Casper shakes his head slowly, his blue eyes full of mirth. “You’re not careful, I’ll steal your girl.”
Nox clicks his tongue, leaning back in the booth, smirking. “You can sure try.”
Small talk. Meaningless small talk. It drives me nuts. A part of my brain jitters and I do my best to not grind out, “Are we gonna talk business or what?”
Casper loses his smile and turns to face me head on. “What’s to discuss? You want me to take you in, and being that Nox is an old friend, I’m going to do that in a respectful way, no cuffs. You’re not gonna get that from anyone else, Antonio.”
“Twitch.” My jaw steels and the damaged part of my mind lashes out. “It’s Twitch.”
“Okay, Twitch.” Good guy Casper throws his arms out. “So, are we doing this or what?”
I look over to Nox, and he eyes me warily. He doesn’t think I’ll go. I can see it in his eyes. He’s looking at me like I’m a wild animal. Placing an arm on my shoulders, he leans closer to me and mutters quietly, “Stick to the plan.”
The plan.
My fucking plan.
I’m taking a big risk here, and for the first time in my life, I’m anxious at the thought that things may not go my way. It’s enough to make my stomach coil, because this time around, I actually give a fuck. The uncertainty kills me.
I take my time standing while weighing up my options. I must be taking a while, because Nox clears his throat.
No risk, no gain.
The thought settles my nerves.
If this goes my way, I have a lot to benefit from it.
Besides, you’d risk it all for them.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning to face my captor. “What are you waiting for, Detective Quaid?” I lean my hip on the booth and cross my arms over my chest. “Let’s fuck shit up.”
We wait in the parking lot by Quaid’s standard white guy sedan while he wakes the police chief of his precinct to discuss the willing surrender of one Antonio Falco. When Quaid returns to us, his eyes shine with enthusiasm, locked on me, eyes on the prize, and he tries to maintain his calm as he speaks, his voice low. “Chief wants you brought in discreetly.” He turns to Nox, a look of awe on his face. “You got contacts in deep places. Deeper than you ever let on.”
Nox lowers his gaze to the gravel-covered ground. “It’s all about who you know.” He’s shutting down, avoiding me.
I don’t like that. My brow lowers a fraction. “What?”
Casper eyes me good, blinking in surprise before his lip lifts and he laughs softly. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
Nox sighs, running a hand down his face, suddenly aging ten years, but it’s Quaid who fills me in, a sly grin on his face. “According to Interpol, you’re dead.”
“Yeah, and?”
Casper grins. “According to the US government, you’re very much alive, Mr. Falco, with a residential address in Nevada.”
Nox tries to shut him down with a, “Cas, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” but Quaid goes on. “Only thing is, you’re apparently a sixty-one-year-old man.”
“Cas,” Nox grinds out, catching both our attention. His glare firmly set on his friend, he growls out a slow, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pauses a second before adding, “Stop.”
My voice scathing, I peer out to my friend and blink. “You keeping shit from me, brother?”
The look that crosses Nox’s face, accompanied by the earnest sincerity of his response, tells me he isn’t. “Never, brother.” Nothing but honesty. “Never.”
My racing heart slows knowing Nox would never betray me.
He wouldn’t dare.
I’d hate to kill his woman. I like Lily, but Nox isn’t stupid. Liking a person has nothing to do with causing the death of said person, and Nox… he knows I’d do it. That’s the price you pay for duplicity.
We exchange a look of understanding before Nox turns to Quaid and mutters, “Take care of my boy,” then jerks his chin toward me, and says quietly, “Get your hood up.”
I listen to my friend and reach back with both hands, gripping the cold material of my hood, slowly pulling it over my eyes, leaving only my nose and mouth visible. I take a long, slow breath before letting it out slowly through my nose.
Nox jerks his chin toward me then turns to leave.
My hand darts out, and I grip his forearm tight. He turns, a look of confusion creasing his eyes. I speak low, only for his ears. “Owe you.”
It takes everything I have in me to not scowl when I say it.
I fucking hate being indebted to a person.
Nox, knowing me well, predicts my internal struggle and shakes his head. “Let my woman cook for you, listened to my girls read, taught my boy how to pick a lock.” His brows rise, and he grins at that last one. “Not too sure Lily will be overly thrilled about that one”—his smile softens—“but no marker. We’re good.” He steps forward, his hand gripping the back of my neck, squeezing affectionately. “Watch your temper.” He shakes me by the scruff of my neck, then whispers, “Take care of business, man.”
I’d rather die than admit it, but I’ll miss the asshole.
Watching Nox leave, I turn to Quaid, watching, waiting for the change of character, waiting for him to kick the shit out of me and cuff me.
But it never comes.
Instead, he opens the front passenger door and waves a hand toward it. “Your chariot awaits, princess.”
Motherfucker.
With a silent glower, I get in the white guy sedan.
The short, stout police chief is waiting for us out front with a single uniformed officer. Quaid parks in front of the station, but when I think he’s going to move to exit, he spares a nod for fatty police chief before speaking low.
“I’m going to get out of the car, make my way around to your side, and then you’re going to step out. I’m going to take you by your arm, lead you in.”
My eyes slice over him in a tight glare.
He turns to me, catching my scornful stare and shrugs. “Best I can do with no cuffs.”
“I’m not running, man,” I say quietly. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Quaid nods in acknowledgment. “Know you’re not running, Twitch, but I got a job to get back to.” He lets out a short sigh. “Help me out.”
My hackles rise. “I don’t know you.” My shoulders tense. “Don’t owe you shit.”
“No, you don’t,” he admits. “But if this works out…” he pauses a moment before adding calmly, “I’ll owe you.”
He gets my attention.
Having a cop owe a criminal is nothing to sneeze at. Sure, I’m aiming to get out of the life, but I still have shit to take care of.
I let him stew for a minute then, in perfect calm, mutter, “I’m ready.”
My eyes close of their own accord as Quaid steps out of the vehicle and moves around to the passenger side. He opens the door and, without hesitation, I readjust the hood covering my head and step out. The feel of his hand gripping my forearm pulls a knee-jerk reaction from me.
Much like a rabid dog, I snarl.
His grip loosens slightly, but I still don’t like it. I want to throw him to the ground and kick the shit out of Detective Quaid in front of his boss. And laugh while doing it.
The fact that I haven’t done that reminds me this is all a chink in a long chain of events to come, and that I’m a changed man, no longer selfishly thinking of myself.
As we walk up the few steps to stand in front of the police chief, the older man takes one look at me and laughs.
My fists clench tightly by my sides with that mocking laughter.
The chief reaches up and pushes my hood back, blinking at my appearance, before turning to Quaid and uttering a cool, “Is this some kind of joke?”
Quaid stands taller, showing all the respect a white guy can show. “No, sir.”
The chief looks me in the eye but speaks to Quaid. “I know Antonio Falco.”
He pauses, sharpening his gaze on me. “I’ve dined with Tony Falco, played cards with the gentleman, been to his home and shared forty-year-old whiskey with the man.” His eyes meet Quaid’s. “And this ain’t him.”
Quaid’s hand tightens on me in a way that tells me he’s pissed. “Sir, I—”
I can’t fucking handle it any longer. I snatch my arm out from Quaid’s none too lightly and talk directly to the chief. “So you know a guy named Falco. My bet is there’s a few of us out there. Especially in New Jersey.”
Silence.
I have him there. He knows it. I know it. We all know it.
The chief blinks at me, then asks, “Where were you born, son?”
“New York Methodist, April ’75.”
He sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth, steps back and blinks at me in what can only be called controlled confusion.
Licking his lips, he takes his time saying what he has to say. “Detective Quaid, you didn’t bring me Antonio Falco.”