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“Let’s hear it.”
“I’ve been doing some digging into Bishop Mueller and something came up.” My dramatic pause was just to piss off Beck. “Does the name Richie Mueller ring a bell?”
There was a hint of recognition in Marshall’s brown eyes, but Agent Beck gave me a blank stare. “No. Is he another fucking gangster in the tri-city area?”
“No, that’s the name on Mueller’s paycheck that comes from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He’s been undercover all this time.”
Marshall’s eyes went wide, but he otherwise stayed silent, processing the information and probably searching for any signs that he’d missed.
Beck sucked in a breath, her pale face turning six different shades of crimson before it settled on furious red.
“You’re lying. You’re covering something up.” She glared at me hard, but I was unfazed because I’d prepared for this.
“Whatever you’re hiding, I’ll find it, Ellison, and there will be no place for any of you or your biker gang to hide.”
I shouldn’t have, but I laughed at her weak ass threat.
“Fuck you, Beck. If you didn’t want me on this case because of my so-called biker gang, you shouldn’t have asked for me. Because that’s how this happened in case you forgot.”
“Guys,” Marshall said, his tone deep and forceful, like an annoyed father.
“No, Marshall, let him finish. Got anything else to say, rookie?” I heard the threat, and I was done bending over for this bitch.
“Yeah. I do. You’re a federal fucking agent with a shit ton of more experience than me. So why don’t you go do some goddamn police work and check it out for yourself? I won’t tell you how I found out, so save your threats. Just do your own research and maybe start with someone named Amy Mendoza. Maybe that’ll explain why you were called in on a local double murder.”
“That’s not true. They would have told us,” she insisted desperately, gaze darting to Marshall for assurance.
“Only three people other than Mueller know.”
“If you’re making this up.”
I smiled and folded my arms. “Or maybe you already knew and now you’re covering for whatever dirty shit he was into. Maybe you’re trying to take over his role in the city.”
“Fuck you!”
The door slung open so fast that Marshall barely escaped a doorknob to the spine. “What the fuck is going on in here?” Sarge barged into the room with a red face and angry eyes. “Well?”
“I found out Mueller was undercover FBI and Beck can’t handle it. Accused me of lying and covering for my biker gang.”
His eyes widened in surprise, and he turned to Agent Beck. “That true?”
She nodded.
“Fuck this. I’ll be back at my desk on Monday, sir, to get back to proper field training.”
I didn’t need her shit or her constant judgment. I didn’t ask for this opportunity, and now that I knew how Beck really was, I held no hope she would do anything to help my career.
Sarge sighed, meaty hands fisted at his hips. “You sure that’s what you want to do, Ellison?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“All right. Jenkins is solo today, so I’ll have him swing back to scoop you up.”
“Thank you, sir.” With one final glare for Beck, I left the room feeling equal parts anger and relief. Overall the anger won out, and I shot off a quick text to Madison.
Jameson: How does a Saturday night ride through Vegas sound?
Madison: Like fun. I’ll be there at eight.
Chapter Seventeen
Madison
If you had asked me before Jameson came into my life, how I felt about motorcycles, I would have given an ambivalent shrug, maybe rolled my eyes and grumbled about the noise. But the truth was, there was nothing—outside the bedroom—that fired me up like having my arms wrapped around a big strong man on the back of a Harley. Smooth vibrations between my legs. And the whole time, sporting a big ass, goofy grin.
The wind whipped through my hair and with the faceguard open, the night air chilled my skin, overheated thanks to being wrapped around Jameson’s big, strong hard body.
This is nice. It was really nice to be out with a friend, especially today. Ashby Manor was just so damn heavy all the time. Understandable, but it was wearing on me. It went from sad to angry to conspiring on a whim, and I’d had about enough of it. Calvin was so damn sad all the time, and then just as quickly flying into fits of rage. I understood and offered as much sympathy as I could, but holy shit it was exhausting. And the fear he’d go back to self-medicating ate at me.
It was like being back in San Bernardino all over again, constantly afraid and walking on eggshells in case I pissed off the wrong person.
So yeah, strapped to the back of Jameson’s bike was the best part of my week, giving me a night free of tension and emotion.
