“No.” Apparently, the decision hadn’t been an easy one. West’s green eyes were bloodshot, his jaw scruff heavier than usual. White lines fanned out from his eyes, and it looked like he had a hell of a headache. “These are from Pippa. How did you know I’d take the job?”
“I’m a profiler. The best.” It wasn’t bragging if it was the truth.
“Ah.” West’s chin dropped. “Profile me, then.”
Angus sighed. Why did they always ask that? Curiosity? The need to be understood? The desire to prove him wrong? “You became a cop because you wanted to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. Because you had a guardian who beat the shit out of you until you were old enough to leave.”
West snorted. “You could get that from my personnel file.”
From his psychiatric file, actually. Angus nodded. “You were good at undercover because to survive, you learned how to manipulate other people. How to say the right thing, do the right thing, become the right thing.”
“Again, not impressed.” West turned his attention to the murder board, studying the pictures of the Surgeon’s victims. What was left of them anyway. His jaw tightened.
“What you didn’t expect on your last assignment was that you’d get close to the marks. That you’d like the criminal family and form bonds. When you broke those bonds, something broke in you.” Force turned back to the murder board as well.
Tension emanated from West. “Fair enough.” He sighed. “So, I’m taking this job now because I want to, what? Redeem myself? Be a hero? What?”
Angus’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “No. That’s not why you’re taking on a cult.”
“Then why?” Challenge and curiosity lowered West’s voice.
Angus exhaled. “You like the girl, Mal. That’s why you’re taking the job.” Sometimes it really was that simple.
West mulled it over. “She’s sweet. I don’t see her wanting to kill a bunch of people.”
Yeah, the guy had a hero complex. Wanted to save people because he’d never been saved. “You can be sweet and also be a sociopath. Or a brainwashed victim who’s trying to find the kingdom of heaven,” Angus returned.
West frowned. “I don’t know.”
“You want to save her, get into her head. Possibly her bed.” Angus turned, waiting until Mal met his gaze. “I’ve got your back. No matter what happens, in this unit you’re protected. Remember that.”
West sat back, surprise flashing across his hard face for the briefest of moments. “Ditto.”
It was important. Angus had been out there, on his own, falling from a limb too many times. This was his unit, and he’d created it the way he wanted. Mainly. “We need a name.”
West blanched. “I told her last night that I’d taken a job. She asked doing what, and I told her it was with the government.”
“Smart. Stick as close to the truth as possible,” Angus said. There was a reason West was the best at this. “What’s the problem?”
“She asked which agency, and I said it was in requisitions.”
Angus barked out a laugh. “A paper pusher? That wouldn’t concern her. Smart.” Then he mulled it over. “In fact, I kind of like it. Requisitions.”
“Nah, we need more than just that. Another word,” West murmured.
Angus twisted his lip. “Okay. Requisition Unit. Yeah.”
West chuckled. “No. I’ve got it. The Requisition Force.”
Angus leaned back. “We’re not using my last name.”
“Yeah, we are. The Requisition Force. It carries the connotation of us being harmless, or not. The ambiguity works in our favor either way.”
That seemed a little too much. “You’re kidding.” Angus frowned.
“Nope.”
Angus shrugged. “Nope. Just requisitions.” At least West was getting involved. But they’d keep it simple.
