Tara Janzen - Loose And Easy

“Stay put,” he said to Harrell, drawing his Springfield 1911 and holding it in a low ready position. Keeping the gun cocked, locked, and loaded was his standard operating procedure. It never varied. Flipping off the safety was an automatic part of his draw.

Through the unfrosted part of the glass on the door, he identified three people coming down the hall. Two men and a woman, with one of the men dressed in a police uniform.

He smoothly reholstered his weapon, concealing it underneath his jacket, and glanced back at Harrell. That wasn’t going to look good to the cops, a guy handcuffed and bleeding.

“Get in the bathroom,” he said, pointing to the open door at the far end of the office. “Get in there and stay quiet. It’s the cops.”

He didn’t have to say cops twice to get the guy moving. Dax didn’t care how many times Kevin had called his parole officer, the guy didn’t want to be face-to-face with the police.

“Uncuff me,” he pleaded on his way across the office, sounding appropriately desperate. The guy was in a tight spot for sure. “Come on.”

Dax shook his head. He stayed cuffed. Dax did follow the guy over and close the bathroom door once he was inside. He didn’t turn on the bathroom light, though. Harrell could tough it out in the dark.

Loretta was glad she’d come. Tramping around the ratty old Faber Building looking for a “cute little blond hooker”-the parking valet’s description, not hers-was just her cup of tea when she was two hours into overtime she wasn’t ever going to see on a check.

Weisman, the uniformed policeman carrying the signal receiver, stopped in front of the last door in the hall: B & B INVESTIGATIONS, ROBERT BAINBRIDGE, PROP.

That was good news, and Loretta’s mood actually perked up a bit. Robert Bainbridge had always had a solid reputation in town. As a former detective with the police department, admittedly about fifty years ago, he’d been a real go-to guy for the department well up to when she’d been a rookie and just starting out.

But fast on the heels of her good thoughts about Bainbridge came the memory of the most recent time she’d seen the name B & B Investigations and the current facts of the business’s situation. It had been on a long sheet of names attached to a vice case, next to the name of a man who didn’t have a solid reputation, Burt Alden.

Her mood dipped.

Oh, hell. She didn’t like it, this new turn. It could be indicative of a serious complication. Mr. Alden had gambling problems, which inevitably created other problems for him. She knew he was in to Franklin Bleak for more money than he could raise in a year, and she knew Bleak was calling in his debts faster than lemmings disappeared into the sea, which is apparently what had happened to a few of Bleak’s customers over the last couple of weeks-they’d disappeared.

“Did you get the warrant, Connor?” she asked. “We’re not exactly on a mission of mercy here.”

“We’re covered, Lieutenant.”

“Good.”

“Weisman, you’re sure this is the place?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to Connor then and gestured at the door. “Detective?”

The door was opened on Connor’s first knock, and for a couple of seconds, all Loretta could do was stand there and think sonuvabitch.

For one second, maybe two, that was the only thought she had- sonuvabitch.

The next thought came straight out of her mouth.

“Mr. Killian.” It wasn’t a question. She knew exactly who had opened the door. It sure as hell wasn’t whom she’d expected, not in her wildest dreams, but she knew who he was-in her line of work, it paid to know guys like him, Daniel Axel Killian, Dax Killian.

She’d be damned.

“Lieutenant Bradley.” He smiled, and Loretta had to fight the cheap-ass thrill that went through her. She not only knew who he was, she knew what he’d done, but really, she was too old to be getting cheap-ass thrills off big bad boys just because they were big and bad. “It’s good to see you.”

She just bet, but she kept it to herself.

“I heard you turned out okay,” she said, taking his hand when he held it out. “That the U.S. Army found a use for you.”

“Yes, ma’am, they sure did.” His grin broadened, and so did that cheap-ass thrill running through her.

Get a grip, Loretta, old girl, she told herself, ending the handshake.

“I’ve got a warrant to search this office, Mr. Killian,” she said, gesturing at Weisman. “If you’ve got a cell phone, we’d sure like to see it.”

“And I’d sure like to see your warrant.” A reasonable request, and one she was happy to grant. She’d have been disappointed if he hadn’t asked.

“Detective?” she said, holding out her hand.

For the record, Daniel Axel Killian had gray eyes and dark hair. For the record, he was five feet eleven inches and a hundred and ninety pounds of rock-solid Denver boy done good. For the record, his sideburns were a little long and the rest of his hair a little short, and for the record, he hadn’t shaved this morning. On him, the light shadow of stubble looked damned good-and that was for the record.

Connor produced the document, putting it in her hand, all signed and sealed, and she handed it to Killian.

He looked it over, then stepped aside, letting them in.

“Would you mind showing me your cell phone, Mr. Killian?”

He pulled it out of his pocket, handing it over to her, and in turn, she handed it to Weisman.

“Do you live around here, Mr. Killian?” Surely, she would have known if Dax Killian had moved back into her neck of the woods. Surely, somebody would have told her, somebody like General Buck Grant. Buck wouldn’t have let that slip by her.

“No, ma’am,” he said, walking over and turning on the lamp sitting on a desk next to the filing cabinets. “I’m visiting.”

“From?” The added light was only somewhat helpful. It didn’t really help the place look any better.

“ Seattle, ma’am.”

Weisman stepped forward and handed the phone back. “This isn’t the one we’re looking for, Lieutenant.”

The officer walked further into the office, turning the receiver from side to side.

“GPS emergency signal?” Dax Killian asked, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

“Yes, sir.” She looked around the office. “Has anyone else been up here in the office tonight?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“And why are you here?” Everything looked fine, for a dump, but she wouldn’t have expected better considering who was running the business now.

“Burt Alden is my uncle. He offered to let me use the office.”

“For?” Burt Alden and Dax Killian related? Talk about a swan getting in with the odd ducks. She wouldn’t have guessed it, not in a million years.

“To work in while I’m in town.”

“And you’re working on a Friday night?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Good enough. She was working, too.

Dax Killian-she hadn’t kept track of every kid she’d ever directed into the armed forces. She hadn’t actually kept track of him, but a few years ago, a story had drifted back to Denver, of this guy from Colorado, a shadow soldier. There’d only been the one story, and never another, and no name attached to the story she’d heard, but for some reason she’d thought of him. Even at his worst, as a teenager running wild on her streets, he’d had a way of keeping to himself, of running under the radar, and those kind of skills had fit the deed in the story.

She’d long since discovered the truth, compliments of Buck Grant-and looking at Dax now, she was even more intrigued to know the story was his.