Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

40. RJ

Chapter 40

RJ

S ince I figured out my dad’s up to his old ways, I’ve flagged him at nearly all the casinos within four hours of our house. There are a few with serious security blocking me, so instead of hacking, I sent warning messages spoofing the address of another casino early yesterday. That should put him on their watch lists.

It feels gross doing this to Pops, but if he’s lapsed again, I don’t know what else to do. I’ve already had to buy them out of foreclosure twice, once when I was only a kid. I’m not doing it again.

I’m playing offense this time, at least until whatever caused this relapse fades out. I already asked Clara to help me come up with better guardrails. Maybe even a workable solution. Even if right now I’m just hoping my parents get the miracle they’re always praying for and realize Pops is bad enough to see a doctor .

PTSD comes at Pops sideways, and while I know it’s not his fault that the damn war fucked up his brain, sometimes I wish he were the guy I remember from before he deployed that second time.

Just like I sometimes wish I hadn’t found my mom crying over that foreclosure notice at fifteen.

I fixed it, but it cost my dad his pride. And now he’s stopped pretending with me, leaving that for the girls. And they eat it up.

With a sigh, I finish cycling through the alerts, making sure he hasn’t shown up anywhere I have access to in the last twenty-four hours, frustrated to see he’d been out, but turned away from three separate casinos.

Then I do the same thing for Bryce, finding a few blurry shots of Jansen and Clara climbing into his car at night, taken from far away, like they left before he had a chance to get closer. Did they go out last night? I’d woken to her curled beside me, so I never thought to ask.

Swallowing down the need to lock Clara where she’s safe, I move on to checking my top-shelf pedos, siphoning off cash here and there, leaving the funds I can’t trace yet so I can track them later.

Last, I pull up the recordings from the Nazi jewelry house, fast-forwarding through the footage, picking out the secret safe where the jewels are kept. The creep seems to love his collection, pulling out a few pieces every day to look at, like a cartoon villain. It makes my job easier, and therefore, it’ll make Jansen’s job easier, but it’s weird as fuck. Either way, tomorrow night is looking good to hit them up. We’ll even have two days to spare before giving them to Clara .

It’ll suck to be so tired while watching from the van. I’m only gonna get a few hours of sleep tonight after the game.

Clara could keep me company in the van, keep me awake, after she helps.

Or maybe not. The jewelry is supposed to be a surprise, but I don’t know how we’ll be able to keep her from figuring out that Jansen and I have vanished with the van.

There’s just so much to do and not nearly enough time for any of it.

At least tonight should be easy. We only invited regulars to the party, so I just have to double-check the players’ finances and monitor the cameras for any cheating Jansen doesn’t flag. If it wouldn’t risk the work I was doing protecting those kids, I’d search out their passwords too and have a peek at their accounts for the most accurate picture, but it’s not worth the risk. Not when kids are in danger.

Social media stalking is going to have to be enough for now.

Within the hour, Walker’s going to pop in and announce he’s done with the decorations, having artfully covered our carefully placed microphones and cameras. And then, like the good friends we are, we’ll go upstairs and praise his work.

I mean, it’ll be amazing, but I don’t have time for a side quest when there are so many pressing main quests waiting for me.

Why the party needed to be themed is a mystery, but a masquerade was what Walker wanted, so a masquerade is what we got. Walker dropped off my mask earlier, so intricate that I felt compelled to compliment him, even if wearing the thing doesn’t appeal to me .

Ditto for my new slacks and dress shirts that hang in my closet, but I also can’t help but hope they look good on me. I mean, Walker said they did, but it’s not his opinion that matters.

My promise to take Clara out for a proper date uses that moment of insecurity to pop into my head, and if I could curse the pile of work I have in front of me, I would. It’s not like my failed attempt at teaching her self-defense counts as a date. That might even be negative one date, leaving me behind the starting line for dating a girl. Which honestly is where I always figured I’d be.

But she’s special. She doesn’t need to fill the empty spaces in our conversations, allowing me time and space to get my words to shape themselves into things that have meaning and context. She didn’t pull away when I got angry and obsessive after Bryce showed his hand, not even mentioning it when my sister dragged her upstairs, like she understood without me saying that I wasn’t trying to push her away. And the way she looks at me, like I’m something special instead of an awkward mess, it makes my heart hurt.

We need that date.

A knock on the door has me up to unlock it, expecting Clara. Instead, Walker’s there, a large box in his arms, his brows low over his eyes. “That cop’s here. Clara asked you to go downstairs.”

I freeze.

That’s as good as telling the cop that I’m the one with the information. She wouldn’t do that to me, would she?

Walker must see the fear in my face, and while he doesn’t know where it’s coming from, he rushes to clarify .

“I taught Clara our codes. She said to tell you there are blueberry muffins, hot coffee, and donut holes downstairs for you. The cop is none the wiser.”

My shoulders relax. A dangerous meeting with a cop, message received. I knew she wouldn’t endanger me that way. “I’ll head down then. You’re going up to finish decorating?”

“As soon as I figure out where Jansen left the ladder, yup.”

“He didn’t leave it someplace weird. Trips took it over to the new house.”

“Fucker.”

I choke out a laugh. “Take it up with him. I’ve got a pretty girl to accompany to a police interrogation.”

“Interrogation? Because she’s getting stalked? That shit’s fucked up.”

“It’s probably nothing,” I say, encouraging Walker out of my room and locking it up, especially if there’s a cop on-site. “But I’ll be there no matter what.”

Walker looks like he wants to ask something else, but I’m already halfway down the stairs. When I make it to the front hallway, I’m not happy to see the cop inside, a few steps from Jansen’s meditation space. It might be winter, but he should have to stay on the other side of the front door unless he has a warrant.

Clara must have had a reason to let him in, though, and it can’t be simple good manners. It’s not like she’s sat him on the couch with tea and crumpets. Her posture relaxes as she sees me on the stairs, but she doesn’t call out for me. How am I supposed to play this? Acting is not something I’m good at. It’s only one of many reasons I stay in the van .

Luckily, she saves me from my waffling. “Hey, RJ. The blueberry muffins and hot coffee are in the living room, if you want to grab some.”

Okay. Go through the doorway and eavesdrop. That I can do. I give her and the cop a single nod, then leave the hallway and stomp into the living room. But then I turn, using all the skills I’ve perfected to stay silent as I inch back to just outside either of their lines of sight. And I realize that’s why she let him in the house—so I could eavesdrop.

“Are you interested?” the cop says, his voice gruff.

“You haven’t given me a good idea what exactly I’m signing up for. I don’t do this lightly, and I sure as hell won’t do it blindly. Do you have a copy of the contract for me to review?”

So fierce. Even while she’s fraying at the seams, she’s still braver than anyone I’ve met. Stupid brave, Trips would call her.

Only, she’s still at the beginning of this journey. She’s going to make mistakes. But unlike all of us, she has someone there to catch her when she falls. Four someones.

There’s rustling, then silence.

The cop must lean against the wall, the sound of his parka crackling as it crumples on contact. We both wait for Clara to review the document, and I desperately want to be there reading over her shoulder. Because she’s technically informing on me. She’ll find a way to skirt that, but it’s true. I’m the criminal she’s going to snitch on.

Closing my eyes, I say one of my rare prayers, asking for this not to blow up in my face. I can’t go to jail. Too many people are counting on me. Too much is at stake.

Including the kids this choice might protect .

“It looks good to me, but I’d like to take it to a lawyer to review the terms before I sign it.”

The cop clicks his tongue, and my hands curl into fists.

“My boss doesn’t even think you have anything worth pursuing, so he gave you boilerplate terms. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask why you want to do this.”

Clara takes a minute before she answers, her voice clear, confident. “I was barely eighteen when I fell victim to a predator. And that makes me one of the lucky ones. If I can help even one of the unlucky ones, it’ll be worth it.”

“And how the hell do you even plan to get that information? Even I can tell you’re not a hardened madam or some shit.”

The cop almost sounds annoyed at Clara, like he’d prefer she were running girls herself. Is it so weird for someone to walk between worlds the way Clara does?

“I told you. I know how to listen at hypothetical digital doors. And there’s good intel behind those doors. I can’t do anything with it. But maybe you can.”

“You’re a hacker?”

She laughs, bright, hardly forced. If I didn’t know the cadence of her laugh as well as my own, I’d think it was real. “No. My hacking skills go only as far as one pirated textbook last year. I won’t say more about how I’m getting this. Just know that it’s case worthy. Dates, numbers, names, and even those horrible pictures and videos. All you’re going to have to do is verify what I give you.”

“Why do I sense a snake?”

“Maybe because snakes were a symbol of wisdom before Christianity bent them to signify evil. A snake might be exactly what you need at this point.”

What a crazy-weird fucking burn. Who knew that the women in ancient history elective she took would come in handy? Either way, that’s my girl.

A derisive snort comes from the cop. “Time will tell. Do what you have to with the contract. But I’d like it settled one way or another soon.”

“You’ll have a response by the end of the week.”

“Right.”

The door creaks open. There’s a long pause, followed by Clara calling out, “Happy New Year!”, her voice more uncertain than it’s been the rest of the meeting. Like she’s not sure the cop would appreciate getting the most common of well wishes on December 31st.

I don’t hear him say anything else, and a moment later, the door closes. Shuffling footsteps come around the corner, and she jumps back when she finds me just barely past the turn. “Oh!” she gasps out.

Doubting myself, then telling myself I’m being an idiot for it, I reach over and link my fingers with hers, pulling her to the living room where I bundle her on the couch with me, a big blanket pulled off the back and draped over us both. “What’s the contract like?”

She hands it to me. “Nothing unexpected. I’m guaranteed anonymity if I deliver on my side. Otherwise, my name will show up in court filings.”

“What are the terms on your side?”

“Information leading to arrests. The timing is, of course, nebulous, but yeah. If I stall out on them, then I’m no longer protected. But as none of these people have any idea who I am, I don’t see where that could be bad.”

“They might not know your name,” I start, not knowing how to finish that without breaking her further.

“But they might know my face. Or whatever else ended up on those videos.” Her lips twist before she nuzzles my chest, breathing deeply. “I need to tell you something.”

Is there more? More that I should have been looking for? “Yeah?”

“I got into the FBI internship program.”

I have no idea how to respond to that. “And?”

“And I have no idea what to do. I haven’t told anyone else.”

“Do you still want to work with the cops? Be a cop?” God, I hope not.

She squirms against me. “I don’t think so. But I can’t seem to get myself to turn it down. Or to tell anybody about it.”

I can’t make this choice for her, as much as I wish I could. Pressing her closer, I keep the fear from my voice. “Thanks for telling me. For trusting me enough to share.”

“Of course, RJ. Anyway, how does this contract look to you?”

I read through the contract, her breath warming me through my shirt, and yet again, I wish I could stash her somewhere safe. Someplace where the monsters can’t reach her, hurt her, twist her up.

But they’d follow her. If this last month has taught us anything about this amazing woman who shares our home, it’s that her monsters attack at night, and that they’re probably bigger than she’s letting on. Unless I can excise the monsters from her brain, there’s not much I can do.

“It looks as boilerplate as the cop said it was,” I say. “I’m not sure we need this, though, Clara. What I’m doing, it’s small, but it’s safer, and it’s working.”

Clara doesn’t answer, and it only takes a moment to see that she’s passed out, her mouth open slightly, one hand pressed against my chest, the other curled up under her chin, the loosest mockery of a fist.

The black circles under her eyes have me pulling the blanket up to her cheek.

We have a few hours before we need to get ready for the party.

The rest can wait.

As the green-tinted light fades from the room, I memorize her face like the awkward creep I know I am. The twirls of her dark hair, the bump on her nose, the curve of her eyelashes against her cheeks. The warmth radiating from every point where our bodies press together, mine acting as a lumpy mattress. But she doesn’t seem to mind.

My breath matches hers, and the last thought I have before I join her in sleep is that while I have so many other things to do, this, right now, is the most important.