Chapter 1-1
Chapter 1
Dirk resisted turning when he heard someone call his name. A name he hadn’t used in over two years. Instead, he pulled the collar of his coat up tighter around his neck and face. A logical gesture considering it was just below freezing and the wind had kicked up again. Walking faster, he turned the corner onto St. Paul and moments later into a driveway between a restaurant and one of the high-end clothing stores in Cherry Creek North.
After veering left, he was in an alley that would take him back to First and possibly put him behind the man who had, all too obviously, thought he’d recognized him. Dirk needed to find out who he was, even though he had no desire to reconnect with his past or anyone involved in it.
He didn’t miss New Orleans. Well, other than the heat. We could use some of that here at the moment. He smiled ruefully while checking from his vantage point at the end of the alley to make certain it was safe to continue on with his plan.
As he waited, he flashed back to the reason he’d left New Orleans in the first place, and what had happened since then…
* * * *
“Detective Hudson. My office now!”
“Someone’s not happy,” Jake, whose desk was next to Dan’s, said. “What did you do to piss him off this time?”
“Hell if I know,” Dan replied as he got up. He walked into the lieutenant’s office to find his superior there, along with two other men. He recognized one of them—Mr. Pichot, a local influential businessman. Dan had spent the last two months undercover, trying to prove the man was the head of a drug cartel in the city. He’d been close to doing that when the lieutenant had unexpectedly pulled him out two days ago. When Dan had asked why, the lieutenant had said he had his reasons and left it at that.
“Have a seat, Detective Hudson,” Lt. Barker told him. “I believe you know Mr. Pichot.”
“I know who he is.”
“The man with him is his lawyer, Jonathan Smith. They’ve told me some things about you that doesn’t sit well with me. Not at all.”
Dan sat, asking as he did, “Should I have a lawyer present?”
“Let me lay out the accusations and then you can decide. According to Mr. Pichot, you approached him three days ago. You told him that you could prove he was one of the men behind the drug cartel you’re investigating. You then offered to conveniently ‘lose’ the proof in exchange for a sizable amount of money deposited to a bank account belonging to,” Lt. Barker checked his notes, “one Thomas Williams.”
“That’s a damned lie,” Dan spat out.
“Mr. Pichot has a recording of the conversation that he gave to his lawyer. They’ve given me a copy. It is definitely your voice.”
“Impossible. This is the first time I’ve ever been face-to-face with him.”
Without replying, the lieutenant slid three photos across the desk to Dan. They showed Dan and Pichot in what Dan recognized as one of the bars he’d frequented while he was undercover on the case. In all three pictures, they seemed to be having a very intense conversation.
“Photoshopped,” Dan growled, shoving them away.
“Do you think we’re totally stupid?” the lieutenant asked coldly. “I had one of our computer experts go over the photos. They’re the real McCoy and,” he looked pointedly at Dan, “there are also two witnesses who will swear they saw you with Mr. Pichot at the time those pictures were taken.”
From there, things went from bad to worse. By the end of the meeting, Dan knew he had to find a lawyer and fast. And he knew the perfect man for the job.
