Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“I am regretting not letting Walker shoot me,” he mutters.
“Let’s get to work. I have sex minutes to earn.”
“And now you’ve made it weird.”
“There’s nothing weird about exchanging services for sex.”
“Except that it’s called prostitution.”
“Prostitution is a hard, hard job. Just like porn.”
Dylan sighs.
“Okay, fine. This is me, growing as an individual and stopping with the jokes. Mature, boss Trav is back.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
My stubborn, arrogant, and slightly emotionally unavailable side makes me want to keep pushing, but I’m determined to show Dylan I am more than an overgrown, immature meathead. “Let’s get to it, then.”
We sit at my computer, and I fire up the CCTV footage again.
“I already went over that,” Dylan says. “There’s nothing there.”
“I have a theory.” I find the spot where the shooter’s Subaru drives toward the entrance, but before it turns into the parking lot, I pause it. “What do you see?”
“This feels like a trick question.”
I zoom in on the passenger side and point to a lighter part of the image. “What’s that?”
Dylan leans in closer to the screen, coming into my personal space. “Light from the setting sun reflecting off the windshield?”
“It could be, but look what happened when one of my guys ran it through enhancement software.” When I put the comparison up beside the original, the image becomes a tiny bit clearer. Not by much, but enough to make out—
“That’s a hand,” Dylan exclaims.
“Yup. My theory is Walker arrived with the shooter.”
Dylan stares at the screen, speechless.
“Should I add one minute to the timer?” I smile.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” he says to himself.
“Well, here’s the thing. I have a hunch I know who the shooter is, but you saw this guy’s face. Do you think you could ID him if I track down a photo?”
“Definitely.”
While I search certain databases I shouldn’t have access to, I keep Dylan distracted. “I told you how Saint found the connection between Walker and Councilman Rowling, but I didn’t tell you that they still have one contact in common.” Jonathan Rowling’s driver’s license pops up on the screen. “Rowling’s son.”
Dylan stumbles back. “That’s him. That’s the guy.”
“Are you sure?”
“There’s no doubt in my mind. He’s the one.”
“And now there’s two minutes. Okay, so we have the who and the when. Now we need the why and the proof. Actually, we probably don’t even need the why, but we do need to figure out who’s involved and how deep into the DEA it goes before we can make a move on it.”
Domino might be right. I should ask Dylan if he knows which of his teammates could help, but my argument stands. I won’t put him at more risk on something that could backfire spectacularly.
“I wish there was someone on the inside I could get to, but if I can’t even trust my superior officer, who am I supposed to confide in?” Dylan’s dejected tone gets to me more than it should.
I want to fix this for him, but it’s going to take time. “Domino said something similar. He ran background checks on your entire squad, and you’re all clean. No offense, but I find that highly suspect. None of you have had complaints brought against you?”
Dylan gets a look in his eyes that looks a hell of a lot like guilt. And when he turns away to answer, I already know the gist of what he’s going to say. “You have to understand what it’s like in law enforcement.”
I lean back in my seat. “I might know a thing or two about people being on ‘the right side’ and doing bad things.”
“My first year as a beat cop.” He swallows hard. “I saw another officer using excessive force.” He pauses. “I told him to back off and pulled him off the assailant.” Then he huffs. “Nothing happened when I reported it. Our captain pulled me into his office and lectured me about not being a team player. Gave me one free pass and said if I ever reported another officer again, it would be my last day wearing a badge.”
Well, holy fuck. “That’s heavy.”
“It’s why …” Dylan pauses. “It’s why I’ve never reported any of the shit I’ve seen since. That’s why there are no marks on our records.”
“Why haven’t any victims come forward with complaints?”
“It’s not really a thing that gets reported, you know? The kinds of people we deal with think we’re the enemy anyway. It’s almost like they expect us to be violent. They’ve also no doubt seen countless news coverage where nothing ever gets done.”
“You do realize—”
“That keeping my mouth shut is part of the problem? Yes. And I have to live with that every day.”
“The thing is,” I say. “I understand that team mentality, I do. If you think one of your brothers in arms could turn on you at any moment, how are you expected to do your job in the field? But at the same time, not standing up against something truly immoral isn’t going to fix the issue.”