Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(70)

Momentum turned the tide, however, and Veck’s back slammed into the side of the car.

José kept his voice calm in spite of the fact that he had to use all his strength to keep the guy in place. “Think about it. You kill the camera, we can’t use the picture he took against him. You hear me? Think, damn you . . . think.”

Veck’s eyes shifted over and locked on the perp, and frankly, the lack of crazy in them was a little disturbing. Even in the midst of manic, physical exertion, DelVecchio was strangely relaxed, utterly focused . . . and undeniably deadly: José got the sense that if he let the other detective go, the camera wasn’t the only thing that was going to be irreparably damaged.

Veck looked entirely capable of killing in a very calm, competent way.

“Veck, buddy, snap out of it.”

There was a moment or two of nothing-doing, and José knew damn well that everyone in the alley was as unsure as he was about how this was going to go. Including the photog.

“Hey. Look at me, my man.”

Veck’s baby blues slowly shifted over and he blinked. Gradually, the tension in that arm loosened and José escorted the thing down until he could take the Nikon—no way of knowing whether the storm was truly over.

“You okay?” José asked.

Veck nodded and pulled his jacket back into place. When he nodded a second time, José stepped back.

Big mistake.

His partner moved so fast there was no stopping him. And he cocked that photog so hard, he probably broke the f*cker’s jaw.

As the perp sagged in the hold of the other policemen, no one said a thing. They’d all wanted to do it, but given Veck’s little car ride, he’d earned the right.

Unfortunately, the payback move was probably going to get the detective suspended—and maybe the CPD sued.

Shaking out his punching hand, Veck muttered, “Someone give me a cigarette.”

Shit, José thought. There was no reason to keep trying to find Butch O’Neal. It was like his old partner was right in front of him.

So maybe he should give up trying to trace that 911 call from last week. Even with all the resources available down at headquarters, he’d gotten nowhere and the cold trail was probably a good thing.

One wild card with a self-destructive streak was more than he could handle on the job, thank you very much.





TWENTY-FIVE


Down in the training center at the compound, Butch kind of wanted to hate the surgeon out of loyalty to V.Especially given the guy’s Chippendale, half-naked routine with that towel.

God, the idea that piece of meat had been near Payne all undressed? Wicked bad idea on so many levels.

It would have been different if he’d been built like a chess player, for instance. As it was, Butch felt like John Cena had been macking on V’s little sister. How the hell was a surgeon built like that?

Still, there were two things that saved the guy: The bastard had put on the fresh scrubs Butch had given him—so no more ladies’ night. And, as they’d sat down in front of the Dell in the exam room, the guy seemed honestly concerned about Payne and her welfare.

Not that they were getting anywhere on that front. The pair of them were staring at the computer screen like two dogs watching Animal Planet: very focused, but incapable of turning up the volume or changing the channel.

Ordinarily? Butch would phone or text Vishous. But that was not going to happen, given the showdown that was going on up at the Pit.

God, he hoped V and Jane got their act back together.

“So now what,” the surgeon asked.

Butch shook himself back into focus and put his palm on the mouse. “We pray I pull the security files out of my ass. That’s what.”

“And you were bitching about my towel.”

Butch cracked a smile. “Smart-ass.”

As if on cue, the two of them leaned in closer to the screen—like that was somehow going to magically help the mouse find the stuff they were looking for.

“I suck at this shit,” the surgeon muttered with disgust. “I’m better with my hands.”

“Me, too.”

“Go to the start menu.”

“I’m going, going. . . .”

“Shit,” they said together as they got a load of all the files or programs or whatever it was.

Naturally, there was nothing named “Security,” “Cameras,” or “Click here, dummy, to find what you two losers are looking for.”

“Wait, would it be under ‘videos’?” the surgeon said.

“Good idea.”

They both inched even closer, until the tips of their noses were all but polishing the damn monitor.

“Can I help you guys?”

Butch snapped his head around. “Thank God, Jane. Listen, we need to find the security camera’s digital files—” He stopped himself. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, fine.”

Uh-huh, right. Standing in the doorway, she wasn’t fine. Not even close to fine. To the point where he knew not to ask where V was—or expect the brother to show up anytime soon.

“Hey, Doc,” Butch said, as he casually got to his feet, “can I talk to you a sec?”

“Ah—”

He cut off the protest she was about to put up. “Thanks. Just outside in the corridor. Manello, you try and find your way around the comp.”