Amanda’s eyebrows snapped together.

Oh, fuck.
Danny was on a first-name basis with that look.

Amanda’s fuses were blowing faster than an overloaded circuit breaker. And if this dustup escalated to punches, Sutton would definitely be the one going down.

“It means we’re taking care of our legal obligations,” Sutton explained, his voice patient but the muscle in his jaw a ticking time bomb.

“I know what liability means. Jesus Christ. Don’t think because you’re taking him to the hospital that means we won’t sue your asses!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sutton managed through gritted teeth.

Danny rubbed Amanda’s back lightly and said, “Hon, it’s okay.

Let me get patched up and I’ll give you a ring later.”

“You’d better call me the minute you get home,” Amanda instructed. She jabbed at his chest with a hot-pink nail to let him know she meant business.

“Sure thing,” Danny nodded. He and Sutton were quiet as they watched Amanda walk out the door.

“She seems like a handful,” Miller remarked once she was gone.

Shades of Gray | 17

His voice was mild enough, but his nose wrinkled up as if he smelled yesterday’s garbage.

“You have no idea,” Danny said with a laugh, and instantly felt like a bastard. God knew he owed more loyalty to Amanda than to the asshole standing beside him. He cut himself off mid-chuckle.

Sutton sighed, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Make sure you check in with her, like you said. We need to keep this contained. If she gets worried, she’ll start making phone calls. We don’t want that.”

“Fine,” Danny said, pushing his way outside. Chill air hit him full in the face. Fall had definitely arrived; not quite six o’clock and it was already dark, the streetlights illuminating small patches of sidewalk, the rest left to drown in shadowy pools. “Shit, when’d it get so cold?” He crossed his arms, feeling the loss of the leather jacket forgotten in the backseat of his car. Probably in some impound lot by now.

“It’s not that bad yet,” Sutton remarked, tilting his face upward.

The slight breeze blew his blond hair off his forehead. His face relaxed for a split second, giving Danny a glimpse of the man behind the badge. Danny was surprised to realize it was a face he might be interested in getting to know better under different circumstances.

Yeah, like circumstances that don’t involve Sutton being willing
to sell your ass out if it gets him a better shot at Hinestroza.

Sutton returned his eyes to Danny. “I’ll bring the car around so you don’t have to walk.” It was the first time all night he’d given any indication that Danny’s injury mattered in the least.

MILLER left Danny sitting on the stone balustrade outside the police station. He didn’t worry about him running. There wasn’t anywhere he could go that Miller wouldn’t find him. Miller’s footfalls crackled loudly on the deserted sidewalk, his passage breaking the brittle backs of newly fallen leaves. He could smell the acrid scent of smoke, someone in a nearby home eager to embrace the coming winter. A few 18 | Brooke McKinley

lopsided jack-o’-lanterns leered at him from empty porches.

He pulled the dark blue Crown Victoria around to the front of the police station, fumbling in the glove compartment for some cigarettes as Danny limped down the steps, his face a twisted grimace. Miller leaned over and pushed open the passenger door.

He was not in the mood for this. It may have been the local cops who had delivered Danny Butler to his proverbial doorstep, but he didn’t feel particularly grateful. He hadn’t busted his ass all these years to play nursemaid. It should be some doughnut-eating patrolman’s job.

“Can I ride in the back?” Danny asked, leaning down.

“Sure. If you want.” Miller shrugged and hauled the door closed again.

Danny climbed into the rear of the car, stretching his long legs out on the seat. “Don’t know if I can sit up straight,” he explained, leaning back against the door. “Jesus, do all cops drive the same fucking car? No wonder we can spot you a mile away.”

“We vary the colors,” Miller said, deadpan, eyes on the road.

“Got an extra smoke?”

Miller held the pack over the seat and Danny snatched a cigarette with nimble fingers. “Which hospital?” he asked.

“St. Luke’s.”

“I usually go to St. Joseph’s.”

“What, you’ve got a frequent patron card there or something?

They patch up two gunshot wounds, your next one is free?”

“Funny,” Danny breathed, his exhaled smoke floating forward to tangle with Miller’s mid-air. “For your information, I’ve never been shot.”

“I know.” Miller waited a beat. “Knife wound to the right lower back, done with a homemade shank while in Marion. Knife wound to the left thigh, almost bled to death from that one, wouldn’t tell the hospital how it happened. And a fractured skull while in Leavenworth.

Scar underneath your hair, back of the head.” Shades of Gray | 19

“Somebody’s

done

their

homework,”

Danny

observed,

unimpressed. “Want a gold star? And don’t forget to add tonight’s to the list. Have a feeling it’s going to leave a nasty mark.” Miller grunted, rolled down the window to let some fresh air into the smoky interior.

“Hey,” Danny said suddenly. “I’m not feeling so great. Think I might be sick.”

“For God’s sake,” Miller muttered, throwing a crumpled McDonald’s sack into the back seat. “If you’re gonna puke, puke in that.”

“Anybody ever tell you that you’ve got a lousy bedside manner?” Miller’s mouth quirked up, a grin flirting with the corners. “It has been mentioned,” he said, catching Danny’s eye in the rearview mirror and then looking away quickly.

The last thing Miller wanted was to become friends with Danny Butler. Miller had a mission. He had to remain focused on a single goal: Hinestroza. In order to achieve it, he needed to draw Danny in while at the same time maintaining professional distance. Feelings couldn’t enter into the equation. All part of the game.

When did a man’s life become a game to you, Miller? He may be
a drug dealer, but that’s still pretty fucking cold. You got ice in your
veins now?

The emergency room was relatively quiet when they arrived.

They’d beaten the wee hours’ rush, when all the drunks with smashed-bottle lacerations and head trauma from flying through their windshields would come rolling in. The bored front desk clerk handed them a pen and reams of paperwork to fill out, pointing them toward a row of beat-up chairs. The ripped vinyl spewed dirty pieces of foam that clung to the bottoms of their shoes.

Miller would have loved to cut through the red tape, flash his badge and start rapping out orders. But he couldn’t risk it. Danny’s future breathing prospects would take a nosedive if Hinestroza found out an FBI agent had accompanied him to the hospital.

20 | Brooke McKinley

Miller settled in to wait, something he was fairly good at once he accepted the need for it. Not so Danny, who was driving him nuts with his constant fidgeting, shifting, humming, and clicking of the pen he was using to fill out the hospital forms.

“Jesus,” Miller snapped. “Can’t you fucking sit still?”

“Apparently not.” Danny didn’t glance up from his lap where he attempted to balance the papers on his knees and write, while clutching at his side with his free hand.

“Give me the papers,” Miller demanded. “I’ll fill them out. I have all your information memorized anyway.”

Danny passed them over without a fight, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes.

Full Name: Daniel James Butler
.
Age: 32.
Same as me.
Miller filled in Danny’s address and phone number, leaving the section about employment blank. “It asks here about health insurance. I’m assuming you don’t have any in your line of work.”

Danny didn’t respond.

“What about 401k?” Miller prodded. “Pension?”

“Have you thought about a career in stand-up comedy?” Danny asked without opening his eyes. “Seriously. Because you are fucking hilarious.”

Miller allowed himself a smile only because Danny wasn’t looking, his eyes still shut, the sweep of ebony lashes resting against the tops of his pale cheeks. Miller returned the completed paperwork to the front desk, which earned him a sharp snap of gum from the clerk and not much else.

“I’m starving,” Danny commented when Miller sat back down.

“Is there anything to eat around here?”

“How the hell should I know?”

Danny’s stomach rumbled and Miller threw him a disgusted glance. “You are a pain in the ass,” Miller pointed out, but he stood with a sigh and went in search of food. A depleted vending machine in Shades of Gray | 21

the basement yielded a Coke and a package of peanut butter crackers after stealing the first dollar he fed it. Back upstairs, he tossed Danny the snacks, watching as he ripped into the cellophane package with his teeth.

“Fuck, could these be any staler?” Danny complained around a mouthful of cracker.

Miller took a deep breath, resisting the sudden impulse to smack him in the back of the head. Danny was just downing the last of his drink when a stout woman with a humorless face appeared in the hall, barking out his name. He muttered, “This should be fun,” in Miller’s direction as he walked away.

Miller collected the crumpled cellophane and half-crushed Coke can Danny had left on his seat and threw them in the overflowing trash can outside the bathrooms. Given the hospital’s glacial pace so far, he figured it was a safe bet that he had time to go outside for a much-needed smoke.

“Hey, you!” someone called as he neared the exit. A petite woman in green scrubs, her ponytail askew, plowed through the swinging doors separating the waiting area from the trauma rooms.

“Hey!” she yelled again, advancing on him. “Why didn’t you bring him in here earlier? He was this close,” she held up her thumb and index finger a centimeter apart, “to needing a blood transfusion. You should have called an ambulance!”

“We got here as soon as we could.” Miller raised his hands in mock surrender, pulling on his ass-kissing smile. “Are you the doctor?”

“Yes. Dr. Allen.” She didn’t offer her hand. Or smile back. “How did he get that gash?”

“What did he say?”

“He said it’s a paper cut.”

“I don’t know what happened.”

“Sure you don’t,” the doctor said, her mouth a thin line. “I’m going to give him sutures. Then you can take him. He’ll need antibiotics to avoid infection and he’ll have to come back in ten days to 22 | Brooke McKinley