He clenched his jaw as he used the washing machine to pull himself up.
Rehashing the frustrations of last night was dumb.
His damn knee hurt. Once on his feet, he took a minute and smoothed his clothing then opened the door to the main part of the building. The light filtering inside illuminated the trail of mess.
“Trace’s every bit the pig Dev is,” Joe called, clearer now that the door was open. “You’ve gotta remember you have a flashlight on your cell phone. No use banging around in the dark.”
His anger elevated quickly, remembering Joe had the ability to watch just about everything in the building. Cash grabbed the cleaning cloth off the floor, fisting the silky material in one hand as he walked the aisle separating the two sides of the house, picking up Trace’s belongings as he went.
Once he cleared the hall and foyer, he headed for Trace’s apartment. He also gathered one boot—no idea where the other was—a stray dirty sock, a hairbrush, and a T-shirt from in front of Trace’s door.
T-shirt selection had been a monumental decision this morning, requiring Dev’s involvement to help Trace decide which one to wear. Trace had stood there, shirtless, his jeans riding low on his hips. Of course he was built like a pro-athlete. Dev seemed to understand the shirt dilemma far better than Cash did and made the decision for Trace, choosing the vintage ZZ Top shirt. Dev explained something about the Texas band needing reverence. The one now in Cash’s hand—Ozzie—had been a hard no-go.
Since Trace’s front door was wide open, Cash didn’t see it as an invasion of privacy to drop Trace’s shit right inside the entry.
More alarming than the accumulation outside the apartment was the mess already taking shape inside. A half-eaten slice of pizza sat on the coffee table, the box left wide open on top of the stove. Cans of beer, most likely Dev’s, were in various spots. Soda cans right beside them. A vintage record player was placed on the end table, all the vinyl’s spread across the floor. Trace’s clothes were everywhere else. Guns, ammunition, and electronics also cluttered the small apartment. Trace was indeed Dev’s mini-me.
From this angle, he could see the bed was in chaos. A towel wadded and discarded on the floor. What was with these men? His inner neat freak railed in horror at the mess.
All he could do was step out of the apartment and shut the door tightly behind him.
Hopefully, Dev would clue Trace in on his tidiness requirements. Or not. Cash was already shaping into the asshole of the group. Maybe if that trend continued, he would explain the prerequisite himself.
With a renewed sense of determination, Cash trudged up the staircase, looking at Joe who stood at the second-floor railing. “Buckle up. We’re starting from the beginning. This time we need to involve this Aaron Stuart guy you keep yammering about. Maybe run ideas past Mitch Knox. He seems like an out-of-the-box thinker. I want timestamps on all the information we’ve requested from all the different departments. I’m tired of waiting. Also, we need to pull data on who originated each piece of intelligence. I want it verified with a time stamp. The answers are in there.”
Joe groaned quietly, rolling then lifting his eyes to the ceiling. “Not again. Do you know how many times we’ve rehashed this information?”
“Yes, and we’re doing it again with a different view to the details. We’ve missed something. We need a fresh approach. We also need to include Ben Cross. He’s watched countless hours of video and input,” Cash said, continuing his climb up the stairs.
“No…way.” Joe shook his head at the mention of Ben Cross. “Not him. He’s weird. He talks too much.”
“You’re weird,” Cash said. Joe had let him trip in the dark…twice. “You talk too much.”
“You’re weird,” Joe shot back with force and dropped his head between his shoulder blades. When Cash made it to the top of the staircase, Joe pivoted around to their shared apartment and started that way, clomping as he went. “So who’s our focus now?”
That was a good question. Since every roadblock that could have gotten in their way had done so, he’d forgotten that he and Joe were rarely ever in a position to bounce information back and forth to build off one another.
“With what we now know, I believe the suspect list is shorter from the Disciples side. We’ve got Fox who’s an utter dumbass, so probably not him. But there’s also a reason Ray-Ray hasn’t gone missing for his trick with the Dallas DA… We need to add Dallas DA Twiford to the list. Maybe she’s been an asset to the Disciples over all these years before having some falling out.”
“Good one,” Joe said, snapping his fingers then pointing to Cash. “I’ve questioned Ray-Ray and Fox’s involvement a million times. I don’t see it. But I never thought of the Twiford angle. It makes sense. She’s crafty. I can see that.” Joe headed to the tables and computer equipment set in the middle of their living room. “If Diesel’s off your shortlist, explain to me why. I haven’t taken him off my list. Then Dixie, Fox’s girlfriend. And Daphne, her daughter.”
“I’m taking Diesel off my short list because I’m not sure the brothers have it in them to steal on a large level. I think they’re masters at executing small crimes, but I just can’t see anything substantial from the lot of them. The way I see it, whoever gathered the initial intelligence needs to top the list. I want to know who they are regardless of their undercover status.”
“Malik’s been involved with the case for years now,” Joe stated about their direct lead in the Dallas DEA field office. “He’s worked closely with the entire team that Ben Cross is on.”
“Absolutely Malik.” Cash shut the door as the frustration and weird jealousy he had faded, and the case took precedence. “Can Stuart get us a list of every federal employee who ever touched this case? Managers, leads, and directors. Who’s been assigned to the case in the last five or so years?”
“I already pulled that information,” Joe said, reminding Cash why Joe made such a good partner.
He took a seat in front of his laptop, directly across from Joe.
“I also pulled income and tax records for those employees. That needs to stay on the down-low.”
“Really nice job.” Cash snapped his fingers then pointed at Joe, giving him a wink. “That’s why I keep you around.”
“Hold off on the praise. I haven’t gotten through much of the financials. There’s a lot there.” Joe rolled his office chair behind one of the three monitors on that side of the table. Two CPUs sat at his feet.
“Then that’s where we begin.” Cash lifted his laptop lid as hope infiltrated his darkening heart.
