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The detectives eye each other, and I laugh.
“Oh, my God! You either didn’t check, or you’re on their payroll. Priceless.”
They don’t offer any answers, so I lean forward. “So, tell me. How did that fucker die? Was he gutted like a fish? Or, I know, did someone hang him from his crusty balls?”
They meet my questions with stony silence.
“Maybe you should ask Billy Nogales. They are family, after all.” I shrug. It’s clear they are here on a fishing expedition, and I refuse to take the bait. “Is that all?”
Detective Scott smacks the table, drawing attention for the pre-lunch customers. “Listen, Ms. Martinez, hanging around with bikers is a good way to end up dead. You think this is all fun and games but look at what happened to your friend.”
I laugh. “Seems to me that trusting you is what landed her behind bars, not her association with someone who rides a motorcycle. Cyrus drives a sedan, and he didn’t hesitate to harm her.”
These fucking guys are so sure they know everything when they don’t know shit. I give him an aggressive side-eye. “What about my friend Sandee? She’s been missing for weeks now, but cops don’t care about a dancer, right? Or any of the other women turning up dead in the harbor.”
Now I’m angry, and I’m done being cooperative. “I’m done answering your questions.” I turn to go into the back kitchen. “Please leave.”
“We’re not done,” Powell grunts at my back.
I turn to him and cross my arms, arch my brows. “I’m done, and if you’re not here to arrest me or buy baked goods, you are trespassing.”
“Let’s hope your friends are more cooperative when yours is the next dead body we have to investigate,” Scott says sarcastically.
“Is that a threat? Did you just threaten me?”
“No, Ms. Martinez. It’s a warning to you and all the other women here that hanging out with the Reckless Souls MC is a bad idea.”
“How about you try to solve the dead bodies you already have and don’t worry about the next one? The news says there are plenty of unsolved deaths in town, and you’re here worrying about someone you don’t even know is dead. Maybe they’ll want to hear about how you care more about an allegedly missing used car salesman who beats women than actual missing women.”
Both detectives’ eyes flare with fury, and I smile, waving as they storm out ofFor Goodness Cakes.
Those assholes aren’t getting shit out of me.
Chapter Ten
Joaquin
“Damn, this place is deep in the cut,” Lucky says. We’ve come to a stop outside another warehouse owned by the Kings. “This place is definitely not meant to be found.”
Lucky has a point. A warehouse set from the main road isn’t meant to operate during normal business hours. “Has to be another stash house,” I say.
Coop nods his agreement. “Most likely. It’s not like the Kings need a lot of warehouse space for legit businesses.” He shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair, blowing out an exhausted breath. “Let’s get inside while it’s still light enough to see what’s in there.”
The sun is about to set, giving us perfect cover, but if the warehouse isn’t on the grid, then we’ll be blind in there.
It’s a typical warehouse, and when we get inside, it’s just what I expect. Tall ceilings, fluorescent lighting, and shelves stacked to the ceiling, the place looks like an abandoned Costco.
“What do you think they have in here?” I ask, scanning tall shelves stacked high with boxes, bags, chests, crates, and any other container that can hold something.
Coop flashes a shit-eating grin. “There’s just one way to find out, brother.” I watch him closely as he steps further inside the building. I scan for anyone who doesn’t belong as Coop steps closer to one of the shelves. He pulls out a six-inch blade and stabs it into one of the boxes with the wide-eyed giddiness of a kid on Christmas morning.
“Coke,” he says, watching a stream of white powder spilling out of the box.
Drugs. I shrug. “At least they’re keeping them stored where they’ll stay in good condition,” I say and move toward another shelf. Instead of Coop’s theatrics, I unzip a large red suitcase and find bags and bags of pills. “Fucking fentanyl,” I say. “Not getting near that shit.”
“We found more coke and what looks like meth,” Lucky says. “Fucking idiots.”
Coops nods. “Yeah, they are. You guys check over there, and I’ll get Ace on the phone.”
