The FBI? He wanted to get involved federally? Something was wrong. Really wrong. Luis had figured it out, I could tell just by his bland expression. I wished the epiphany would migrate my way.
“It’s a cop,” Luis explained, eyes directed at Alvarado. “Whoever he’s turning over. A cop or bigger. But he won’t give us the name, or he’d have made the deal already. The whole point of this meeting was for us to reach that conclusion. Then we’d instigate an investigation, and the FBI would swoop in and take over.”
“Peter knows who it is?” I asked Alvarado. He rested penetrating brown eyes on me and said, “Man, who you think set me up with the guy?”
Fuck. I’m a complete and total moron.
Chapter Six
Once I Got Over Him Being a Scumsucking Criminal
We pulled into the diner’s lot a half hour later, and Luis turned off the car. I grabbed his arm as he opened the door. “There’s just no chance of you letting me do this on my own?” I pleaded.
His answer wasn’t so much a laugh as it was a guffaw. He shook off my hand and continued laughing the entire walk into the restaurant. I hung my head for a minute, then followed.
The hostess—and I use the term loosely because she didn’t greet us so much as give us a once over and raise her brows—met us at the entrance. We held up our badges. She curled her lips and stuck out her chin. “What?” I wondered if hostility was a job requirement at the diner.
“We’re here for Peter,” I said and checked behind her for him.
“Peter? Who the fuck is Peter?”
Luis cocked a brow at me. “Yeah, who the fuck is Peter?” His amusement was not catching.
“Bunny slippers, bad attitude, boyfriend named Cai,” I snapped.
I checked hostess-girl’s nametag. Matilda. Really? Matilda? “Rabbit. You mean Rabbit.” She giggled, causing her chin to wobble hypnotically. Resting a hand on her ample hip, she smirked at us both. I attempted a smile in return.
Just as she shifted toward the kitchen doors and screamed, “RABBIT! COPS’RE HERE FOR YOU!”, Peter walked out of the kitchen. For two seconds he stared at me. He blinked in surprise and started a half smile. His gaze bounced to Luis. He squinted and his eyes blew wide. Taking a backward step, he swiveled and tore off into the back. I stared, dismayed, at the doors swinging back and forth. Then I twirled on my heel and booked it out the door to follow.
“Goddammit, stop, Pete— Rabbit!” I shouted as he hopped over the retaining wall behind the restaurant and sped across the main street. “Motherf— I just bought this suit!” And it’s too fucking hot to chase your ass in it. Fuck. There was no way that little shit could outrun me. I had been training for the FBI for ten years. And I was taller. Yeah, taller. I just decided that.
But that fucker wasn’t just fast. He managed an even pace ahead of me and then did an imitation of my slide across the hood of a car—only the car he chose was moving. I looped around it and followed him across the street, already breathing hard.
Once on open ground, I closed in on him, but then he sprang over a pair of guardrails, jammed his feet into the side of a parking garage and somehow monkey-climbed the freaking wall! He then twisted his body, grabbed the edge of a windowless opening and pulled his legs up. He disappeared somewhere on the first level.
I stood there out of breath, four blocks from the restaurant and gaping up at the concrete hole he vanished into. That was how the asshole got those abs. Fucker trained in Parkour. Holy shit. I wanted him so badly.
Once I got over his being a scum-sucking criminal, that is.
“Yo, your boyfriend just whipped your ass.” Luis’s laughter carried through the car window as flung open the passenger door.
“What the fuck’re you laughing about? We just lost him, and what the fuck was he running for?” I flopped into the seat and slammed the door as the car screeched out. Luis handed me a piece of paper.
“…Detroit Street…” I read the address, frowned, and then my lips did a slow curve upwards. “2A.”
Unf Unf Unf
We made it there before Rabbit—er, Peter, asshole, liar. I waited patiently at his door while Luis watched the back gate.
His home was packed into the middle unit of a set of rundown brick townhomes smack in the heart of the most urban neighborhoods of Denver. I knocked and rang the bell. No answer. I had little choice but to wait outside in the muggy summer sun. I stank of sweat, but at least there was a small garden next door to offset the rank. I inhaled and played with the cuffs hooked to my belt.
We now had grounds for arrest, since he had fled, and I relished throwing cuffs on him. I almost hoped he ran again so I could see him do that shit all over. Then jump him and hold his wrists down and ram my tongue—