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There are those at the station firmly embedded in the Black Market Syndicate’s pockets. It’s the same at every station house, an unfortunate reality of the place and time in which we live.
The Syndicate is a disease infecting Empire Bay and the surrounding areas.
And they’ve gotten so big that no one is really capable of taking them down. We can only deal with the repercussions of them.
“This person is good, whoever they are. What I can do,” Adam continues when I’ve been silent for too long, “is get you info on where a few of the other idiots logged on recently. The IP address in our dead guy’s pocket definitely matches the chat room, and I hope to be able to crack things soon. I’ve got several programs running. Darkling is good, but not good enough to stop me. I already managed to find out where one of the users logged on.”
“Damn, thanks.” I clasp him on the shoulder. “It’s appreciated. I know you’ve been working hard.”
Adam blushes, not used to the praise. “I’m…the man?”
I chuckle and agree. “Yeah. You’re the man. Now, what did you get for me?”
Damn it. I didn’t want to like the dude, but I do. Him and Bill, although Bill is much rougher around the edges. I told myself after Layla died…I wouldn’t get close to anyone I work with. I can’t handle another loss.
Against all my better judgment, I’ve gotten attached to Adam.
Adam and Bill, among the others in the tech department, do a damn fucking good job of boosting our firewalls and protections, too. Especially after our last incident with a mole among us. They went apeshit trying to fix the breaks in our cyber protections. Now, no one can access our records. Not inside, unless you've got the right credentials, and definitely not outside.
“Firestone Brewery,” he tells me.
“What?”
He turns to me and sticks his index finger against my collarbone, the kind of bro behavior he’s never displayed before, but he’s smiling. “The last place several of the chat members logged on. It’s not really a known hot spot for any kind of illegal activity, though. Unless it’s been scrubbed.” He considered the option. “Could be.”
“Can you see if it has?”
He nods, eager. “Yeah, of course.”
Now I feel like a fucking idiot. “And…” I lower my voice even though we’re alone. “How about facial recognition? Did the photos taken at the crime scene match anything from your software?”
“The special secret thing you asked me to do, buddy?” Adam clarifies.
Too many damn people saw the blowjob princess at the scene, there and gone. Even Captain Ashcroft took an interest when he saw the initial photographs of the crime scene. People are asking questions based on her proximity and the way I bolted after her.
If I bring her in for questioning, then maybe I can get the higher-ups off my back, grab some answers, and have her out of the way in no time.
I shift, standing there a little uncomfortable because now I'm thinking about her lips around my cock.
“Ah, yeah, interesting.” Adam drags out his phone and types in a few things. “But easy.” He holds the phone out to show me the notes he’d compiled. “Aria is her name. Couldn’t get a definitive last name on her, but her name has popped up on several radars. No follow-through, though. She’s potentially tied to Broderick Stevens, but no one can tie her to anything definitive.”
I freeze. “She’s what?”
Adam shrugs, but his brows furrow together in discomfort. “No one can put a finger on her for sure. She came from nothing, and now she owns a rent-controlled apartment in one of the most lavish apartments in the city. No history on her, nothing except her first name. Her place is a block from Broderick’s offices. Where, you’ll be intrigued to know, she walks daily. In and out of the building. Seems to have some skill with the computer. Hacker, maybe?”
He’s thinking out loud, and I’m following what he’s putting down.
The last three bodies have been found without a lighter to mark the death as one at the hand of the Black Market Syndicate. We’ve been working on a connection, but so far, we've been coming up blank except to say they were all disposed of in the same way and probably done by the same killer.
Maybe the bodies belonged to the organization, and maybe my blowjob princess had been there on word from her boss. It’s a thread to tug, if nothing else, and will give me another chance to talk to her face-to-face.
Aria, a connection to Broderick.
Aria. That’s her name.
Fuck.
My hand curls into a fist, and I slam it against the wall, making a dent in the old sheetrock. The skin on my knuckles cracks but doesn’t bleed.
