Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(41)
“It’s also dangerous as hell,” he said, jamming a hand through his hair hard enough to make the dark edges stick up. “Going to this party with Marcus isn’t just doing a little rogue investigating. Shit, fishing for the intel to open a formal investigation practically is its own investigation, only there won’t be any other cops there to back you up. You have to tell Sinclair. Or at least tell Hollister.”
Now they were back at this again. Stellar. “No. There’s no way I can tell either of them. Not when I’m this close.”
“You really are out of your mind! You’re willing to have the cops go in like gangbusters if Marcus doesn’t show, but you won’t tell your partner or your boss about the potential to break this case?”
Isabella swung against the driver’s seat to face him full-on. “I used that threat with Marcus because I know it’ll work, not because I want to actually have to follow through.” It was a calculated risk, to be sure, but with the way the scumbag had responded to the leverage she’d used to get him to talk in the first place, her gut said he was too scared of the consequences to call her bluff.
“Fine,” Kellan said, turning to match her squared shoulders and lifted chin. “Even if Marcus does show, you still need to tell your partner.”
A fresh pulse of frustration heated her veins. Damn it, letting Walker come with her had been a mistake from the get. It was time to end this back and forth, once and for all.
“I can’t. I might have a foot in the door with this party, but everything Marcus gave up is still hearsay from a drug dealer. Unless I’ve got a credible witness, forensic evidence of a crime being committed, or a victim willing to make a statement, there isn’t enough for an investigation. Hollister and Sinclair both know this. Sinclair already flat-out said no, and I can’t risk Hollister going over my head if I confide in him. I can’t go to either of them, no matter how much I want to or how badly they hate guys who do this to women too. Not without one of those three things.”
Walker’s arms knotted over his chest. “And which one are you looking to find at this party, exactly?”
The images from the photographs flashed up from where they’d been burned into her memory, but she kept her voice steady and sure. “A victim.”
“You think you can convince one of these girls to come forward and make a statement against this DuPree guy?” he asked, and at least the surprise in his voice was a step up from the attitude he’d been sporting a minute ago.
“In this case, a victim’s statement will carry more weight than anything else. If my gut is right, these women are being held against their will and forced into prostitution, and some of them might not even be eighteen. I don’t know if I can convince anyone to come forward.” Isabella paused, adding a silent please, please, please to her words before continuing out loud. “But this party is the only shot I’m going to get at a face to face with these girls, and a statement is the only shot I’m going to get at Peterson starting a formal investigation with the FBI. I have to do my best to try.”
Kellan exhaled, long and low. “You do know this is crazy.”
“It might be,” she agreed, because as determined as she was, she also wasn’t stupid. It was risky. “But I’m still going.”
“Fine, but I’m not leaving your side all night.”
Isabella’s chin jerked up, her heart pinballing against her breastbone as she stared across the front seat at him. “That’ll be a neat trick since you’re going to be across town in your apartment.”
“The fuck I will,” Walker bit out, his dark and dangerous attitude winging back in all its glory. “If you won’t listen to reason and rely on your unit, fine. Then you are stuck with the alternative. I’m going with you to that party on Friday night. If Marcus can get you in, he can get me in too.”
In theory, that might not be untrue. But getting Marcus to agree to escort her to the penthouse had taken a boatload of expertly applied pressure as it was. If she altered the parameters to add Walker to the mix, Marcus would surely balk. Even if by some miracle he didn’t, the last thing she needed when she was trying to get one of these girls to talk to her was an overly nervous drug dealer on one arm and an overly furious firefighter on the other.
“No, you’re not,” she said, mind made up. “I’ll have enough to worry about without having to keep track of you.”
“We’ve been over this, Moreno. I can keep track of myself just fine. Plus, I can help you get what you need. You’ve gotta admit, we did okay having each other’s backs and giving Marcus the good cop, bad cop treatment.”
Oh, it was official. Walker’s faculties were on a complete walkabout. “How about good cop, you’re not a cop?” Isabella said, anger and heat and dread uncurling like streamers in her belly. “I shouldn’t have even taken you with me tonight.”
“But you did.” He leaned over the console, his mouth only a few inches from hers as his voice dropped to one notch above a whisper. “You did. And whether you like it or not, now you’re stuck with me having your back.”
Isabella drew a surprised breath at the same moment Kellan exhaled, warming the slight space between them. There was something odd and unexpectedly intimate about breathing him into her body, and for a hot, impulsive second, she wanted nothing more than to close the distance to discover if that ridiculously sexy mouth of his tasted as good as it looked. A tilt of her chin would get her halfway there, a small push forward doing the rest to put her lips on Walker’s to answer the curiosity rising up in her chest like a tide. Isabella knew he’d let her. The way he’d just shuttered his focus from her eyes to her mouth said so, and oh God—oh God—for as crazy as Walker drove her, how the hell could she want him so badly at the same time?