Vigilante 01 - Who Knows the Storm (17 page)

“Yeah,” the cop said into his phone. He paced back to stare at Sam. “No, I don’t think so.” He paused, smirked. “Good idea.”

Another car drove up—a police cruiser—and the cop looked annoyed. “Gotta go.”

Sam dug his heels into the ground; his arms were starting to hurt, pulled behind his back like this, and just thinking about what his father was going to do made him want to throw up. His father always told him not to trust cops, and this—this reminded him his father was usually right.

A uniformed officer got out of the car. He swung a flashlight in Sam’s direction, then moved closer. “Detective Francis?”

“Yeah.” The cop walked toward the flare of light. “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Mason Todd. I’m a patrolman—dispatch said you wanted me to pick someone up?” The newly arrived policeman sounded young and uncertain. Sam suddenly had hope he might have a sympathetic person to reason with.

Patrolman Todd stepped into the light, meeting Detective Francis halfway. He was tall and slim, and when he looked over at Sam, he looked concerned.

Oh thank God.

“He was trespassing on the site,” Officer Francis said. “I think he’s our bomber.”

“Did he have anything on him?” the patrolman asked.

Detective Francis walked past him to the truck’s door without answering. “Take him back to the precinct and have him held on suspicion for the bombings,” he said, opening the truck’s door.

“Is there some evidence—” Todd tried again.

“I’ll be down there to sign everything in two hours. Three at the most.” Francis climbed into the truck.

“Sir? Excuse me, sir?” The young cop ran over to where Francis was now sitting. “Is this truck evidence or—”

“Patrolman, take the suspect to the precinct and do what I fucking told you,” Francis said. Sam winced at his cold tone.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t feel comfortable with this.”

The truck’s engine turned over, and Francis backed the truck up. Sam’s heart beat ridiculously. Could he persuade the young cop to let him go?

Todd had to step back as Francis swung the truck in his direction, narrowly missing him. When the truck was out of view, he walked back over to Sam.

“What’s your name, son?” he asked, and Sam tried not to huff. Up close, he could see Mason Todd had a baby face—they couldn’t be more than a few years apart in age.

“Sam Mullens.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was just walking around. I know it’s past curfew, but I was bored,” Sam said, using his canned response. It was what his father told him to say if he ever got picked up on patrol.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.

“Do your parents know where you are?”

“No, my dad’s asleep,” Sam said automatically. “He’s going to be so mad at me….” The pleading note in his voice was not acting. “I don’t know what that guy is talking about with bombs or whatever. I mean, I haven’t even heard anything about that.”

Mason Todd frowned at Sam. For a moment Sam thought he might be let go, that this guy could see he was innocent, but that crashed down when the young cop sighed and reached for Sam’s arm. “Let’s get you down to the police station.”

Chapter Twenty-six

C
ADE
SAT
in the employee lounge, listening to Alec’s voice mail yet again. He frowned, ending the call instead of leaving a message. Five, ignored. And Alec “busy with clients,” according to Rachel. Feeling a little put out, he put his socked feet up on the tufted ottoman as he waited for his shift to begin.

Killian’s choice tonight was a tight white tux shirt tucked into a ridiculous pair of leather pants. The boots that went along with the outfit weighed about twenty pounds, so he was saving those for last. Black eyeliner and spiked hair—Cade was made up to look even more fuckable than usual.

His phone vibrated in his lap, and assuming it was Alec, he answered without looking at the screen.

“I need your help,” said the man.

Cade literally felt his desperation through the line. “Who—”

“Nox. It’s—they arrested Sam last night. He’s at the main District precinct.”

“Oh shit.” Cade got up off the couch and headed for a private corner. A few models were scattered about, and nosiness was a hobby everyone shared.

“What do you need me to do?” Cade asked, lowering his voice as he tucked himself on the far side of the room.

“My ID isn’t going to work at the police station,” he answered finally.

Oh shit, again.

“My shift doesn’t start for a while—let me… fuck, okay. I’m going to head down there and see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Nox said and disconnected the call.

R
ACHEL
WAS
not pleased when Cade told her he had a private appointment with Mr. Mullens—despite the man’s overtipping habits.

“I’ll be back by my shift,” he insisted, having changed into a more sensible suit—something Rachel eyed as he twitched, trying to get out of there. “You can keep the tip again, okay?”

One perfectly manicured eyebrow raised. “Your tip and your fee. If you’re late, you’re fired.”

Cade ran out of her office.

The District police station was an incredibly uncomfortable place.

It sat in the old Port Authority building, massive, hulking, and ugly in the middle of all that pretty bling. Huge concrete barriers prevented attacks or any vehicles getting close. Cade flashed his District ID at least ten times before he reached the front desk inside.

“Sam Mullens,” he said yet again, spelling it out for the annoyed woman behind the desk. A man and a woman in flak jackets, carrying semiautomatics, walked behind her.

“See Detective Francis on six.” She slapped a visitor badge on the desk.

He didn’t dare ask any questions.

More people in flak jackets, more guns and hard stares. Cade put on his best pretty smile, tucked his hands in his pockets, and pulled his shoulders back like he was going to church.

The elevator left him at six, where scads of plainclothes police officers swarmed around.

“Detective Francis?” Cade asked at least five people before being directed to a tall man with curly hair and a smirk. He was leaning against a desk in a cheap suit.

Cade disliked him on sight.

Which meant he turned the star wattage up to an eleven.

“I’m Cade Creel.” He extended his hand and gave the “you might know me” pause.

Detective Francis shook his hand, the smirk getting uglier. “Right, right. You’re a model.” He said the word like it was “terrorist” or something. “I’ve seen your face on the side of a building.”

Well, that wasn’t going to work.

“Then I don’t have to explain who my rich and powerful friends are,” Cade said archly, looking around the room with interest. “I’m looking for a young man who was brought in today.”

The detective folded his arms across his chest. “Name?”

“Sam Mullens,” he said casually. “I think there might have been a mix-up.”

“Oh no, no mix-up.” The policeman laughed, nasty and nasal. “Someone’s been setting off bombs at jobsites uptown. We caught him sneaking around after curfew.” He paused, then pursed his lips. “How do you know him?”

“He’s our messenger, actually.” Cade was proud of the way he kept steady as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Let me give my boss a call, get the bail process going.”

“No bail.”

Cade let his eyes get big. “No bail? For a kid out after curfew? That seems a little harsh.”

“I told you, the bombs—”

“Did you catch him setting them off?”

The policeman chuckled. “No.”

“Was he carrying anything?”

“Just a house key.”

“Well, then,” Cade said, matching the officer’s rude smirk. “I believe there’s a fine for being out after curfew, which I’m prepared to pay.”

“I said there was no bail.” The policeman’s tone took a sharp turn.

Cade pressed a few buttons on his phone, then put it up to his ear. “I’m sorry, you’re not a judge and I know a few so, let me just….”

Alec’s voice mail picked up again.

“Judge Perez? It’s Cade,” he said, layering some serious flirtiness to his voice. “Yes, well, this isn’t exactly a pleasure call. I need some assistance from you.”

Alec did an amazing Judge Perez, an impersonation that had gotten them out of some scrapes in their early days in the city, when they didn’t quite realize the lack of humor and love of bribes when it came to the police force. A frequent customer, Perez had a tendency to be overserved most of the time, and he rarely remembered his day—it was embarrassingly easy to convince him he’d made calls bailing out friends of Alec’s or smoothing over issued fines.

His voice carried past Francis to several officers standing nearby. They looked up from their tablets, first at Cade, then at Francis.

Francis threw his head back and laughed. “Fuck you, son.” He stood up, flicking his middle finger before walking away.

“Sam Mullens. I need to have him released.” Cade kept talking to Alec’s voice mail as one of the policeman turned to murmur something to the woman next to him. “Do you need the arresting officer’s badge number?” He gestured toward the people watching him. “Do you know it?” he asked them.

The woman smiled slowly, then wrote down the numbers on a piece of paper.

Cade kept up his pretense of a phone call, perched on the edge of Francis’s desk. He talked loudly and drew attention from more people—a few even asked for his autograph.

It was fucking performance art.

After twenty minutes—and two more pretend phone calls to Alec’s voice mail—Officer Francis appeared with a disheveled Sam in tow.

Try as he might, Cade could not contain his smug grin. He was happy to forgive Alec for not getting back to him in the past few days—clearly he’d gotten the messages and done his Judge Perez for the folks here at the police station.

“Thank you so much for your help,” Cade murmured, pulling Sam to his side. “About that fine….”

All Officer Francis’s shit-eating grins were gone, as was the attitude. He gave them both a nasty look. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Thank you so much.” Cade wrapped his arm around Sam. They were going to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible.

“Oh my God, my dad must be freaking,” Sam murmured as they power walked past the front desk attendant and the concrete barriers. Across the street, standing on the street corner in an impressive suit and cashmere overcoat, was Nox.

Quietly freaking out, no doubt.

“Good guess.” Cade laughed nervously as they crossed the lines of cabs and limos. Nox was rubbing his hands through his hair like he was about to pull it right out.

“How the hell did you manage this?” Nox said as they reached his side. Sam pressed against his father, ducking his head like he expected a scolding. He got a hug instead.

Cade rocked back on his heels. “Me and Alec—one of the other models—we have this system. I call him, he pretends to be Judge Perez. Or he calls me and I pretend to be the health department.” He waved his hand. “Sometimes you need an exit strategy.”

Nox smiled—and this time it wasn’t the charming grin of Mr. Patrick Mullens. This one was real. “Thank you. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Wow, how flattering.” Cade winked at both of them. “Go home, okay? I have to get back to the Butterfly before even a phone call from the debonair Mr. Mullens won’t help me keep my job.”

The tourists pushed past, oblivious to the conversation—Cade gave them a salute, then turned to walk away.

“Thank you!” Nox called after him.

Cade raised his hand and headed off.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“W
HAT
HAPPENED
?”
Nox directed Sam down the street; he had stolen a car from the parking lot at 21 and left it around the corner. “You weren’t supposed to be up there.” He tried to keep his tone even, even as he wanted to scream out worry, to try to get his son to understand what could have gone wrong.

“I went down by the docks and there was another one of those white panel vans. I followed it up to the work site,” Sam murmured, head down. “The cop who arrested me, he was just hanging out there. Like he was waiting.”

“What’s his name?”

“Francis. He called another cop to actually arrest me.” Sam’s voice hitched. “That second guy—he tried to tell Francis he didn’t have cause, but it didn’t work. The other guy kept apologizing for having to follow his orders.”

An asshole cop on the take—what a shock.

“Who was the other cop?”

“Um—Mason. Mason Todd.” Something in Sam’s voice made Nox look at him a bit more closely.

“Was there something else?”

“Nope.” Sam sped up. “That’s it. I’m sorry, okay? I really am. I know I keep screwing up.”

Nox directed Sam around the corner; the small sedan sat in front of a coffee shop.

“These aren’t mistakes, Sam. This is you disobeying me, and it stops now.” Nox unlocked the passenger-side door. “I called the messenger service, and you’ve been relieved of your duties.”

“Dad!”

“Get in the car, now.”

They drove out of the District and abandoned the car near the Circle. Not another word was spoken.

Chapter Twenty-eight

A
T
S
ERENDIPITY
Towers, Cade knocked on Alec’s door, frantic. One of the bartenders had admitted to him that no one had seen Alec for seven days. His assumption that Alec had been listening to his Judge Perez messages was clearly wrong. Rachel’s “client” bullshit was a lie—a fact he couldn’t confront her with, since she’d taken to staying in her office even during shift.

Damian took over her duties on the floor.

Cade was fucking terrified.

Every day the atmosphere at the Iron Butterfly got a little more strained. Damian insisted it was due to the upcoming Anniversary Weekend, but even he didn’t seem to believe that line of crap. Zed was always “in meetings,” and the high rollers’ table stayed packed with unfamiliar players.