Calvin watched Lily leave, hypnotized by the angry swish of her hips, and wondered if he should chase after.

He’d seen how the revelation had crushed her, and yet, wasn’t he the aggrieved one? She’d never told him that Brock worked in law enforcement. He’d had to find out in the file Mason had compiled for him when Calvin decided he wanted to learn everything he could about Lily. Not a very thick file. High school cheerleader, a solid B and C student. Orphaned while at school. She’d married Brock, a man who’d gotten his badge a year before, soon after college. And then she’d almost disappeared. No social media profiles. Nothing. Not even a speeding ticket. It was as if she didn’t exist, a woman shoved into the shadow of her husband. A spouse with anger issues and connections she couldn’t fight.

I can fight.

What she obviously didn’t yet grasp was that Calvin didn’t give a fuck if Brock was a cop. It didn’t bother him one bit. A douche nozzle in a uniform with a badge and a gun remained a douche nozzle. No surprise that kind of guy surrounded himself with others of his ilk. It stood to reason, a guy capable of violence against a woman could do just about anything, maybe even illegal things.

Which is why I’m here. Calvin hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Lily he came to the ball in order to light a fire under some asses. While he and the boys were making progress clearing the streets of the thugs selling drugs, they’d yet to find out who supplied them. Most seemed to receive their stash via drop, only being notified by text moments before a pickup. The money exchange was done the same way. Except, the payment drops Calvin and the others monitored hadn’t borne fruit. Someone must have tipped them off because no one came to collect—and, ironically, those dirty funds were then given to outreach programs.

There were allusions to people in law enforcement being involved. Cops, some lawyers, even a judge, but Harry needed names, not supposition. Most of all, they wanted to know who held the kingpin role at the top of the pyramid. Take that person out, and the whole thing would collapse.

Is that person here tonight?

That possibility was why he let Lily leave, trusting that the protective measures he’d put in place would keep her safe while he completed his mission. Besides, her biggest threat had stayed behind and was here with Calvin.

Calvin mingled, recognizing some of the faces from dossiers, all the while keeping an eye on Brock, who circulated the ballroom on the opposite side. He noted his nemesis—and, no, it wasn’t jealousy that made Brock his enemy, the guy was just an all-around dick—seemed to have a few intense conversations with more than a few guys dressed in blue. Did he plan something? Judging by the occasional dark glare Brock shot his way, Calvin hoped so.

According to Mason, douche nozzle had several complaints lodged against him by perps—claims of abuse and more. Rumor had it he also beat his wife, yet nothing appeared on file. Had Lily not had him charged?

Brock’s position with the local precinct and ties to other cop shops would certainly explain her trepidation in getting involved with another man. But she couldn’t fear her ex forever. Calvin had hoped that by bringing her here to this ball—to confront her past—it would not only get her to admit what Brock was but also make her realize the man couldn’t hurt her anymore.

I won’t allow it. I’ll kill him first. For free. He wondered if his accountant could claim it as a loss of revenue. Snicker.

The note, written on a cocktail napkin in blue ink, arrived slyly, slipped to him by a waiter with a fresh glass of wine. All it said was: second-floor gallery.

Someone wanted to meet.

Fantastic.

Calvin wasted no time and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the second floor. Up here, the music could be heard but with an echo as the wide hall ringing the ballroom only had alcoves popping out into balconies overlooking those below.

The area was filled with artwork. Paintings hung at various heights, goose-necked lanterns shining a weak light on them with little cards placed under the canvases displaying titles, artists’ names, and prices. Some of them were quite good, and all were local. Calvin tucked his hands behind his back and adopted a casual pose as he browsed.

At the halfway point, farthest from the stairs and at the darkest part of the hallway—drapes pulled over the balcony openings and the lights on the paintings extinguished—Brock pushed away from the wall.

“There’s the man fucking my wife.”

“If it isn’t the a-hole who can’t let go.” Calvin baited him—and enjoyed it.

“You think you’re such hot shit, don’t you? Wearing a fancy suit.” Brock reached out and flicked Calvin’s lapel. “Driving a nice car.”

“You forgot to mention the fact that I own my house and have a healthy 401k to retire on.”

“How’s your health insurance?” snapped Brock.

“Probably better than your life insurance policy. Did we really come here to discuss how much better off I am than you? I’d say it’s pretty obvious, given I’m the one sleeping with Lily.”

“Motherfucker!”

Calvin caught the punch Brock threw. He held the fist and squeezed. “Too slow.” He twisted and sent Brock to his knees. “You just don’t get it, do you? I told you before to leave her alone, but, apparently, you’re hard of hearing.” Calvin leaned down. “I could kill you. Kill you and make sure no one ever found the body.”

“So can I,” grunted Brock, the pain on his face making him sweat.

And that was when the coward’s friends stepped out of hiding. Four of them against one. Shitty odds.

For them.

A policeman’s ball meant that Calvin couldn’t bring his regular weapons. No gun or knife. He did wear his garrote necktie and cowboy boots, but he wouldn’t need those. Not with these thugs. The academy had pitted him against much worse.

A smile pulled at Calvin’s lips. It was a smile that his victims would have recognized. It was also the last thing most of them ever saw.

As the guys rushed him, Calvin moved, not waiting for them to attack. He dropped down to avoid flailing fists and swept a leg. Ankles were fragile things, as was balance. Hit that vulnerable joint, and chances were you’d send your opponent down.

He managed to fell two guys. No surprise, one began to moan and cry in a most unmanly fashion.

“My ankle. Fuck. I think he broke it.”

Someone needed more calcium if that weak shot had fractured. Calvin didn’t bask in his minor victory. He kept moving, diving at the midsection of the big fellow and sending him slamming into a wall. A knee to the gut and a club to the back of his head sent him down to the floor.

He ducked, the fist aimed at his skull cracking off plaster instead, eliciting a sharp yell from his attacker.

Spinning, his right hook took the guy in the face, sending him stumbling into his friend.

A shot from his left hit him in the kidneys. It hurt. Calvin didn’t let it slow him, though. He kicked out sideways and pushed that fellow away.

The next few minutes were a flurry of blows and kicks. Grunts and curses. A few punches landed, and Calvin tasted blood at one point. But in the end, only he and Brock remained standing, bruised, and breathing heavily. Ready to keep fighting.

However, Calvin didn’t have a gun.

Brock did, and he aimed it.

Calvin arched a brow. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

A sneer pulled the douchebag’s lips. “The report will read that we came across you trying to steal the paintings. We got into a scuffle. You pulled a knife.” Brock patted his pocket. “We didn’t have a choice but to shoot.”

“Really? So how are you going to explain the video?”

“What video? The cameras were disabled, fucktard.” Brock sneered, so pleased with himself until Declan—a Bad Boy partner in crime—strode into view holding up his smartphone.

“Smile for the camera, asshat.”

The gun veered in Declan’s direction. “Give me the phone.”

“Won’t do you any good. The video was live streamed to my server. We’re not amateurs, you know.”

Calvin almost laughed at the frustration on Brock’s face. It truly was priceless. Even better, the man gave Calvin what he needed to free Lily. “Here’s how it’s going to go, dickwad. You are going to turn into a model ex-husband. No more threats. No more harassing Lily. I’ll allow you to keep seeing your little girl for the moment, but rest assured if you harm one little fucking hair on her head”—Calvin smiled, but it didn’t warm his glacial stare— “I will dismember you. Oh, and that goes for your buddies, too. If they so much as drive down her street…” He drew a finger across his throat.

“You won’t get away with this. I am a cop. I have—”

“Nothing. So don’t cross me. And”—Calvin stepped over a groaning body—“please note, that if you or any of your friends are involved in the drug thing happening around town, this is your one and only warning to shut it down.”

“You’ll regret this.” Brock just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“The only thing I will probably regret is not killing you now. But…there’s always tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a woman to see.” And because Calvin also didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, he added, “And touch.”

The last smack of his fist against Brock’s face felt much too good. The satisfaction of it lasted until he got to Lily’s place and saw the car in her driveway.

He entered and aimed his gun. “Move away from her before I shoot!”