The Perfect Stroke(162)
“Maybe, but we’re going to need to check your limo out, just in case. Just doing our job, you understand,” he says with a self-satisfied grin on his face.
The men behind him are already moving to the car. Something about the whole situation stinks, and I’m not just talking about the way Banks looks entirely too confident. Instantly, that gut instinct I have comes alive. I look at Bruno behind me. I don’t have to give him the words; he knows what I want. He nods and I know he’ll have a call through to my attorney in seconds if this all goes south, which I’m pretty sure it will. As if on cue, one of the men with Banks speaks up.
“Detective, we found something,” they shout.
My eyes go in that direction as the man in question pulls out a couple kilos of wrapped and tightly-packed blow, as well as two guns. There’s also a closed briefcase. I’ve never seen the shit before, but that doesn’t surprise me in the least.
“Roman,” Ana cries, her nails biting into my arm.
“Ana, my attorney will have this sorted out in no time. You go with Bruno and…”
“That won’t be necessary. Ana is going nowhere,” Paul says, his face telling me he think he has completely control. He better savor this victory; it will be his last, and it will be nowhere near as monumental as he thinks.
“You have no control over me. That’s my car, and Ana has nothing to do with this,” I growl, more irritated than anything. I don’t want this shit touching Ana.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Anthes. Ana here is key in all of it.”
Something in the way Paul says her name and the wait Ana pulls away from me, stiffening, alerts me to a shift in the game. I look down as Ana steps away. There’s tears in her eyes, and she’s ringing her hands.
“Roman, you need to understand…”
“What Ana here is trying to say…” Paul interrupts her, coming to stand by her and pull her into his side. I lash out without hearing the rest of his sentence, intent only on tearing her away from him, all of my calm leaving me—but then again, ever since Ana came into my life, I’ve never been myself.
Two of Paul’s henchmen grab me. I throw them off easily, thinking of only saving Ana. That’s when the Taser gun hits me and I drop to my knees, my body shaking. I fight against its pull, looking up at Banks and plotting his death as electricity runs through my body. Banks throws something on the ground that lands in front of my knees. His men are clicking the handcuffs behind my back, securing me. My eyes are blurry and I try to shake off the effects to focus.
I see Ana’s picture and a badge.
Officer Ana Stevens.
I look back at her and tears are running down her face. She’s wrenched herself away from Banks, but now that is of little comfort. Undercover cop, and probably one of the ones that set this little dog and pony show up. Something inside of me twists and breaks, and I concentrate on the pain. Banks pulls me up and I let him. After the Taser, I can’t seem to fucking get control enough to stop him. Officer Ana Stevens. Fucking traitorous bitch. It would almost be humorous that I’ve been taken in by the woman I had at first planned to use. Funny as hell, if it didn’t hurt.
As he pushes me into the back of a squad car, my eyes catch Ana’s one last time. She’s saying something I can’t hear her through the window, and I don’t want to. I turn away from her.
I’m done.
Shell-shocked. That’s the only way to describe the last month. I had watched as they hauled Roman away. The smug look of satisfaction on Paul’s face as he sneered at me was almost as bad as the betrayal shining in Roman’s.
I love him and he hates me. He has good reason. In all the scenarios where I told Roman who I really was, I never once thought I wouldn’t get the chance to try and explain. Roman won’t see me though. I’ve been trying, and each time he ignores me.
Instead, I’ve spent my time cleaning out my locker at the station and ignoring the snarls and looks of my once fellow cops, wadding up the sticky notices that littered my locker declaring me a snitch and sometimes much worse. I go through meeting after meeting with IAB, turning in every bit of evidence I had gathered against Paul Banks and the three men that worked under him and doing my best to make Roman appear to be a poster child for clean living magazine.
It worked. Roman’s charges were dismissed. I was stripped of my badge and reprimanded, but any charges that might have been filed against me were negated in exchange for helping with IAB’s investigation. I might have not been wearing a wire each time I met with Paul, but I had been using a mini voice recorder in my pocket, catching Paul’s instructions and plans each time. The best evidence came, however, when I informed the detective in charge about a small firebox that Paul kept in his home office. It was a gamble. I remembered it from the times during my training that I would join Paul and several other squad members for a cookout and we planned the best way to set me up to meet Roman. I didn’t realize what a complete moron Paul was until IAB found the trophies Paul kept from every crooked deal he ever made. He was using the proof inside to blackmail members of the squad to do his bidding, but in the end, the proof only helped to arrest him. If karma is real at all, it should lock him up for a long fucking time. His trial is scheduled to begin soon, and I for one can’t wait.