Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
The waitress came to take their orders. Z asked for the Belgian waffles and saw Connelly’s smile over the menu.
“Before we officially met, I never would have pegged you as the sweet-tooth type.”
Z sipped his coffee. “I know. I give off the bitter vibe.”
“My usual detective skills are severely lacking where you’re concerned.”
“You saying I fluster you, Hot Fudge?”
“As if you didn’t know.”
“Is Raoul going to be mad that you’re late to work?”
“I texted him. This is important.”
“It’s just breakfast,” Z said.
“It’s our first date.”
That got Z’s attention. “Date?”
“We kind of did this whole thing backward. My fault.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining.”
Connelly’s gaze heated. “No complaints, but I wanted to take you out. So, let’s enjoy it, yeah? Let’s not think about work or...anything else.”
Z tilted his head. It seemed like Connelly was trying to tell him something but Z wasn’t picking up on the clues. “Okay, but are you expecting me to put out afterward?”
The laugh that came from Connelly’s throat was pure whiskey. “You and your wit.”
The heat in Z’s chest grew to trail up his neck, he could feel it warming his cheeks. “Blame Ansel, we sharpen our sarcasm against one another like swords.”
“Ansel?”
“One of my best friends.”
“You haven’t really talked about your friends much.”
“There’s a lot we haven’t talked about.”
“We’ve got time.”
Connelly smiled at him then and Z was lost. They had time. It was as close to a promise as he’d get and way more than he deserved. It made him want to scrape all the filth from his life so he could be worthy of Connelly’s unvarnished honesty and light.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“What’s up, partner? Why the cryptic texts? Something going on?”
“Yeah, let’s go outside.”
“Um...okay.”
Raoul followed Connelly out of the station and around the corner into the alley where officers went to take a cigarette break. Neither of them had ever smoked, but that didn’t stop them from using the space when they wanted to talk in private.
“Spill, bro.”
“So, apparently the owner of the club also has a porn studio in Brooklyn. How much do you want to bet that he’s the one running drugs out of the club and that’s why he was being so shady the other day?”
“Are we still doing this? Fuck, man, we handed it over. And do I even want to know how you got this information?”
“Probably better if you didn’t ask.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Raoul closed his eyes and rubbed both palms over his face. “Christ, Connelly. Is this about Azariah? I thought you weren’t going to go there?”
“I’m not arguing with you about it.”
“So he’s agreed to be your informant on this? Is that it?”
“He doesn’t know we’re investigating.”
“Oh, hell! What are you thinking?”
“He’s got nothing to do with any of it. Besides, it’s none of your business anyway.”
“None of my business when my best friend starts behaving like an idiot? Or none of my business when he forgets there are fucking rules against fraternizing with anyone involved in an open investigation? This isn’t like you.”
Connelly sighed. “Are you going to help me take this scumbag down or not?”
“How can you even ask me that? I just wish you weren’t ready to throw it all away for a piece of ass.”
“Watch your fucking mouth,” he growled into his best friend’s face.
Raoul’s eyes narrowed. “He’s really got you twisted, doesn’t he?”
Connelly took a step back, casting his gaze over his shoulder. “He’s...special.”
“Special. Sure.” Raoul didn’t sound like he believed a word out of Connelly’s mouth, and Connelly didn’t blame him. “As long as you remember what that badge on your hip means.”
“Protect and Serve.”
“And try not to get your partner killed in the fucking process.” Raoul walked away shaking his head. Connelly followed him back into the building.
For the rest of the afternoon they tracked down leads, ferreted out clues and ran into roadblock after roadblock until finally the pieces started to make sense.
“Okay, listen to this,” Raoul said, sitting on the corner of Connelly’s desk with a sheet of paper in his hands. “Apparently Stavros hails from Philly. Does this sketch look familiar?”
He held out the paper. On it was a hand-drawn image of a skull wearing a crown with a dagger through its eye, and beneath it was a pair of olive branches.
It looked familiar but Connelly couldn’t remember why. “Should it?”
“Remember that case we worked about five years ago with the PPD? That boy that went missing?”
Five years ago, with Philly. “Oh yeah, right. Witness described a balding perp with that tattoo on his forearm. PPD suspected the Greek mafia.”
“Exactly, but when we searched, no one in the family had this tattoo so the case was dropped.”
“Right, now I remember. That case bugged me for weeks. I kept thinking we were missing something.”
“We were. We were missing this.” He shook another sheet of paper.
“What’s that?”
“Guess who’s the disinherited gay cousin of a certain Godfather of the Night?”