Deadly Contact by Lara Lacombe Page B

and actions. Just because she’d broken his heart...
    He sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head. No, not broken his heart. He refused to believe he’d been in love with her. She’d disappointed him, that was all.
    And despite his disappointment, he owed her the benefit of the doubt, at least until he discovered otherwise. All suspects were innocent until proven guilty, and she was no exception. Granted, he didn’t usually have such a personal history with the suspects in an investigation, but it couldn’t be helped.
    Just because his best friend had turned out to be a traitor didn’t mean Kelly was, as well. He wouldn’t let his experiences with Steve cloud his judgment here.
    He rubbed absently at the center of his chest, the thought of his late friend triggering a familiar ache. Despite the intervening years, James remembered that night with terrible clarity. It had been a scorcher of a day, and he was sitting under the fan in his tiny apartment in Silver Spring, drinking a beer and watching the Orioles game. The knock on his door had been rapid and insistent, announcing his visitor’s agitation as clearly as words.
    He’d opened the door to find Steve looking as though he hadn’t slept in days, and smelling like it, too. “Can I come in?”
    James stepped aside and gestured him through the door. “Have a seat, man. Can I get you anything?”
    Steve shook his head as he parked it on the couch. James sat in the recliner, taking in his uncombed hair, stubble and wrinkled clothes. What worried him most, though, were the white lines of strain around Steve’s eyes and lips. Deciding he could use a beer after all, James grabbed a bottle from the fridge and returned to his chair, holding it out for his friend, who took it with a sigh.
    This is it, he thought, his stomach dropping in anticipatory dread. He’s in over his head, and he needs me to bail him out.
    He would do it, too, he realized grimly. He didn’t have much money in the bank, but if it would get Steve out of trouble, he’d fork it over.
    He watched in silence as Steve peeled the label off his bottle with fumbling fingers, letting his friend come up with the words in his own time.
    “I screwed up,” he blurted, his leg bouncing a rapid tattoo as the last of the label flaked off and fell to the floor. “It’s bad—really bad.” He looked up at James then, despair shining in his eyes.
    “I’m sure it seems that way now,” James began, trying to inject reassurance into his voice. “But whatever it is, we can fix it.”
    Steve shot up from the chair and began to pace, prowling the room like a caged animal trying to find an escape. “No, man. You don’t understand. It’s over. They’re gonna kill me.”
    “Who’s going to kill you?” James felt the fine hairs on the nape of his neck rise, and he instinctively glanced at the door. Was Steve being followed?
    “The Cartel. Internal Affairs. Take your pick.” Steve flopped back into the chair, his features arranged in a mask of misery.
    James’s stomach twisted as his dinner threatened to reappear. The rumors were true, then. Steve was dirty. He took a healthy swallow from his bottle, trying to wash the bitter disappointment away.
    “I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”
    With a heavy sigh, Steve told him how he’d gotten sucked in, how it started out small, selling dime bags on the side, but then he’d been tapped to launder money for the Cartel. Now IAB was onto him, and if they didn’t get him, the Cartel would kill him for turning against them.
    James sat quietly, digesting the news, not sure how to respond now that he knew his best friend was a crooked cop, a drug dealer and a liar.
    “Will you help me?” Steve’s voice was quiet but thick with emotion.
    Help him? Help him break the law again so he could ride off into the sunset with his drug buddies? James felt a hot spurt of anger, wondering how Steve had been so stupid to get involved. Yeah, narcs walked a fine