by L. A. Witt
“Good.” Still, I’d probably wait a few days before I gave my ex-girlfriend the all clear to bring our daughter back to town. Just to be safe.
“All right,” Hamilton said. “I’m going downtown to help Paula wrangle this mess.” He inclined his head. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest? You’ve earned it.”
“I will. But . . .” I nodded toward the door. “I’m going to stay here with him for now.”
“Oh. Right.” He looked at the door, chuckled to himself, and shook his head.
“What?” I asked.
“Just thinking.” He clapped my arm and, as he started to walk away, threw over his shoulder, “Would’ve put you two together a long time ago if I’d known you wouldn’t kill each other.” I laughed, and he kept walking.
After he was gone, I didn’t go back into Darren’s room right away. For a moment, I just stood in the relative silence of the hallway, absorbing a sense of calm I hadn’t known in ages. I stared down at my badge, tracing the edge with my finger.
Things were far from over. Once Trent started dropping names, the department would be collaring people by the dozen. Witnesses I’d stashed all over the country would be brought back in to testify. The trial would probably be a media madhouse, and it would probably drag on for fucking ages. Odds were, some more dirty cops would be revealed, arrested, and convicted. No, this was definitely not over, but for today, I could catch my breath.
Darren was okay.
My kids were safe.
My name was cleared.
Though I hadn’t banked on the mayor getting killed, the crime ring he’d run with Trent was quickly coming unraveled.
I tucked my badge into my pocket. Things were going to get chaotic, but for the first time in a long time, I could believe they were going to be okay.
Relieved and relaxed, I pushed the door open and went back into Darren’s room.
I could say this for being an invalid: I didn’t want for food.
The ability to take a deep breath without feeling like I was courting an asthma attack? Walking as far as my apartment’s bathroom and back without help? Sleeping in the most awkward positions imaginable because I couldn’t put a lot of pressure on my back without feeling like I needed an IV of the good stuff? Those were things I wanted.
Time, apparently, would heal all wounds, but I really wished it could heal this one a little faster. I’d been out of the hospital for almost a week now, and I was so sick of being idle that I could almost scream.
“Fucking forms.”
I wasn’t so sick of it that I wanted to jump back into doing paperwork, though. I had a pass while I recovered, which meant Andreas was doing most of the legwork right now. Lucky me, he was doing it in my apartment too. It just made sense: I needed someone to help me get around, he had the time off, and staying with my folks wasn’t an option right now.
Asher hadn’t taken my injury so well. He couldn’t retain what had happened, and every time he saw me meant learning I was hurt all over again. It made him angry and stressed, and that wasn’t good for anyone. So, I stayed in my place and my mother indulged her caring instincts by bringing a new casserole over almost every day. Today’s had been mac and cheese, usually only a holiday food because she put enough butter and cream in it to single-handedly support a dairy farm.
“You should take a dinner break,” I informed him, stretching a little to ease the tension in my shoulder. “It’s so good, seriously.”
“Later. I have to finish filling this bullshit out in triplicate first. Besides,” he gently tapped the end of his pen against my forehead, “you’d have to stop using me as a pillow, then.”
“Ah, right. In that case, never mind.” I settled a little deeper against the soft cotton of his sweatpants. “You’ll just have to starve.”
“Or I can wait five minutes until you’re asleep again.”
I moaned pathetically. “I’m so sick of sleeping.”
“You’re gonna wish you’d enjoyed it more when you get back to work. This case will be keeping us busy for months.”
That was an understatement if ever I’d heard one. Paula had stopped by last night to drop off a pan of lasagna and bitch at us for a while about everything that was coming to light thanks to Trent’s testimony. “Seven in-house arrests,” she’d said gloomily. “And that’s just in our precinct. Trent’s is nearly double that. Plus Blake and his people, plus the officials at city hall . . . It’s so hard to make sure everything is being done right. We can’t afford any mistakes, not with all the attention this case is getting from the press.”
“Thibedeau must be in seventh heaven,” I’d remarked.
Paula had snorted. “Thibedeau has gotten his ass reamed by the higher-ups for not catching on to any of this any sooner. He’s going to keep his job, but it’s not pretty. It’s a good thing he’s got a new intern to help pick up the slack.” She’d winked at Andreas.
“Don’t remind me.” His daughter, Erin, hadn’t been pleased to find out that her “offer of a lifetime” had actually been a power play that had nothing to do with her at all. Andreas’s ex had already bought the train ticket, and Erin had been packed and ready when Andreas broke the news to her.
It had taken some doing, but Captain Hamilton had eventually wrangled a similar internship for her in the precinct. It just happened to be working for Thibedeau. Erin had accepted, and I’d finally gotten to meet her a few nights ago. She had her dad’s coloring, his thick dark hair and blue eyes, but she must have inherited her mom’s sense of humor, because she was sweet and funny and actually seemed pleased to meet me. There was a lot she still didn’t know about the situation, namely that her dad and I weren’t exactly typical partners, but I had hope that she’d come around pretty quickly when she learned.
The rest of what she didn’t know, well . . . that was entirely up to Andreas to divulge. I doubted it would happen anytime soon.
“I’m actually looking forward to going back to work,” I said, ignoring the tangents that tried to carry my brain away. Stupid meds. “My first case as a detective, and it ends up changing the leadership of the city. Who knows what the second one will be like?”
“Probably something simple.” The tip of the pen scratched familiarly against the paper as Andreas scrawled his signature for probably the fiftieth time this night. “Maybe a robbery.”
“Yeah, of the museum, or one of the big banks.”
“Or a smuggling case.”
“Human trafficking,” I agreed with a nod.
“Or just picking up a dealer.”
“Because of the violent vacuum that’s about to hit the city’s power structure.”
Andreas threw the pen onto my side table. “You’re a ball of fuckin’ sunshine, you know that, Darren?”
I rolled slightly and grinned at him. “I’m just trying to be realistic! Life’s not going to be boring, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Yeah.” The way he looked at me made me want to sit up, straddle his lap, and pin him to the headboard, which was another pipe dream for the time being. He leaned over and kissed me, warm and tender. Those weren’t words I’d have imagined applying to Andreas a month ago, but we knew each other better now.
“It’s definitely not going to be boring.”
Dear Reader,
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Thank you to the usual suspects for helping with the police info, as well as the ever reliable Nurse Kelley for helping us dent and damage our characters in accordance with reality.
Anchor Point series
Just Drive
Afraid to Fly
Kinky Sprinkles
Rain Shadow (a Bluewater Bay story)
Starstruck (a Bluewater Bay story)
Running With Scissors
Roped In, with Marie Sexton
Finding Master Right
Static
Writing as Lauren Gallagher
Stuck Landing (a Bluewater Bay story)
Razor Wire
Writing as Ann Gallagher
Lead Me Not
All the Wrong Places (a Bluewater Bay story)
Writing as Lori A. Witt
The Tide of War
See L.A. Witt’s full booklist at: gallagherwitt.com
Panopolis
Where There’s Smoke
Where There’s Fire
Where There’s a Will
Friendly Fire
House Rules (in the Rules to Live By anthology)
Tempest
Shadows & Light
Changing Worlds
Soothsayer
A Blinded Mind
Surviving the Change
Camellia and Camellia: Spring Blossom, with Caitlin Ricci
Perilous
L.A. WITT is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn't lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She also has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don’t tell Lauren. And definitely don’t tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut . . .
Website: gallagherwitt.com
Twitter: @GallagherWitt
Email: [email protected]
CARI Z is a Colorado girl who loves snow and sunshine. She likes edged weapons, prefers books to television shows, and goes weak at the knees for interesting men and exciting explosions (but not at exactly the same time—that would be so messy).
Blog: carizerotica.blogspot.com
Twitter: @author_cariz
Website: cari-z.net
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