Chapter Thirty-Two

 

RYAN

 

I lay back beside Davis, gasping for breath. She's got her eyes closed, breathing almost as hard as I am. I let my own eyes close for a minute.

"Okay, we can talk now," I say.

Davis doesn't respond right away. I push myself up, watching her breasts heave as she gulps down breaths. I could watch her like this forever, I think. But I don't have forever.

I have an hour or two before the sun comes up, and then we've got until nightfall to clean up this mess. I see the smile worming its way onto her face, and I see the way that she forces the corners of her lips down to hide it.

"You're a real smart ass, you know that?"

"Guilty as charged," I tell her.

I let my finger trace circles around her nipple lazily. It stiffens immediately, her body absolutely ready to continue where we left off.

"Where is your brother?"

"He's at home, last I checked." A thought runs through my head and I dart for my phone. No missed calls, which means he hasn't run into any trouble.

"You've got someone on the inside. That job picking up the Crazy Horse stuff—someone must've told."

"I know," I tell her. I don't mention that I don't know who it is. If she brought it up, she's got thoughts on the subject, I figure.

"I don't know the details—but I think it was Spider."

I raise an eyebrow. "You figure?"

"He was working for us."

I let out a breath. Well, it's out there now. "I know. But if he had a way to talk to Scheck, then why would you have come to me?"

"We wouldn't. You'd be in a federal holding cell right now, Beauchamp."

"And I will be in another day or two."

She gets quiet. I guess that she doesn't like the reminder that, as 'friendly' as we've gotten over the past couple of days, we're not friends.

"He would've reported the job."

"So what you're saying is—"

"Someone in the chain of command is a leak, but you've got more suspects than you think."

I curse and lay my head back. "If that's the case, then there's going to be more trouble before we can clear this up. No doubt about it."

"If someone's on the inside, then they're either awful damn close to an arrest, or…"

She doesn't need to finish the thought. Or, someone saw what kind of money changes hands and decided they'd like to make some of it themselves.

If it's Agent Ball, well, they're probably fine. I think I can take him, if it's a straight fight. If I get the drop on him, it won't even be a competition.

But it could be anyone. All the way up. It could be the head of the A.T.F. for all we know, which isn't a pretty position at all.

I take a deep breath. "They must know you've got some idea."

"I think you're right." She pushes herself up onto her elbows. I try to make that moment last as long as possible, before we have to get back to the craziness that is coming, that's taken over my life the past couple days.

"So what do we do about it?"

"You don't have any ideas?"

I have a few, but they're not the kind of ideas that you enumerate in front of a cop. "Not really."

"Here, I figured, guy like you—we can just have them shot."

The way she says it is serious, as if she hasn't even grasped how crazy it would sound to an outsider. The thought makes me smile.

"Say we did, then what? We'd have to get Scheck and the big motherfucker—"

"Shane Rosen."

"If you say so," I agree. "Point being, we'd have to get them all at once, or they just send goons after us. We have to take over overnight."

"Are you saying it's impossible?"

I lay back and look up at the ceiling. It's got a crack in it that would worry me if I were staying here more than another few hours.

"No, I suppose I'm not."

"That's what I wanted to hear."

"You know what I want to hear?"

"What?"

"I want to hear that there's more to this than a few days of being used to further your career."

She gets quiet. "Ryan, I—"

"I don't even know your damn name, and here I am, lining up to take a hit at the biggest gang this side of the Mexican border."

I keep my voice neutral, but as the words come out of my mouth, I can feel the anger rising anyways.

She stays quiet. Is it so much to ask, I think to myself. I don't think it is. Just a name. A real name.

I push myself up and start dressing. My jeans slip up and the belt loops around my waist, cinching them tight. I turn around to pick up my shirt.

Davis hasn't moved. Not an inch, not a single hair on her head. Her eyes are wet, but there's no marks of tears falling down her cheeks.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Part of me wants to leave it be. Always wanted to let it be, because in my business, if someone doesn't want to talk about it, you don't talk about it. But in my business, people don't ask you to risk your life, your brother's lives, your men's lives—all so you can maybe, possibly not go to jail this time.

"I don't want to have feds breathing down my neck. I don't want to march into a meat grinder for a cop who threatened to have my balls in a vice for the next thirty years if she had her way. But if it's for a woman—for you—then I'll do it."

"Ryan, I—"

"A name. It's not much to ask, is it? Your name."

Her voice is soft when she speaks next. There's a little tremor, a slow start. "Ja… Jada. My name is Jada."

"Nice to meet you, Jada."

I hold my hand out. She doesn't take it. Her voice is still fragile when she says, softly, "Don't call me that."

I take a breath and lean down. Her forehead is hot when I press my lips against it. Her arms wrap around my chest, pull me down onto her, and her face buries into my neck.

I lay there like that on top of her for a while. She doesn't say anything, but I can hear the sounds of her breathing, unsteady and unsure.

Whatever it is that did this to her, it hurts. I understand being hurt. Nobody gets on this side of the law without having hurt, and hurt bad. But now, with Jada Davis, I don't know what to say to make it go away.

I don't think it's going to be that simple. So I cradle her head in my hands and let her do what she has to do until she pulls away from me a little.

Her eyes are wet, and her face has gone splotchy. But laid over top of all that, she's got her game face back on.

The one thing I've seen from Davis this past week is, she's every bit a woman, but when she needs to be, she can be a cast-iron bitch. And now, when we need all hands on deck, the ability to turn the hurt off is what we need.

A big part of me wants to make it go away, forever. But we don't have have that luxury. It's her strength that will get her through this. Then, maybe, we'll be able to see about healing whatever cut her so deep that she can't stand her own name.