Superior Collision Page 7

  Carter swallowed back the one hundred and five curses he wanted to spit out at the crew leader.

  Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

  “Oh, look, California traitor is angry. His face is all red,” another of the assholes said. He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. He was short and stocky, with sandy hair and bad taste in clothes, if his ripped T-shirt and skinny jeans were any indication. He had a tattoo on his throat, to make it look like someone had cut his jugular. It looked scary authentic, and didn’t go with the smirk he wore. It did work with the dare in his expression, but only if Carter could make that tat real.

  His temper exploded and he took a step forward. Clenching his fists at his sides wasn’t working anymore. Asshole Number Three just stared back, making no moves.

  When another one of them, Asshole Number Two—the first to verbally agree with Kai’s plan—stepped forward, Kai threw a hand up to stop his advance.

  So they wanted to see what Carter was made of, did they?

  There might be something wrong with one of his legs, but his fists worked just fine, as Asshole Number Three was about to find out. After that, he’d take on Asshole Number Two, and even Kai if the guy wanted to play.

  “Our intel is better for the shipment in three weeks. We weren’t able to confirm the contents of tomorrow’s shipment. Sometimes hacked manifests are wrong, and it’s not worth the risk. The engineer for the train next time is on our payroll, too. He’ll overlook a few things. Also, a few weeks was first available on the trucks and trailers.” The computer geek at the end of the table broke the tense silence, and shrugged when all eyes darted to him. “He asked a valid question.”

  Kai frowned, but no one spoke.

  “Thanks,” Carter forced out, throwing the guy a nod. “I was only asking.” He wouldn’t call the geek an ally, but at least he wasn’t an asshat like the rest of his crew.

  The guy nodded, and didn’t look the least bit ruffled at the look his leader pointed in his direction. Maybe he was used to Kai being a giant dick.

  “Anything else?” Carter asked. He looked at the tech, not at Kai.

  “You’re need-to-know, California traitor,” Kai growled. “And you got all the info necessary in that category. You ain’t special.”

  “I want to look at the schematics, again. And the manifest for the train.”

  “Why?” Kai stepped forward, only inches from Carter, but between him and the table with the plans he wanted another look at.

  “Look, no matter how you feel about me, it’s not my first day. I can’t count how many times I’ve done this. I know what I’m fucking doing.” He tried to keep his voice even, and not give in to the anger rising all over again.

  He’d been Joe’s number two, but he wasn’t going to say Pompa’s name aloud here, especially if they knew what he’d done, like Kai had barked earlier. Maybe they’d known Joe. Sucked for Carter, really, because everyone who’d known Joe Pompa had a tendency to like him.

  Carter hadn’t just liked him, he’d revered the bastard. To his own detriment, of course.

  “So does my crew. And we don’t require your input. We’re not green at this, either.” Kai gestured to the cars behind them in the warehouse.

  Great, he really needed someone that kept trophies.

  Not only was Kai an asshole, he was a fool.

  “Fine,” Carter ground out. There wasn’t any use for him to speak his mind. It hadn’t worked well for him so far.

  “We’re done for tonight.”

  He narrowed his eyes when Kai indicated the door.

  “You’re dismissed, traitor,” the crew leader spat.

  The snickers from the assholes in the peanut gallery boiled Carter’s blood. His palm itched to grab his H & K from his waistband and exercise his trigger finger. Perhaps he should remind these bastards what he was capable of.

  “Have a good week, or three.” Asshole Number Three gestured, as if he was tipping an invisible hat.

  Carter had a gesture for him all right, but he made a fist and glued it to his side instead of flipping the guy the bird—or punching him in the face. Or grabbing his forty.

  He forced his eyes on to Kai’s and went for a pleasant expression. “When do we meet up again?”

  The crew all lived in the warehouse, but it was obvious he wasn’t welcome. He’d seen their living area, the corridor that led to their individual rooms, and their chillin’ area, complete with couches, recliners, a huge TV and every game console known to man. Females were scarce—if the mess was any indication—but they probably had their pussy come and go, not unlike at Bubba’s place.

  Carter had to admire their closeness. They were family.

  Like his crew had been before Joe had betrayed them all, over John and the FBI. The fucker. Applied to them both, actually.

  “I’ll call you. If I need to,” Kai said.

  He bit back his smartass reply, telling himself for the thousandth time to play nice. Humiliation didn’t feel right, but it was better for him to clamp it shut for now and go. He and Bubba needed to have a talk.

  One of the assholes yelled, “Enjoy Phoenix!” and that was answered by a few laughs that made anger roll over Carter again.

  He buried his hand in his jeans pocket, gripping his car keys until the metal bit into his skin.

  Don’t say a word. He chanted the sentence as he made his way to leave the warehouse.

  If even one of the assholes had the balls to say anything about his limp, his H & K would get the workout it’d begged for.

  Carter almost wished one of them would open his big, fat mouth.

  Chapter Nine

  Taylor stared at her cell phone as if it had the plague. Didn’t reach for it.

  She’d been putting off the call since she’d fled the office at five. Early for her to call it a day, but she’d wanted to get away from Holman. He was sharp and had great ideas. If she gave him a real chance, he could—and would—help her get Bennett.

  She hated it. Wanted to do things on her own. For John.

  They had a plan to meet up at six a.m. for the trek to interview Joe Pompa in the federal prison four hours away in Texarkana.

  She didn’t want to go.

  Taylor had paced in her apartment when sitting on the couch watching the news hadn’t distracted her from her case. She’d shoved down leftover Chinese just because her stomach wouldn’t shut the hell up until she fed it.

  Then she’d dug out her laptop and read a few reports—again.

  The folder on her desktop labeled Antioch PD had taunted her even though she hadn’t gone anywhere near clicking on it. Didn’t need a reminder of Pompa, even though a review of Detectives Lucas’ and Manning’s statements and reports might help her impending trip.

  She really should’ve at least looked at the docs from the trailer park, where two members of Pompa’s crew had been killed by Bennett. Taylor had been on scene, of course, working with the two detectives from the small city.

  They’d arrived shortly after the shooting. What they hadn’t known at the time was that Pompa had gotten away.

  Detective Jared Manning had known. Pompa was his brother—they’d been estranged, but blood was thicker than water. The detective had harbored him in a safe house.

  She closed her eyes. Refused to think about how she’d followed Manning for weeks, ultimately confronting Lucas, only to have her concerns fall on deaf ears. The former FBI agent had refused to believe his partner capable of wrongdoing.

  Taylor shook herself from Antioch and that night, when she’d rushed into the safe house and found Pompa with the two detectives. She didn’t need to read reports or statements. It was etched into her memory forever.

  A split-second decision that was wrong. That had damaged three people’s lives.

  Jared Manning would hate her for the rest of his life, even though his brother hadn’t died. Joe Pompa had survived, but had had to learn to walk again. Was still in therapy and would be for a while.


  Taylor struggled daily with the guilt. And the bad dreams at night. She checked on him regularly, with the prison doctors now, and with the hospital before that. Manning probably had no idea—and she wanted it that way.

  Pompa had taken a shot at her, so the APD had ruled it a good shoot. She hadn’t been legally liable.

  Didn’t matter.

  Her gut—and her heart—knew she’d been in the wrong. The man had been trying to flee, shooting the gun high above her head for a distraction, not to kill her.

  She’d pulled the trigger anyway.

  Had to live with it now.

  Her cell phone rang, vibrating and screaming her ringtone. It danced down the coffee table until she made a grab and swiped her thumb across the touch screen. She hadn’t recognized the number, but it had the local area code.

  “Carrigan.”

  “Hi.”

  Even with one word, the familiar male voice washed over Taylor and she shifted on the edge of her brown microfiber couch. “Sergeant Crowley?” She’d written his number down last night, but hadn’t put it in her phone just yet.

  “Yeah.”

  Why is Shannon Crowley calling me? Taylor didn’t know what to say.

  “Are you there?”

  She cleared her throat and adjusted the phone against her ear. “Yes. How can I help you?”

  He laughed.

  It caught her off guard. She stood rocking on the balls of her feet, and fighting for balance. “What’s funny?” Taylor winced at the snap in her tone.

  “You. After last night, you’re so formal with me.”

  The knock on her apartment’s door made her jump.

  She glanced at her phone then at the door. The sergeant’s voice had echoed, as if he was in a hallway. He couldn’t be—

  “Gonna let me in?”

  Taylor swallowed. Twice. She glanced down at her clothes. Blue yoga pants and a gray FBI tee from her Quantico days—it was faded, oversized and comfy. Bare feet and her hair down. She wasn’t fit for public consumption.

  Ending the call and tossing her cell to the couch, she jogged to the door and wrenched it open, fully intending to tell her uninvited guest to go the hell away.

  Words dissolved when they made eye contact.

  Sergeant Crowley smiled and held up a brown paper bag. “Thought if I bribed you with sweets, you might invite me in.”

  Taylor’s gaze trailed his tall muscular frame and she had to swallow again. He wore a brown leather jacket. He’d had it on last night, too, at Hakka Wu. The jacket was open, and a black, pec-hugging T-shirt peeked out, tucked into tight dark jeans. He sported an etched oval belt buckle and cowboy boots. He was only missing a Stetson, but it didn’t dim his appeal.

  He was…gorgeous. Even with his messy, needs-a-trim dark hair.

  She scowled. “How did you find out where I live?”

  “Lucky guess?” Crowley shrugged. He flashed a mischievous grin that did funny things to her insides.

  Taylor tilted her head to one side and ignored the zing of awareness when his eyes raked her body. She fidgeted and wanted to run. Resisted the urge to tug her shirt down. Felt naked. “Tell me who helped you invade my privacy, so I can plan their death.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I have no intention of invading your privacy. I thought—”

  “You thought what?” she snapped.

  The handsome cop’s expression sobered. “I’m sorry. Had a good time with you last night, is all.”

  She cursed the fact she missed his smile already. Its disappearance was her fault. Taylor reached for her irritation, but had trouble holding on tight. She should be nicer to him. “So you show up unannounced at my apartment?” No way was she going to admit that she’d enjoyed dinner with him, too.

  “Yeah. I guess when you say it like that, it’s…”

  “Stalkery?” Taylor retorted.

  He blinked and shook his head. “No, I mean…” He looked forlorn, like she’d shot his puppy.

  Guilt bit at her. She cursed under her breath and gestured for him to come in. She really didn’t have a reason to be a bitch.

  Surprise lit those beautiful amber eyes but he shut his mouth and slid into her apartment.

  The sergeant put the bag on her coffee table and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

  She shut the door and stayed by it even after she’d clicked her deadbolt in place. Taylor was paralyzed at the sight of the guy in her living room. The space was neither huge, nor tiny, but with him standing by her couch, it seemed smaller, and all the oxygen had dissipated.

  The low volume of the TV filled the awkward silence, and Taylor couldn’t make her bare feet close the distance between them.

  His broad shoulders were scrunched, and somehow his level of discomfort made her feel a tad better. She blew out a breath. “Are you staying, or what?”

  “Depends.” He looked around her living room before his gaze settled back on her.

  “Depends on what?”

  “If you want me to. If you’re going to hover by the door all night in your own place, I might as well go.”

  She wanted to close her eyes, but didn’t. Tremors chased each other down her spine and she fought a full body shudder. Hated being on edge in her own apartment. Hated it more that he’d noticed. “What’s in the bag?”

  Again, surprise darted across his handsome face. “Cheesecake.”

  Dammit. Her favorite. The Italian flag and little chef logo printed on the brown paper told her it was from Mario’s, an awesome little mom and pop Italian bakery around the corner from her building. Also her favorite. Double dammit. “I’ll get some plates.”

  He didn’t say anything but his full mouth rippled in a tease of a smile that left Taylor wanting more.

  She cursed herself all the way to her small kitchen, where she yanked her cupboard door open and whipped two small dishes out. She grabbed two forks and some paper towels, pulling on the roll so hard it kept spinning after she’d gotten what she needed.

  The sergeant hadn’t moved from the spot he stood, but he’d slipped out of his jacket. It rested on the back of her couch. Crowley rubbed his thighs, and she felt his nerves. “I’m sorry I showed up. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just…wanted to see you.” He looked at her dead on, and his eyes were mesmerizing.

  Taylor’s heart jumped. “It’s okay. Sorry I yelled at you.”

  “I kinda expected it.” He smirked, revealing just a hint of the dimple in his right cheek.

  She felt herself smiling, instead of getting angry. “Not sure what to say to that.”

  His big shoulders loosened. “I suppose I should’ve expected a gun.”

  Their gazes shot to her Glock, lying holstered on the coffee table, at the same time. “I guess I could’ve taken that approach. Would you have left?”

  Crowley shook his head and grinned. “Nah.”

  Taylor laughed. For some reason, the pressure in her chest lessened and she blew out a breath. She relaxed into her couch, and leaned over to set the plates and silverware down before she reached for the paper bag.

  The man not five feet from her hadn’t moved an inch.

  “You can sit, you know. I won’t bite.”

  He shifted in his cowboy boots before he finally offered a curt nod and slid onto the couch next to her. “You look nice, by the way.”

  She scoffed and spared him a glance. “Right.”

  His expression was open and honest, and she wanted to abandon the quest for her favorite dessert and scoot closer.

  She didn’t.

  “I mean it.” His weight shifted her body when he moved forward on the couch. “I’ve only seen you in slacks and a blazer. I like when you look…relaxed. Your hair is beautiful.”

  Heat crested the back of her neck and scorched her cheeks. Taylor kept her hands busy by opening the two individually packaged pieces of cheesecake. She glanced at him. “Thanks,” she muttered. “You look nice out of uniform, too, Sergeant.”

  “Can y
ou call me Shannon?” His voice was low, and that amber gaze intoxicating.

  Their hands bumped when they reached for a fork at the same time.

  She yanked hers back, then felt stupid. Fought the urge to crush her eyes shut. Taylor didn’t answer his plea. “Thanks for the cheesecake. I love Mario’s.” The words fell out, fragmented and shaky.

  He handed her a fork. “You’re welcome, Taylor.”

  Her name on his lips jolted her and she averted her gaze. She had to, or she might do something stupid, like whisper his name when she was leaning in to kiss him.

  The idea had her jumping to her feet. “I’ll get us something to drink. Make some coffee or something. Sound good?”

  Shannon blew out a breath and threw his head back into the plush brown fabric of the couch he should most definitely not be on.

  She hadn’t even waited for him to answer before disappearing around the corner into the kitchen.

  What the hell are you doing?

  He’d ambushed her. But it’d gone better than expected. His eyes brushed the gun only about three or four feet from him.

  Much better than a bullet in your ass.

  Mark hadn’t asked too many questions when he’d helped chase down her address, but his dark gaze had been too knowing.

  Shannon sighed and closed his eyes. Pushing her had gotten him nowhere. He’d wanted to kiss her. Especially when she’d licked her lips nervously and leaned toward him. She’d seemed on board, at least until he’d said her first name. That had made her run.

  From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, his dick had ached. She looked so…innocent with her hair down. The strawberry-blonde waves fell down her back and around her shoulders, begging him to run his fingers through them. Freckles he hadn’t noticed before were strewn across her nose. Her loose T-shirt contradicted the blue yoga pants that hugged her perfect ass and thighs. He wanted his hands there, too.

  The surprise dessert with Special Agent Taylor Carrigan was only going to get him blue balls.

  Shannon had been obsessed with thoughts of her all day, when he should’ve been paying attention at trial.