The fuck?
I arched an eyebrow as I gave him a slow nod, calling to my secretary, “Hold my calls.”
I led the way to my office as he silently followed behind me. Once inside, he didn’t get much more talkative. I sat in my chair and fired my computer up as he walked around, inspecting the pictures hanging around the room.
He pointed to one on the wall and said, “She’s cute.”
I rocked back in my chair and replied, “She’s my sister.”
“You still caught up on your ex?” he questioned like the ballsy motherfucker he clearly was.
I sat up, propped my elbows on my desk, and ignored his question. “What can I help you with today, Agent Light?”
He tipped his chin in my direction. “Lucked out. Your secretary told me you were out for the day.”
“I am out for the day,” I corrected. “So, if you could speed this up, I’d be much obliged.”
He finally moved to the chair in front of my desk and sat. “Good. This way, it’ll be easier to explain away that I was never here.”
“I’m sorry?”
He slid a photo from his envelope but kept it facedown. “Roman, I’m here on a very unofficial capacity today. You got me?”
I narrowed my eyes, my gaze going to the photo I couldn’t make out. “I got you,” I replied skeptically.
“I also need your word that you’re not gonna go off half-cocked and get yourself killed. That would make my life extremely messy right about now.”
“Get to the fucking point,” I demanded, quickly losing my patience with the vague bullshit.
“That your word?”
I shrugged. “It’s gonna have to be. The only other ones I got for you are: Get the hell out of my office.”
He stared at me for a minute before his face split in a grin. “I hear you and your woman got some news yesterday.”
Now, that got my attention.
I steepled my fingers under my chin. “We did. You got anything in that magic envelope of yours that might be helpful to me?”
He grinned again and then demanded, “Your word.”
“Never seen you in my life. I spent the day at home with Elisabeth, reuniting our marriage between the sheets.”
He chuckled. “Works for me.” Sliding a grainy, black-and-white surveillance picture across the desk, he said, “Walter Noir. Bad guy. And, when I say bad guy, I mean bad. Fucking. Guy. We’ve been keeping tabs on him for the last three years. He’s the big name in drugs in the city right now. His army is strong, but worse than that, they’re tight. Nobody in or out without Noir’s personal approval. He’s into some deep shit. You owe that man money, he’s got tricks that make the old-school mob look like child’s play. The blood on his hands could forge rivers.”
I set the photo back on my desk. “And you’re telling me this why?”
He pulled more pictures from the envelope and then slid the bottom one my way. “That’s his wife Clare.”
I could only see the side of her face, but that was all I needed in order to make out the wide black-and-blue bruise covering her cheek.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“That was taken outside of her gym eight months ago. It’s the only place he allows her to go. The bastard keeps her on a tight leash.” He passed me another picture. “This one was taken five months ago.”
In this image, she was looking straight at the camera, tears flowing down her cheeks and dark bruises peeking from the neck of her tank top.
“This one was three months ago.” Another image of the thin, blond, battered woman.
He started to slide another my way, but I lifted my hand in the air.
“Enough. I got it. Get to the part where you give me something helpful.”
He stood and bent over my desk, slapping a picture down into the center. Then he stabbed his index finger down on the back of a little, blond head in the woman’s arms and changed my entire life with one sentence. “That is the child who may or may not be your daughter.”
I shot to my feet, the chair rolling from under me and slamming into the shelves that lined the wall behind me. After snatching the picture off the desk, I brought it up to my face for a closer inspection. It was nothing but a head full of white curls, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Am I sure it’s your kid? No. Do I think it’s a strong possibility based on the asshole who’s involved? Yes.”
I snatched my desk phone up and lifted it to my ear, but his hand slammed down on the base, hanging it up.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m calling the cops…or shit, my attorney…or, Christ, someone.”
“I am the cops, Roman. And I assure you there is not one fucking thing we can do to help you here. If we could, I’d be off doing it rather than standing here, risking my job.”