Dead Heat by Allison Brennan Page A

Damn George. He should have come with him to look for the kid. Jaime was pissed; he thought George didn’t lock the rat up proper. He’d warned him, time and again, that the kid couldn’t be trusted, but George had a soft spot.
    He poured another shot and raised his glass. “To George!”
    “To George!” tired, drunk voices repeated.
    He drained the shot, no longer feeling the fire in his belly after so many. He needed to be thinking clearly. But how could he think about anything when his big brother was dead.
    The man slipped onto the stool next to him, nodded toward the bottle.
    “You heard.”
    “I loved my brother.”
    “Blame the feds. They worked him over.”
    George was weak. Jaime knew he’d cave under pressure. But he’d held up so well last time, Jaime thought—hell, he didn’t know what to think anymore. “He was my brother.” He glanced at the older man. “Who’s in charge?”
    “Donnelly.”
    Jaime scowled. That fed had been a fucking problem from day one. Putting his fat, self-righteous nose into every damn business Jaime had. “He killed George?”
    “Might as well have.”
    “Who else? I want all their names.”
    “Slow down, amigo . Vengeance must wait. There is too much at stake to go after a federal agent right now.”
    “Donnelly, maybe.” He was high-profile. Taking him out now would bring in far too much attention. “Someday I’ll have his head.”
    “I’m working on that. It’ll take a while, but he’ll be at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He shrugged. “Right place, right time, depending on how you look at it, and who ends up dead.”
    “Is there someone else? Someone who would hurt the bastard?”
    “There’s a new Latina working with Donnelly. Pretty. Smart. He thinks highly of her, what I’ve heard.”
    “New? Rookie new?”
    “Seems that way. She might be the weak link.”
    “They doing the dirty?”
    The man shrugged. “Won’t matter. Not with Donnelly’s past.”
    Jaime agreed. Young, female, rookie. Definitely the weakest. And it would get under Donnelly’s skin. Jaime had done it before. Well, not him, personally, but his people had taken out one of Donnelly’s rookies and watched the results. Donnelly made mistakes, lost his focus. Grief and anger clouded the fed’s judgment. Back then, it gave them time to regroup, reorganize, solidify their operation.
    It could work again.
    “I know what you’re thinking. Stop.”
    “Someone has to pay for my brother’s death.” It wasn’t George’s fault that he was manipulated; he’d always been trusting. And dumb. But he was Jaime’s brother, he was blood , and Jaime promised his mother on her deathbed that he would always take care of the family.
    His partner said, “Wait, Jaime. We need a backup plan. They have the ledger.”
    Jaime barely resisted the urge to throw the half-empty tequila bottle across the room. “Fuck. Stupid idiots.”
    “No one is talking. They know better.”
    George should have known better. “Maybe we don’t kill her. Just scare her.”
    “I don’t know if she’ll scare easily.”
    “Then don’t try for easy.”
    “First things—the girls know too much. You have to bring them back into the fold. Especially Bella. The general will not be pleased if we lose her.”
    “I don’t know where they are.” He fidgeted. He knew he had to turn Bella over, but he didn’t have to like it. Mirabelle wouldn’t forgive him. But dammit, it was Mirabelle’s fault that they were aligned with the general in the first place! She should have some humility over her part in this clusterfuck. If she lost her kid, so what? She made her bed, she damn well needed to lie in it.
    “Leave that to me. Just be ready when I call. We can’t afford any more screwups, or the general will have our heads, too. And I’m not ready to die.”
    *   *   *
    Because the bar was a haven for criminals, crime lords, drug dealers, and other scum, no one paid attention to the janitor with the