Shane still didn’t know what the purpose of the botched meeting with his colleague at Thorne’s apartment had been, but he expected to find out at work the next day. When Thorne had refused to let him in, he’d left, but the fact that he still didn’t know what all this was about bothered his inherent curiosity greatly. Nobody in his current department would know, because seven years ago, he’d been working in gang delinquency. Half a year he had worked undercover, moving, for that purpose, to the town of Quincy, a place sixteen miles outside Boston proper. There, he’d been part of a different department and hadn’t gotten along too well with his temporary superior.
His own moral code had been greatly at odds with that of his captain, but he’d been a rookie cop, only just promoted from patrolling. He remembered his run-ins with the captain as awkward and risky. At twenty-three, he’d been very hotheaded, but also overeager to do a good job, even if that meant selling his own grandmother. Figuratively speaking, of course. It was hard enough to spend six months playing a different person and making friends with the bad guys.
Working as an undercover cop had not been nearly as exciting as they made it look on TV. It had been quite draining to be forced to constantly lie to people and not see his family for half a year. He hadn’t liked the fact that he’d needed to use Thorne to get to know her brother and his buddies, but his desire for a career and success had made him throw his scruples overboard quickly enough. Still, there had been moments when he thought of her and his conscience haunted him, both during his undercover stint and in the seven years since. Thorne hadn’t had anything to do with her brother’s criminal activities, and neither had she known anything about them, as Shane had found out early on. He kept telling himself that the end justified the means, but he felt a lump in his throat when he remembered the look she had given him two days ago.
It was no surprise he hadn’t slept too well the preceding night.
Nor was it a surprise that the vein in his temple pulsed painfully when he walked into work and saw his former superior sitting in his current captain’s office.
When Captain Philipps signaled for him to come join them, he scowled darkly but walked into the office and greeted his former boss frostily. “Sergeant Greene.”
“Captain Greene,” the man with the graying hair corrected, good-naturedly, but unequivocally. “Fitzpatrick, I hear you’ve made it to detective.”
In lieu of a verbal reply Shane crossed his arms in front of his chest. The gesture expressed his feelings regarding this encounter well enough. Most of his colleagues wouldn’t risk behaving like that when faced with a superior officer, but he was still an incorrigible firebrand. He simply didn’t give a damn.
Captain Philipps closed the door and sighed. It seemed he wasn’t too happy about this visit from Quincy, either.
“Fitzpatrick, Captain Greene has just informed me that his department needs your help.”
“My help with what?” Shane asked, looking straight at the man who seemed unperturbed by his lack of courtesy.
Greene sat in his chair with a regal air. “Aidan O’Shea will be released very soon,” he informed Shane calmly.
Shane frowned and shrugged. “It’s been seven years since he was busted,” he said impatiently. “If he’s served his time, what’s wrong with letting him go?”
The gray-haired cop heaved a sigh. “That’s not the problem. The problem is that we want him to cooperate with us, but he refuses to do so.”
“Does that really surprise you?” Shane lifted a cynical eyebrow and grunted angrily. “I told you seven years ago that Aidan O’Shea was merely a follower, that he wasn’t the one who pulled the strings. You let the main player get away—”
“Fitzpatrick,” Captain Philipps cut his angry observations short. “Didn’t we talk about insubordination just last week?”
Shane snorted, shook his head, and flat out ignored the warning. “I investigated undercover for six entire months, and I delivered all the relevant facts—including the fact that a larger organization from New York was behind those petty crooks. Instead of busting the real crime ring and offering O’Shea a deal, he was charged. So did you really believe that after all that he’d ready and happy to cooperate with you?” He uttered a mirthless laugh.
“You knew him quite well, Fitzpatrick. Why don’t you talk to the man?”
Shane stared at his former superior in incredulity. “O’Shea knew a man called Liam Gallagher, a man that was just as beat down he was. He didn’t know Detective Shane Fitzpatrick, and he would probably try to beat me up if he knew that not only did I mess around with him, but also with his sister.”
The reproach hung in the air, and Greene countered it with a fixed stare that would not back down.
“I no longer work for your department, Captain,” Shane stated. “And besides, I have no idea how I could be of help in this.”
Captain Greene stood and leaned his hip against Captain Philipps’s desk. Shane respected the latter a lot more than the former.
“Listen, Fitzpatrick. O’Shea could be really useful in our current investigation, if only he saw reason. We’ve already contacted him a few times, but so far nothing has come of it.”
“And?”
He fixed Shane with his cold stare. “O’Shea is still very close with his sister,” he said casually, “from what we know. She is the only person who visits him in prison. I’m sure he would change his tune if she told him it would be a good idea to work with the police instead of sliding back into delinquency.”
Shane struggled to contain his anger. “You must be insane to think Thorne would be willing to hear me out. And I don’t even blame her!”
“Fitzpatrick,” Captain Greene objected, grinning in a lewd way that made Shane even angrier, “I assume it wouldn’t be too hard for you to come to an agreement with O’Shea’s sister.” All the officers that had been involved in the investigation or privy to Shane’s covert persona knew Thorne had acted as his conduit to her brother’s gang. He had played the part of her boyfriend and even moved in with her in the course of the six months. Thus, anyone could put two and two together and assume he’d slept with her. At the time, he’d been foolhardy enough to act nonchalant around his colleagues, trying to come across as a pro, a cop who was in complete control of his job and his emotions. But today, he had a lot more experience under his belt, and he’d been on the job long enough to know that he did have objections to that kind of procedure.
He had colleagues who’d spent years undercover and had all but gone to the dogs. He knew by now that kind of work wasn’t for him, and he preferred not to be reminded of the time he had stooped so low. He couldn’t have cared less about Captain Greene, and he wanted to tell him he could shove his new great idea up his own ass.
“You overlook the fact that I am no longer willing to lend myself to your dishonest investigation methods, Captain.”
Greene’s voice took on a dangerous edge as he repeated, “Dishonest methods?”
“Gentlemen,” Captain Phillips interjected. “We should talk about this issue calmly instead of allowing old grudges to make it harder than necessary.”
“Tell that to your detective!” Captain Greene ran a hand through his sparse hair. Shane disliked him even more for playing the hierarchy card. Shane would not defer to his show of power; he was allergic to being given orders, especially from people who were in no position to do so.
“Captain Greene,” Captain Philipps spoke up again, sounding ostentatiously calm. “Detective Fitzpatrick has not been part of your department for seven years, as I’m sure you remember.”
“This is about organized crime. In my opinion, Detective Fitzpatrick should see it as his duty to do his part in bringing these people to justice.”
Shane could only snort disparagingly. “Seven years ago, I delivered them all to you on a big, fat silver platter. You decided to go a different route. I think I’ve already done my part and my duty. In the meantime, what have you done to solve this case?�
�
His former superior flushed with anger. “That is intolerable! I’m not going to put up with an insinuation like that—not from a lower-ranking officer!”
Shane frowned grimly. “If you came here to ask me for a favor, you’re doing one hell of a job, Captain.”
The man looked as if he were about to breathe fire. “I can order you to talk to the woman and make her see reason, Fitzpatrick! I’m going to call the Chief of Police, if you leave me no other option!”
“Make sure to give my regards to the chief,” Shane replied, unfazed. “My grandfather was his training supervisor almost forty years ago. They played golf together.”
Before Captain Greene went through the roof, Captain Philipps stepped between the two men to deflect the invisible barbs. Shane hardly noticed that some of his colleagues were casting curious glances through the window into the captain’s office.
“I think it’s time to take a few deep breaths and calm down. Shall we?”
“You ought to have your men under control, Philipps,” Captain Greene spat, clearly unwilling to heed the advice.
Shane could tell from the stony expression on his captain’s face that the man was about to explode now, too. Nobody accused Captain Philipps of not having his team under control, and least of all in his own office.
“I have never seen such disrespect in all my years—”
“Captain Greene,” Shane’s boss said in a dangerously quiet voice, “respect must be earned. If Detective Fitzpatrick lacks respect for you, he has his reasons.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me correctly,” Philipps barked. “Detective Fitzpatrick is not available to help you out, so you may leave now.”
It took the speechless captain from Quincy almost a minute to process the dismissal he had just been served, but then he stormed out of the office fuming. He slammed the door like an angry child.
When he was gone, Captain Philipps exhaled slowly and gave Shane a grim look. “You really know how to make enemies, Fitzpatrick, don’t you?”
“I do,” Shane replied with a shrug. The loss of Captain Greene friendship wouldn’t keep him up at night.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Philipps stepped around his desk and sat down. “Do yourself and the department a favor and talk to the lady in question.”
Shane was taken aback. “But, Captain—”
His superior rolled his eyes as he leaned forward in his chair. “I’m not saying you should talk her into convincing her brother to cooperate, as Greene suggested. All I’m suggesting is you explain the situation to her before your former captain comes back with the cavalry, and then I have to go play golf with the chief.”
“Captain Philipps,” Shane began again, but he stopped when he saw the steely look his boss was suddenly giving him.
“You may go back to your work now, Fitzpatrick.”
He ground his teeth and forced out a curt, “Yes, sir.”
Chapter 4
“Have you finished your homework?”
“But that’s baby stuff, Mom!”
“Is that supposed to be a yes or a no?”
“Oh, poo …”
Thorne crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow while Brady scowled and tried to give her an accusatory look.
Her son was sitting cross-legged on his bed and kept throwing his baseball in the air, catching it in his mitt, and throwing it again. Any kind of ball play was strictly forbidden in the apartment, but it seemed someone was testing the limits yet again.
After an endless day at work she didn’t feel like playing the strict mom role, but once you cut Brady some slack, he pounced on it. So she cleared her throat and said firmly, “First, I am not a poo. Second, you’ll put that ball away right now or I’ll put it away for the next two weeks. Third, you promised to tidy up your room. And fourth, you know quite well that you can go play with Gayle after you’ve finished your homework.”
“That is so unfair,” he immediately shot back. “Homework is stupid!”
“Why is it stupid?” she wanted to know, picking up a t-shirt her son had thrown on the floor. Thorne had to refrain from grounding him just for that offense, considering he’d begged for this expensive t-shirt with his favorite cartoon character on the front for weeks yet.
“Mrs. Miller keeps giving us stupid homework, that’s why! It’s boring and way too easy.”
“If it’s that easy, you’ll be done in a few minutes, so where’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to do it!”
“And I don’t want to get up in the morning, walk through the freezing-cold apartment, and turn on the heat,” she explained, while she folded the t-shirt and placed it on his chair. “But I have to, so I do it.”
“That shirt’s dirty,” Brady said sullenly.
She prayed for more patience as she replied, “Then you should put it in the laundry basket, not on the floor.”
“Can I go over to Gayle’s now?”
Thorne rubbed her forehead in irritation and took a deep breath. “Brady, didn’t you hear what I just said? First, you do your homework—”
“But when I’m done with it it’ll be late, and then I can only stay at Gayle’s for half an hour!”
“You should have thought about that earlier.” As she stared firmly into his light brown eyes, she remembered the advice of a dog trainer she’d seen on TV a few days ago: Make eye contact and don’t be the first to look away. If you kept staring, you showed the dog—in that case it had been a snappish poodle—who was top dog.
Six-year-old boys with too much self-confidence and mouths too big for their years were not the same as unruly dogs, but a good look around his chaotic room was enough to convince Thorne she was raising a wild beast immune to orders, just like the biting poodle had been. And if the staring contest worked with the pooch, it was worth a try with Brady … who was still throwing and catching his baseball.
“Brady,” she said, making a point to speak quietly but at the same time adding some steel for good measure, “put away that ball.”
“Mom—”
“Now.”
Fortunately, he did as she said, even though his face spoke volumes.
“Do I really have to tell you the same thing over and over again? Why can’t you tidy up your room and do your homework without me having to feel like a parrot?”
His mood changed in the blink of an eye, and he gave her a mischievous smile. With a widening grin, he said, “But I’m only six!”
Thorne didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry, but she ended up making a face and stepping over a small hill of toys, leaning down and wrapping her arms around her son.
She pressed a kiss to the top of his dark head. “If I didn’t love you so much, I would wrap you up and give you away for Christmas.”
“To who?”
“No idea,” she admitted, pressing another kiss to his hair.
She felt his arms wrap around her waist for a brief moment. “Do you think you can save money by giving me to someone instead of a real present?”
She snorted in amusement and pulled away. How could a boy of his age have such a big mouth? “If you keep going on like this, Santa Claus is going to pass by our house this year.”
“Nope,” he countered, unfazed. “I’m always very good in December.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. She had all but given up on trying to have the last word with Brady. It should have bothered her more that he talked back to her, but somehow he made her feel proud of her clever offspring instead. She hadn’t needed his teacher to tell her that he was often bored in class because he was such a fast learner. She knew he was smart. Unfortunately, his boredom sometimes led to weird ideas and mischievous pranks, which in turn led to calls from angry teachers.
Thorne didn’t want to justify her son’s behavior, but she knew he was simply a six-year-old boy bursting with energy, a boy who needed action and could be a little hotheaded at times. He could be good just as easi
ly, but as soon as boredom set in, he started looking for distractions. That could mean shooting paper bullets at his classmates, freeing the class hamster from its cage, or decorating his math exercise book with wild drawings. It was also the reason she had enrolled him in baseball, hoping the extra physical activity would help release his pent-up energy. And yet, he was actually able to sit at his desk for hours on end—if he was interested in the topic. Too bad neither math nor music fell into that category.
Therefore, she wasn’t surprised that he balked at doing his math homework. Thorne could still remember her own school days, and that she’d hated having to study for math. In her case, that had been due to the fact that she was awful at math, while Brady was really very good with numbers—he just seemed to need a much faster tempo to remain focused.
All of these thoughts, combined with the cute little face staring up at her, caused her to give in. “You know what, love? If you promise me you’re not going to make up any more excuses tonight and that you’ll do your homework right after dinner, you can go play with Gayle now, while I start cooking.”
Of course he didn’t need to be told twice. He rushed past her at a pace that almost sent him skidding against the wall in the hallway.
Thorne felt like the most indulgent mother of all time as she watched him slip into his shoes and even put on a jacket, even though his friend Gayle and his parents lived in the apartment above them.
“I want you to be back in an hour, at the latest, okay?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I mean it, Brady,” she insisted. “We’ll eat in an hour.”
“Are you making spaghetti?”
“Yes,” she replied, because she was certain he would be late if he knew she was making chicken with mashed potatoes and broccoli.
She watched him skip out the door with mixed feelings, and she waited until she could hear him enter the neighbor’s apartment before she closed the door to hers and leaned against it with a sigh.
When Brady was born, she had spent the first months wondering why some mothers seemed to constantly complain about the stress and exhaustion that came with having an infant in the house. She had thought they were exaggerating to gain attention, because her own baby was tranquil and happy. Brady had been such a fuss-free infant that you could often almost forget he was there at all. Thorne had counted herself a lucky duck, until he’d grown older and started to prove that he had a very stubborn mind of his own.
Blast From The Past (The Boston Five Series #2) Page 4
