Page 19 of Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad World

“What we’re questioning,” McMillan said, “is the validity of your team.” He ran his hand through thinning hair. “Some of your buddies have criminal records.”

“And,” Johnson added, “some have no records at all. We still haven’t been able to verify that Rodrigo De la Cruz actually exists.”

“I can introduce you to him if you want,” Noah said helpfully.

“Smart-ass,” McMillan muttered. “Just what I need. Six months off retirement, and I get to deal with a hot shot new group full of smart-asses and wild cards. My luck stinks.”

Johnson grinned at his partner. “You have three ex-wives, a second mortgage, and a heart condition. Your luck’s been nonexistent for years.”

“Go screw yourself,” McMillan said with an easygoing smile.

“So”—Johnson turned back to Noah—”you know you need to get the witness out of here, right? Forget all that agoraphobia bullshit. If you guys stay here, you’re nothing more than a sitting target for the Demon Brothers.”

“Rochelle’s talked to you about this,” Noah said. “Leaving isn’t an option.”

“Then you’ve got a death wish,” McMillan said in disgust.

“Nope. I have a woman who’ll lose her grip on reality if she’s forced out of her home. And a vicious gang out to kill her before her court date. Oh, and a team who barely knows each other, let alone trust one another. Not to mention a bullet wound in my leg, a bruise that covers my back, and a patch of skin missing from my skull. That’s what I’ve got.” He leaned forward, staring the two men in the eyes. “Nothing about this job is easy, so I got to say, Detectives, if you can’t help, I don’t have a whole lot of time for you.”

McMillan gave him a shrewd, assessing look while Johnson considered him with a tad more respect than he’d previously shown.

“What can we do to help?” McMillan said at last.

Noah sank back into his chair with a sigh. “Regular patrols past the building would be a good start.”

The two detectives shared a look.

“We can do that,” Johnson said.

And Noah felt like he’d made it over another hurdle. Only a million more to go.

Chapter Seven

The next couple of days were filled with cleaning up, fortifying the building, and gathering information on the gang who were after Annabelle. Thanks to his injuries, Noah hadn’t been much use with the more physical jobs, so he’d focused on research and strategy—with the assistance of Evan, who’d fast revealed himself to be a certified computer genius.

Together, they’d not only managed to get the large open-plan space that used to be two decent-sized offices into shape but had also filled a whiteboard with information their team would need. Noah was pleased with their temporary office space. It took up about two-thirds of the second floor, with old desks arranged down the center of the room and a row of tables stretching around one corner, sporting a state-of-the-art computer setup. Above the monitors, a handwritten sign tacked to the shabby beige wall read: Evan’s Domain. Don’t Touch.

Sheer blinds covered all the windows, letting in a diffused light but keeping out prying eyes. The setup reminded Noah of a police station bullpen in Atlantic City, making him feel right at home. The conference room the London office used for briefings had always been a little too formal for his liking. And unlike theirUK team leader, Rochelle didn’t hide away in a private office. She wanted to be right in the center of things with everyone else.

New office, new team, new dynamics. It would take some getting used to. Although, unlike some of the other team members, Noah had worked this way before his time in London, so it was easier for him to adapt. Violet, on the other hand, kept muttering about how unnatural it was that Rochelle had a desk beside everyone else.

“How are the cameras looking?” Noah asked Evan as he came up behind his “control center”—his terminology, not Noah’s.

“Great.” Evan motioned to the bank of monitors in front of him. “They’re all on separate systems, so if one’s knocked out, we can still see the rest. Also”—he swiveled in his state-of-the-art gaming chair—”I took the liberty of installing a second system, using tiny hidden cameras. Their range is limited, but if something happens, we’ll at least have eyes on all the main spaces.”

“Good thinking,” Noah said.

The triplets were growing on him. Their morality might be questionable, but there was no denying they were intelligent men who weren’t afraid of hard work.

“We have sound everywhere too, right?” Noah asked. He didn’t want a repeat of his experience in the panic room.

“Sound’s sorted.” Evan tapped some keys, and a blueprint of the building’s layout appeared on one of the screens. “Harris and Logan are finishing up the wiring on those doors you wanted fitted with remote locking systems. I’ve installed the app to control the locks and access the surveillance feeds on everyone’s phones—except for Officer Lee’s.” He winced. “Sorry. Habit. She won’t hand over her phone.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Although there was a good chance several of them would have to hold her down and take the phone fromher. Violet didn’t play well with others. Noah pointed to another screen. “I see Rodrigo’s done with the panic room.”

Evan nodded. “Reinforced walls and door. As well as a mini security hub, just in case. He’s a handy guy—I mean, handy man type guy, you know, with tools and stuff.”

“I do know.” Noah hid a smile.