“No,” I said. “He’s just a fentanyl dealer.”
Leon let out a long exhale through his nose. “You’re sure?”
“He’s a mid-level player,” Jake answered, putting his ankle on the opposite knee. “I ran thirteen backgrounds on him; they all told me the same thing. He had a few aliases. One in Canada, two in Europe. But I’ve already sent word to their embassies. His passports, US included, are no longer valid.” He paused, looking at me, a silent question hanging in the air.Do I say more?
I cleared my throat. “He’s going to be in prison for a long time.”
Amara turned the page in his file. “Any connections?”
Jake shifted in his seat.
The chief’s brown eyes flicked up, searching my face for the truth. “Devil’s Den,” I told her, shooting a look at Leon.
“God dammit,” he clipped under his breath and walked to the windows.
The tension in the room was thick. Damn near suffocating. “Before you two step into the panic room, please listen to us,” Jake said, pushing his glasses up.
“Devil’s Den is not a fucking game,” Leon growled, turning back to face us, his body rigid.
“You think we don’t know that?” Jake returned, dropping his leg and leaning forward. “My best friend was trapped there for months.”
Amara turned to me, giving me a sympathetic look. Our contacts in St. Louis knew nearly everything about my time in Devil’s Den—except for Angel. They had no idea that I’d gone in to save her and they never would. The last thing I wanted, then and now, was for these people to have her on their radar. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them; it was that this group had enemies. Bigger and far more dangerous than the ones we had.
“Does Cain need to get involved?” Leon finally asked, breaking the thick silence.
I shook my head.No.
Cain Donovan, another Oasis leader, had been involved with Devil’s Den a few years back. He used to be in the Bratva, though not by his own will. And his old boss had forced him back into the dark depths I’d barely survived. I shouldn’t have survived it, but Grayson had found me in time.
“If I call him, he can be here in ten,” Leon pressed.
Jake waved his hand. “This was supposed to be a cut-and-dry hunt. Pennick was a target assigned to us by Seattle PD. Ash chased him here, shit got dicey, and that’s it. He’s behind bars.” He stood up and moved to the coffee station in the corner of the office. “There’s nothing more to be done. He was working alone and always has.”
Amara looked uncertain, but given everything she’d been through, I didn’t blame her. “Look,” I said, leaning forward on my elbows, my hands hanging between my knees. “We know shit can go south really quick in this line of work, and we’ve learned our lesson. Jake has done the work. What he is telling you is fact. Concrete.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “It’s not that we don’t believe you,” she started, shooting Jake an apologetic look. “We just have to cover every angle.”
“If you want, run your own checks,” Jake offered. “For peace of mind, I’ll email you everything I have, and your department can dig through it with a fine-tooth comb.”
“It wouldn’t be law enforcement combing through it,” Leon interjected, scratching his jaw. “Cain would do it.”
Jake blinked. “Cain?”
He nodded. “He possesses the same skill set as you.”
I pressed my lips together and looked at my shoes, knowing what was coming. A forced laugh came from Murphy not even a second later. “Wonderful. Let’s see if he can come up with anything.”
I heard him pour a cup of coffee. I lifted my head, found his fury-filled eyes, and jerked my chin. “Get me one too.” I glanced at Amara. “I have a feeling we’re far from done.”
“You would be correct,” she chirped, leaning back in her chair.
We didn’t walk out of there until the sun was up, the warm golden light stretching over the river beyond the Arch. Jake took a deep breath once we were outside, his third cup of black coffee in hand. “That went better than I expected.”
“Of course it did,” I muttered. “We have a good relationship with this city. If Pennick had pulled that shit anywhere else, I would definitely be sitting in a jail cell.”
“Good thing you’re too ugly for prison,” he drawled, looking down the street toward the baseball and hockey stadiums. “God, I miss this city.”
I did a double take. “When the fuck do you come to St. Louis outside of work?”
