He let a breath of air out and leaned forward in his chair, elbows to knees. "The witnesses have recanted," he finally said.
"All of them?" I asked, incredulously.
"All of the credible ones. The security guards who were in the room. Now they're saying Collins resisted arrest, and Michaels was helping to subdue a violent offender."
"But that's..." I started to say and Pierce shook his head once, his eyes flicking to Hart's face. The Inspector hadn't opened his eyes yet, still leaning back in his chair pinching the bridge of his nose.
I looked back at Pierce and frowned. Was he in on this? Oh my dear freaking God. What the hell was going on here?
"You have nothing to say to that, Detective?" Hart asked, eyes still closed.
"I'm stunned, sir," I murmured.
"Aren't we all," he said, finally opening his eyes. "This is what we're going to do," he added. "Pierce you fucking hound those witnesses, see if you can shake out the truth. Keen, you follow up with the HEAT guys. One of them could easily know their way around here. I'll look into where our staff were last night, discreetly. The rest of this remains between us three. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Pierce said immediately. I mumbled out my own, "Yes, sir," feeling like I'd fallen down the rabbit hole.
"I need to know if there's corruption in our midst, or if we've been targeted. And if so why," Hart said softly. "I'll hold Michaels as long as we can. But we've pretty much got shit on him now. Might as well cut him loose and see if he leads us anywhere. But I want you, Keen, shaking down HEAT before he gets out. You've got about two hours tops, before his lawyer springs him."
"He lawyered up?" I asked.
Hart grunted. "One turned up uninvited first thing this morning. Michaels looked surprised." He shook his head. "Like we have time to investigate this fuck up, we've got murders to solve."
Tell me about it. There was just too much to comprehend right now, too many factors, too many interweaving, or confusing, things.
It made you wonder if it wasn't all connected somehow.
Some master plan to screw with CIB.
Chapter Twenty-Three
"We're your family now, Keen. Don't think on where you've been, just think on where we'll take you. Your life began when you joined CIB."
I cornered Pierce in the hallway outside of CIB. We were alone. The others finally returning to earning their living appropriately.
"What the fuck is going on?" I demanded, rounding on him and blocking his path to the exit.
"That's what I'd like to know," he replied, taking in my stance and holding himself ready.
"I meant in there, with Hart. Why did you stop me from speaking out?"
He lifted a hand up and ran it over his beard and then scuffed up his hair at the back as though scratching an itch.
"Are you involved in this?" I asked in a hiss.
"God, Lara! No!" he ground back, his hands now down at his sides, fists clenched. "This is my department too."
"Then what the hell?"
He sighed, shook his head, took a step back. And then promptly moved forward and leaned in.
"I have no fucking idea what's going on," he whispered. "But you cannot deny this is an ideal opportunity for Michaels to slip through unscathed. All I was suggesting, was some circumspection with what you voice aloud from now on. If it doesn't need to be said, then don't say it. Lara," he added, probably seeing the mystified and shocked look on my face. "He's one of ours. I don't give a shit if he doesn't carry a gold badge. He's worked on more cases with you, me, Harvey and Carl, than any other of the HEAT guys. He's practically part of the family."
"He beat a suspect," I pointed out, I think more for me than him.
"A suspect who took advantage of his sister. Had a woman naked and bound to a bed, ball gag in place, and was filming the entire scene about to be directed by a sick fuck in a chair to do God knows what. And," he emphasised, "was eyeing you up and measuring you for restraints. Give the man a fucking break."
"You've changed," I whispered, all I could think of to say.
His face softened, his fists unclenched.
"Life takes on new perspective when you've got loved ones you'd die for to keep safe."
I stared at Pierce's soft brown eyes and then nodded.
"I was coming in here to beg Hart to defend him," I found myself admitting. "To do something, anything, to help him out."
Pierce lifted his hand and rested it on my shoulder. "Then go tell him you're going to do just that."
"The Inspector wants me to question the HEAT guys," I reminded him.
"And as your lead detective, I'm saying take some time to reassure your man, then go have a friendly chat with the HEAT team, get a feel, give them the heads up, but don't bust a gut."
"Jesus Christ, Pierce," I muttered. "I don't think I even know you." He only laughed.
"By the way," he said, starting to walk off down the hall, "you don't look like shit anymore."
I smiled. It felt a little stiff.
"You do," I shot back.
"Gee, thanks." He offered a wave over his shoulder and walked through the door at the end of the hall, leading to the lifts.
I stood there a second or two longer, debated with myself if this was what I was really going to do.
We're your family now, Keen. Don't think on where you've been, just think on where we'll take you. Your life began when you joined CIB.
And I turned in the opposite direction and headed for the cells.
The officer on duty in lock-up didn't even bat an eye when I requested access to Damon Michaels' cell. He led me to the correct one, checked the glass window that was never covered - no privacy in Central cells - and then rattled his keys to announce to the prisoner that the door was about to be unlocked.
He swung it open and stood back for me to enter. I nodded and walked into the small two-metre-by-two-metre pale blue room. There was a toilet and sink behind a half wall, and a cot, with a plastic covered mattress and pillow, and standard issue grey, coarse woollen blanket.
And Damon, lying on his back, one leg cocked, foot to mattress, arm thrown over his face to block out the garish recessed mesh covered light, eyes closed. He hadn't even looked to see who was being let in. He was pale, from what I could see of his skin, dressed in paper-like white overalls and bare feet. He'd been stripped of his clothes and possessions, even though these were only holding cells and normally detainees were left in what they arrived in, minus whatever was in their pockets. It could have been he had requested replacement clothing for his blood splattered outfit, and this is what he would have received.
"Just bang on the wall, Detective, when you want out or if you have problems," the uniform said.
I nodded, not removing my eyes from the supine body on the cot. The door clicked shut behind us, the lock clunked back into place, and silence settled in the room.
He still hadn't opened his eyes.
"Michaels," I said, and his body jerked. Just one minute movement and then nothing. "Damon," I added, and he lowered his arm, linked his fingers together over his stomach and stared at the ceiling.
Not at me.
"How are you doing?" I asked, taking a step closer, unable to resist the draw.
"Not so good, Keen," he murmured, and then swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up.
The stubble on his face was thick. Even more dense than usual. I wanted to touch it, see if it was soft or scratchy. He ran a hand over his mouth and finally lifted tired eyes to mine.
"God," he said on a breath of exhaled air. "You look good."
"I slept," I whispered, feeling suddenly guilty for that. I shifted on my feet.
"What's going to happen, Lara?"
I raised my gaze from the floor where it had fallen and said, voice a little more scratchy than I had intended, "I'm getting you out of here."
"What?" he looked around the room, up to the high window in the door. Then he was off the cot and across the space between us
, hands to my upper arms, wild eyes looking directly into my face. "Don't you dare do anything rash. You hear? Do not risk your job for me."
"You risked yours for me," I argued.
"Dammit, Lara. I lost control. You're better than me."
"Am I?" I asked, but the question wasn't for him. He took it as such, though.
"God, yes. You're a damn fine cop, exemplary record. Don't screw it up for me. Lara," he almost pleaded. "I wouldn't have stopped." The words were nothing more than a whisper.
I lifted my head to look him in his dark and so very sad eyes, and gave in to temptation, raising my hand to stroke his beard.
"It's soft," I said, surprised.
"Oh, love," he murmured, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling me gently against his chest. "Lara, please tell me you won't do anything reckless."
"Not me," I said into his chest, inhaling deeply. But he only smelled of paper-like overalls, recently pulled from a plastic package.
"What do you mean?" he asked, laying a soft kiss in amongst my hair. My arms had found their way around his waist. I was clinging to him, as much as he was clinging to me.
But I forced myself to pull back, put some space between us, in case the uniform on duty checked through the window in the door.
"The security guards have recanted their statements. Changed them to say Collins resisted arrest and you were helping to subdue him."
"Bloody hell," he murmured, ran another hand over his mouth. He took a staggering step backwards and sat down heavily on the cot.
I followed and sat down next to him.
"There's more," I whispered, checking the door.
"Lara. You shouldn't be telling me this."
I reached for his hand. "Pierce said you're one of us."
"Would you cover for one of your own?"
I've never had to. "If I knew what they were accused of was justified."
"Was it justified?"
"Yes," the answer was out before I even contemplated it. The conviction as strong as Pierce's.
He turned to look at me, just a heartbeat away. I could feel his breath on my lips. He searched my eyes, looking for a reason to believe I meant what I said. I tried to convey my certainty. I tried to reassure him that things would be all right. I'm not sure I achieved either.
"Someone broke into the evidence locker," I whispered, then watched his eyes dart down to my lips and linger there. "They doctored the camera footage from the private room." Eyes shot back up to mine. "Wiped the assault completely."
"There's no video evidence?" I shook my head. "Who would do that for me?"
I grimaced.
"What?"
"Could one of your team come in here?"
"Is this Lara, the woman I love, asking?" What? He loves me? "Or Lara, the detective?"
I stared at him. I'm sure my mouth was open. "You..." was all I could manage.
He smiled, it was slow and not quite his usually wicked grin. His eyes darted over my shoulder, toward the door, and then he leaned in, looking deep into my gaze, and pressed his lips to mine.
It was so sweetly chaste. A stolen kiss. A brief press of lips to lips.
"I'm not here as a detective," I said on a soft sigh. He chuckled. "But I'm beginning to think that things are going a little crazy right now."
His face sobered.
"You've got more on the murders?"
I shook my head. "No. But..."
"You've got a feeling?"
"Not as such. Just, how much more complicated does everything have to get before it falls into place?"
"Will it though?" he asked.
I rubbed my face.
"You're still tired," he commented, concern dripping from each word.
"Why cover for you?" I asked, ignoring his statement. This wasn't tiredness, it was a bone deep exhaustion one good night's rest would not alleviate. "If not your team, then who and why?"
"It won't have been the team. They don't even know. I used my one call to tell Flack I had a migraine and wouldn't be in." His eyes flicked to mine, he shrugged his shoulders at the question there. "I didn't want them to know yet that I'd lost it so disastrously."
"So who called your lawyer?"
"I thought you did."
"No. Did he not say?"
Damon shook his head, shoulders rigid. "Are we being played?"
"This has to all connect," I said, distractedly. "How? Why?"
I stood up and started pacing, Damon leaned back against the wall and watched my progress.
"The dots don't make a picture," I murmured. "I can't see what this all means."
"Lara," Damon said softly. "Take a breath."
I stopped pacing and looked at him in his lock-up overalls, too many days worth of stubble on his pale cheeks.
"I'm..." I started, swallowed, shook my head. "I can't work it out."
"Don't be so hard on yourself. Nothing makes sense."
"It's not just me? Because, you know, I was beginning to wonder if I was losing my touch. Maybe going a bit insane." I was trying for a light tone, but I think a little too much honesty came through.
Damon watched me steadily, worry edging out weariness on his face.
I scrubbed at mine.
"I've got to go interview the guys at HEAT. My Inspector has ordered it," I chose to say.
"Oh, OK. I guess the cat'll be out of the bag."
"Yeah. Sorry about that."
He huffed, smiled sadly and shook his head.
"They'll probably let you go in another couple of hours," I added. "Nothing to hold you on now."
"What about your evidence?"
"I haven't given any, and Hart," I frowned, looked at the ground. Couldn't work it out. "Hart didn't mention it either."
"That's unusual, I gather."
"You know," I said, starting to pace again, "I questioned Pierce. Asked him if he was involved."
"Was he?"
"No." I trusted Ryan Pierce at his word.
"And Hart wouldn't have been either," Damon pointed out, clearly aware of where my mind had gone.
"No, he was ropeable," I agreed. "The offender used his login details to gain access to the server."
Damon whistled. "Lara," he finally said. "It's not one of mine, love. It's one of yours."
I stopped pacing, lifted my wide eyes to his and said, "Fuck."
He got up off the cot and crossed the small space to me, his face set, eyes intense. When he reached me, he held my upper arms again briefly, then made me look up into his eyes with the tip of his finger and thumb under my chin.
"You be very careful," he whispered. "I don't know what the hell's going on, but if this has anything to do with the murders, and it's originating within your department or this place." He meant Central Police Station. "Then you need to take extreme care. The psychologist said it was personal. Personal to you. Think about that, Lara. Think about who would want me on that case and would also try to get me out of here unscathed. And then reference it with why they would want your informants dead."
That was the question, wasn't it. And I still didn't have an answer.
"Pierce and I need to shake Collins and Smith up again. Find out whether there's a connection between the DFSA at Zero and the murders."
"There's not enough hours in the day," Damon muttered. A truth that was never more apparent to me than right now.
"I better get going then," I murmured, not moving an inch from where I stood within the reach of his warmth.
"Yes, you better," he whispered back, not letting me go.
"Damon," I said, just as he asked, "Meet me later?"
"Yes," I replied, as he answered, "What?"
I let a laugh out, his face softened.
"Ah," he whispered. "There it is."
I held his beautiful dark gaze a moment longer, then reluctantly pulled from his grip to bang on the wall. He didn't stop looking at me, even when I walked through the door and stood on the other side.
The uniformed offi
cer cut the connection by shutting and locking Damon's prison door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
"Prioritise. Use your time wisely. Buy a fucking watch."
I went to HEAT first. I had to follow orders, even if I intended to not be as strict with my interrogation practices as I usually was. I believed Damon when he said his team wasn't aware of what was going down. And one minute in their presence was all it would take to ascertain if he was correct.
I can spot an attempt to hide a reaction a mile away.
It was closing in on five in the afternoon, several HEAT vehicles were on station. Not the full team, but if some knew, then all of them would know. And really, I just needed Gus to be there, and maybe the new guy, Russell Clarke.
I bounded up the stairs, not bothering to announce my arrival, and swept into the room relieved to see the new kid in attendance, beach-blond hair tousled, light blue eyes tracking my arrival the minute I crossed the threshold to the room.
"Afternoon, chaps," I called out, getting several upbeat replies at the same time.
I kept my peripheral gaze on all of the men present, but concentrated on Russell the most. If anyone was going to show a reaction to me being here, it would be the new, unseasoned, untrained team member.
"Where's Gus?" I asked.
"You after Gus now, Keen?" Jude asked, in his smooth and deep voice. "Broke our boss and moving on to the Prevention's number two?"
"I didn't break your boss. He shouldn't have drunk that wine." A couple of chuckles, a few smart remarks, but not one look to indicate they thought anything other than the fact Damon had a migraine.
Even Russell had taken his seat at the table, hot mug of coffee in hand, with a small, amused smile.
Gus walked into the room then, from the direction of the offices.
"Keen, why aren't you mopping Damon's brow?"
I relaxed all at once, feeling like I was surrounded by familiar and friendly faces. If CIB was my immediate family, these guys would be the distant humorous cousins at the annual reunion party.
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