“You really don’t remember?”
“I meet a lot of people here.”
“It wasn’t here.” Beckett doesn’t elaborate more. She’s waiting for me to ask the next question. I won’t. If people want to tell you things, they will. You don’t have to pry information out of people, and I’m not fond of small talk. That’s where this is headed. I should send her out to patrol. "It was a funeral."
I lean back in my chair. That leaves two options. It was a fallen soldier or my father's. Those are the only ones I have ever been to. The one reason I went to my father's was so I could enjoy watching them lower his body into his grave, helping him get closer to hell, where he belonged. There was absolutely no love lost there.
“It was my brother’s.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugs her shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. You tried to save him.” It clicks because of her last name. It’s not a good click either. I don’t have a clue how much she knows.
“Vincent.”
“Yeah.” She smiles. It makes her appear younger, but I still can’t place her in my mind. The funeral had been a good size. We hadn’t gone to pay our respects. A few others and I had gone to see which soldiers showed up.
Vincent was a traitor. The mission I went on wasn’t me being sent in to save him, though that’s what was reported. I was the one who put a bullet through his head. What are the fucking odds?
"I didn't know him."
"Think you would have liked him."
I think not, but how would she know? I don't know her either.
"Did you know who I was before you took this position?"
"I was taken aback when I heard your name. Crazy, right? I'm not one for fate and all. Vincent went into the Army, but when I was old enough, I entered the academy."
"Both good choices." Now I do feel the need to speak, but I'm not sure what to say.
"He was all I had left." Her shoulders drop.
Fucking hell.
I'm not too sure about fate and luck, but I start believing when my radio goes off, alerting me to a situation over by the Christmas tree stand, getting me out of this conversation.
"Come on." I grab my coat off the back of my chair and head out. Dispatch said two men were fighting. I'm not worried about them. No, I'm worried about a leggy blonde who will try to break it up and the possibility of her getting caught in the crossfire. We both hop into my cruiser and head over to the other side of town. It's not a long drive, but it's enough that a vehicle will be faster.
When I get there, I see two men shouting at each other. I keep my lights on and let the siren go off for a second. That oftengets people's attention. Usually snaps them out of whatever haze they’re in long enough to break things up.
It does exactly that. Well, one of theirs. The one in the red coat turns to see, and the one in the leather coat takes that opening.
Fuck me. That's going to be paperwork. This shit is about to ruin my day.
"Don't!" I bark at the leather coat heading toward him. He swings around to face me, his ire now on me.
Then his dumb ass starts charging me. I stop walking and let him barrel toward me. If I touch him, that’s even more paperwork.
When he’s almost to me, I sidestep him, and he runs straight off the sidewalk edge, tripping. He hits the hard ground with a thud and rolls.
Leather Coat groans, sitting up and rubbing his jaw. “Put your hands up!” Beckett shouts at him. The man’s eyes go wide, and he lifts them.
“Put the gun down,” I bark when I see it in her hands.
“Oh God.” I would know that voice anywhere. Kindred breaks through the small crowd that has formed to watch the show.
“Nobody moves.” Beckett turns, her gun still in hand. Not sure if the movement caught her eye, but either way, she’s fucking stupid. I reach out, grabbing the top of the gun, and yank it out of her hand. I cock it back, and thankfully for her, there isn’t a bullet in the chamber.
