Page 73 of Fool Me Twice

“I missed the memo about your sudden admission to the police department putting you in charge,” Cyrus said dryly. “But okay. You wanna start, let’s start.”

He reached for a file inside his black jacket. It was folded in half to fit in the pocket, and he straightened it out carelessly, dropping it onto the desk with a muted thud before flipping it open. Hart wanted to scoff at the drama. He also wanted to wince at the careless organization.

“So…” Cyrus said. “The raid on Cane’s warehouse was interesting, to say the least.”

Black leaned over to peek into the file and Cyrus moved it away.

“Show me,” Black demanded, poking Cyrus in the shoulder.

Cyrus sighed, looking slightly annoyed before pushing the file over to him. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“No deaths?” Black asked.

“Unless your brothers have something to admit about their ‘client,’” Cyrus said pointedly, meeting Hart’s gaze.

Black slid off the desk and slumped into the chair he’d disregarded, pouting up a storm while Hart glared at Cyrus for the implication.

“Where is Cane?” Hart asked sharply, his voice ringing in the quiet room.

Cyrus simply stared at him for a moment before responding. “He’s being detained along with his right-hand man. They have a lot of explaining to do.”

The logical part of him recognized that Cyrus was just doing his job. He was good at it, and he was fair. Hart knew all of that, but the part of him that irrevocably belonged to Cane hated the superiority in Cyrus. Hated the barely concealed satisfaction in his voice when he said Cane had been detained.

“Their business is legal.” Hart pushed the words out of his mouth, knuckles white on the armrests as he fought to remain composed.

“Come on, Hart,” Cyrus snorted. “We both know that’s not true. Someone was stabbed there the other day. He was already under a microscope.”

“He is the victim here,” Hart argued, leaning forward in his chair, refusing to stand down.

“Of what, exactly?”

“That’s what we were there to find out,” Ash said, and Cyrus snapped his head toward him, pointing a finger at his face.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he said sharply.

“But—”

“No,” Cyrus said. “You alone broke so many rules and laws my head is spinning. I need the full story and I need it right now from the main lead on this case.”

Ash actually relented, slumping in his chair and shutting up. He was still glaring at Cyrus through half swollen-shut eyes, though.

“So…” Cyrus turned back to Hart expectantly. There was something about his eyes that said he knew, or at least suspected something. It sent Hart’s anxiety through the roof. “Start from the top and tell me everything. Not the cursebreaker notes I got the other day.”

“We were trying to,” Hart snapped back.

“And yet it sounded like bullshit to me,” Cyrus said, raising a heavy brow. “I can smell it.”

“Not exactly a flex,” Black said, leaning into Cyrus to deliver the words conspiratorially into his ear. “Everyone can smell shit.”

“Black,” Cyrus warned, voice exasperated as he ran a hand over his face. Black had the decency to shrug and sit back in his chair. “Someone start giving me the truth before I get really pissed off.”

“But—” Ash perked back up.

“Not you,” Cyrus said, and Ash scowled again. “Anyone else.”

“Why are you so fixated on Cane?” Hart couldn’t help but ask. “There has to be something deeper than just professional curiosity there.”

“Psychoanalysis of me is not needed at this time, Hart,” Cyrus said. “I’m doing my job.”