They pushed through, moved through the reception area, walked into Tanner’s personal office situated at the front of the building, and both of them stopped dead.

Even though he felt the pulse of alertness beat off Mike, Garrett reckoned it was only him whose vision went blurry with rage.

This was because Ryker’s long, beefy frame was lounging negligently in a chair in front of Tanner’s desk and he was eating a Hilligoss powdered sugar, chocolate-buttercream-filled donut. The donut wasn’t his first, seeing as his lips were lined with sugar and that sugar liberally dusted the front of his black tank as well as the lapels of his leather jacket.

He looked like he just got back from vacation and they were all there to check out his pictures, not like Garrett had been looking for his ass for days and in the meantime a woman who was linked, however loosely, to his shit got dead.

But this wasn’t it.

Along with Ryker and Tanner, who was sitting behind his desk, there were two people Garrett had never seen before in the room. A man and a woman. They were both in suits. Both trim and fit. And both, without a doubt, Feds.

The woman was at the window farthest from Tanner’s desk, looking out. The male Fed was in the middle of the office, standing close to the final occupant in the room, which was the last part of what pissed Garrett off.

Jaden Cutler.

“What the fuck?” Garrett whispered.

“Stay cool, brother,” Tanner warned, but when Garrett tore his eyes off Cutler to look to his friend, he saw Tanner’s eyes were filled with humor he was barely able to hold back. “And just to say, you’re gonna wanna lose it even more than you do right now after you hear what you’re gonna hear. It’s just that you’ll eventually find it amusing. Trust me.”

Garrett ignored Tanner and looked to Ryker.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he said.

“Know that, bro,” Ryker replied casually through donut dough and buttercream.

Garrett turned his attention to Cutler. “Been lookin’ for you too.”

Cutler did not look like he’d been on vacation. As Garrett pushed through his anger, he saw Cutler looked wrecked.

But he said nothing.

The male Fed entered the conversation. “Lieutenant Merrick…Haines, I’m Special Agent Jeff Harleman.” He tipped his head to the woman. “That’s Special Agent Tiffany Faria. What we’re about to explain is need-to-know. Since you’re investigating the murder of Wendy Derian, you need to know. However, it would be a significant blow to our investigation and strain relations between our organizations if you speak to anyone about what we’re about to tell you. That said, our hope is that you won’t have to keep this confidential for long.”

“We got relations between our organizations?” Mike asked a pertinent question.

“Not exactly,” Agent Tiffany Faria put in. “Though, we do have relations with IMDB and they’re in communication with your captain. So, although the Brownsburg Police Department isn’t a partner in this investigation, those who need to know are aware of what needs to be known.”

Garrett kept a lock on his irritation at the ridiculousness of how the Feds were communicating.

Instead, he focused on irritation he was practiced at controlling, thinking about their captain.

The man had become more politician than policeman. The fact that the Feds were operating even minutely on their patch and he hadn’t shared it with his officers was not a surprise.

It was fucking annoying.

But it wasn’t a surprise.

This was because if he shared it with his team, he couldn’t claim total responsibility for whatever bust went down, even if the only thing he did was pick up the phone and listen to the Feds tell him to steer his officers clear of any part of the investigation they were pursuing.

Yes.

Fucking annoying.

“Seein’ as clearly something that has to do with something you’re doin’ got Wendy Derian dead on BPD’s patch, how about you make us aware of what needs to be known,” Garrett clipped.

He was speaking to the agents.

But it wasn’t lost on him that anytime Wendy’s homicide was mentioned, Cutler, who was seriously unhappy, looked unhappier.

Both Faria and Harleman nodded, but it was Harleman who spoke.

“We currently have a large RICO investigation going against Carlos ‘Carlito’ Gutierrez.”

Fuck.

Carlito worked a wide area and only a small part of it was Hendricks County, a lesser part of that the ’burg. The Feds would follow all leads but focus on the largest part of his operation, which was in Indy.

“This investigation has been ongoing for a year and a half,” Harleman continued. “We’ve made allegiances with a variety of players and one of those players is Mr. Ryker, who’s acting as a confidential informant.”

Garrett cut a glance to Ryker, but this was not a surprise.

Ryker did not consider himself a rat and he’d probably rip your face off if you even suggested it.

As his profession, Ryker sold information and everyone was in the know about that. If you didn’t want him in your business, you did everything you could to keep him out. It was just that he had an uncanny talent for finding ways in.

If he liked you, though, he protected you and kept what he knew about you close. He’d never breathe a word, not even under torture.

Ryker didn’t like many people.

And as far as Garrett knew, the person he hated most was Carlito.

“As Gutierrez and Mr. Ryker are not the best of friends, and Mr. Ryker has a special skillset of which I’m told you’re aware, he’s been a significant asset in our investigation,” Harleman shared. “We were getting close to an arrest, and in order to dot some i’s, we needed Mr. Ryker to secure someone closer to Gutierrez’s operations. Mr. Cutler works with Gutierrez. However, he owed Mr. Ryker a variety of markers. Mr. Ryker acted as go-between, striking this deal for us that Cutler inform from the inside.”

Garrett’s gaze cut quicker back to Ryker. “You’re workin’ with this guy?”

“He’s a fuckwit,” Ryker replied. “But he’s also a means to an end.”

“Fuck you,” Cutler spat.

“Don’t turn my stomach with dirty talk like that when I just ate five Hilligoss, assclown,” Ryker returned.

“Gentlemen,” Faria murmured warningly.

“Obviously, no love lost between you and Cutler,” Mike noted to Ryker. “But maybe you’ll explain what end you’re lookin’ for.”

“Not a big fan of Carlito,” Ryker grunted.

“Not askin’ for shit I know,” Mike returned. “You haven’t been a big fan for years, Ryker, and those years runs longer than your deal with the Feds.”

Ryker leveled his eyes on Mike. “Done dickin’ with him. It’s time he went away.”

“This mean now, at long last, you’re gonna share your beef?” Mike asked.

All attention, especially that of Tanner, Mike, and Garrett, none of whom knew what went down with Ryker and Carlito, which meant all of whom were curious, turned acute on Ryker.

“He dicked with me,” Ryker stated. “You are in the know, bro. You dick with me, I dick back.”

Shit.

That gave them nothing.

Mike wisely decided to let that go. Whatever went down between them for Ryker to get in bed with the Feds would stay where Ryker wanted it to stay until he was ready to share.

Buried.

So Mike turned to Jaden Cutler.

“It’s clear you’re aware, Mr. Cutler, that your ex-girlfriend was murdered yesterday,” Mike noted carefully.

“Yeah,” he grunted.

“Do you believe Ms. Derian’s death has anything to do with your dealings with Carlito Gutierrez?” Mike asked.

Cutler’s face got red.

And it shocked the shit out of him when Garrett saw the pain.

“It don’t got shit to do with Wendy the way you think,” he bit out. “Good through and through, my Wendy.”

His Wendy?

Garrett looked to Mike.

Mike looked to Garrett.

Garrett then turned his eyes to Cutler. “It’s our understanding you had ended things with Ms. Derian.”