Cash lifted from his comfortable position on the sofa to better reach the lamp.
At the same time the light switched on, a large crack of lightning struck so close, the living room momentarily illuminated. A harsh boom of thunder followed, rattling the windows. The sparking of the transformer could be seen through the small slats of the closed blinds. The apartment as well as the entire neighborhood block went dark.
They’d lost their electricity. Complete darkness again.
Seemed symbolic of the case too. So now, he sat in utter silence, alone in the dark, and still no idea how to begin this case.
The sky opened up, the rain pounding against the building. A violent fury of wind and weather just beyond the window.
The chilly damp air from the cold front blew through the building, reminding him why this apartment complex was not ready for tenants.
Thank goodness the heater worked. It warmed enough to stave off the extreme chill but not quite efficient enough to go without the long sleeve sweatshirt and joggers he wore. Well, at least when it had electricity to make the unit operational.
Joe’s loud snore trumpeted in regular intervals in the background.
They’d have to work on silencing the snore tomorrow. Joe’s quiet as a mouse reason for being there wasn’t going to hold with those sounds echoing throughout the unit. Another more concerning point. If that loud clap of thunder hadn’t awakened Joe, how much help could he be if things got dicey?
Cash went to the window, standing to the side, watching the wind and rain drown the homes on the street. He had listened closely to all the sounds inside the building, all night long. Dev wasn’t home and hadn’t been there in over thirty-six hours.
He went for his cell phone still plugged into the charger in the bedroom. It had to be two o’clock in the morning.
He’d waited until Joe had gone to bed to do a quick briefing with the AG’s office and had stayed in the messaging program long after he’d given his official statement.
His direct report from the attorney general’s office, Lily Collins, now Deputy Assistant Attorney General Collins, had a history as a field agent. Cash had needed someone to talk to about all the transparent and not so transparent signs that were pointing him in every which direction. Deputy Assistant Collins confirmed they had the same experience with the Dallas field office’s lackadaisical approach for quite some time. It was their primary reason in installing Cash deeper undercover to sort through all the chaos and misdirection.
He understood his assignment, but how could he learn anything new when placed so far on the outside of the entire case? Being inside Dev’s building was proving to be a nonstarter. How did he put himself in front of a man who was never present? At this point, no matter what time Dev got home, he couldn’t force any sort of meaningful interaction.
What were his choices? Staging some sort of apartment emergency? How much time would that give him with Dev?
In talking over the possibilities and probabilities of the case, Deputy Assistant Collins had come to the conclusion that the wrong sibling had been tapped to go undercover. No one had ever tried to recruit Devilman. If there were something nefarious happening within the DEA team, bringing Shanna in might have made the Dallas office look effective without truly changing any outcome of whatever plan was playing out.
But could they actually get Dev to break ranks? To turn on his club brothers. As farfetched as the idea seemed, a night alone stewing over the possibilities had the notion taking root in a more concrete way. Except he’d bring Dev in under the AG’s umbrella to help investigate the Dallas DEA’s involvement.
Having Dev work with him to expose the mismanagement of the local DEA field office might solve this case faster than anyone dared to hope.
That brought him full circle with his initial field report concerns. He’d still have to have some quality time alone with Dev to learn more about the man. To figure out if they could approach him with the idea.
Cash could get a tattoo.
With a snort to himself, he shot down the idea. As much as he liked ink on others, it wasn’t his thing, and they were damned permanent.
He grabbed his phone and went to the window along the back wall of his bedroom. As fast as the rain rushed in, it ebbed to a hard sprinkle.
The neighborhood’s eerie quiet kicked up a notch.
The faint sounds of a muffler let Cash know that Dev rumbled down the small alley before he ever saw the 69 Mach 1. He stood there as a set of headlights came into view. Dev had a thing for loud, vintage vehicles.
Cash had shut and locked the gate when he’d arrived home this evening. Based on the way Dev used the hood of his car to nudge at the gate, he hadn’t expected anything more than the flimsy latch to be set, easily knocked open. The exact reason Cash had initiated the padlock. The car idled in place for several long seconds, as if Dev were in some moment of indecision.
He quickly thought through the options. Dev could ram it and avoid the rain or get out of the car and go through the motions of having to open the locked gate, on and on.
A fifty-fifty chance as to what the biker might do.
The car reversed then stopped, the driver’s side door opened. He could feel Dev’s frustration when he made it to the gate and saw it was actually locked closed. He had to go back to the car, cut the engine to get his keys.
Dev pushed the gate open then hopped back in the car and started forward again. He pulled to the back of the building and parked at an angle. His hood pointing in the direction of Cash’s driver’s side door.
Why?
