I.N.E.T 1 Read online

  I.N.E.T.

  International Narcotics

  Enforcement & Tracking

  Book 1

  Brenda Cothern

  By Brenda Cothern © 2016

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover: © Nathan Archer

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943949-05-2

  ISBN-10: 1-943949-05-0

  First Printing February 2016

  No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, altered, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, in any way, without prior, written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages within the review for publication in a newspaper, magazine, journal, or on a website.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, (some) places, and situations are the products of the author’s imagination and intended to be fictional. Any resemblances to actual events, situations, or persons, alive or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  This book contains M/M sexual situations and is intended for readers of legal age in the country in which they reside. Please store your adult literature responsibly. This book also contains references to drugs and I.V. drug use. If these are triggers for you, please do not read.

  Wench Publishing, Inc.

  136 E. 145th Avenue

  Tampa, Florida, 33613 USA

  Other Titles

  Shadows

  Soul Stealer (FREE)

  When Beasts Bite

  Barely Restrained

  Embracing Sin

  Shattered Illusions

  Mad Dogs

  Sixth

  Deployed

  Mad Dogs vol.1

  Extraction

  R&R

  Mad Dogs vol.2

  SNAFU

  Undercover Love

  Not For Sale**

  Highest Bidder**

  **out of print

  Goddess of Fate

  Retrieval

  Reunion

  Revelations

  Guns & Hoses

  Fire & Ice

  Brothers by Bond

  Cresting Tide (FREE)

  New Beginnings (FREE)

  Coming Home (FREE)

  Before There Was Beer Pong (FREE)

  Dedication

  To my husband who gave me help coming up with what the T could stand for!

  Acknowledgements

  As always, special thanks The Body Shop in Tampa for letting me treat their bars like my personal office and to Chris, the bartender who has learned to ignore me when I am talking to myself!

  My leather brother Topher, you’ve told me “semantics matter” so often, it finally made it into a book!

  Of course, I have to once again thank my beta team, both those who have been with me for several books and all of the new members who have joined me for this one.

  Jen W., Karen, Lora, Lori, Mark, Nessa, Shirley, & last but not least, Sparkles. Without you, my writing wouldn’t be nearly as clean and the story would suffer.

  One

  Detective Michael Knight was having a shit day. Shitter than usual for a Friday. It had nothing to do with the scorching Florida heat or the humidity that had his T-shirt sticking to him like a second skin and it had nothing to do with him being covered in alley filth. If only that were what had him livid and ready to kill. And so help him, if any of his co-workers made another Knight Rider crack when he entered the squad room, he was going to beat the ever living fuck out of them. The consequences be damned.

  He could take a joke as well as the next guy, but the harassment over his name was getting out of hand. Pictures of ‘K.I.T.T’, some of which were admittedly cool, plastered around his work station were easily dealt with via a trash can. Knight Rider ringtones and ‘K.I.T.T.’ message notifications were annoying, but could be tuned out. However today, his fellow cops had gone too fucking far.

  They messed with his baby. The only thing he really gave a fuck about outside of the job. They messed with his truck. The David Hasselhoff bobblehead stuck to his dash pissed him off to no end. Especially, since it took him a good twenty-five minutes to scrub the sticky shit off after he snapped the fucker in half. The bobblehead wasn’t in his truck the night before and his red and blue flashing police lights were fine when he used them three days ago. Someone at the station must have messed with his truck last night.

  Everyone knew he had been staking out his current arrest for the last two days. However, the icing on the fucking cake that was his fury wasn’t revealed until he made his current bust. The red and blue flashing lights installed in the grill of his truck had been switched out to a red pulsing line that moved steadily from left to right and back again. Just like in the grill of ‘K.I.T.T.’

  It was bad enough that he was covered in sweat, grit, and grime from the alley, but it wasn’t until he turned his arrest around and saw the new light bar that he saw red, and it had nothing to do with the color of the lights behind his grill. His suspect must have sensed something which had more to do with Knight being filthy from tackling him, because the man tensed. Wisely, the low-life kept his trap shut about the truck lights. Either he was smarter than he looked, which was highly doubtful, or he was way too young to recognize the reference to the 80’s TV show.

  Knight stomped into booking, roughly dragging the two-bit drug dealer behind him and leaving dirty boot prints on the white linoleum floor. He didn’t care about the floor and had tuned out the guy’s whining about ‘police brutality’ after the first time the man bitched about being tossed, unceremoniously, into the back of his truck. Knight pushed his repeat offender, the little fuck who refused to give up his supplier, roughly down onto the bench in booking. His shove was so hard that the man yelped when his cuffed wrists slammed into the wall.

  “Jesus, Knight,” O’Conner huffed while watching the suspect slouch down on the bench to give his hands more room between his back and the wall.

  “Jeremy Mills, a.k.a. J-Man,” Knight tried not to growl and ignored O’Conner’s disapproving frown at his treatment of the dealer. O’Conner was one of his few co-workers who didn’t give him shit about his name and he didn’t deserve to be the target of Knight’s wrath over his truck. “Two one ounce bags of weed and a .38. I’ll get you my report by the end of the day.”

  Knight didn’t wait for O’Conner to reply before he turned around and stormed out of booking. He briefly considered returning to his truck, just saying ‘fuck it’ for the rest of the day, and going to have a beer. That would be the smart thing to do so he could calm down before entering the squad room, but just thinking of his baby made his fury rise even higher. Now, he was too pissed off to do the smart thing and didn’t hesitate to jog up to the third floor where his squad room was located. God save anyone if they got in his way on his way to talk to his boss.

  Rationally, he knew the name calling and pranks were just meant to get under his skin. He joined in on pulling his own share at his co-workers expense in the past, but there usually was a reason for the ribbing. Like when Officer Thornton dodged a pedestrian while trying to stop an unregistered vehicle and his squad car careened into a hot dog vendor. They had dished out playful abuse by calling Thornton ‘Oscar’ or filling his desk with ketchup and mustard packets. However, after a week, everyone was over it and they sure as shit never took the ball busting too far.

  For almost two months now, Knight was the target of his co-workers’ jibes and the jokes, as well as the name calling, and the pranks were no longer funny. There wasn’t a damned thing fucking funny about messing with his truck. That was the last straw. If the lieutenant wouldn’t do something, and Knight was surprised he hadn’t already, Knight was more than willing to take matters into his own hands.

  The first few bars of the theme song to Knight Rider started by the time Knight was half a doz
en feet into the squad room. He ignored the music because if he allowed himself to determine whose cell phone played the annoying tune, he would be joining J-Man down in booking without a doubt. The robotic sounding voice of ‘K.I.T.T.’ saying “Michael, we seem to have a problem” joined the music while he crossed the bullpen. He ignored that as well and didn’t pause when he reached his lieutenant’s door. Instead, he barged right in.

  Lieutenant Daniels stopped mid-sentence and glared at Knight. Knight glared back. Daniels was in his mid-fifties, overweight, and had a shitty personality. From day one, Knight knew the man didn’t like him, but Knight could care less. He wasn’t on the force to make friends or win popularity contests. He just wanted to do his job; a job he was damned good at.

  “This shit has gone too far, Lieutenant,” Knight spat out and didn’t bother to lower his voice.

  Lieutenant Daniels frowned. “I have no idea what you are talking about Detective Knight, but I am busy at the moment. Come back after four-thirty and we can discuss whatever you think is a problem.”

  Yeah, sure. After four-thirty cause your ass is always gone by four-fifteen. “No idea, my ass,” Knight yelled instead of voicing his thought. “I can take a fucking joke, but messing with my truck is over the line!”

  “Control yourself detective. I am sure you are overreacting.” Knight knew the guy was an asshole, but even knowing that did not prepare him for his superior’s next words. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off. Maybe your boyfriend can help you calm down.” The look of disgust on Daniels’ face when he said ‘boyfriend’ was plain as day.

  Boyfriend? What the fuck?

  Knight wasn’t out at work, but he didn’t hide who he was on his off time, either. Suddenly, all the shit thrown his way over the last two months made sense. Someone had found out he was gay. Since they couldn’t harass him about his sexual orientation, because of discrimination laws, they found another way to make his life miserable. Like it was anyone’s business who he was sleeping with. Or not as his recent dry spell could attest to. The red hot anger Knight felt turned into calm white rage.

  “I’ll take forms for harassment, an I.A. investigation request, and I’ll report the felony vandalism to my truck downstairs.” Knight told Daniels quietly, but his tone conveyed murderous intent. When his lieutenant didn’t move, Knight amended his request. “You know what? Don’t bother. I’ll stop by Internal Affairs on my way out. I am sure they will have all the harassment forms I need, and you’ll have my transfer request in your email by the end of the day.”

  Knight spun on his heel and stormed out the door. He slammed his superior’s door behind him so hard that it was a miracle the glass didn’t shatter. He wished it had.

  Two

  When the door to Lieutenant Daniels’ office slammed open, Agent Aaron Slade instinctively reached for his side arm. It was habit even though he sat in an office on the third floor of a police station. His hand hovered over his service piece until Daniels identified the raging bull of a man as Detective Knight. The same Detective Knight his Director had given him a ‘heads up’ about earlier in the day. The ‘heads up’ wasn’t because of Knight. No, the ‘heads up’ was because Slade worked alone and that was about to change.

  Knight stood coiled to strike, like he needed to hit something and was barely restraining the urge to make that something a someone… namely Daniels. The man looked like he had just run five miles. His black hair was disheveled; sweat beaded on his brow, and his corded neck was flushed. The anger in Knight’s steel-blue eyes and the tic along his jaw were clear indications that the guy was teetering on the edge of killing someone. Slade sensed that whatever the lieutenant said would determine which side of the edge Knight would fall.

  Slade listened as Knight yelled, but still noticed the Knight Rider digs that drifted into the office from the squad room. He had a feeling it wasn’t the childish cop pranks that had the detective so pissed. Slade was right when the cop alleged one of his co-workers vandalized his truck.

  His eyes never left Detective Knight, even when he wanted to glare at Daniels’ blatant harassment and discrimination, so he didn’t miss the change that came over the man. If Slade thought Knight’s fury was intimidating, and he wasn’t intimidated easily, then the man’s sudden calmness was downright scary in a dangerous way that teased his arousal.

  Any kind of danger gave him that reaction, which was why he worked drug vice alone… until today. Slade didn’t want to rely on anyone else and sure as shit didn’t want to be responsible for a partner. But the more he watched Detective Michael Knight, the more he thought the man wouldn’t need to rely on him for much and Slade’s responsibility would be minimal.

  Knight made his request then changed it to ‘don’t bother’ before he left the office without a glance in Slade’s direction. Slade would bet his next pay check that Knight never noticed him through the red haze of his fury. Knight letting an emotion distract him from observing his surroundings could be deadly in Slade’s line of work. He could only hope it wasn’t the man’s habit.

  Slade came to precinct twenty-two to meet his soon to be new partner. Not because he wanted to, but because he was ordered to. This was certainly not the way he wanted to meet Knight. Even if the guy didn’t notice him sitting in Daniels’ office, meeting the guy while he was pissed to the nines more than likely wouldn’t end well. For either of them.

  At first, Slade thought Daniels danced around his request to meet Knight because the lieutenant was a dick. The man was a dick, but now, he knew better. The minute Knight mentioned the transfer request form; Slade knew the detective had no clue that he was already recruited to an INET team. The fact that the asshole behind the desk hadn’t informed Knight that he had been recruited to the International Narcotics Enforcement and Tracking agency pissed Slade off almost as much as the homophobic discrimination he had witnessed. He could only rack up Daniels silence as a sign the asshole was a jealous fuck.

  “Now, you’ve met him,” Daniels’ loathing was clear in his tone.

  Slade stood, walked over to the door, and pulled it open without sparing Lieutenant Daniels another glance. He was about to step over the threshold when Daniels’ voice made him pause.

  “Watch your ass with that one, Agent,” Slade stared over his shoulder and was greeted by Daniels giving him a good ol’boy grin. “If you know what I mean.”

  Slade did know what the lieutenant meant and he wasn’t sure why he was surprised the asshole thought he was straight and needed the warning. He didn’t bother with a reply when he turned around to leave. It took everything he had not to slam the door just like Knight had less than five minutes ago.

  He didn’t know Knight well enough to be pissed off on the man’s behalf, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be pissed on his own. He also didn’t know Knight well enough to know if Knight’s threat of an Internal Affairs investigation or a harassment suit was real or just a bluff. However, if the guy did file paperwork on the homophobic asshole, Slade would be happy to add Daniels’ parting words to him on the report. Even if Knight didn’t, Slade would be mentioning the exchange to his own boss on Monday.

  After the scene he just witnessed, he was sure today wouldn’t be a good day to spring ‘Hi, I’m your new partner’ on Knight, but better to meet his new partner today on Knight’s home turf before Knight started training on Monday. Slade caught no sight of Knight in the bullpen while he crossed to the stairs and he honestly wasn’t surprised. So, he stopped at the last desk before exiting the floor.

  “What does Knight drive?” Slade asked the young cop and heard several of the other cops snicker.

  “K.I.T.T.” A cop behind Slade answered and chortled.

  The uniformed desk jockey joined in the laughter, but his chuckle died abruptly in his throat when the cop saw Slade’s glare. It was a glare that clearly conveyed he didn’t find anything about the joke funny.

  “Sorry, Agent. Inside joke,” the cop whose desk he stood in front of replied.<
br />
  As much as Slade hated wearing his agency badge on the chain around his neck, it did have benefits sometimes. Like reminding beat cops that they were still beat cops. The officer sobered and cleared his throat.

  “A black Silverado. If it’s in the lot, you can’t miss it.”

  Slade jogged down the three flights of stairs and opened the back door. The Florida heat hit him like a ton of bricks, but that wasn’t anything new. A quick glance showed Knight’s truck still sitting in the parking lot. The damned thing was huge with its jacked up suspension and large tires. The uniform was right. There was no way in hell Slade could have missed it.

  Still here, Slade thought and wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  Regardless, he walked across the lot and leaned his back against the hot driver’s side door of the truck, which conveniently faced the back door. Almost an hour later, there was still no sign of Detective Michael Knight. Slade was almost to the point of saying ‘screw it’ because he knew how long the guy could be tied up with I.A. if they wanted his statement right now.

  Slade was just about to leave when the back door of the precinct flew open and a still very pissed off Knight exited the building. A beat up duffle bag was thrown over one shoulder and paperwork was clenched in his other hand. If the guy held the papers, likely the forms he requested, any tighter they would be ruined beyond repair. At first, it appeared Knight didn’t see him, but when their eyes met, Slade could see Knight’s anger hadn’t dissipated. If anything, a new flash of fury appeared while the man approached.

  Knight fumed when he noticed a guy in faded jeans, shit kickers, and a tight black T-shirt leaning against his truck. He didn’t know who the asshole was, but was in no mood to find out. If one more person fucked with his truck today, he was going to kill them whether he knew them or not.