Things We Hide from the Light (Knockemout Series, 2)
Things We Hide from the Light: Chapter 24

“Idon’t wanna go home,” Sloane whined as I steered her toward my car in the parking lot.

“I’m hungry,” Naomi sang.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked Stef as he began to peel off from us.

He looked guilty and nervous. “I, uh, called Jeremiah and asked him if he wanted to grab dinner. And he said yes. So…I’m going to dinner with a hot barber.”

Naomi pounced on him. “I’m. So. Proud. Of. You,” she said, slapping him in the chest on each word.

He rubbed his pectorals. “Ow.”

“Text us every thirty seconds. Better yet, livestream your date!” Sloane said, bouncing on her toes.

“Oooh! Yes! We’ll comment and let you know if we think it’s going well,” Naomi chimed in.

“You sure you can handle the tipsy twins?” Stef asked me.

“No. But—”

“I’m pretending you said yes,” he said, backing away with a wicked grin.

“Have fun and try not to scare him off,” I called after him.

Maybe Stef was ready to get crushed like a spotted lantern fly, but I still wasn’t convinced that vulnerability was the ultimate strength. It sounded to me more like the ultimate way to get your heart trampled.

Sloane grabbed Naomi’s arm and they both almost went down. “Oh my God. We forgot to tell her the other thing.”

“Tell who what? Am I her?” I asked, steadying them on their feet.

Naomi gasped, releasing a cloud of chardonnay-scented breath. “I totally forgot! We had an idea on who you could talk to about where Duncan Hugo might hide a car.”

“Really? Who?”

“Grim,” Naomi said.

“What’s a grim?”

“He’s a motorcycle club leader…er, boss? Maybe prime minister? Anyway, he knows everything that happens,” Naomi said.

“He knew where Naomi was when she got kidnapped because he was watching Duncan Hugo,” Sloane filled in.

“Also, he’s super nice and taught me how to play poker,” Naomi added.

“How do I reach this motorcycle club prime minister Grim?” I asked.

“I have his number. Or a number. I never called it, but he gave it to me,” Naomi explained.

Sloane’s eyes lit up as if inspiration had just struck. “You guys! I know this place with the best pecan pie in the universe.”

Naomi squealed. “I love pie.”

“Is it within the tristate area?” I asked.

I returned to the table just as the server delivered three slices of what admittedly looked like a pretty damn good pecan pie.

“Did you talk to sexy, dangerous biker guy?” Sloane asked.

“I did not.” I’d called the number Naomi gave me, but after three rings, there was a beep. I’d left a vague message requesting a call back, not even knowing if it was recording what I said.

“Ohmygoodness,” Naomi said with her fork still in her mouth. “This is the best pie ever.”

I sat down and was just picking up my fork when my phone rang. I looked at the screen.

“Shit.”

“Is it him?” my friends demanded in high-pitched unison.

“It’s not,” I assured them and slid out of my chair again.

“Hey, Lewis,” I answered, heading past the host station to the vestibule. “How’s it going?”

“Great. Good. Okay. Well, kind of shit actually,” my coworker said.

Guilt manifested itself as an instant tension headache. “I heard you were back to work.”

“Desk duty,” he clarified. “Which is part of the problem. I have a situation here and need your help.”

Yet another reason why I didn’t do relationships.

“What do you need, Lew?”

“Yeah, so remember that time I jumped off a roof and broke my ass?”

I winced. “I remember.” Vividly.

“And remember how you said if you could do anything to help me, you would?”

“Vaguely,” I said through clenched teeth. Behind me, Naomi and Sloane had struck up a conversation with an elderly couple wearing matching sweatshirts.

“Today’s your lucky day,” Lewis announced.

I sighed. “What do you need?”

“I got an FTA who just popped up on the grid in your neck of the woods.”

FTA was bounty hunter speak for “failure to appear,” a label slapped on people who skipped out on court dates, endangering the money bail bonds companies coughed up for their freedom. “You know I switched to assets for a reason,” I reminded him.

I’d paid my dues for one very long year as a bail enforcement agent before making the switch to asset recovery investigations.

“Yeah, but you’re so good at it. More importantly, you’re right there. I can’t get anyone else there before tomorrow.”

“I’m in charge of two intoxicated women right now. I can’t just leave them to fend for themselves. They’ll end up with matching tattooed eye shadow.”

“Take them along. This guy isn’t dangerous. He’s just stupid. Well, technically he’s crazy smart, which makes him stupid.”

I was familiar with the type.

“Show your friends how Legs Solavita runs down a bad guy.”

“What did he skip on?”

“A two-million-dollar bond.”

“Two million? What the hell did he do?”

“Hacked into the state’s DMV, created a bunch of fake IDs, then sold them online.”

Computer nerds were generally less dangerous to apprehend than, say, murderers or other violent offenders. All you had to do was grab their laptop and then use it to lure them into the back seat of your car. But I still wasn’t taking chances with my very new, very drunk friends.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Lew.”

“Look. I hate to play this card, but you owe me. I’ll split the payout with you.”

“I hate you and your busted ass.” I groaned. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Actually, it’s gotta be in the next hour. He’s skipping town and I don’t know where he’ll land next. I need him in custody.”

“Damn it, Lew.” I peered through the glass at Naomi and Sloane. “You swear he’s not dangerous?”

“I’d send my own grandma to pick him up if she lived closer.”

I sighed. “Fine. But this means we’re even.”

“Even Steven,” he promised.

“And no more jokes about me busting your ass,” I added.

“I’ll text you the address and a pic. Thank you. You’re the best. I’m hanging up now before you change your mind. Bye!” he said quickly before disconnecting the call.

Swearing under my breath, I headed back inside, my headache blooming like a damn rose.

“Hey, Lina Bo-Bina! Want some fries?” Sloane asked.

I looked at the table. Naomi and Sloane had eaten their pie and my pie and then moved on to the French fries the elderly couple left behind.

I flagged down the server. “Can I give you a hundred-dollar tip to babysit these two while I go run an errand?”

She blew her auburn bangs out of her face. “Sorry, honey. I’m not falling for that one again.” She pointed to a sign on the wall. It read, Unattended drunks will be arrested.

Crap.

“What’s wrong, Lina Weena?” Naomi asked. “You look sad.”

“Or constipated,” Sloane added. “Do you need more fiber in your diet?”

“I need to go to work for an hour or so and I don’t know what to do with you two. How do you feel about checking into a hotel and sitting quietly in a room until I get back?”

Sloane gave me a thumbs-up, then flipped it upside down and blew a raspberry.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Did you replace Huncan Dugo?” she asked. Her glasses were askew.

“No. I have to replace another person for a coworker.”

“Let us help! I’m so good at replaceing stuff. Yesterday, Knox looked for the ketchup for ten minutes in the refrigerator and I found it in half a second!” Naomi announced.

“Thanks, but I don’t want your help. I want you two to stay out of the way while I go catch a bail jumper. Do you think you could pretend to be sober for as long as it takes Knox to drive down here and pick you up?”

They exchanged glances, then shook their heads and dissolved into giggles.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“We’re coming with you,” Naomi said firmly.

“No, you’re not,” I said just as firmly and without slurring.

“I told you to stay in the car,” I said as I muscled my FTA down the sidewalk. My face hurt, my hip ached, I was sweating profusely, and my favorite sweater was ruined.

“Sorry,” Naomi said, trying to look contrite.

“We helped you catch him,” Sloane said defiantly. Naomi elbowed her. “Oh, I mean, sorry.”

“I should have left town when I had the chance,” I muttered as I limped around the block.

“Ow! These zip ties hurt!”

Melvin Murtaugh, a.k.a. ShadowReaper, was no violent criminal. The second he’d seen me reach for my restraints, he’d bolted out of the kegger his cousin was hosting. I’d followed him out the back, off the rickety porch, and down the alley.

The kid was wearing sneakers and I was in heeled boots, but my athletic prowess and cardio endurance were way more effective in a footrace than his keyboard skills.

He’d also made the monumental mistake of pausing at the alley entrance, distracted by something.

That “something” turned out to be Naomi and Sloane playing drunken sidekicks.

It had given me enough time to tackle him to the ground. I was getting rusty. I used to know exactly how to execute a tackle while using the tacklee as a cushion for landing. This time, my hip and shoulder had made direct, painful contact with the asphalt while my face had bounced off Melvin’s sharp elbow.

This was why I’d switched from bounties to asset recovery. People were too much a pain in the ass…and face.

“Where are my glasses? I can’t see anything without my glasses!”

“You should have thought of that before you ran when I told you not to,” I told him, sounding like an annoyed mother dealing with a teenage son who never bothered to pick his underwear up off the floor.

I hooked my hand in the back of his shirt and marched us all back to the car. Thank goodness it wasn’t a neighborhood overrun with car thieves, because my two drunken charges had left the Charger’s doors wide open.

“Oops,” Naomi said when she spotted the car. “I guess we forgot to close the doors.”

“It was the thrill of the chase,” Sloane said.

“You weren’t supposed to be part of the chase. You were supposed to wait in the car. And you,” I said, tightening my grip on the squirmy hacker, “were supposed to make your court date.”

“If I go to court, they’re going to send me to jail,” he whined.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what’s supposed to happen when you commit a felony.”

He groaned. “My mom is gonna kill me.”

“That was so badass the way you flying tackled him,” Sloane said, entering the conversation. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“No,” I said tersely and shoved Melvin into the back seat by his head. “Stay.” I shut the door and turned back to my friends, who did not look nearly contrite enough. “This is a dangerous job. You’re not trained to handle these kinds of situations. So when I tell you to stay in the car, you stay in the car.”

“Friends don’t let friends be in danger alone,” Naomi said sternly. “When Waylay and I were abducted, you and Sloane showed up for us. Sloane and I just showed up for you.”

“The difference is, I wasn’t abducted, Naomi. I was doing my job. Well, I was doing Lewis’s job. But I’ve been trained for this. I have experience in these situations. Neither of you do.”

Sloane pouted. “Don’t you even want to know how we distracted him?”

“I threw a bag of dog poop I found on the sidewalk at him.” Naomi preened.

That explained the smell. I was definitely going to need to have my car detailed.

“And I yelled and flashed him my boobs,” Sloane announced proudly.

If it had been any two other civilians, I would have been impressed. But all I could think of was the fact that Naomi and Sloane willingly put themselves in danger for me. And that I now had to make a phone call I really didn’t want to make.

I sighed. “I have to make a call. Stay here and keep an eye on Melvin. Do not get in the car. Do not wander away. Do not befriend any homicidal maniacs roaming the streets.”

“She’s just mad because she didn’t get any pie,” Sloane whispered to Naomi as I dialed.

Knox picked up on the first ring.

“What’s wrong? Why isn’t Stef sending updates anymore, and why isn’t my fiancée answering my texts?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Stef had to leave early, and as for Naomi”—I glanced over my shoulder to where Naomi and Sloane were posing for selfies—“she’s not answering your texts because she and Sloane are busy trying out all the Snapchat filters.”

“Why are you calling? Aren’t we pissed at each other?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t keep up.”

“Good. Then if we were fighting, let’s call it over.”

This is why I liked being friends with men. It was just easier.

“Agreed. I need a favor. Two actually. I need you to not get justifiably pissed off, and I need a ride for two intoxicated women who refuse to listen to me.”

“What’s wrong with your car?”

“It’s currently occupied by a criminal mastermind in zip ties.”

“Fuck.”

“If you let me go, I’ll hack into the IRS so you never have to pay taxes again,” Melvin offered from the back seat.

“Don’t talk,” I growled.

With the windows down, wind buffeted us from all sides at highway speeds. It helped with the smell of dog shit.

“That beardy tattoo guy looked like he was going to rip my arms off and beat me to death with them. I thought he was going to break the glass just to get to me.”

As predicted, Knox had not been happy. First with me for allowing Naomi and Sloane to talk me into bringing them along, then with Naomi and Sloane for deliberately putting themselves in harm’s way, and finally with Melvin for smashing my face.

I hadn’t taken a good look in the mirror yet, but judging from Knox’s reaction and the hot, swollen feeling under my eye, I guessed I didn’t look so great.

“That’s how he usually looks,” I assured him.

“He blamed me for your face. Can you believe that? I didn’t hit you,” Melvin scoffed.

“Your flailing elbow did.”

“Your face hit my flailing elbow. I’m probably going to have a bruise too.”

I pushed down on the accelerator and hoped the responding roar of rpms would drown out my passenger. The sooner I could turn this guy in, the sooner I could go ice my entire body.

“I’ll be sure to send a doctor to your cell,” I said dryly.

“Where are you taking me?”

“The Knockemout Police Department.” It wasn’t ideal, but FTAs needed to be handed over to police custody, and Knockemout was the closest fully staffed department. Also, I may have called ahead to give them a heads-up…and to make sure that Nash was off tonight.

The last thing I needed was a run-in with him.

“Can we at least listen to some music?” Melvin grumbled.

“Yes, we can.” I turned up the stereo and took the exit for Knockemout.

We were two miles from town limits when red and blue lights lit up my rearview mirror.

I glanced down at the speedometer and winced.

“Ha! Busted,” my passenger snickered.

“Shut up, Melvin.”

I pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, put my hazard lights on, and dug out my registration by the time the officer got to my window.

When Nash Morgan shined his flashlight in my eyes, I knew this was not my night.