Chapter 16

Kate tried to ignore the commotion coming from the back room of the bar. She stacked the glass mugs on the counter and grabbed a clean rag to polish them. She could guarantee Doubleshots was the only bar in the zip code that had clean counters and clean floors. No one in this neighborhood cared about that, they just wanted their liquor.

Johnny pushed through the door from the back room, and came behind the bar, crowding Kate's space.

"What?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral as she wiped down the glasses.

"I'm going to need you tonight."

Kate set the mug down harder than she intended, the thud echoing through the empty bar. "For what?" she asked.

Before Johnny could answer, the door to the bar opened, bright afternoon sunlight bursting into the dark space. Kate instinctively judged the distance to the shotgun under the counter.

The bar was lit dimly enough she couldn't see who had come in, until he approached the counter. His clothing was rumpled, his face unshaven. He looked like most customers who came into the bar.

Kate's stomach clenched. She picked up another glass, feigning indifference. "What can I get you?" she asked.

Danny slouched on a stool, barely looking at Johnny. "Whiskey sour."

Kate concentrated on pouring Danny's drink. She silently hoped Johnny wouldn't say anything more, but she had to giver her brother credit. He blended in and Johnny didn't look at him again.

"We're meeting with some new players, we'll need you."

Kate understood what Johnny was saying. Her high school Spanish, which she had worked toward fluency, was supposed to lead to a college degree. Instead, it was useful when they met with latin gangs interested in guns.

"Ok," she said. She set Danny's drink in front of him, avoiding his eyes.

Johnny grabbed Kate by the wrist and turned her to look at him. "A little enthusiasm would be nice."

Kate grit her teeth, her hand curling into a fist in Johnny's grip. She forced her lips into a sarcastic curve. "I'm so happy to help," she said.

Johnny yanked her closer to him. Kate could feel Danny tensing at the counter and willed him to just stay put.

Johnny lowered his lips to her ear. "I own you," he breathed against her ear. "You know what you'll lose if I'm not happy." He straightened up, looking her straight in the eye to make sure she understood. With a rough shove, he pushed her away from him and strode off to the back again.

Kate stood still, hands fisted.

"Nice friends," Danny said in a low voice.

Kate finally looked at him. The look in his eye at Johnny's treatment of her was more terrifying than what had been on Johnny's face.

Kate glanced toward the back again and then moved closer to Danny. "It's not anything," she hissed. "Don't get involved."

Danny looked like he was going to say something and Kate felt fury rise. "I mean it, Danny," she got out between clenched teeth. "You don't know what's going on, so stay away."

Her older brother looked at her. She couldn't read his thoughts. Finally he tossed back his whiskey and set the shot glass down.

"Whoever is running the investigation on this place is keeping a tight lid on it," he finally said quietly. "But there are two undercovers involved."

Kate nodded once.

A hint of a smile moved Danny's lips. "Of course you made them. You're a Reagan." He glanced toward the door, then leaned closer to Kate. "I don't know who they are, but word is they're good. You can trust them."

Another nod.

Danny slapped a crumpled bill on the counter. He pushed off his stool. "You say the word and I'll get you out of here. You know you don't have to be here."

Kate ground her teeth together. "Yes. I do."

Danny's eyes flashed and the temper he had been carefully containing came out when he slammed a hand on the counter. Kate flinched back and Danny stepped back, hands up. He looked like he was going to say more, but the back door opened again and Wes came in, his eyes glinting at the sight of Danny. His lips curved into a wolfish grin.

"Problem out here?"

Kate spent a split second debating the best way to defuse the situation. She reached for the shotgun under the counter and leveled it at Danny.

"Next time you try to get a drink for free, you'd better be at a different bar."

His met her eyes and read what she was doing. Keeping his hands up, he backed away toward the door, mumbling an apology, giving a drunken stumble for effect.

Kate kept the gun in her hands. She looked at Wes, saw him watch her with that feral grin, daring her to turn the gun on him. She wanted to.

Kate set the gun back under the counter, hating the victorious grin Wes flashed.

"Johnny tell you about tonight?" he asked.

Kate gave a short nod.

Wes let out a dark laugh. "I'll see you tonight, then."

Kate waited until he left before she gripped the bar to keep herself standing. Yeah, she'd be there tonight.

#

Joe rubbed his palms against the denim of his jeans. He glanced at the clock in the little waiting area outside the police commissioner's office.

For the first time ever, he wished he wasn't a cop. It was intimidating enough, introducing himself to his grandfather. Doing it as one of his cops made it a gauntlet of potential problems.

He took a drink out of the glass of water someone had offered him and set it aside on a polished end table.

The blonde woman seated at the desk outside the commissioner's door picked up her phone and glanced at Joe. She spoke quietly before hanging up.

"Commissioner Reagan will see you now," she said, standing and coming around her desk.

Joe hesitated. Finally he stood, giving her a nod of thanks. She opened the door for him, her businesslike voice still managing to hold some warmth.

"Detective Joe Hill," she announced.

Joe took a breath and entered the office. The door softly clicked closed behind him.

"Commissioner," Joe greeted him. Then remembering he was a detective, facing the leader of the NYPD, he brought his hand up for a salute.

The PC returned the gesture then motioned for Joe to take a seat.

Everything in the office was hushed. His footsteps across the plush carpeting were muffled, the noises from the city below the window were silenced.

"What can I do for you, Detective Hill?"

Joe had tried, and failed, to find a way to open the conversation over the last few days. He hadn't been able to envision how this was going to go, he wasn't even sure how he was hoping it would go.

"I'm here about…a personal thing," Joe said.

Commissioner Reagan regarded him. "Is it something you've talked to your CO about?"

"No. No, sir. It's…" Joe cleared a throat that was suddenly dry. "It's about my father, sir."

The Commissioner, his grandfather, tapped a hand against his heavy desk. "If your father is in some sort of trouble—"

"No, sir," Joe cut in. The PC's dark eyebrows lifted at the interruption. Joe tried again. "My dad, he was a cop. For the NYPD"

Commissioner Reagan waited.

"He was killed in the line of duty."

"I'm sorry for your loss," the commissioner said. "What was your father's name?"

Joe hesitated. "Joseph Reagan, sir."

He sat still, not daring to move a muscle as the Police Commissioner stared at him, unmoved at first. He leaned back in his chair, not taking his eyes off Joe.

"How did you come to this conclusion?"

Joe had expected some sort of question like that. "My mom. She never told me who my dad was growing up. She didn't want me to feel pushed into being a cop," one side of his mouth lifted in an ironic smile. "I don't really think she wanted me to be a cop at all."

"But she's told you recently," the commissioner filled in.

"Yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, sir," Joe said. He wondered briefly how many undercover assignments the commissioner had taken in his time. The man's face was unreadable.

"And your mother is…?"

"Paula Hill, sir."

There was a glimmer of recognition in Commissioner Reagan's eyes.

They sat in silence. Joe was only able to stand it for four ticks of the clock. He leaned forward in his chair. "I don't want anything. Not from you as the PC, or as family." Joe wanted him to believe him. "I just wanted to know about my dad."

The PC looked lost in thought. Joe kicked himself for not thinking about what dragging up ghosts of the past would do to the Reagans. He stood, rubbing his hands against his jeans again.

"I'm sorry I just sort of sprang this on you." He nodded toward the Commissioner. His grandfather. "Thanks for your time."

He was almost to the door when the deep voice stopped him.

"Detective Hill...Joe."

Joe turned.

"How do you feel about Sunday dinner?"

#

Frank watched the detective leave. He waited until he was gone before standing and going to the door of his office.

"Baker," he said.

His assistant looked up at him.

"Can we get a DNA sample from Detective Hill?"

Baker blinked at him, but nodded. She stood and moved over to a glass of water, picking it up carefully.

"Can I ask what for, sir?"

Frank looked at the elevator Joe Hill had just disappeared into.

"For my grandson, apparently."

#