“Who’s your CI?” I asked, admittedly curious as we turned onto a dark residential street. The homes on both sides were obscured by old trees, their front yards shrouded in dead leaves and cheap lawn ornaments, their driveways riddled with cars in various stages of disrepair.
“Not mine. The kid’s one of Joey’s informants, but Joe’s off visiting his mother this weekend and I didn’t see a reason to bug him.”
I turned to Nick, surprised. “Kid? What did he do?”
“Joey busted him for identity theft about a year ago. He’s a small fish, but he swims in a pretty murky pond—online drugs and weapons dealers, internet sex trafficking, cyber-fraud … Joey got him a deal. Probation and community service. In return, the kid keeps his nose out of trouble and feeds us leads on the big fish as he finds them. He called me a few hours ago. Said he found some nasty stuff online. He thinks it might have ties to Zhirov’s outfit. I didn’t want to wait until Joey gets back to check it out.”
“Feliks Zhirov? But he’s in jail.”
“Never stopped him before. He’s got his hands in everything, and his reach is pretty far. The more evidence I can pile onto the DA’s lap, the less likely Feliks is to walk when he finally goes to trial. We’re chasing every possible lead. I’m not taking any chances with that asshole.”
I suppressed a shudder. Patricia Mickler once told me that Feliks had eyes and ears everywhere. I’d heard Nick make similar comments before, and I’d always assumed he was being hyperbolic. But after my conversation with Theresa over Carl’s dismembered body, I wasn’t so sure. Even knowing Feliks was securely behind bars, Theresa had been terrified to cross him.
That day in Ramón’s garage, Feliks had warned me he’d be keeping an eye on me. Now, as I watched the shadows deepen around the car, I wondered if he still was.
Nick’s car came to a stop in the driveway of a ramshackle split-level. A TV flickered through the sheer curtains as a figure pulled the fabric back to stare at us.
“Wait here,” Nick said, leaving the ignition on.
He shrugged on his jacket and got out of the car, his long legs taking slow, easy bites of the cracked front walk as he approached the house. Light spilled over the front steps as someone opened the door. A lean figure in a dark hoodie slipped out, checking both ways down the street before meeting Nick halfway to the car.
I slouched low in my seat, keenly aware that I shouldn’t be here, but Joey’s CI didn’t seem to notice me through the tinted windows of Nick’s car. The engine purred quietly, muting their greeting. Nick’s hands were planted on his hips, the CI’s shoved deep in his pockets as they spoke, their heads bent close. I reached for the window button, tempted to crack it open just enough to catch a little of their conversation. But at the last second, I pulled my hand away. The simple fact that Nick had brought me here felt like an olive branch—a demonstration of trust. Trust I wanted to be worthy of.
Until the CI pushed back his hood.
Cam’s crown of bleached-blond hair caught the brash yellow light of the window behind him. My mind raced. Back to what Nick had said about Cam’s murky pond. About the kinds of leads Cam fed to Joey.
… he’s found some nasty stuff online.
Oh, no.
I pressed the window button, holding my breath as it hummed down an inch, just enough for a few words to slip through the crack.
“… some kind of moms’ group or something,” Cam said in a low voice.
“Moms’ group?”
“I know, right?”
No, this was not good. If Cam told Nick where to find the women’s forum, Nick would dig until he found a bone.
“If you’re bullshitting me—”
“I’m serious, man. It all seems normal on the surface, but some shady deals are going down. I’m not just talking dime-bags of weed. I found someone trying to move cases of ARs … high-dollar hookers … contract hits … pretty sure the whole site is a front…”
No. No, no, no! I couldn’t let Cam give Nick any names. Not FedUp. Not EasyClean.
And definitely not mine.
I reached for my purse before I remembered my phone was gone. I had no way to text Cam. No way to warn him to keep his big mouth shut. I rolled my window down a few more inches, praying Nick couldn’t hear the hum over the idling engine.
“Who runs it?” he asked.
Cam jerked his chin toward Nick’s jacket pocket.
Nick muttered something under his breath as he reached for his wallet and plucked out a few bills. Cam looked up and down the street before taking them and stuffing them in his pocket.