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“But you won’t help me, will you,” I say, moving in to check his king. “Because that would endanger your queen.” I lift my gaze to his, matching his hard stare. “You’re not protecting yourself, you’re protecting Alexis.” Who is nowhere in the building. “Where is she?”
The heavy thud of footsteps announces the search has begun on this side of the floor. Larkin rises from his chair, buttoning his suit together. “We’re done.”
“We’re not done at all. How is Alexis involved? What are you protecting her from?” I gauge his stiff posture. I’m getting close. “Has the Alpha threatened her?”
He heads toward his desk, effectively shutting me out. “You have my answer. You need to leave.”
I stand. “We have a common enemy. A common threat. As much as I loathe saying this, if we work together—”
He turns my way. “Last time I attempted to trust you, my organization was infiltrated by the FBI and I was forced to close.” His gaze narrows. “And now my firm is being overrun by black suits. No, I don’t think this arrangement works in my favor. Good luck to you, detective. You know the way out.”
Fuck. I’d love nothing more than to ram my fist through his smug face, beat the answers out of him. Because whatever he’s hiding could be the information I need.
I glance down at the board. Larkin left his king checked without finishing the game.
Larkin does have a lot to risk. The auction bust implicated The Firm, which closed its doors to keep the members anonymous. Larkin included. According to my team reports, Maddox was the host of the auction that night, although it was Larkin who in fact oversaw the auction. Maddox is the only one who can prove otherwise, but he’s conveniently unable to do so.
Very convenient. He wanted Maddox out of his firm, and now Maddox is not just gone, but missing. Something that seems to happen a lot to his partners. If I set aside his perceived help on the auction op, Larkin could be guilty of orchestrating all of this.
And yet, as much I dislike him, I don’t see Chase Larkin as the Alpha. He lost his sex club, his law firm is currently being torn apart by the Feds, and apparently, the Alpha still has him under his thumb with some mysterious threat against Alexis.
Either he’s damn good at playing the victim, or he really is in danger. Enough so that he’s hidden Alexis away. The lawyer is typically cocky…but his attitude today reeks of false bravado. He’s afraid.
I came here looking for answers, but more than that, I wanted his trust. Despite my dirty actions of late, I took an oath to protect—and that includes asshole lawyers like Larkin. But if he won’t reveal his hand, then there’s nothing I can do to help him.
I start toward the door.
“I hope we can finish our game soon,” he says, halting my steps. “I hate leaving things unfinished.”
I’m only given a moment to question his words before a uniform opens the door. “Detective Quinn, we have something.”
I see it on Larkin’s face; he’s not aware of whatever has just been discovered. His shoulders square, his eyes blaze. Larkin is being stripped of his control, and that infuriates him.
“I’m on my way,” I say, giving Larkin a nod. “I’ll handle it.”
It might not be any assurance, but if I do want those answers, I need to offer him some kind of proof that I’ll stand by my word. Right now, Larkin in an outlier. He’s operating outside of our unit to find his own answers, his own way to bring down the Alpha. And given what’s at stake for him, if he isn’t already working against us, he very well could become a tool for the Alpha.
“You do that, detective,” Larkin says. “I’d hate for either of us to have to answer any uncomfortable questions.”
Point taken.
Once you’ve bent the law, muddied the waters, it becomes easier the second time. Desensitized. After all these years of chasing criminals, I finally understand them on a level I never could before.
It’s like addiction. With each hit, your tolerance goes up a notch. People can turn from one extreme to another. For me, that’s a terrifying thought.
I leave Larkin in his office and follow the uni through the maze of hallways to another corner office. The door reads: Ryland Maddox.
Agent Rollins is already within, gloved hands anchored to his hips. He watches a tech crack a Hemastix. My heart rate jacks as the solution inside the tube swirls blue.
“Positive for blood,” the tech confirms.
I move inside the office. “Where was the blood located?” He nods to a gold desk pen holder. The fancy kind. Another tech is dusting the mounted base for prints.
“Stop,” I order. All heads turn my way. “Maddox’s prints are obviously on it; it’s his office. Cut around the base to remove the section of desk and send it to the crime lab for processing.”
This seems to satisfy Rollins. He nods curtly. “Good thinking. Let’s not fuck this up, boys.” He takes over the lead, calling out for a Sawzall.
I force my fists to unclench, concentrate on my breathing. The worst part of being on the other side of the law is the unknown variable.
