of the dry cleaners and motioned the patrol car that followed them to watch the rear. The car barreled off and hit the corner on two wheels. He opened his coat to give him access to his weapon and noticed that Kallie had done the same. The windows to the laundry were steamed from the heat inside. He doubted they’d been seen. When they entered there were only four people in the lobby. They herded the people outside with a flash of their badges and their hands on their weapons. Brock jumped the counter with a quick lunge and a palm to the top of the faux marble counter. He turned just in time to watch Kallie vault the obstacle the same way.
They made their way to where voices were raised in the back.
“What do you mean it isn’t ready? The tag says it will be ready today.”
“It would have been ready if Dawson was here. That's on you.”
“You’re fucking incompetent, Eric. Get that suit and get it into the queue. I’ll process it. I’m going to lose money on this because you can’t read and work simple tags.”
"You're a money hungry bitch, Cynthia. There are more important things, you know."
"Yeah, name one." Cynthia's retort zinged back at the other man.
Brock motioned for Kallie to approach from the other direction. They split up and silently approached the back.
“What happened to Dawson? He should be here doing this, Cynthia, not me. I’m only supposed to be doing pick-ups until you can hire someone else, and I'm pissed enough about that.”
“Whine later, will yah? Get your ass going with this suit. Besides, it’s about time you earned some of that money your old man gives you. Fucking silver spoon in your mouth and all you can do is bitch. You can do the pick-ups after you get today’s slips loaded. Dawson will be in tomorrow, and believe me if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll…” Cynthia turned and saw him. Her angry sneer fell immediately. “Detective? You’re not supposed to be back here. Insurance and all that.” The woman visibly jumped when she noticed Kallie coming from the other direction. “What’s going on?”
“Cynthia, do you know where Dawson is?”
“Home? He called in sick this morning.” Her attention swung from one to the other. “What’s happening?”
“We need you to come down to the precinct.” He stopped and nodded at the patrol officers who stood just inside the back door. He caught Kallie’s eyes as he spoke. He was changing course in mid-stream, and he wanted to ensure his partner was with him. “The officers will give you a ride.”
“I can’t leave! I have a business to run.”
That was a new wrinkle. “You own this business?”
“No, my uncle does, but I’m in charge of this store.”
“So that move from pick-up driver to the front of the house was guaranteed, then?” Kallie kept her eyes on the other man.
“Hell, Cynthia works wherever she wants, whenever she wants. If she works more positions, she gets a better cut of the profits.”
Brock turned to the man. “Who are you?”
“Eric White. My dad owns this shit hole and five others just like it. I’m only here because Dawson called out again.”
“Does he do that often?”
“No more than any other fucking slug she hires.” Eric drew his hands up on his hips.
Cynthia was a different person today, and he had a feeling the woman they'd first met wasn't as placid as they had thought. Granted, she was still getting around on that little scooter, her limbs still in plaster, but her attitude, that had changed. She was caustic, and her cousin wasn't much better.
He tipped his head. “That so?”
“Yeah.” The guy looked pissed.
Brock didn't care. He gave a big fat, fake smile and some not so subtle directives. “Well, Eric, you need to call your old man down here. Cynthia is going to come with us.”
Kallie motioned toward the back door. “That's right. Do you need a coat, Cynthia?” Brock caught the way Kallie ushered her toward the back without giving her any choice.
He moved toward Eric and caught his arm. “You will not call anyone to tell them we were here. Do you understand me?”
“Like I’d call that jerk?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you talking about Dawson?”
“No, I’m talking about the boogie man. Of course I’m talking about Dawson.” Eric yanked his arm from Brock’s grip and shoved his phone to his ear. “Yoh, old man. You got some serious shit going down at Cynthia’s store. Yeah,