Volatile Bonds by Jaye Wells

Author:Jaye Wells [Wells, Jaye]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter Seventeen

The ride to the massage parlor was tense, to say the least. It took a good six blocks before Morales even acknowledged me.

“‘We’re on it, sir,’” he said in a mocking tone. Clearly, he was still hot under the collar over me talking over him when he was about to ask Gardner if we could have Hung duty instead of Shadi.

I pursed my lips and turned my best Prospero glare on him. “Don’t give me that shit. If it were up to you, we’d be on our way to antagonizing a man who has the power to destroy your career. At least this way, we’re able to keep an eye on his movements without him knowing.”

His jaw tightened dangerously—the way it always did when I was right and he didn’t want to admit it. “It wasn’t your call.”

I laughed out loud at his offended tone. “You don’t get to pull rank when it suits you, Macho. Unless you’re willing to come clean with Gardner, then this has the potential of blowing back on both of us—that means I get a say in how this plays out.”

He blew out a breath. “For the record, I really hate this case.”

“I hate to be the one to say this, but”—I reached out and patted his arm—“I told you so.”

He laughed out loud and shook his head at me. Once that subsided, he shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it,” I said. “Lord knows we’ve had cases that haven’t brought out my best, either.”

He snorted. “No shit.”

By that time, we’d turned onto the street near Krystal’s place. We parked down the street and walked toward the entrance.

“Is it just me,” Morales said, “or does business seem unusually slow for this time of day?”

The massage parlor’s neon sign winked suggestively from the front window. But when I tried to open the door, it was locked tight. I knocked on the glass and put my cupped palms to the pane to look inside.

“Don’t see any lights on,” I said.

Morales rapped on the pane to see if he could summon someone from the back. We waited a few moments, but no one ducked out from the back hall.

I checked my watch. It wasn’t even noon yet. “They should be open.”

Morales pulled his cell phone out and dialed the parlor’s phone number after reading it off the sign. After a few moments, he sighed and ended the call. “Voicemail. Let’s go around back.”

An alley behind the building gave us access to a gray metal door with the massage parlor’s name painted across it.

“Should I knock?” I asked.

He shook his head and reached around me. A quick tug and the door was open.

I frowned up at him. “That’s odd.”

“Look alive.” His expression took on deadly focus.

I pulled my salt flare from its holster. Morales pulled out his Glock and nodded. I opened the door wide enough for him to look inside. We paused to listen. When no sounds emerged, he ducked inside and I had his back.

The

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