Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1) (4 page)

“I can’t live off ‘if onlys.’” She smashed her fist into the pillow, creating an ample dent to rest her head. Her knees came up to her chest and the seldom-allowed tears streamed off her cheeks to be absorbed in the crisp cotton of her pillow in her silent hotel room. How she wished she could eradicate Mitchell Morgan from her innermost heart. “Damn you, Mitchell Morgan,” she sobbed.

Chapter Four

The following week, Mitch and his squad returned to their Edmonton detachment, and strut their victory. They were a triumphant team having worked a successful sting operation that had crippled a major drug dealer in the lower mainland of British Columbia. Five months of background and planning put the team in the field. Then followed nine months of tedious infiltration where they set up a dummy rival drug consortium. Their aim was to smuggle illicit street drugs via a local funeral home. Between caskets and cremation urns, using hearses as the main mode of transportation, they nailed some major players within the Fong clan with a list of serious crimes stretching as long as his arm.

Prudent, Mitch downplayed his role. He had come too close to blowing the whole operation when he ran the stop sign. The crux of their success lay in how the squad had taken over a legit funeral operation to start their own small drug gang. At first, they merely intercepted drug runs across the Washington border. Then the crew wormed their way in to the main gang, wooing members of the Fong syndicate to cross over to their operation. This was the focus of their sting, as it allowed them to elicit confessions and material information from each member they recruited. Processing this information slowly through the prosecution team, they built a strong case, which the police hoped would do more than bruise the growing drug cartel.

Back at his old desk, Mitch ran his fingers along the scarred surface and groaned at the mountain of paperwork spread in disarray, awaiting his attention. With an internal sigh, he lifted the lid of his laptop and logged onto the detachment database. He opened the first of his diaries and began typing, wishing he could just hand the pile over to a secretary, when his old partner, Luke, approached with two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.

“Hey ol’ bud,” Luke said, handing Mitch a cardboard cup. “Good to see you back.”

“Good to be back.” Mitch lifted his coffee cup in salute. “Thanks for the joe.”

“Did they strip search you?”

Mitch almost choked on his coffee. “Ah, no. Got away clean this time,” he sputtered, remembering the last operation when he was arrested with the rest of the ‘bad guys.’ The local police had been very thorough in their techniques. A bit too thorough, offering an experience Mitch had no desire to repeat.

Luke perched on the edge of the desk, noisily slurping from the steaming mug. “That’s likely because Hank covered your skinny ass.”

Mitch shrugged. At six-foot-three, one hundred and ninety pounds, Mitch was far from skinny. But then again, compared to Hank’s bulk, everyone appeared slight.

“I see you’ve kept the beard and hair,” his friend continued. “Is this the new department
look
?”

Mitch ran his hand along the long beard hanging off his face. “Nah. I would have gotten rid of it already, but I haven’t received clearance yet. Soon as I do though, I’m off to the barber for a good grooming.”

A young constable approached the two men and nodded. He pointed a finger at Mitch. “Chief wants you in his office.”

Mitch tugged at his beard. “Maybe this afternoon,” he said, shutting down his laptop and patting his colleague on the shoulder.

***

“This was a very serious infiltration, Morgan,” Chief Boulet began immediately when Mitch closed the door to stand before the large desk. The Chief laced his beefy hands on the ink-pad in front of him. “Even before the team made it to the field, there were months of planning that went into this.”

“Yes, sir,” Mitch agreed with a stiff nod to his head. Where was this going?

“We do what we can to prevent leaks.” The older man unlaced his fingers, laying his palms flat on the surface and stared at Mitch over the top of his rimless glasses. “One of the reasons you were picked to head up this op was your lack of connections to the area. No friends or relations—nothing to cause an accidental
trace
back to your being an undercover officer.”

“Correct, sir,” Mitch replied, leaning back on his heels. His spine tingled, confused by the line of dialogue.

“Part of nailing the Fongs isn’t just getting the drugs off the street, but finding out how deep their tentacles run. Get to the roots of their organization. Find the source. Who’s laundering their money, where it all goes, and who benefits.”

Mitch opened and closed his mouth, groping for words, perplexed about why his commander felt it necessary to rehash old, day-one information. Incomprehension colored his tones. “Pardon me, sir, I don’t understand where this is going.” Mitch stood stiffly with his feet firmly planted and his hands behind his back. “The mission was successful. We have people behind bars who wouldn’t have been there otherwise. The prosecution has a strong case, based on the months of evidence we obtained.”

Mitch adjusted his stance to the balls of his feet. This wasn’t going the way he anticipated. Despite his regulation suit and tie, the beard and too-long hair tied back in a ponytail made him feel grubby. He wanted to shed the false persona and get back to some form of normalcy.
Why’s the old man giving me a hard time?

The muscles of his thighs tightened in a take-flight response to the darkening pallor of Boulet’s face. Bracing himself, Mitch refolded his hands behind his back.

Boulet’s lips thinned and he stared at Mitch for a pregnant moment through the slits of his heavy lidded eyes. “We’re a long way from a successful prosecution. Do you understand what kind of danger you put the operation in? Foolish, rookie behavior.” The Chief paused, wiping a hand across his brow before pulling sheets of paper from a file on the side of his heavy mahogany desk.

Mitch shifted his weight subtly to his toes. Light dawned and his gut clenched.
Oh shit, he found out about the accident
.

“When we put this kind of undercover operation together, it’s important for all members to be protected. Which means…” Boulet’s brow folded over his eyes in a deep scowl. “No known associations.”

“Chief, I can—”

“You were made, Mitch. Your cover blown. A woman claiming Michael Ward’s not your real name passed the phony driver’s license into a local cop shop. In fact, she went one step further and announced your real name–Mitchell Morgan—to the officer.” Boulet’s hand slapped the table. “You’re goddamned lucky it was the day of the bust.”

“I don’t…”
Who? What woman?

“I can’t imagine what kind of fiasco of police incompetence would have ensued if she turned up the day before,” he said, lifting his hands in the air, exasperated.

Mitch had the impression, the older man was working himself up to a full head of steam. Boulet’s face had the color of ripe prunes.

Mitch couldn’t seem to make his diaphragm work properly. His shallow breaths made it impossible to concentrate, while his boss’s penetrating stare looked through him like an x-ray. Finally Boulet turned in disgust to
gaze out the window.

Mitch followed Boulet’s lead and stared through the dusty window to the parking lot below. Response failed him and he racked his brain, striving for enlightenment.

“You sleeping around while on the job?” Boulet’s attention snapped back to Mitch. He tossed the sheets of paper back on his desk and shook his head violently. “Strike that…I don’t care if you sleep around. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do…you’re young and single. I don’t give a shit. But you use your alias, not your real name!”

“Chief, I—”

“And how the hell did she get your wallet anyhow? You get robbed?”

My wallet?
“Chief…” Mitch paused, expecting to be cut off, striving to maintain his own calm in the face of his superior officer. This had nothing to do with the car accident. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The commander took a deep breath, adjusted his glasses purposefully before pulling the papers back squarely in line with the file. “The same day as the bust, your driver’s license was passed in to a local detachment. The woman who turned in your license, a Miss…” He ran his finger down the top piece of paper. “A Miss Tymchuk claimed the license to be a fake. She said…and I’m quoting here…she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt you were not Michael Ward.”

Mitch broke his military stance and took a step back, suddenly needing a chair. “Lorna Tymchuk?”

“The very same.” Boulet raised liquid-brown eyes in his direction, nodding. “Memory returning after your long flight?”

Mitch raised both hands up to his head.
I knew she looked familiar. I knew it. But I was in such a hurry and focused on the mission.
Try as he might, the only recollection of the woman’s face was helmet-like hair sprayed to within an inch of its life, accompanied by a particularly pained expression around the mouth.
Of course, I remember thinking she looked as though she had a stick up her ass, and that would have explained Lorna for sure. But what was she doing there? No…no way.

The chair squeaked to accommodate Boulet’s shifting weight. The sound brought Mitch’s hands back down to his sides.

“Care to share the new revelations?” The older man’s color had returned to normal and his brow smoothed as he leaned back in the chair, arms folding to the back of his head.

“It was a car accident. How she got my license, I mean,” Mitch rushed his words, eager to get through the explanation. “The call came in. The bust was going down. I had to get to the graveyard. I was focused on getting out to the main roads, anticipating lunch-hour traffic. I sped through this suburban neighborhood after having made the drop. Ran a stop sign. She T-boned me with a big dually. I tossed her my driver’s license. I had to flee the scene or be late,” Mitch said, taking a breath, returning his hands to behind his back. “I made a choice in the moment. I didn’t recognize her. Didn’t take the time. I’m surprised she recognized me. We haven’t seen each other since university.”

The Chief smiled with no lack of sarcasm. “Amazing, isn’t it…” He leaned forward in his chair, pulling out the keyboard tray. “What a woman will remember.”

Protocol required him to stand unmoving in his Chief’s presence. He rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension and shifted his weight subtly from one foot to the other watching Boulet tap quickly into his computer, stubby fingers flying across the keys. Despite the heavy silence, the older man seemed satisfied with the explanation.

Picking up the file again, Boulet made some handwritten notes before returning his attention to the computer screen.

What’s the big deal now? Job’s over
. Mitch grew impatient and antsy with the burden of silence.

At last, his boss pushed the keyboard tray back under the lip of the desk, slipped the papers into the file, laced his fingers on the blotter, and raised intelligent eyes to stare at Mitch. “You’re no rookie, and that was rookie behavior.”

Mitch leveled his balance squarely on his feet, controlling his breathing, and stared straight ahead to the dead spider carcass just under the framed diploma centered above the Chief’s head.

“You’re a lucky bastard. One, because she doesn’t live there either. Seems like a chance meeting in a remote location for you both. And two, the cop doesn’t appear to be in Fong’s pocket. The guy did the right thing. Reported it directly to us and smoothed it out with the lady. Go.” He lifted his hand in dismissal. “Go, before I start to question my choice of your leading this mission.”

Mitch left Boulet’s office, dazed.
Lorna Tymchuk? The Chief’s questioning my competence. We bagged the bad guys, and he’s flipping his wig over a chick I knew years ago. How the fuck did this happen?

Mitch walked the buzzing corridors towards his desk, hearing nothing but his own thoughts.
Chance meeting?
In his line of work, chance and coincidence equaled gambling with people’s lives.

He slugged back a cup of coffee. Boulet had closed the file on Lorna—literally—but the cop in him couldn’t let it go. They met back east. The operation went down on the left coast. Yeah, Lorna could be there for one reason or another. But they had a history. He needed to know.

Not paying attention, Mitch bumped into a uniformed officer who eyed him skeptically before seeing his badge and registering his rank.

The officer stepped to the side in the face of Mitch’s silence. “Pardon me, sir?”

Mitch searched the rookie’s face, freshly reminded of his dressing down from his commander on how his actions were no more intelligent than a fresh-faced youth. “Officer?”

“Jordan.”

Mitch shook his head, deciding he wouldn’t be that guy. He wouldn’t play the part of the seasoned cop who took the potshots at the new recruits.

“What part of the detachment are you in?” Mitch gazed about the corridor, then back to the rookie to the sign above the door, gathering his bearings on where he had wandered in the maze of halls.

“Tech, sir.”

Mitch nodded. Knowing someone in IT could be useful. Mitch turned on his heels. “Show me what you do.”