Then she and Naomi wandered into the living room.
Jude blew out a breath. “Is she always like that?”
“Worse. Imagine Mrs Turner without her morning coffee.”
Jude winced. “Great.”
“I’ll go get dressed and join you in there.”
Jude’s voice was quieter then, almost brittle. “Is this where they take you from me?”
Warren cupped his chin, forced him to meet his eyes. “They might try. But I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed him. “Go put the kettle on. Don’t agree to anything, don’t say a word until I’m beside you.”
Jude nodded, squaring his shoulders as he slipped out to the front room. Warren heard him ask if anyone wanted tea. Patel’s voice carried back, clipped but polite:“Milk, no sugar.”Naomi’s softer:“Same.”
Warren launched upstairs, dragged on the shorts and a polo, tied his locs back fast, then jogged down again. He walked into the living room to find Patel and Naomi side by side on the sofa, heads bent close in conversation. Jude was still in the kitchen, the rattle of mugs and kettle faint.
“You can speak out loud.” Warren dropped onto the coffee table opposite them. The same table that had held his weight last night, only this time he sat rigid, ready for a fight.
Naomi’s eyes cut to him first. “What are you doing, Warren?”
“The right thing.”
Patel straightened, authority radiating off her. “The right thing would’ve been staying clear of him the moment you were pulled off the op. Instead, you’re in his bed, in his house, andjeopardising every shred of work we’ve put in. You think that’s right?”
“I think leaving him alone, treating him like a piece of evidence instead of a person—that’s wrong.”
Naomi shook her head, disappointment cutting through her voice. “You’re compromised. Again. This is Glasshouse all over. You can’t separate the target from the person. And you know what that costs.”
Warren stiffened. “You know about Glasshouse?”
“Yes, Warren. I know.” Her eyes didn’t waver. “I was the one they came to, the one asked if you could still be trusted in the field. I thought you could. I vouched for you here.”
“This isn’t the same.”
“Why not?”
The first answer slammed into him before he could stop it—because I wasn’t in love with Aneesa.The thought jolted him. Too soon to brandish a word like that, but Christ, it was the truth beneath his skin.
Instead, his voice came out rough, controlled. “Because Glasshouse was about saving a girl from being sold like property. And this—” he jerked his chin towards the kitchen where Jude was clattering mugs, oblivious “—this is about making sure he lives long enough to have a life after all of this. Don’t tell me I’m wrong for protecting him.”
Patel’s gaze pinned him, hard, unflinching. “He’s not your responsibility, DS Beckford. He’s a witness. A potential liability. And right now, he’s our best chance at Radley. You stand in the way of that, you’re not just done with this op—you’re done, full stop.”
Warren’s chest burned. “Maybe that’s the risk I take. For him.”
The sound of footsteps cut the air. Jude appeared in the doorway, a tray balanced in his hands, three mugs steaming.
“Do you… need me to go?” He tipped his head back towards the kitchen.
“No, Mr Ellison.” Patel gestured him forward. “You’re the reason we’re here.”
Jude glanced at Warren. He gave him the faintest nod. That was enough. Jude stepped further in, set the tray down on the coffee table, and handed out the mugs. Warren’s first. A coffee made exactly the way he liked it. And that tiny detail hit him square in the chest.
With nowhere else to sit, Jude eased down beside him on the table. Warren shifted up to give him space, their shoulders brushing. The Ikea surface probably wasn’t built for two, but Warren couldn’t have cared less. The sight of Jude sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder, felt like a quiet statement of solidarity.
Patel cleared her throat, setting her mug down on the floor beside her. “I’ll cut straight to it. This is Detective Sergeant Naomi Delaney. She’s been undercover with this investigation for some time. She knows the players, knows what’s at stake, and she’s here because we now have an opportunity to run an operation that could give us what we need to put Graham Radley away.”
Jude’s mouth curved faintly towards Naomi, but Warren felt the tension in him. He knew Jude hadn’t forgotten who she was. What she once was to Warren. But Naomi’s expression stayed strictly professional, her posture neutral, betraying nothing.
