Hard to Serve: A Hard Ink Novella (7 page)

* * * *

 At work on Friday, Kyler was feeling antsy, restless, bored out of his fucking mind. The pile of paperwork covering his desk beckoned his attention, but it was the absolute last thing he wanted to be doing.

He wanted to be out on the streets, investigating a case, dominating Mia.

Wait.

What. The. Fuck.

Get your fucking head screwed on right, Vance
.

Problem was, his head was screwed all right. Not even forty-eight hours had passed since he’d seen Mia into a cab outside Club Diablo, the public part of their business, and Kyler couldn’t stop thinking about her. About how fulfilling playing with her had been. About how many times she’d made him laugh as they’d sat talking for the better part of an hour after their scene ended. About how hard it was to see her go—especially knowing he wouldn’t be seeing her again. At least, not as her Dom.

And that was the other part of the reason he couldn’t get her out of his head. Assuming he
did
see her again at Blasphemy, she was going to be playing with someone else. And that…that really fucking sucked. And pissed him off. And had made him a miserable sonofabitch to be around.

As if being assigned to a desk buried in paperwork wasn’t making him miserable enough. And his shooting practice hadn’t gone as well as he wanted earlier today, either.

Damn it all to hell.

He needed a distraction of the non-Blasphemy kind. Because if Mia was there tonight, the last thing he needed was to see her—or see her with anyone else.

Kyler debated, and then an idea came to mind. “Luck be on my side,” he said as he found Jeremy Rixey’s number in his contacts and dialed. The guy was a fantastic tattoo artist and owned the Hard Ink Tattoo shop across town. It had been closed for most of the summer following an attack that left a big part of the building damaged, but they’d reopened full time just last week.

“Jeremy Rixey here,” he answered.

“Jer, it’s Kyler Vance. How are you?”

“Yo, Detective. I have all my hair again so everything’s good.”

Kyler laughed and respected the hell out of the guy for being able to joke about it. In the same shooting incident that had injured Kyler, Jeremy had been pistol-whipped, and the brain injury he’d suffered had necessitated surgery, so his head had been shaved. Kyler had seen Jer at his older brother’s wedding a few weeks before, but his dark brown hair had still been pretty short. The guy had been through a lot. “Hair is good.”

“Hair is damn good. I think half my personality was in my hair,” he said, voice full of humor. “But I’m sure you didn’t call to talk about my stunning good looks.”

“Well, if there’s any chance you have an opening tonight, I’ll talk about your good looks as much as you like,” Kyler said, forcing nonchalance into his tone when he really wanted this to happen.

“Oh, yeah? Uh, I should be done with my last client around 8:30. If that’s not too late, I could work on you then,” Jeremy said.

“Don’t you close at nine?”

“Yeah, but after everything, you’re family. You in?”

Kyler nodded, really appreciating the sentiment. The Rixeys were good people. “I’ll be there.”

“Great. I’ll let everyone know you’re coming,” Jer said. Everyone meaning his brother, Nick, and the whole group of people Kyler had teamed up with to take down some of the worst scum operating in Baltimore—hell, in the world, given the worldwide scope of their criminal operations.

“Sounds good,” Kyler said. He’d no more than hung up, for the first time all day feeling a little bit of contentment, when potentially bad news arrived at his desk.

“Vance,” Captain Burkett said, dropping into the chair beside him. “Commissioner Breslin would like to see you at five.”

“What for?” Kyler asked. “And why do you look like you’ve just been to war and back?” The guy was looking rough—tired eyes, haggard expression, sloped shoulders. This investigation wasn’t just tough on Kyler, was it.

His captain gulped at a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Because that’s what this place is sometimes. And you know exactly what the commissioner wants to talk about.” The man arched a brow.

“Fine,” Kyler said, giving a tight nod. It would be his first time meeting Breslin one-on-one. The guy might be a hardass, but Kyler respected that the man was trying to bring some order back to a department that had been spinning out of control, so he had to be a good guy on some level. “You should take some time off, Cap. You kinda look like hell. And this is coming from a guy who knows what hell looks like, so…”

Burkett shook his head. “I’ll take time off when I retire.”

Kyler chuffed out a doubtful breath. “And when will that be?”

“When I die.” Burkett winked and left.

Time crawled until a little before five, and then Kyler found himself in a posh waiting room outside the commissioner’s office. Kyler had even put on a jacket and tie over his dress shirt. Good first impressions and all that.

“Detective Vance? Commissioner Breslin will see you now,” Natasha, his receptionist, said. She gestured toward the carved wooden door.

Heaving a deep breath, Kyler got up and went inside.

“Have a seat, Detective,” Breslin said from behind his own desk. Standing at the window, the older man was looking out at the grit and gleam of Baltimore.

“Yes, sir.” Kyler took a seat, and then the commissioner turned and took his own place at his desk.

The man had graying brown hair, a distinguished face, and dark eyes. His voice was gruff and his bearing was authoritative without being arrogant. “I’ve asked you here today because I’m trying to meet everyone in the department individually. Best way to get to know the place and, more importantly, the people. How long have you been with BPD, Detective?”

Kyler definitely respected the leadership style this represented. An organization—
any
organization—was only as strong as its people. “Little over ten years, sir.”

Breslin flipped open a folder in front of him. “That’s a long commitment.”

“I love what I do. Worked my way up from rookie cop.” Kyler laced his hands over his gut.

“And you come from a police family, too,” Breslin observed, his gaze on the paperwork in front of him. No doubt there was also information about the investigation in there.

“My father, uncle, and grandfather were all BPD.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting any of them,” Breslin said. Kyler didn’t respond, because the man’s expression said he had something on his mind. Finally, the commissioner nailed him with a dark stare. “Given your long service here as well as that of your family, you’re exactly the kind of officer we want on board. So I’d like you to tell me about the events that led up to your injuries this past May.”

Kyler gave a tight nod. “I was attending the funeral of a friend’s friend. The deceased was a criminal affiliated with the Church Gang, but I was there out of respect for his sister, who had only recently learned that. Some of the deceased’s associates showed up, and a gunfight broke out.” That was the shortest, sweetest version of the story Kyler could manage, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when it wasn’t enough. After all, you didn’t get to be a police commissioner without having a finely tuned barometer for BS.

“Uh huh. Now tell me the rest of the story.” The guy tilted his head, his expression calling bullshit on Vance’s whitewashed version.

Problem was, Kyler was hamstrung in what he could say for a lot of reasons. The longer version was that Nick Rixey and some of his former Army Special Forces teammates were friends of Kyler’s godfather, who’d been killed helping them investigate the conspiracies that’d gotten them ambushed in Afghanistan, ousted from the Army, and attacked by Baltimore’s Church Gang, who was working with a handful of dirty military officials to smuggle and sell Afghani heroin. When Miguel had been killed, Kyler and his father had promised their assistance to Nick’s team. It was what Miguel would’ve wanted. And Nick deserved the help, especially because the investigation he and Miguel had been running proved that the gang had a number of dirty cops in their pockets, too. But Kyler couldn’t say all that. He couldn’t admit that he’d essentially protected the team, hidden their investigation from the authorities, and helped cover up the real cause of the damage that had been done to the Rixeys’ building. Because it would violate the nondisclosure agreements they’d all signed with the CIA, who’d come in at the very end to assist Nick and his team.

It was a fucking complicated mess.

So he said what he could. “This is all in my statements, sir. My godfather, Miguel Olivero, who’d been my father’s partner, had called me in for some assistance with his private investigating business. Miguel was working a case that had something to do with the Church Gang and had gotten in over his head, especially when he identified some cops on the gang’s payroll. Problem was, they cut him down before I learned all the details. I was in the middle of trying to figure it all out when the gunfight at the cemetery happened.” This was the story Nick’s CIA contact had helped Kyler devise. And Miguel wouldn’t have minded one bit providing cover for Kyler this way. In fact, Ky could almost imagine Miguel chuckling up in Heaven and patting them all on the back for conceiving of such a good plan.

The thought set off a pang in Kyler’s chest. He missed the old man like hell, and he knew his father did, too. Miguel had been a constant presence in both of the Vance men’s lives. His loss left a big gaping hole that hadn’t begun to close—and maybe never would.

“I read the statements, but I wanted you to look me in the eye when you recounted the story in your own words,” Breslin said.

Damn, this guy was good. “And?”

“And…” The commissioner tilted his head, assessing him. “You’re not telling me everything, but you don’t strike me as dirty, either.”

“I’m not dirty. And being lumped in with the pieces of shit responsible for Miguel’s death is bullshit,” Kyler said, meeting and holding his superior’s observant gaze and reining in his mouth before it ran away with his career. Kyler was coming down on the side of Breslin being the real deal, and he wanted to earn the man’s respect. And get out from behind that fucking desk.

Commissioner Breslin nodded. “Hang in there, Detective. I know this investigation is a burr on your balls, but we’re moving as quickly as we can. I promise you that. And our methods will become clear soon enough.”

Whatever that meant. But as he had no choice but to wait for the investigation to end, there was really only one thing for him to say. “Understood, sir.”

“Good. Then we’re done here, Detective. But my door is always open. Don’t hesitate to use it.” His boss gave him a pointed look, and Kyler nodded. “Dismissed.”

Back at his desk again, Kyler forced himself to plow through some of the paperwork that buried the worn surface. The more he kept himself busy, the faster time would pass. But his mood was at least a little better than it had been earlier in the day. Because the more Kyler thought about it, the more positive his impressions of his conversation with the commissioner became. Without question, Breslin wasn’t against him. And that counted for more than a little.

So Kyler would just keep his nose to the grindstone and make sure it stayed that way.

Chapter 5

The gallery opening was going even better than Mia had hoped. The place was packed. Buyers were opening their checkbooks. The four spotlighted artists were already pulling her aside to tell her how pleased they were. The arts editor from the city paper was here doing a story on the gallery. And Mia was currently sipping a glass of champagne that her boss, the gallery owner, had brought to her moments before with the words, “I knew you were the right person for this job.”

Mia was on cloud nine.

“Girl, this is amazing,” Dani said. She and a couple friends from DC had come up for the show, and Mia appreciated the support and the bodies. Nothing worse than an empty gallery on opening night. Not, it turned out, that she’d needed to worry.

“It really is, isn’t it?” Mia said, a little stunned herself.

“Don’t act so surprised.
You
made all this happen.” Dani held up her glass and they clinked.

“I’m so glad you’re here to share this with me,” Mia said, squeezing her friend’s hand. Dani was tall and athletic, with wavy, shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair and pale blue eyes. The light and snarky to Mia’s dark and more serious. They’d been fast friends from almost the moment they’d met in college.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else. You know this.” Dani peered around them, then leaned in close. “So, when are you going back to see the blue-eyed orgasm machine?”

Mia nearly spit out her champagne. This is what spilling all the details got her. “Oh, my God, sshh,” she whispered, unable to hold back from laughing. “I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow. Though maybe I shouldn’t, because he said he wasn’t looking for a relationship.”

“Dude, isn’t that what all guys say?” Dani arched her eyebrow. The woman was a lawyer in a high-powered law firm and had been the managing editor of her law review, and she still said “dude” all the time. Mia loved it.

Shrugging, Mia managed to swallow the bubbly this time. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Isn’t it win-win either way? You go and he plays again and you die of”—Dani’s voice dropped to a whisper—“orgasmic bliss. Or you go and he doesn’t want to play and you find someone else who’s awesome? You said this club had more of the kind of men you like there than anywhere else you’d ever played, right?”

Mia nodded, peering around to make sure they weren’t being overheard.

“I say you go,” Dani said as if that settled it.

Mia was just about to respond when she spotted her father making his way through the crowd. She grinned. “My dad’s here.”

“There’s my babydoll,” he said when he made his way to her. He looked dashing in a dark blue pinstriped suit. They hugged.

“Hi, Daddy. I’m so glad you could come,” she said. “You remember Dani.”

“Of course,” Dad said, giving Dani a quick hug. “Good to see you again, Dani.”