Resisting (Dirty Cops #1)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Ryker

“ G ood Morning, Sheriff!” Cheryl says, smiling up at me from the front desk.

The morning has been shit on account of my perverted mind spinning out of control. I can’t stop thinking of that green-eyed, red-haired, seriously young beauty and the way her eyes raked over me. The ache in my balls worse than my headache. And my day only gets worse when I see Ferguson in talking with the Chief. Wonder what the hell that dirty bastard is up to today. Whatever it is, I know it’s no fucking good.

“Morning, Cheryl.” I slap a smile on. I’m not about to take out my irritation on one of the only people I truly trust in this place. “Been quiet so far?”

She shakes her head. “Markson ran out on a residential break-in call, Bentley responded to a domestic disturbance complaint, and Salazar is bringing in a DUI.” Shit. It’s only nine a.m. and all hell’s breaking loose in this place. She leans forward, giving me a look, her voice dropping to where I can barely hear. “And Diaz said he was running over to the evidence building to check something for a case he’s working on.”

My jaw clenches. Yeah, I bet he fucking is. Last two times he went and reviewed something in storage, case-breaking evidence went missing and the criminals both ended up being acquitted since there wasn’t enough evidence to pin their asses to the wall. Coincidence? I think fucking not. Which means I’m going to have to go into my office and log into the surveillance cameras to see if I can catch Diaz in the act this time. Last two times, the footage was missing on account of a camera malfunction. Again, not a fucking coincidence.

Which reminds me, I seriously need to give Traeger a call. It’s about time I called in a favor and see if he can’t use those genius computer skills of his to uncover the truth.

“Good to know,” I say, giving her a wink, more than thankful her loyalty lies with me. “Tell Bentley I need to see him in my office when he returns, and if any calls come in, please direct them to me.”

She nods, returning to her task, and I turn and head into my office, shutting the door on my way in. Immediately, I log into the Evidence Warehouse security center and start scrolling through the different cameras to see what the dirty pig Diaz is after this time. And bingo, he’s in the drug-holding room looking through the containers of pills which are all sealed, labeled, and bagged. None of which are meant to be handled unless ordered by a judge. But there’s Diaz, snatching one of the pill containers off the shelf and shoving it inside his shirt.

Dammit. I wish I knew which evidence bag he took. Maybe if I scroll back and zoom in on the shelf, I’ll be able to see. It takes me a moment to get the frame frozen just right, but it’s still not good enough. I’m not going to know what he snagged unless I go down there myself. Good news is, I have him caught on camera this time and I’m going to make a copy of the footage before it goes missing like the others did .

My private cell phone starts ringing and my shoulders tense at the sound. I pull it from my pocket and see Dominik Caprizio’s name lighting up my screen. It’s sad knowing I can trust a mob boss more than I can the men I took an oath to serve the people with. But Caprizio is one of the good guys. He actually wants to get monsters off the street, as ironic as that sounds. For all his criminal under dealings when it comes to business, he actually has a conscience. The only men he’s ever “eliminated” deserved far worse than death for the crimes they committed.

“Dominik?” I pick up.

“Need you to run a plate for me,” he cuts right to the chase which means something must be going down.

“Give me the number,” I state, opening the screen I need on my computer.

He reads off the license plate and I type it into the system. A girl’s picture pops up and I start reading off her information. “Georgianna Magniatti. Twenty-two years old. Father died in that warehouse explosion last year. Mother died of cancer when the girl was twelve. Doesn’t have a record. Not even a single traffic ticket from what I can tell.” I scroll to the bottom of the page, not understanding why this pretty, young girl is on his radar. Damn, I hope she’s not in trouble.

“You gonna fill in the blanks for me, Caprizio?”

“Just ran through the surveillance footage from my wedding reception,” he starts, voice tight. “The rat who almost killed my wife was brought in inside the back of her trunk. Saw the fucker fleeing from her vehicle as soon as it got dark out.”

Fuck me. Now the snake has weaseled his way in, infiltrated the family. I swear Bugano knows no bounds. “You need me to go pick her ass up?” I ask.

I’ll lock the girl’s traitorous little ass in jail and find out why the fuck she’s working for that evil bastard. And hopefully, find out where he is in the process. We’ve been trying to track Bugano down for years, but he’s managed to evade us at every turn. Now that I know I have a bunch of dirty pigs on my force, I’m thinking they’re the reason why we haven’t been able to catch the murderous SOB.

We’ve had some great leads over the last year, but every time we go in to get him, Bugano’s fled the location, literally slipping right through our fingertips by a matter of minutes. I’m starting to think that it’s not just luck working on his side but some dirty fucking cops buried deep in his pockets.

“Not yet,” Dominik says. “I’m calling Raphaelo first. But I’ll keep you posted.”

“I’ll stand by,” I tell him.

The line goes dead and I’m stuck staring at my screen, wondering why a girl not much older than Rowan would turn against her family and get wrapped up with evil. God, just thinking Rowan’s name has me conjuring up her image again. Crystal green eyes. Red hair. Sweetheart face. And that little beauty mark sitting right above her lip. She reminds me of Marilyn Monroe, but with a touch of Irish in her veins and an edgy style.

Against my better judgement, I’m pulling up Rowan’s record.

Rowan McKenzie Brince. Eighteen years old. Green eyes. Height: 5’5”. Weight: 140. And hold the fucking phone … I scroll further down the page, my eyes narrowing as I read through her record. Says here she was arrested when she was twelve years old for stealing a case of cigarettes. What the hell?

The girl didn’t strike me as a smoker. Then again, she was staring down that coffee pot pretty damn hard. Could be a sign of an addictive personality. She’s also living with a chain-smoker so it wouldn’t be a far stretch to assume that she’s following in her mom’s footsteps. Looks like she was let off pretty easy though. She was given thirty days of community service. Since then, her record has been clean.

Except… It looks like her tag was pulled three weeks ago. Sh e wasn’t issued a ticket but was given a warning for speeding from…Officer fucking Diaz. Motherfucker. All I can say is he better not have made her buy her way out of that ticket or he’s a dead man standing.

I overheard him bragging to Ferguson about how he got a grand in exchange for letting some rich asshole go on a warning. Ferguson, the other dirty pig in the pen, suggested that next time Diaz should do a breathalyzer test and see how much he can extort out of the stupid bastard, suggesting that he not take less than five grand. Dirty fuckers . Again, I tried to pull up dashcam footage from Diaz’s patrol car to see if I could catch him in the act, but it was missing. Go fucking figure. This time, though, I’ve caught him in the act and have the proof to take to the Chief.

I click back over to the Evidence Warehouse security system, but as I try to reopen the recording from the surveillance history, the footage of Diaz taking the drug container from the shelf is mysteriously gone. Un-fucking-believable . He did it again.

Well, he may think he’s smart, but I know the best hacker in the world and I’m going to call in that favor now. I’ll get what I need to pin Diaz’s ass to the wall. And once I’m done with him, I’ll get him squealing on that good-for-nothing sidekick of his: Ferguson.