The joke landed flat. Warren looked away.
And Naomi, being a trained detective, clocked it immediately.
She let the silence hang a beat, long enough to be uncomfortable. Then she pushed off the counter, bottle in hand, and closed the distance to the table. Sitting right opposite him.
“What’s happened?”
Warren drummed his fingers. “Nothing.”
“Bollocks.” Naomi’s tone was pure CID. The same one she used when dismantling half-baked statements from cocky teens who thought they could run rings around an interview. “You just stiffened like I’ve walked you into an IOP debrief. Try again.”
Warren exhaled hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pretty sure Jude Ellison’s a DV victim. Survivor, maybe.” Themaybebecause he knew the man wasn’t out of the firing line yet. Not even close.
Naomi’s eyes sharpened. “Go on.”
“Pretty sure, he was Reid’s kept boy before prison.”
Naomi fell back in her chair, folding her arms.
“And I’m fully fucking sure Reid is in his house right now.”
Her brows ticked up. “You call it in?”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You know the drill. Secure call, five-by-five, face-to-face for the sensitive bits.”
“I know.” He rolled his head back, jaw clenching, then cracked his neck in hope it might ease the pressure building.
“Then why are we having this conversation here instead of with Patel?”
“Because the second I do, I’m benched. Told to sit tight. Which means Jude stays in that house until the op says so.”
Naomi watched him for a beat, then took a long pull from her water. “And what? Your plan is to kick the door in, drag Reid out by the hair, and play the white knight?”
“Black knight.”
Naomi snorted. “All that gets you is suspended without pay, and hands Reid a gift-wrapped assault complaint to wave at PSD.”
“I know.”
“But you still want to do it.”
He curled his hand into a fist on the table until his knuckles crunched. “Yeah.”
“Good thing I’m here, then.” She jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you fucking dare.” She then studied him. Assessed him. Thoroughly. “Why?”
Warren frowned. “Why what?”
“Why this one? You’ve been in tighter spots and kept your head. Christ, remember that County Lines job? I was under as a working girl, stuck in a trap house with Murphy and his two psycho enforcers. You knew exactly what they were capable of, and you still let me stay in there for three nights straight while we built the case.”
“That was your cover. Your job.”
Naomi’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “And you’re telling me Ellison’s not getting paid one way or another for what he’s doing?”
The anger flared so hot it surprised him and the need to defend was instant and un-fucking-real. “Fuck you.”
Naomi didn’t flinch at the bite in his tone. She leaned forward, dumping her elbows on the table, dropping her voice into that measured, detective-sergeant cadence she used when she wanted someone to feel the weight of every word.
