“You are such a humanitarian, V.” Wrath leaned to the side and gathered up the dog, transferring the sleepy blond bulk from the floor into his lap. “But stay on it. We need to find that camp.”
V ran through his visit to the previous location. The place had been underground, out north and west from Caldwell, a subterranean labyrinth of old cells and cavernous common places hidden from everyone and everything. Set up by the glymera for criminals in the 1800s, it had devolved into a debased holding tank for all kinds of minor infractions, social insults, and inconvenient people who needed to be disappeared by the aristocracy. Over time, the location had been forgotten, and in the vacuum of stewardship, a new power structure and sustaining effort had evolved, the costs of food and supplies covered by drug dealing in Caldie’s downtown.
The big break on its existence had come when a female had gone into the prison camp to rescue her sister, and shit had gotten critical. The Jackal, a true male of worth who had been falsely imprisoned, had made it out alive with her, but by the time the Brotherhood had arrived on scene, the place had been partially destroyed and totally emptied out.
From a tactical point of view, V had to respect the coordination required to move that many people. It wasn’t like they’d dematerialized to another location. That would have been like blowing the head of a dandelion, scattering your indentured workforce to the wind, never to be seen again. No, the illicit leadership had had trucks—and big ones. There had been evidence of a flotilla’s worth of vehicles exiting the abandoned site through a roadway that ran in and out of the facility.
There had also been the leftovers of a drug-processing station the size of a small college, the details of which the Jackal had shared as best he could.
“We’ll find the prison.” V inhaled deep and let the smoke roll out of his mouth. “And we’re gonna take control.”
A subtle knocking on the door had Rhage leaping to his feet. “Fritz with the food, finally! I’m starved.”
As Hollywood raced to let the butler in like he was in a deadly blood sugar drop, Wrath shook his head. “Does he ever stop eating?”
“Not that I’ve noticed,” V said dryly.
The St. Francis Medical Center was a state-of-the-art sprawl that just happened to be on Rio’s way home. As she came up to a red light at the entrance to its complex, she looked over the glowing, mostly empty parking lots, and the glowing, always full buildings of surgical suites, testing facilities, patient rooms, and administrative offices. Even with all the well-lit signage, the idea of figuring out how to get around to the emergency room was exhausting—
Her phone vibrated in the interior pocket of her jacket, and she fished around to find it. She didn’t bother to check and see who was calling. She knew who it was.
“I can’t talk, I’m going to get checked out.” Hitting her directional signal, she ran the red light and turned into the main thoroughfare through the acreage. “And no, I’m not bleeding. I got into a little car accident, but I’m fine.”
Captain Stanley Carmichael got his boss voice on. “I’ll meet you there.”
“No, you won’t. I’m undercover and will be using my—”
“I don’t want to do this over the phone.”
Rio’s eyes tracked the red-and-white signs that read “EMERGENCY,” and the fact that her hands and feet operated her beater all by themselves seemed a commentary on how used to dealing with emergencies she was.
“Do what,” she said remotely. “Over the phone.”
The emergency room was lit up like a ballpark, the bays for the ambulances and the glass-fronted entrance for walkins glowing like a promised land for the afflicted.
God, she hoped she didn’t end up with a cast.
“Hello?” she demanded. “Will you just tell me, Captain. I’m going to have to hang up in a second as I go inside.”
“What kind of car accident were you in?”
A quick memory of rolling up and over that Charger played like a ticker tape across her mind’s eye. She really should have kept that detail out when she reported Erie’s death.
“Just a fender bender,” she said.
“Then why are you getting checked out.”
“You know me, always following the rules.”
There was a multi-tiered parking lot on the far side of the ER, and out of habit, she avoided it and parked instead in the open air and directly under a streetlamp. Her ring of keys made a clapping sound as she turned off the engine, and when she got out, she made sure she hadn’t been followed.
“Hello?” she said into the phone. Like the roles were reversed and she wasn’t speaking to a very-much-higher-up.
Captain Carmichael was actually Chief Carmichael, but he was the kind of humble man who didn’t stand on ceremony. According to him, “captain” was enough when it came to titles, although he wasn’t going to turn down the office and especially not the private bathroom.
“Rio.”
“What.”
When the captain didn’t respond, she closed her eyes and leaned against the side of her car. “I’m not stopping. You’re not taking me off—”
“You called in two homicides tonight. Both gunshot victims.”
“I did what I’m supposed to—”
“So you know the rules. In addition to reporting in, if any officer is involved in a shooting, it’s mandatory admin leave until they’ve been assessed by a counselor and cleared by the county prosecutor and the AG—”
“I didn’t shoot either of them. And if you don’t believe me, check the ballistics. My gun wasn’t used.”
“The rules are what the rules are. You’re off the streets—”
“I’m so close to getting what we need on Mozart. Captain, come on, I just want another couple of weeks—and I can get you the supplier as well. I met him tonight, and I’m going to get the deal done—”
“Rules are there for a reason—”
“I’m being punished because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time!”
“This is not punishment. This is health and safety, Rio. I’m taking you off the case. Mozart is not as important as your life.”