EIGHT
Blake Michaels pulled into the parking lot of Northshore Medical Center and cut the engine. He spotted Mason Webber’s police cruiser a few rows away. Mason was sitting behind the wheel. Blake reached for his pistol and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. He didn’t know what Mason wanted, but he suspected it couldn’t be good.
He and Mason weren’t on the best of terms and his call asking Blake to meet him had been cryptic. Besides, Blake had gotten used to trusting no one. That’s what made this job perfect for him. After his fiancée Miranda had betrayed him, distrust came easily to him. And he had a lot of reasons to distrust the town’s police force, especially Mason Webber.
Blake got out, pulled his shirt over his weapon and then headed for Mason’s cruiser. The sound of jackhammers reached his ears, but he realized it was only construction happening outside the hospital.
He slid into the passenger’s seat of the police car and immediately saw the folder lying on the console between them. A folder with his name written on it.
That could not be good.
Mason noticed him gaze at the folder and his lip quirked as if he found the entire matter amusing. He smacked his hand against the steering wheel. “I learned something about you today, Blakey,” he said, using a nickname Blake absolutely detested. “You’re not who you claim to be.”
He held his breath. Had Mason discovered his real reason for joining the Northshore Police Department? He wanted to keep his voice casual but his mouth was bone-dry with apprehension. He’d known men like Mason during his time as an Army Ranger. Their macho bravado hid insecurities that were highlighted when a gun and bullets was added to the mix.
Mason reached for the folder and tossed it at Blake. It fell open and his photo, along with what looked like his police service record, spilled out. Blake picked up one sheet of paper and saw that it was his police service file—his real service file. How had Mason gotten his hands on it? “Where did this come from?”
“I have powerful friends in this town.” Fire blazed in his eyes and his hand gripped the gun in his lap. “You’re investigating us.”
Knowing Mason was already on edge, Blake would have to choose his words carefully. He’d already spent months trying to find out just who these “powerful friends” were, but hadn’t had much success. The men he’d met on the Northshore PD, including Mason Webber, liked to do a lot of bragging, but they were surprisingly tight-lipped for dirty cops.
“Who gave you this?” Blake asked. His official record had been supposedly altered by the Department of Justice when he’d accepted this undercover assignment in Northshore, Arkansas. So how had someone gotten their hands on his real-life info?
“You’re investigating me. In fact, you’re investigating this whole department.”
It was a statement, not a question, and Blake couldn’t refute it. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. “I’m investigating the drug ring. That’s all I care about, Mason. You don’t have to be a part of this.” That wasn’t entirely the truth, but he needed Mason to think he had an out if he would just take it.
“I already am. Your cover is blown at the precinct. The boss knows all about you, Blake Michaels. Now you’ve got not only the drug ring after you, but Northshore PD, as well.”
But who is the guy in charge?
That was the question Blake had spent months trying to figure out. He suspected it was someone working in the Northshore PD, and probably someone high up. In fact, the DOJ surmised that as many as twenty-five police officers—probably more—were involved in the massive drug ring operating out of the small town. And that was the real reason Blake had joined the department—and why he was sitting in Mason’s car now.
His friend Matt had landed him the gig with the DEA/DOJ combined task force. The agencies had been looking to send in someone with proven law-enforcement experience to pretend to be dirty and to gather information. Blake had the police background and had been in serious need of a change after being betrayed by his fiancée. Only he hadn’t been able to gather much intel even after nine months here.
Mason perked up as he saw something through the windshield. Blake followed his line of sight and noticed a pretty, dark-haired woman in scrubs leaving the employee entrance of the hospital. He didn’t recognize her, but her hair was around her face and her walk weary, making Blake assume she had just finished her shift at the hospital.
“Who is she?” Blake asked.
“Her name is Holly Mathis. She was Jimmy’s wife.”
Blake knew Mason’s partner, Jim Mathis, had been shot and killed nearly a year ago while responding to a burglary in progress at a gas station. The shooter had also been killed.
He didn’t know what Holly Mathis had to do with this, though he didn’t like the look in Mason’s eyes or the coincidence that Mason had brought him here to drop his bombshell just as his former partner’s widow was leaving work.
“Why are we here, Mason?”
“I just wanted you both in the same place. It makes it easier.”
Blake’s heart hammered in his chest. “Easier to do what?”
Mason picked up his gun and pointed it at Blake. “To kill you both.”
Sweat broke out on Blake’s brow, but he forced himself to remain calm. His life depended on it. He stared down the barrel of the gun, caught off guard by this sudden change. He scanned the area, realizing Mason had chosen the perfect spot for this ambush. He looked past the gun to Mason’s face. “And your boss, whoever that is, sent you here to kill me?”
“Yep. Then I’m going to kill Holly, too. I can see tomorrow’s headline now—Obsessed Police Officer Murders Girlfriend then Kills Himself.”
“Why her? Why kill Holly? She’s your partner’s widow. You should be looking out for her.”
His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed in anger. “She betrayed me just like you did.”
Blake tried another tactic. “You’ll have to make my death look like a suicide in order to make that work and a direct shot won’t do it. The coroner will know I didn’t shoot myself. There will be an investigation.”
Mason
