Page 17 of Tied Over

“And because of the murdered ATF agent,” Bodhi reminded him.

“Come on, you know that’s the number one reason we’re going after him,” Crouse said defensively.

Bodhi nodded.

“It is,” Crouse insisted, glaring at my partner.

“Sure. But the good press for taking down the Wexlers is more important, right?” Everyone knew how much the Feds liked taking down big, splashy targets. They were glory hounds. “Every OCTF Jed and I have ever worked on, the FBI took over and took credit for. That’s just the way you guys roll.”

It was true. Whenever Bodhi and I were on an Organized Crime Task Force, the FBI turned up right after the bugs were placed and we had our targets in our sights, and took down the culprits. And yes, we were all on the same team, and yes, they had more resources than all the rest of us put together, but still. It would have been nice if they’d at least given up a little bit of credit.

“Washington’s not gonna testify against Rasha,” I told Mabe and Salazar, “so does he still qualify for protection?”

“Yeah,” Salazar made the call. “Without him, she won’t talk to anyone.”

That was probably true. She only trusted Washington, and she was holding on by a thread. Only his promise to pick her up had given her any comfort.

“And Petrov is moving a lot of product,” Mabe reminded me. “We have the drugs. The FBI gets all the bodies. We’re all still in.”

Bodhi looked at Crouse. “Is the FBI still on board with Washington and his family if—”

“Plus Rasha,” Washington announced, and we all looked at him. “I’m sure she’ll want to come with me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Crouse barked at him. “You think Rasha, the daughter of a billionaire, is going to just live in obscurity with you in some small town in—”

“My mother loves her,” he said, stopping Crouse, explaining things as if all this was normal. “They really like baking together.”

Crouse turned to me, shaking his head. “Can we go already?”

There wasn’t any more time to dwell on Washington’s love life. We had to leave to save this woman who, I was thinking, had no idea the danger she was in. In the car, I prompted Washington to explain to Mabe and Salazar about Kayson’s drug operation.

“They were in Ibiza on vacation when Kayson came up with the idea. He told her how easy it would be to move drugs from Spain to London, New York, and Chicago. He made her think everything was good to go.”

“He’s selling drugs in London and New York too?” Mabe asked.

Washington shook his head. “No, he didn’t have the right people in either of those cities to help him, and when he tried to muscle out the gangs, the guys he sent got wasted. Only here did he have enough backup to get anything done.”

It was a mess, and as soon as we saved the woman he was in love with, I made a mental note to murder Washington for not coming clean from the jump.

Bodhi texted Becker so he’d know what was up and where we were, and got an immediate call back needing to know about the backup situation with the Feds. He didn’t want us in there alone, holding only our dicks.

“We’re the FBI,” Crouse growled at Bodhi.

“Please,” he replied with a grimace. “The only people less ready for an op to go sideways are the DEA.”

“That’s because they’re all cowboys. Either that or using so they can fit in with the guys they’re busting.”

“Blanket comments like that help nothing,” I chimed in.

“If the DEA was in on this bust, we’d be blown already,” Mabe commented, shooting me a look. “Those assholes never check to see who’s listening.”

As Bodhi and I had spent some time a year ago embedded with the DEA under Agent Stafford here in Chicago, and then again for a short time this past spring, I should have vouched for how he ran his team, but since Ian had recalled us before the op was done—because there was no new intel to report and nothing was moving forward—any praise would sound hollow. Because yes, Stafford ran a clean crew, no one was shooting up in the bathroom or doing coke to make themselves look like real drug dealers, but with no new concrete leads, Ian was done having us there. And being a marshal was a lot of stakeouts and surveillance work, but normally, after a fairly short time, we had a fugitive in custody to show for our effort. Sitting in an office, throwing a tennis ball back and forth with my partner, waiting for a lead, was too tedious for words.

“In Vegas,” I finally said because the silence was stretching on, “we had a DEA guy we were tight with who was great.”

“That’s because he was your friend first,” Bodhi reminded me. “DEA agent second. Don’t get all sentimental about the drug boys now.”

There was no winning.