Patel stood, gathering up the files. “Let’s wrap it.”
Naomi and Warren filed out together, descending the back stairwell in quiet sync. Outside, the car park glistened with fresh rain, a grey curtain hanging low over the skyline.
Warren’s MG waited near the kerb, already speckled with water. He clicked the fob. “You want a lift?”
Naomi shook her head, rummaging in her bag. “Nah. I’m heading to the station. Vivienne’s off on some spa-date thingwith Morgan, so I’m going to make myself useful at her house.” She found her umbrella. “Might be able to catch up with someone.”
Someone.
Meaning Graham Radley.
“Take care.”
“Always do. Don’t wait up.”
“Least I’ll get some respite from you on the other side of the wall on the phone at one a.m.”
“Don’t get jealous.”
“Not jealous.”
“Guess your folks will miss you this weekend?”
“Yeah.” Warren dragged a hand over his damp locs. “Mum’s threatening to strike me off the prayer list if I miss another Sunday.”
Naomi smiled. “How are they both?”
“Good. Same as always.”
“And your sisters?”
“Still trying to marry me off before the year’s out. Sent me a link to a ‘Black Men in Blue’ dating app yesterday.”
Naomi tilted her head, amused. “You should try it. There’s more to life than the job, y’know.”
“I know.” Warren looked at her then. “I had that. Once.”
She held his gaze. “No, Warren. You kept doing the job. Even when the cover ended.” She squeezed his arm. Gentle, brief, already halfway gone. “We both know you did. And we both know I never needed protecting me and you can’t stop looking for the ones that do.” She turned then, umbrella up, heels tapping along wet tarmac as she disappeared into the rain.
Warren watched her go, knowing she had a point.
But he slipped into the MG as the sky opened properly. Fat, unrelenting rain hammering the windscreen, thankfullydrowning out the noise in his head. He switched the wipers to high and sat for a second, engine humming low beneath him.
He still wasn’t sure what passed for normal in a town like Worthbridge on weekends. Pub? Chippy? Maybe a windswept walk along the beach if the rain didn’t come in sideways. But normal wasn’t a luxury he’d held onto in years. So instead, he did what any decent embedded officer would do: he drove back to the tow and mapped the terrain. Laid foundations. Checked on the identified soft spots.
He hit the high street first where nothing much was happening. The usual pensioners queued outside Greggs, teenagers loitered near the arcade hoping something exciting might fall out of it. Then a few streets over, he found a gym. A no frills, scuffed mats, sweat-stained benches place with a hand-written whiteboard behind reception listing emergency services leaderboards: push-ups, squats, deadlifts. A veteran discount pinned to the corkboard. A place for people who used their bodies for work, not aesthetics.
Perfect for him.
Both physically and for the job.
He signed up. Scanned in. Got changed.
Thirty minutes later, he was in the free weights section, chalk dust on his palms and sweat bleeding through his T-shirt. The white bloke next to him was tall, broad, and covered in tattoos looking as though they came with stories. He curled heavy and made it look like warm-up.
They nodded a silent gym-greeting.
Turned out, his name was Reece. Fire service. Warren figured it was dumb luck at first. Then the dots started lining up.
