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“To save your ass.” His black eyebrows turn inward. “To save your badge, Andrews.” He removes a pen from the breast pocket of his T-shirt, holding it out in front of me. “You want to keep it, right? You want to get IA off your ass before they start digging around and find validation that you were, in fact, fucking a man you were supposed to be investigating?”
“Why do you care? What does me keeping my badge have to do with you or the DEA’s interest in Acerbi?”
“You don’t worry about that. Just sign the piece of paper, and we’ll both go hand it to your boss. I’m looking forward to seeing the look on his face actually.”
“I’m not signing shit until you tell me what’s in this for you and the DEA.”
“I want to wrap up a case I’ve been working on for far too long. I want to put the man who is responsible for countless murders and trafficking more drugs than you will ever see in your lifetime into our country, behind bars. Even if he deserves far worse than prison.” His tone is bitter, angry. Personal. “And I want your help in taking down the dirty cops that help keep him and men like him out of prison.”
“Which cops are dirty?”
“That’s still to be determined, but I have a good idea who they are. Sign the paper, so we can get this on the way, Bri. I can call you Bri, right?”
There is something about him that strikes me as good. He’s mouthy for a guy. But for whatever reason, I think I might be able to trust him and work with him.
“No. We aren’t friends.”
“Oh, yes we are, Bri.”
I take the pen he stretches out in front of me.
* * *
Entering the elevator,I turn and place my back against the back wall, clutching my purse with both hands in front of me.
“So, we’re just planning on walking in there and expecting the deputy chief to accept that falsified document?”
I eye the file folder clutched in his hand.
He presses the button that will take me up to my dreaded fate.
“Only you and I know it’s falsified,” he whispers as if this isn’t a big deal, which in hindsight it is, and I can’t fathom why I’m even going along with it. Other than the fact I don’t want Internal Affairs to recommend I need to be let go.
Eric sidles up next to me as we ascend.
Just the thought of getting fired almost brings tears to my eyes.
Pulling in a deep breath of air, I blow it back out in a steady stream, calming my emotions and nerves—or at least trying to. I shouldn’t have had that extra-large coffee with an extra two shots of espresso in it on the drive here. The caffeine has only amped me up with jitters I don’t need right now.
I can do this.
I can walk into Tom’s office with a straight face and lie to my boss.
Fuck, I’m going to Hell for this.
“With the look you have on your face, Ramirez will have an opening to question this.” He holds up his hand. “Get your shit together, Detective. Confidence. You need it, and if you don’t have it, fake it.” He smiles, his face softening. “You can start with tipping those lips up. Yeah?”
His hip knocks lightly into mine.
“Son of a fuck.” I slam my palm against the wooden panel to my back. Pain shoots up my side and down my leg so fast and unexpectedly.
“Jesus, Andrews,” Eric sounds off. “What the hell is your problem now?”
My jaw snaps shut, locking down on the pain until it passes.
“You asshole,” I bark at him. “This is the leg Diaz shot, fuckwad.”
I point to the thigh he bumped into.
