He let them go at it and went toward the parking lot, fist flying forward, violently fighting the air, wishing he’d landed one on his old man. Sent his loser ass to the ground. Allowed himself to redefine the hierarchy through his fists.
Then he’d decide what place to allow his old man to ride in.
Chapter 10
This felt closer to right than anything else he’d done since landing on Texas soil.
The federal government’s DOJ had extensive and researched procedures and rules in place for a reason. They were designed to keep every person they employed protected and safe.
As an agent, Cash knew the boundaries he needed to keep this case within. If he stepped outside of those rules, documentation and reasoning had to be given as soon as humanly possible. It kept everyone on the same page. When those lines blurred, or got crossed for whatever reason, it was damn hard to get the structure back.
No, the AG’s office hadn’t been forthright with the intel on the utter chaos inside this case. The reason was clear. His approach needed an unbiased level head in order to assess the ground operation. But at least in this moment, inside the field office of the Dallas DEA, Cash felt closer to normal than he had since the beginning.
He’d become concerned it was going to be him against an entire inept regional office.
Today’s meeting gave him access to the six-person team who were in-office personnel, officially assigned to monitor all of the DEA’s field activity on the Disciples of Havoc. These were the information keepers. The place where the mounds of intel on the Disciples was professionally structured and held securely, ready for whoever had proper clearance and wanted to dig in. It appeared this team worked like a well-oiled machine, in direct contrast to the undercover operatives out on the street.
Cash sat at an eight-foot table, in a secured, smaller room, filled to capacity with six semi-private cubicles. A young intelligence specialist, Ben Cross, gave a refresher on the surveillance gear to be planted inside Dev’s apartment. Training he’d had many times over the years.
This morning, Cash had given himself a deadline: one week to ride the current course of chaos. To learn the ins and outs of this case, and to secretly vet his assigned Dallas DEA street team, before he investigated the reasons why they did what they did. For seven days, he was nothing but a fly on the wall, gathering intel before moving forward.
By adding a cutoff date, it helped him ignore—for now—the lackadaisical boredom he found within the entire team. If something didn’t change, in eight days, he planned to reevaluate the strategies and actions of every person hired to handle anything to do with the Disciples.
“You have that old school special agent vibe about you,” Ben said, drawing Cash from his tactical planning. His focus zoomed back in on the present.
No matter what he’d conjured in his head, he didn’t actually like being on the inside of the Dallas DEA building, even with all the precautions they used to get him there. The Disciples had to have people on the inside. What if he were identified before he ever truly got started? Another egregiously misguided step.
“Sorry. They told me the gear was new. I’ve been trained on this before. I lost focus. Keep going.” Cash motioned away his lost focus with his hand, encouraging Ben to continue.
“No seriously. You look like 007. I’ve never seen any agent embody him so completely.”
Cash narrowed his eyes. Was this guy making fun of him? He looked down at his own body. He’d dressed in his standard undercover attire. Since he’d held this same cover for years, he’d built an extensive wardrobe of expensive formal clothing. He generally preferred his clothes to fit his body. If the clothes made the man, he felt more on his game in a suit and tie.
His weapon had been stowed at the door, but his clothing had been made to accommodate those additions too.
The specialist laughed at whatever he saw on Cash’s face. “It was supposed to be a compliment. To be honest, I’m not sure why they’re having you plant all this. They know everything about every club member.”
“You’re not to guide, Cross. He’s here to do a job.”
Cash’s brows lifted as he looked over his shoulder to see a woman, another business casual, appropriately dressed employee in the nearest cubicles. She didn’t look up from the monitor on her desk.
“Ignore Ben. He talks too much, but you do look good. Wish more of these guys cared enough to fill in their clothes like you do.”
“That’s Vernie. She’s the lead over our department,” Ben explained as if he hadn’t just been reprimanded.
Cash nodded, his gaze moving back to Ben, taking in what he might have missed about the man. What he had labeled as a young man might not be as young as he’d originally thought. Approximately five-eight with dark hair, dark eyes, military haircut. He wore khakis and a department-issued polo.
“There’s so much information, it’s been time consuming to get through it all,” Cash added, hoping to keep the two talking. He cut his gaze back over his shoulder. Vernie. She looked tough. Dark hair, dark eyes. A female lead usually meant she was smarter than everyone else and didn’t take shit off anyone.
“I’ve been on the case for three years, and I agree with you. We’re information heavy on that biker gang. We need someone to put it all together. We need action,” Ben declared and lifted a hand to Vernie when she cut her hard gaze to Ben. “That’s all I’m saying.”
Cash turned back to Ben and gave a single nod of understanding. He wholeheartedly agreed with the simple summation. “When it comes time for you to do a deep dive into the Dallas District Attorney and the biker member she had an affair with, know I planted that information.”
“Jesus, Ben,” Vernie said. “Shut your mouth. You’re coming on too strong no matter how badly you need a friend.”
Ben splayed a hand out in explanation, the camera equipment completely forgotten. “All I’m sayin’ is there’s only two possible answers. Either something isn’t being included in the mountain of intelligence we have or there’s nothing to find. Either way, we’re pumped you’re here. I’m ready to be reassigned to something else. Anything new. I’ve done a fire job here, but jeez. It’s too much. Did you see the part where that big one is dating that assistant district attorney? What’s up with the bikers and the district attorney’s office? But I’m secretly rooting for ’em. They look pretty happy together.”
Cash nodded, taking it all in. He’d touched on the details of Keyes Dixon’s double life while waiting for Dev to get home last night. “No one knows about those two?”
