“Mm.” She let that sit, then glanced at the time on her watch. “Where to?”
“Quiz night at The Dog and Duck.” He adjusted a flyaway loc. “Ellison’s on the team. Chance to see him out of the gates.”
She arched a brow. “Getting close already. Good work.”
He shrugged, casual. “It’s a good angle. The staff like him. He’s involved in a lot. Keeps a tight schedule.”
“Sounds like you’re listing his dating profile.” She then stood to fix the collar of his shirt. An excuse, he knew. To look closer.
He didn’t flinch. But his pulse did something it shouldn’t have.
Naomi caught it. “You ready for the briefing?”
Warren exhaled. Least that gave him the chance to get his head into surveillance mode. “Not got any eyes on Callum Reid. If he’s here, he’s not showing anywhere I’ve been. Not the school. Nor have I seen him outside Ellison’s when I’ve run surveillance there. You got any intel on him?”
“Not since the last CCTV. It’s like he’s vanished. But he’s here. We know he’s here. And Ellison?”
Warren paused. “He’s…clean. Keeps himself busy. Part of every committee going. Runs clubs most lunch hours. Has a good rep with the students. Friendly. Guarded, though. There’s something… heavy there. Not criminal. Personal.”
Naomi gave a small nod, confirming little but noting everything. “And you’re logging that. Professionally.”
He met her gaze. “Course.”
“Right.” She tapped his chest with two fingers to the middle of his sternum. “Then let’s keep it professional, Bailey. You get sloppy with this one, I’m pulling you out.”
He said nothing.
Didn’t have to.
She already knew.
“And get eyes inside his house,” Naomi called as she disappeared down the hall. “Reid could be in there.”
Warren turned back to the mirror. Buttoned his shirt to the top. Looked. Then, he shook his head, undid the top two buttons, and rolled his shoulders back. Better. Less like a narc. He grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door and headed out, the slam behind louder than intended, then got in his car.
He was driving for two reasons.
First, it gave him a clean out if drinks were offered. No need for the awkward refusal. No declarations, no explanations. He didn’t have a problem. Never had. But during his last op, the line had blurred. After-shift beers became pre-shift rituals, which spilled into desk duty habits. He caught it early. Stopped cold. Never looked back. People gave all kinds of reasons for not drinking. But he didn’t want his to raise questions.
And second, to offer a lift home. If the moment opened, he could offer Jude a ride. Friendly. Helpful. Normal. And maybe he’d get eyes inside. So far, nightly surveillance had offered nothing but a dim porch light and a view of curtains drawn tight.
He started the MG, the engine grumbling to life, and drove the quick route towards the coast. Worthbridge’s high street was already buzzing. Friday night foot traffic spilled across the pavement. Teenagers with paper bags of chips, dog walkers pulled by soggy leads, early pub goers staking out beer gardens while the air still held a bit of warmth. The smell of sea salt mixed with diesel and fryer grease.
The Dog and Duck stood lit among them, one of the livelier haunts along the seafront strip. Stone frontage, hanging baskets, the low thump of bass bleeding from inside. Warren found a spot right out front, slid the car into it, and killed the engine.
He paused. One breath. Then stepped out and moved through the doors.
It was a far cry from the sleazy backroom bars he’d been assigned to in recent ops. Fewer deals happening under the table. Less powder on the sink. But the noise and the heat, the way people looked too long or not at all, that part was always the same.
Only difference tonight was who he was watching.
And the fact he maybewantedto be seen back.
Warren scanned the crowd until he spotted Jude at the bar, tapping his fingertips on the worn wood as he waited to be served. So Warren threaded through the bodies until Jude clocked him, smile breaking over his face like sunlight through fog.
“You made it,” Jude called over the noise as Warren eased in beside him at the packed bar. “Thought you might bail. Realise you’d oversold yourself and blame it on a marking backlog.”
“I marked one worksheet and decided I’d rather humiliate myself in public than stare at a kid’s half-written warm-up drill.” Warren had to lean in to be heard over the drone of music, chatter and drinks being made, and he got the whiff off Jude’s skin. It was almost edible.
