A far better thing, p.1
A Far Better Thing, page 1
A Far Better Thing
Synopsis
Detective Bo Alexander knows the perils of drugs and alcohol all too well, and she’s made it her mission to keep people safe.
Cass Halliburton grew up in the Voleurs, the most ruthless motorcycle outlaw club in the world, and she’s in Galveston Island to watch over the national expansion of her “business”.
Bo’s assigned to the task force looking to take her down, and Cass plans on making sure Bo keeps her nose out of club business. But the clues aren’t adding up, and the attraction surging between them only makes things more dangerous. When Bo stumbles on a secret far more threatening than anyone anticipated, a stranger in the shadows wants payback.
Bo and Cass are on opposite sides of the law, and their battle of wills may not only decide their chances at love, but also their fate.
A Far Better Thing
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A Far Better Thing
© 2021 By JD Wilburn. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-833-3
This Electronic Original Is Published By
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Edition: February 2021
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Victoria Villaseñor and Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design by Tammy Seidick
eBook Design by Toni Whitaker
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I want to thank Rad and everyone at BSB for taking a chance on me. I genuinely hope I don’t disappoint y’all. That having been said, there were a lot of people who helped this book come to fruition. I want to thank my buddy Jax Meyer (A Marine’s Heart series, Rising From Ash) for always having my back, even at one in the morning when I’m freaking the hell out. I want to thank Lucy Bexley (Must Love Silence, Just my Type) for always checking on me and allowing me to unload on her whenever things got too rough. I want to thank Lily Seabrooke (too many to fucking name) for simply being an amazing and beautiful dazzling star, and reminding me that I am one, too. Lastly, I want to thank my family, especially my mom. You always knew I was a writer and you always told me to follow my dreams and get it done. I love you, Mama.
Dedication
This book goes out to Buck and Lorelai.
Without you two babies, this book wouldn’t have happened.
Prologue
Detective Bo Alexander looked around at every officer in the room and wondered when everything she had ever known had come crashing down around her. Was it a specific moment that could have been avoided, or had it been inevitable? From the moment she first placed the Galveston Police Department badge on her chest, had she been destined to completely forego everything she’d ever known in favor of a moral compass that no longer pointed North?
She turned around at a raised voice behind her. Detective Gerald Guthrie was lying to a woman on the phone because he didn’t have the heart to tell her that her son was most likely one of the victims of a shootout.
“If you have information, it belongs to me!”
The woman was shouting loud enough for her to hear it from the phone he held away from his ear, after he’d told her they had a promising lead but didn’t clarify what it was.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just think you should prepare for the worst. Mrs. Smith?” Apparently, she had decided to end their conversation.
The longer they strung the mother along, the worse it would be when the truth came out. Of course, the body they found was too mangled to be positively identified, but wouldn’t it be better to just break her heart now? Or was it better to lie?
To his immediate right, Detective Sergeant Paige Gill was telling their lieutenant a story that obviously involved quite a bit of emotion, if her wild hand gestures were any indication. Bo caught the last bit of the story.
“—and I swear to you, to this day he doesn’t know. Obviously, we’re better now, but back then? He’s lucky all I did was cheat.”
Again, she wondered if it was better that way. Better to lie. Everyone did it, right? What was a lie to save someone’s feelings? No matter where she turned in the squad room, it was all the same. Lie after lie after lie. All to save face. But lies got people killed.
She thought about her own lie. The little secret no one knew. She thought about Cass Halliburton.
Hers was a lie that could get her completely discredited as an officer if it was ever found out. But then, if it didn’t affect the way she did her job, what should it matter? If smoking marijuana made Sampson less likely to get a use of force complaint, and taking Adderall helped Heath get through multiple doubles a week, then why should it matter? Cops chose every day to walk away from crime scenes without making arrests or writing reports. Settled at the scene, they called it. Why shouldn’t those officers be given the same consideration if it was all for the better in the end?
Six months ago, that line of thought never would have crossed her mind. Right was right and wrong was wrong. Period. Cass Halliburton didn’t see it that way. Maybe she used to or maybe she never did, but she certainly didn’t now. Bo thought back to when the two of them had first encountered each other. She thought about hindsight and if she’d have agreed to take the case if she’d known then what she knew now.
Chapter One
Six months earlier
Newly minted Detective Guthrie asked Bo, as his former field training officer, to accompany him on a surveillance run on the top floor of an abandoned donut store that overlooked a mechanic shop owned by a man named Dusky Nelson. While nothing was off about the mechanics themselves, Mr. Nelson was one of the top members of the Galveston chapter of the Voleurs, and there had been rumors floating that he was using the shop as a front for something more nefarious than overpriced oil changes and the brass had decided it was a good case for him to get his feet wet on.
He’d asked Bo to come along because he trusted her input and knowledge and he didn’t want to be alone in the cold and dark. She agreed because most of her cases were in the tail end stages, and the Voleurs tended to be involved in quite a few of the cases she ended up investigating. When she was a narcotics officer, they owned the dealers she busted. As a detective, their club came up more often in her work than she was comfortable with. She followed the stories, did the research, and generally knew who was who in the ranks, and that was the information Guthrie needed to make good notes for his case tonight.
It didn’t hurt that she understood how miserable it could be on a cold night by yourself, having to force yourself to stay awake, trying not to miss anything on your comms because you were sniffing too loud, and trying to make sure your inside man didn’t get killed. Assuming you had one.
While it didn’t usually get anywhere near freezing in southeast Texas, this December was a cold one. The temperature, according to Bo’s phone, was twenty-seven. Cold by any standards, but to someone whose usual outfit of choice was shorts, it was almost unbearable. She sipped her coffee slowly and shrugged her shoulders up slightly to push her thick leather coat farther up her neck. A glance at Gerald told her he had just done the same.
“It’s fucking cold.”
He laughed quietly and looked over at her. “I wish I could say I was used to it, but I haven’t been used to it since a year after I left Montana. I acclimated to the heat and forgot what the cold felt like.”
She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to stave off a sneeze. “Is there any particular reason you chose the coldest night of the year to do a stakeout in a building with no power?”
He grinned at her. “You mean besides the obvious fact that nothing was happening during the day? Sergeant Gill told me to come out here tonight when she handed me the case. There’s no real intel, and she wants to know if this is worth putting man hours into.”
Bo made a mental note to kill Paige Gill when she next saw her. “You’re so lucky I like you, Gerald.”
“Aww, that’s sweet, but I think my wife would have something to say about it if you and I hooked up.”
She glared at him and started to respond, but he held up his finger and pointed. Bo looked down at the street to see Frank Newman—a scrawny, ginger, twenty-something-year-old who had been in just enough trouble to be a good CI—walking toward the closed mechanic shop with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweatshirt. She had suggested Frank as a good source of information, so it made sense that he ended up being the insider.
“He’s the one you have wired?”
Gerald nodded. “I originally suggested using one of our undercovers in the gang tonight, but that kind of fell under the same umbrella as why we’re here. No real intel means no proof of wrongdoing, which means—”
“No way to spin the need for an undercover. I got it. So, he’s the wire and we’re here to see who, if anyone, sho
He nodded again. “That’s the plan. Frank already had connections who could get him in contact with Nelson for some ‘extra work’ so I had him ask around and this is where we’re at.”
“So, Gill didn’t actually say come out tonight. She just said to check out the building and tonight is when it ended up being?”
A third nod.
“I hate Frank. Be sure to tell him that. I hate him. It is a smart setup, though. I’m proud of you.”
Gerald blushed and then once again pointed toward the shop. “Someone just let Frank in the side door.”
“Let’s see what happens, then.” They stopped talking and Bo checked her computer to make sure everything coming in over the wire was being recorded.
“You’re late, Frank.”
Bo assumed that was Frank’s contact in the gang. She didn’t recognize his voice, so she couldn’t bring a name to mind. Low level, most likely.
“My bad, Hernandez. I was getting some ass. You really think ‘sorry, I have to go do some work with the Voleurs’ is going to fly when my girl wants to get laid?”
Brad Hernandez. Bo had seen his name come up in a few of the reports she had fielded from street officers running stings on the Voleurs. He was a low-level dealer and newly minted member of the motorcycle club. Brad growled deeply and said, “If she was worth being property, it would have.”
Property of the Voleurs was the label given to any woman screwing a member of the gang. Obviously, Frank’s girl wasn’t so lucky. Bo barely resisted rolling her eyes.
“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not a Voleur, huh?” Frank said.
There was a moment of silence as the two men entered the main garage, judging by the sound of echoing footsteps and the added voices Bo could now hear. The footsteps stopped and Brad spoke again. “Now that we’re all here, everyone, listen up. My name is Brad. This gorgeous man beside me is Marcus Sindel, aka Jersey Boy. He’s going to tell you all what’s going on.”
“Make a note of that, Gerald. Jersey Boy is one of the Voleurs’ regional VPs.” The distant rumble of a motorcycle registered in Bo’s ear, but she was too busy notating the important points of the current meeting to take much notice.
“The boss will be here in a minute.” Sindel’s thick New Jersey accent made Bo’s ear itch and she fought the urge to scratch it. “Every single one of you is here to make money for the Voleurs. If you have a problem being involved with such an illustrious organization as my Voleurs, you leave now.”
Judging by the lack of sound, no one moved, and Marcus continued. “There are parts all around this shop that will be sold to various dealers whose names will be provided for you. These dealers are already standing by waiting for you tonight, so you will not screw around in any way. You are to get your dealer name from Mr. Hernandez here, and then collect your respective parts and get the hell out of my shop. You will be gone by the time the boss gets here, or you will be fired. The boss is not to see your face at any point. If you get in her way, I will get in yours.”
Frank cleared his throat and asked quietly, “Who is the boss? I thought we were working for you guys. That’s what Brad said.”
“Cassidy fucking Halliburton is the boss, you dumb sack of—” A scuffling sound stopped Brad short of completing his sentence.
Bo looked up from the notes she was writing to stare at Gerald, who looked just as surprised as she was. “What the fuck, G?”
Gerald shook his head. “I don’t know. Nothing in the little bit Frank told me suggested Halliburton’s daughter would have any part in this.”
Daniel Halliburton was the worldwide president of the Voleurs, and his daughter, Cass, was second in command. She would have absolutely nothing to do with something as small-time as a chop shop.
Frank spoke up and echoed their sentiments. “W-what’s she coming here for? I thought this was just parts and shit?”
“You ask too many questions. The boss does what she wants. Your job,” the deep voice got even closer to Frank, “is to do what we want. Got it?”
Frank’s voice seemed to jump an octave. “Got it.”
Bo didn’t have to ask who Frank was whimpering to. She had been investigating the Voleurs long enough to recognize the voice of Dusky Nelson aka the Judge. “That would be the owner of the building,” she murmured. Gerald nodded to indicate he heard her and marked it in his notes.
The motorcycle’s rumble was now a loud roar and Gerald tapped Bo on the shoulder. “I think our new target just showed up.”
Bo stood and stretched her legs, then cussed out loud as she looked out the window and locked eyes with Cass Halliburton, who smirked as she pulled off her helmet to let her blond hair loose.
“Fuck!” Bo sidestepped quickly, but it was too late. “She saw me.”
Gerald chuckled and shook his head. “And I thought I was the rookie.”
“Shut the fuck up, Gerald.”
A thick East Texas accent cut through to their earpieces, and though Bo hadn’t heard it before, she could only assume it belonged to Halliburton.
“Who the fuck are all these people in my building?” Cass asked.
The New Jersey accent answered. “Boss! I, uh, wasn’t expecting you yet.”
“No shit. What part of ‘only the two of y’all’ did you not understand, Marcus?”
“See, I just thought that you wouldn’t mind if maybe we made some extra money before you showed up.”
Cass must have whispered something because the only response was mumbled. Bo felt her heart beating against her chest. The surveillance was blown, but if Frank could keep his head about him, maybe there was a chance he would still be okay. The poor kid was probably terrified, though. She was trying to figure out a way they might be able to let Frank know they had been made without alerting Cass, when she thought instead of the reputation the woman had. Many an undercover cop had been killed without a second thought when this woman was involved. She felt her stomach roil.
She frowned and glanced at the computer that was transcribing word for word what was coming through to them. “Gerald, why is Cass Halliburton still talking?”
He looked perplexed but slowly answered, “Well, I would assume it’s because she’s the boss?”
She shook her head and began to gather her weapon as a sense of dread grew. “No, Gerald, why is she talking if she knows I’m here? Why hasn’t she just thrown everyone out? She saw me, Gerald.”
“Because…she’s going to…make an example. Shit!”
Cass spoke again. “You thought going against my orders was a good idea with GPD watching us from the building across the street?”
Bo slammed the laptop down as she bolted across the room and into the stairwell. She yelled for Gerald to follow her as she heard the words, “Take care of this, Sindel.”
They didn’t make it two steps out the door before the first gunshot rang out, quickly followed by six more. As they ran across the street, Bo keyed up her mic and yelled, “Shots fired at Nelson Auto Shop! Officer requesting immediate backup!” When they burst into the shop, Bo was knocked backward by a bullet to her chest. The armored plate she wore took the brunt of the force, but she swore when a second bullet ripped through her arm. It was only through years and years of repetitive training that her muscle memory took over and she switched her gun into her non-dominant hand, focusing the weapon at her attacker. Gerald shot twice at the man standing over Frank’s dead body, who Bo could only assume was Marcus Sindel. He was dead when he hit the floor. As his partner Dusky turned to fire at them, Bo fired one shot to the right of Dusky’s heart and he dropped like a stone, blood slowly seeping through the navy blue shirt he wore.
The shooting stopped and all Bo could hear over the ringing in her ears was the phantom echo of gunshots in the air. She scanned the room to make sure no one else would pop out, then holstered her gun. She checked Nelson’s pulse. It was weak and getting weaker, but she didn’t bother applying pressure to his wound. The paramedics were on their way and there wasn’t really anything she could do to stop a chest wound from bleeding. Besides, he’d signed his death warrant when he fucking shot her.
