“He worked on the Manzano case, right?”
This time, Van Hallen takes almost a full minute to answer. “Yes...”
“Then take some words of advice, Detective. He’s Stacatto’s man—but that’s your problem. Last question: If...ifI could get you someone like this Daniela Manzano...could you smuggle her out of the city?You. Not your fucking corrupt police chief. Not any one of your little rookie cops. You.” I know that it’s a stupid plan before the words leave my mouth. Fuck, I don’t knowwhythey leave my mouth. My neck itches and I have to reach up to scratch at it while Van Hallen takes his sweet time digesting what I’ve said.
“Vialle, if you could get me someone like Daniela Manzano, the only place I’d be able to put her is on the witness stand. She could sink Stacatto’s entire operation with her testimony alone. Or at least turn the public against him.”
“Well, that answers that question.” I rip the phone from my ear, prepared to hang up.
“Wait!” Van Hallen breathes heavily into the receiver. “You... This is all justhypothetical,right? You don’t really have her? Because, if you did...well, then that makes what I’m about to tell you a little clearer: Stacatto’s put out a hit on a man who sounds an awful lot like you. Half a million dollars for a bastard with blue eyes, dark hair, and a tattoo that says ‘Kitten’ across the left side of his neck.”
Half a million dollars. I have to chuckle at the amount. It’s the biggest pot put on my head, though definitely not the first. I have a feeling that it won’t be the last.
“You’re right, Detective. Sounds an awful lot like me.”
“I knew you had an interesting rap sheet, Vialle,” Van Hallen admits, “but getting on Stacatto’s shit list within a week is quite the feat to manage.”
“I’ll expect my award in the mail,” I toss back.
This time, Van Hallen doesn’t parry with a jab of his own. “Look...if your information is credible, it’s probably best if you contact me again through my direct number. If what you’re saying is true about the girls...then I think any prosecutor worth the paper his license is printed on would overlook a few murky details if a rogue detective launched his own counter investigation.”
I don’t say anything. It’s his neck on the line, but the bastard seems eager to put it there just to nail Stacatto to the wall.Heroes.Or maybe it’s just plain, old stupidity.
“Memorize this number,” he says before spouting off a round of digits. “Call it only when you have something tangible I can work with.”
He hangs up, and I return to the bar counter and toss the phone to Arno. He catches it with a wary look—though, if he overheard anything, he’s smart enough not to admit it out loud.
“Mack won’t be up for a while,” he says, tucking the phoneinto his pocket. “The fucker went heavy on the drink...” He cracks a tired smile that almost reaches his eyes. “You must have shown him up good.”
I feel a matching grin tug on the corners of my mouth for a second. “Just like old times.”
I leave him there and head for the garage. I don’t know why I take my time mounting each step, my gaze on the door to the apartment. I can almost taste her beyond it. Nervous. Anxious. The little bitch probably thinks Arno is right at my damn heels, and a part of me takes pleasure in that. If thunder weren’t choosing this moment to rumble in the distance, I would go back to the bar and get the bastard just to prove...
What? That her little pleas don’t matter? Thatshedoesn’t matter? I could turn her over in a second and still fucking sleep at night.
When I finally get the front door open, I don’t find her in the living room or the kitchen. For a second, I entertain the notion that the little bitch wised up and ran, but I catch her scent lingering just beyond the doorway to the bedroom, and I find her seated on the edge of the mattress.
Blank. Her expression registers nothing. She’s the same creature she was the night Arno’s man first brought her in. Empty. Distant. She’s ready for whatever I’ll throw at her—and it won’t fucking faze her.
“Arno’s waiting downstairs,” I tell her as I enter the room. With one hand, I reach for her wrist, gripping her so tightly that I feel the bone underneath. “Come—”
She waits until I drag her to her feet before she lashes out. Nails. Teeth. Hands. Feet. The little bitch comes to life kicking and screaming. “No!” Her wounded hand lands a blow across my cheek, and I taste her blood. She ripped the cut open again, but the pain doesn’t even seem to faze her.
When I drag her closer, pinning her arms to her sides, I find terror in her eyes, but the fear isn’t directed at me. Oh, no. Thelittle bitch is afraid ofherself. She doesn’t know why she’s fighting. Why she’s angry at the thought of me turning her over like a piece of meat. She would have never foughthimlike this, and it’s that realization that makes me shove her back so hard that she lands faceup on the mattress.
“Stop.”
She lies there, her teeth bared, her hair streaking the dark comforter like a shadow. Her face stands out in stark contrast, displaying a real, true emotion for once. Hatred—only the dumb bitch isn’t smart enough to direct it at me.
She hates herself.
“I’m not going to give you to him,” I say, flinging the words at her like punches.
Her chest heaves. She sighs. She’s...relieved. Her eyes shut against the admission, but not before I catch sight of it. Stacatto’s little whore only has enough room in her bed for one monster, apparently. Realizing that pisses her off—as much as a little princess can be pissed off. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and she bites down until it turns red.
“Unless you want me to change my mind?” I add, but it’s a vicious taunt, and she winces as if I’d slapped her.
Her mouth twitches anyway.Yes.She wants to say it. She wants to don her emotionless armor and take every evil thing dished out at her like a good, caged songbird. But she can’t. Her newfound will is too damn strong, even for her to resist.
