At three in the morning, I debated letting Weicker know what had happened. But something stopped me. Briar needs to be in control of her own journey of dealing with this. The last thing she needs is a guy she doesn’t even know making calls for her.
Plus, I strongly doubt Weicker would have given a shit if it hadn’t led to useful information for our investigation.
None of it feels any better in the cold light of day. Except for the fact she’s safe.
It’s absolutely stupid to have her here. I should take her somewhere: a shelter, to her family, friends maybe.
There are cardinal rules in undercover work. Never reveal your role or any details about the deployment without express permission. I can’t tell Briar who I really am, even though knowing might help her.
And don’t unnecessarily increase your risk. Keeping a woman around does that. She could see something, say something, overhear a call with Weicker and others. The club can’t know she’s here because it becomes a whole other world of figuring out how to extricate her too when this is all over—which could be in two years or two days.
Carefully, I ease my aching body until I sit upright on the sofa. As soon as I hit forty, it always takes a minute to get the bones and muscles moving. I’m starved. My phone says it’s ten in the morning, and there’s a message from Spark checking in on me and the girl.
I fire off a quick text telling him it’s all taken care of, even as I glance at my bedroom door and know it hasn’t been. After a quick shower, I wander into the kitchen in the pair of shorts I changed into last night.
While Briar showered the previous evening, I grabbed my emergency phone from beneath the floorboards, and I dial a number on it now.
“Jensen,” I say before he has a chance to speak.
“Ryker. What gives? Heard you were deep.” We served together in Afghanistan. Left around the same time. He went FBI; I went ATF. Two branches of the government alphabet soup. Our paths crossed on the incel case.
“I am. Gotta be quick. Operating sex trafficking groups in New York—can you get me any info?”
“That’s a broad range. You got specifics?”
I tell him about Briar without giving any personal details that would identify her.
“She definitely said there were cops involved?” he asks.
The kitchen counter is cool beneath my palm. “Yes.”
“She needs to come in. Make a statement. If you can’t get her to trust someone, you need to take the statement there while all the details are still fresh.”
If only it were that simple. “I’m undercover. Can’t be acting like an agent while I’m here.”
“Shit,” Jensen says. “Maybe encourage her to write it all down, every detail. Tell her it’ll be cathartic and will help her process her memories correctly. Then get me a copy. But I can’t run down a crime with no witnesses if she won’t come forward.”
“Understand. Just get me the info on anything that looks similar.”
“On it. Look after yourself.”
“Will do.”
While I have the phone out, I fire a quick text to Rae.You heard from Mom recently? I forgot to ask.
It only takes a minute before she replies.Dad got some big-ass donation for the church from some old dude in his congregation, so ...
My dad’s church is filled with hypocrites who hallelujah the fuck out of services on Sunday, then vote against civil rights and gay marriage on Tuesday.
I know what that means. It means Dad will be happy for a while, which means Mom won’t be his punching bag.
Got it. I’m gonna be unavailable for parts of this week.
She replies straight away.Understood. Take care of yourself, Ike.
Thinking of Mom and Dad makes me think of Briar. When my dad got drunk and went into one of his rampages, Mom would get up the next morning and make pancakes for me and Rae. No matter how whipped, beaten, and bruised we were. It was comforting, those precious hours when he’d sleep off his hangover and we’d all reassure each other we were okay when we were anything but.
I turn on the oven to warm, then whip out the pan and ingredients. There’s a rhythm to making pancakes. Pouring the right amount, flipping at the right time, allowing them to cook to perfection with a hint of color on each side. I make them three at a time, moving them into a casserole dish in the oven once they’re done to keep them warm while I cook some more.
