White Knight (Dirty Mafia Duet, #2)(21)

Memphis watches the uniformed officers file in and out of her ransacked apartment and then turns on the charm I’ve seen her use with patrons at the club. “I’d really like to go back in and check for my laptop, Detective. Along with that, I should be calling my super to get someone up here to secure the door. You don’t mind, do you?” She smiles, but it’s fake, and I like that she gives me the real ones. “It’s been a long day.”

God, she’s good.

Finally, the cop relents and lets Memphis and me back into the apartment. Thankfully, her laptop is still there.





Three hours later, crime scene techs leave with fingerprints, the boot print, and photos of the wreckage. Cole stays through every single moment of it, which doesn’t make any sense. The man’s got plenty of better shit to do, and I don’t know if it’s my presence that’s attracting his attention or if it’s Memphis. Either way, we’re going to have to figure out what his angle is.

The super secures the apartment and gives Memphis a new set of keys.

We take another small bag of her salvageable clothes and toiletries with us when we leave, and Cole follows us out to the curb.

“I made a call after I thought I recognized you before, and I was surprised to find out you’re not at Investigation Network anymore. They said you’d taken a leave of absence for personal reasons.”

Memphis takes a deep breath before she finally replies. “My father passed away.”

Instinctively, I wrap my arm around her side.

“And you’re investigating his death.” Cole’s words are a statement, not a question.

Memphis doesn’t flinch, but her tone is defensive. “His death was ruled a suicide, Detective, so why would I be investigating it?”

“I made some calls about that too. Detective on file said you didn’t believe the injury was self-inflicted and swore you’d find the truth.” Cole shifts his weight and crosses his arms to scrutinize the woman beside me. “So, you’re telling me you left the network to grieve in this apartment that’s a shithole compared to your father’s place in the Upper East Side? Doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense to me.”

To her credit, Memphis’s posture and body language don’t change at all. In fact, she doesn’t even respond.

I’m finished with the whole situation and ready to get home where we can finally breathe after the day from hell. “Are you trying to make a fucking point, Detective?”

Memphis finds her voice again and adds without missing a beat, “I think he’s just being an asshole.”

Cole has the audacity to laugh and shoots me a grin. “You’ve got yourself a smart and sassy one, Freeman. I hope you know what to do with her.”

Before I open my mouth to reply, Memphis beats me to it.

“Save your misogynistic bullshit, Cole. My apartment was just torn to shreds, and I’d like to go get a good night’s sleep so I can figure out why. I’ll consider updating you when I figure it out before you do. It wouldn’t be the first time I helped the NYPD do their job.”

Cole’s grin fades, and I give him a hard stare. “I guess we’ll be in touch then, Cole.”

But as we walk away, I know it’ll be a cold day in hell before I contact any cop—especially Clinton Cole—to swap intel.

That’s not how shit works in the Casso world.





16





Memphis





The ride back to Little Italy is quiet, mostly because I’m uncertain if it’s safe to speak freely in front of the driver, despite Cannon’s earlier comment about having everything covered. But as soon as we haul both my suitcases up to his apartment and the door shuts behind us, I ask him, “What the hell is the deal with Clinton Cole? Is he really trying to bring down Dom? And does he have a death wish just telling you about it?”

Cannon carries the bags into his bedroom and flips on the lights. I follow him inside and plop down on the bed to open the suitcase that has the file inside.

“I’m not sure who else is paying Cole, but it’s safe to guess it’s not just the NYPD.” Cannon tugs his neck in the opposite direction of the knot in his silk tie as he loosens it before pulling it over his head.

My eyes widen and my fingers slide across the manila folder. “You think he’s dirty?”

His hearty laugh booms through the room. “You can’t be surprised by that.”

“The first time I met Cole was through NYPD internal affairs during an investigation into an officer-involved shooting,” I tell Cannon for background. “So, yes, it actually does surprise me. A lot. I wouldn’t have figured an IA cop would end up dirty.”

Cannon’s lips curl into a lopsided smile. “Because no one has ever let a fox guard the henhouse . . .”

“Touché.” Gripping the file with both hands, I settle it onto my lap. “Do you want to see why I’m here?”

Cannon’s gaze locks on what I’m holding. “Absolutely, but I have a feeling this is going to require food, which you didn’t get a chance to eat, and probably booze. Am I right?”

Knowing what’s inside the file, and especially what it will mean to him, I nod. “Well, Danger, now that you mention it, I wouldn’t turn down some manicotti and a glass of wine.”