Smart Baztard (Baztards MC Book 1) Page 3

  The police officer scratched his chin. "That's gonna be difficult. We're not really set up to collect that kind of evidence. And people don't just turn over their devices to the police without a warrant."

  Prince sighed. His hometown didn't have the best relationship with their police force. He turned and headed for the office. When he entered, he was greeted with a heart-shaped ass bent over a desk. The woman had more curves than the race track outside.

  Prince stared as the woman straightened. Sensing him, she turned. Her wary eyes lit with interest when she took him in.

  "How can I help you?" her voice brimmed with sensuality and innuendo.

  "Agent Obademi, FBI," Prince said, his voice all business.

  Her eyes sparked. "Yes, they said you were coming. You need the reports."

  She turned and leaned over the desk again. This time she exaggerated her hips and jutted out her tight ass. Prince squinted hard, willing any reaction to come to him. Nothing stirred.

  The woman straightened slowly and switched her way over to him, holding out the stack of paperwork. "If there's anything else you need, Agent Obademi, my card's attached."

  "Thank you," he said, nodding and turning on his heel. As he left the office, the card slipped from its paperclip on top of the stack. He didn't bend down to pick it up.

  He hadn't felt a twinge of interest. Even three years later, no matter how many women he kissed or tasted, nothing compared to the pure sweetness that had permeated his blood and infused his soul. He still had the taste of Gabby on his lips.

  Prince shook himself as he headed to his bike. He had to wrap up this case and get out of here soon. Gabby was away at school, but she was close enough to make a trip home at any time. And he knew that if she did, they could wind up making the same mistake again.

  Chapter Four

  Gabby's Mercedes purred down the quiet street of her youth. Everything looked familiar. All the bushes were trimmed. The tulips were awake and plump. Expensive cars lined the driveways. It was upper-class finest at its chicest.

  "Are we the lamest ever for missing spring break of our senior year?" Gabby turned to her best friend, Diniece who sat next to her with her brown head buried in a law book.

  "What? I'm working," said Diniece "I'm trying to build a better future for myself at my internship. You're the one that has schoolwork to do. How did you even get three teachers to give you extensions all the way from winter quarter?"

  Gabby shrugged as she made a right turn. She'd never had problems getting people to do what she wanted them to do. Not since she was a kid. Everyone seemed to bend to her will. Except one person.

  Her car pulled closer to her home. Across the street was the Obademi residence with its brick front and wrought-iron gate. The gate was shut, but Gabby knew another way in. Even though the Obademi and Hernandez houses were on opposite sides of the street, they were at the end of the lot and shared property around the back.

  It didn't matter that she had access. He wasn't there. He was never there. He hadn't come back home since "the incident" three years ago. Three years with little to no contact. He seemed to instinctively know her schedule. And any time she was home, he conveniently was not.

  That was going to change. Once she passed these classes and had her degree in hand, she was moving to D.C. She was all but guaranteed a seat in the national orchestra as a cellist. If they were in the same city, Prince could no longer run from her.

  But first she had to actually graduate college. So, no spring break for her. She would be following her best friend's model and burying her head in her unopened school books for the next week.

  Gabby pulled into her parents' driveway. There were no cars at her home either. Her father was likely at work. As a United States attorney, he often worked long hours, but he'd always made certain to make his presence felt at home when his children were younger. Her mother was just as busy with her charity work and her role as a sought-after socialite.

  Gabby and Diniece would need to entertain themselves for a couple hours until dinner. They got out of the car and rounded to the trunk. Diniece pulled out her suitcase. Gabby did the same. Her report card, which had been stuffed into an unzipped pocket, fell out of her backpack. Diniece picked it up.

  "Girl, I don't see how you're gonna change these D's to anything higher in the alphabet in just a week."

  Gabby grabbed the foul report back. "You let me worry about that."

  Diniece looked across the street as a car pulled up. The gates to the Obademi residence opened, and the car pulled in.

  "Is that Judge Obademi?" Diniece asked.

  Gabby groaned inwardly. Judge Abeni Obademi had never liked her. She was always kind. But Gabby knew that she wasn't Prince's mom's favorite person. Even though she was everybody else's favorite.

  Judge Obademi opened her car door and waved to them. Gabby smiled and waved back. Thinking that was the extent of their interaction, she set her feet to turn and go into her house. But she startled when Judge Obademi moved steadily toward them in her heels and pants suit. Gabby blinked and set her feet in motion into the street. They met each other halfway in the road.

  "Hello Ms. Jordan," said the judge extending her hand to Diniece. "It's good to see you again."

  Of course, Gabby thought. The judge would be more interested in her friend who was studying criminal justice than she was in the girl who'd lived next door to her her whole life. Diniece was staying with Gabby's family over spring break because she was working with Gabby's father as part of her internship.

  "Your Honor, it's good to see you, as well," said Diniece. "While I'm working with Mr. Hernandez I'd love the opportunity to come and talk with you, pick your brain, get any career advice, if you have any time at all."

  "Of course," said the judge. "You just call my office and I'll have them set something up."

  Mrs. Obademi turned to Gabby as though she just realized she were there. "And how are you, Gabrielleia?"

  Gabby's hands fluttered, wondering if she should extend her hand or offer her long-time neighbor a hug. If it had been Mr. Obademi, she'd already be swept up into a bear hug. If it was one of her sons, Gabby would be squeezing the life out of them. But she never quite knew how to act around the matriarch of the Obademi family. So her hands fluttered. And out spilled the report card.

  Judge Obademi reached down to pick the paper up before Gabby could react. Gabby knew the woman was used to seeing the straight edged letter A's on her sons' report cards. Her hazel eyes looked at the abundance of fat, rounded letters on Gabby's report with disdain. She handed the paper back to Gabby as though it were poison.

  "That's just a progress report," said Gabby. "It doesn't take into account some late work."

  Oh that's great Gabby, tell her you aren't turning in your work on time too. But that was better than the truth. Which was that she wasn't turning in her work at all.

  It wasn't as though Gabby was a party animal. She just hated school. Had always hated school. She didn't see the point of school.

  Since before the time she could talk, she knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to be Mrs. Yohaness Obademi. She didn't need to go to school for that. She'd already learned everything she needed to know about Prince. What he liked to eat. How to make him smile. What his favorite everything was. She knew everything; except how to get him to stand still and realize his love for her.

  "Are you home for a minute before you go off to the beach?" asked the judge.

  "I'm not going to the beach. I'm staying home and doing some extra credit work," Gabby stuttered. "In fact, I've been invited to perform at the governor's mansion tomorrow night."

  The judge grimaced.

  That may not have been the right thing to say. The new governor was not favored in some circles. Gabby knew that. She caught many of the telecasts were he said outrageous things about minorities, women, and immigrants. She was not a fan either. But classical music knew no politics. The governor's dinner and playing
there was an honor; one that would seal her position in the National Orchestra.

  "Well, it's nice to have all the kids home for a change," said the judge.

  Gabby's ears perked up like a hunting dog spotting prey. "All the kids?"

  "Yes, Yohaness is in town. But I'm sure you knew that. You were always chasing him around like a little puppy."

  Diniece snickered. Her friend knew better than anybody her preoccupation with Prince. Diniece had dragged Gabby out enough times over the last three years only to watch her reject man after man that didn't live up to her perfect Prince.

  Gabby didn't respond to the judge's quip. She held her tongue until she could learn where Prince was at this very second.

  "It's a shame about Chris' accident," said the judge. "Thank goodness he's going to make a full recovery. I wish my youngest would give up that infernal racing."

  Gabby had not heard about her brother's friend's accident. She knew Crow well. He had been a fixture at her house when her brother was younger.

  "Yohaness is investigating the case as part of his role at the FBI's Civil Rights Division," said the judge. "There may be a hate crime element."

  Gabby nodded, taking in every tidbit of information. "So, he's investigating. So, he's probably talking to Christopher at my brother's place?"

  Mrs. Obademi shook her head. "No, dear. Christopher was in an accident." She spoke slowly, enunciating her words as though speaking to a child. "He hasn't been released from the hospital yet. I believe that's where all the boys are."

  Gabby nodded her head vigorously, ignoring yet another quip. "Oh, right. I forgot. Well, it was really nice talking to you Mrs. O. I hope you'll come over for dinner while I'm here."

  The moment the judge walked away, Gabby returned her attention to her best friend.

  "Gabby…" Diniece began in a warning tone. But then she just shook her head in defeat. She knew that once Gabby made up her mind, there was no changing it.

  "You have to drop me at the hospital," Gabby said.

  "What about your homework and raising your grades?"

  But Gabby was already yanking her luggage up the front stoop. "I'm gonna have to change first."

  Chapter Five

  Prince turned the Rubik's cube left and right, rotating it in his palm top to bottom. Aligning the colored squares was rote memory and touch at this point, but the sequence always worked. Within a matter of minutes, the puzzle was decoded, reminding him that every problem could be solved with the correct sequence of actions.

  He set the cube down and gathered the sheets of paper before him. He gave the thick stack a slap on the desk. The pages fell into an orderly queue. Though they fell in line, things still didn't add up.

  The reports from the racing track weren't enough to prove that the incident involving Crow was racially motivated. Hate crimes were notoriously hard to prove. The main reason for this was because the violations weren't reported very often. Even when they were reported, they were rarely prosecuted. Perpetrators of hate rarely came up and said to an officer that they picked their victim because of their racial, religious, or gender identity.

  The word hate meant something different to the legal system than it did to the public. Prince could prove that a crime had been committed. But could he prove why it was done?

  The police officer who'd met Prince on the track did have a point; the victim of this particular crime was white. The assailants, who were also white, had been yelling anti-Latino, anti-Black, and anti-Asian slurs. There was even a mention of a few homophobic epithets thrown in by the Henchmen. Crow identified with none of those designations.

  So, while there had definitely been an intentional assault, had that assault been hate-induced when the victim wasn't the target of the hate? Prince didn't doubt for a second that it was. But belief alone wasn't enough in the justice system. He had to prove it.

  Roman Voigt, the driver for the Henchmen, insisted that it was a mistake that he hit Crow's car. The track officials and the police had accepted that answer. Sure, they'd meted out a fine and a penalty. But missing one race wasn't a big deal.

  Crow could sue in civil court for injury, but Prince knew better. Crow and all the brothers of the Watchers Crew would prefer to take their justice either to the streets, back on the track, or, more than likely, divide it between both avenues. Prince knew this would escalate. The next time someone could end up dead. It was only a matter of time.

  Prince sighed and picked up his cube again. He gave it a few twists and turns until the colors were scrambled, and then he began to work the process again.

  Three years ago, Prince had been overjoyed at going to Washington, D.C. to work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Hate Crime task force. Born with an innate sense of justice, Prince believed he would be fighting the fight to keep the scales of justice in balance. The problem was that justice was not only blind in this case; it had been handicapped.

  If only he had more data to work with. There was a lack of reporting by the local police department. He didn't think it was malicious — not entirely. It was mainly due to lack of training. The city didn't even have a formal FBI field office. He'd set up in the District Attorney's office.

  He put down the cube that he'd solved yet again. Still, he had no solutions in the crime set out before him. He ran his hands over his face. There was a hint of citrus on his index finger from the lemonade he'd had at lunch. It couldn't hide that sweet hint of Gabby on his fingertips. Nothing had doused that scent in three years.

  Prince closed his eyes, just for a moment, and let his mind sail back to that night in the pool house. He brushed one thumb across the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. He parted her pink labia with the other. She'd been so wet for him, and she'd smelled so sweet.

  He'd only meant to finger her, to show her how good it was supposed to feel before the next guy. But the thought of anyone else between her legs had made him snap. Before he knew it, he'd latched on to her. Her sweet nectar had spread to his brain, infecting his every sense, contaminating his blood, allowing him to continue with the bad decision of delving his tongue into the depths of where his cock wanted to be.

  "It's great having you back, Yohaness."

  The cube clattered to the desk as Prince jerked out of his sinful memories. He stood and put his hands behind his back. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as though to hide the evidence of what he'd done. He turned a downcast face to the man that had used his given name.

  Not many people used his birth name. Not since he was very young and had been poked at for having a name that sounded like Your Highness. Instead, people had started calling him Prince. But this man had known him since his birth.

  Mr. Hernandez, better known as Gabby's dad, also known as the district attorney, shoved a hand in Prince's direction. Prince looked down at that hand. His own hand clenched, and he hesitated to give Mr. Hernandez his palm. If the man knew what Prince's fingers had done to his daughter three years ago, he would be slugging him across the face.

  But he didn't know. No one knew. And it would never happen again. In the end, Prince shook the hand of the man whom he had a world of respect for.

  "It's good to be back, Mr. H," said Prince. "I just hope I can't get enough evidence for you to bring this case to trial."

  Mr. Hernandez shook his head. His eyes sparkling, so much like his daughter's. Prince felt a momentary pang in his chest. He hadn't seen Gabby's mischievous, determined eyes in three years.

  "We're in desperate need of training for the local police force," Mr. Hernandez was saying. "Especially now with our new governor in place. I have a feeling more events like this will take place. And we'll need to be ready."

  The new governor had won on a platform of divisiveness, fear, and segregation. Though the city of Prince's birth was diverse, the new governor had been able to get a lot of folks living in the rural areas out to vote for the first time in years. Men and women who'd given up on the government as it became more and more progres
sive came out of the woodworks, thus landing him the election.

  "Do you think the Hate Crimes Division would loan you out to help us train local law enforcement?"

  Prince gave no answer. He didn't voice his frustrations with his division of the FBI. He didn't let Mr. Hernandez know that he was questioning his role with the bureau, that he didn't believe he was doing much to help with keeping the scales of justice in balance. That he was doubting the ability of the FBI to uphold their mission of protecting and defending citizens against threats and enforcing the laws of the land. He didn't let Mr. Hernandez know that he felt less like a leader in the criminal justice system, and more like its victim who had his head repeatedly banging against a brick wall.

  "You should come over for dinner tonight," said Mr. Hernandez.

  Prince was tempted. Mrs. Hernandez was a wizard in the kitchen.

  "I'm sure Gabby would love it."

  Prince froze. His mouth flooded with desire making it necessary to swallow once, twice. His eyes went to the calendar on the desk.

  Gabby should be in school. He was certain of it. He'd downloaded the university's academic calendar each year she'd been away. But a closer look at the calendar told him it was nearing the university's spring break.

  Fuck.

  He scratched at his stomach. He pulled at his collar. His eyes flitted from the calendar, to his keys, then back to the pile of paperwork on his desk.

  She was here. Maybe she was just home for the day. It was her senior year. Surely she'd be spending spring break, her last spring break of college, with her friends lounging on a beach somewhere.

  "I need to get to the hospital," Prince said instead of giving Mr. Hernandez an answer. "I have a few more questions for Christopher."

  Mr. Hernandez nodded and stepped aside. Prince left his suit jacket on his chair and instead grabbed for his motorcycle jacket. He did have some more questions for Crow, but he needed to clear his head first. A ride was just the thing to do that.