“Great,” Jo said.
“Three, she needs money. We ran her financials. Opening the bar has her in debt up to her eyeballs. People have been tempted for far less than what Murphy offered her. I’m not looking to get double-crossed. This way we keep our cards close to our chest, provide protection, and keep her on our side. Best-case scenario, nothing interesting happens and she never finds out. We get the evidence we need, Matt quits when this is over, and everyone goes away happy.”
That was classic Hawthorn: get intel and trust no one, not even a high school friend. And the only thing Matt had to sacrifice was his honor. He was the expendable point man out in front, getting the most up-to-date, accurate information about a situation. Like walking point, undercover work was the department’s riskiest assignment, requiring ice water for blood and an ability to juggle identities over long periods of time. But they were dead wrong about her. No way would she take money from a guy like Murphy. He knew an honorable person when he saw one. He just didn’t see one in the mirror much anymore.
“Matt, what’s your read?”
“The bar’s right in that borderline neighborhood between the river and civilization. Two blocks north and you’re shopping for high-end goods in SoMa. A block south and you’re in those abandoned warehouses the city wants to knock down for the new business park. The building’s a basic cinderblock exterior with a very expensive, upscale interior and about as girl-oriented as you can get. Murphy’s smart. We’d never look twice at this place.”
“Did she ask for references?”
“I used Gino as my current employer. She knew the bar, so she might call him.”
Gino was a retired cop now managing his family’s bar. “I called him just after you left and explained the situation. He’ll verify your cover.”
“We’re taking a risk with my undercover identity,” Matt said. “She was carrying an iPhone like we’d have to pry it out of her cold, dead hands. I guarantee pictures from inside Eye Candy are all over the internet.”
“Everyone has a cell phone with a camera these days. It’s never bothered you before,” Hawthorn said. “She doesn’t hire women—”
“Thank God,” Jo said under her breath. Matt huffed. He’d spent plenty of time on the other end of a mike feed listening to Jo banter with johns.
“—and you’re our best.”
Hawthorn’s phone rang. Carlucci wandered off. Matt slumped in his chair and opened the top drawer of his desk, rummaging through the assortment of paper clips and pens in the pencil tray.
Across the desk, Jo was working her way through an arrest report. “What did you do to your knuckles?” she asked without looking up.
“Went at the speed bag a little too long last night,” he said.
That got him raised eyebrows, Jo’s version of mother hen clucking and fussing.
“Luke didn’t get the job. He’s pretty frustrated.”
His brother had graduated from college in May and still hadn’t found a full-time job in his field of biology. Matt told him not to worry about it, but with each near-miss Luke’s temper frayed a little more. Tensions were high in the small house.
“And that sent you to the speed bag because…?”
“Needed a workout,” he said evenly.
Jo went back to the report. Matt returned his attention to his open desk drawer, pushed aside a jumble of small binder clips and rubber bands, and found a thin gold wedding band. He hooked it with his index finger, then used his opposing thumb and forefinger to set it spinning in a hypnotic, gleaming whirl on the surface of his desk.
Married? Not married? What’s my angle here?
When the gold circle spun down and clattered to a stop, Jo said, “You think this’ll go down better if there’s a Mrs. Chad Henderson?”
Sometimes a ring helped. He wore it when working prostitution busts because hookers were less wary of a “married man,” as if wedding vows somehow explained trolling Craigslist for sex. The smart ones still made him strip to his skin before talking money because most cops wouldn’t go that far to throw off suspicion.
He would.
“I wasn’t wearing it for the interview,” he said as he flicked the ring into a second spin.
“Left it at home?” Jo replied.
“Possible,” he said absently.
If he wore the ring, she’d back off. No way would Eve start anything with a married man. But the stakes were too high to give her any excuse to put distance between them. Without her knowledge or consent, he had to get up in her business, her personal life, her head. He didn’t like it at all.
Do your job. She’s the most important informant in the biggest case in the department’s history, and she’s playing with fire. If the Strykers find out what she’s doing.…
Snapshots of brutalized bodies flared in his brain. To scatter them he flattened his palm over the ring, ending the spin with a thud, swept it back in the drawer, and got to his feet.