The door swings open, and he waves me in, still talking on his mobile. By the stilted flow of the conversation, and the way he placates the person talking with a carefully spaced out, “Alright. No, Sir. I understand,” I can tell it’s not a sociable call.
He hangs up, and I give him a few moments. His scent is full of heady notes of too much coffee, while the bags under his eyes signal his stress and anxiety. Nothing new, really, considering his job.
“All good, Cap?” I ask after a few minutes.
He drops his elbow on his desk, half holding his head up as he scratches it. Which doesn’t sit well with me; that generally means he’s about to ruin someone’s day. Given the fact it’s justhim and me in the room, I have little doubt my day is about to go up in flames.
“Jesus, kid, it’s not great,” he says quietly.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hiding from him already because he makes me face things I don’t want to face.
Captain Joseph White is the dad I never had growing up. He was mom’s best friend. The man gave me so much, but he gave my mom more. I will be forever grateful for the way he always rallied around her, regardless of what was going on.
Joe was one of the few who knew how sick my mom was, and he never broke her confidence. After she died, he swooped in when I was stuck staring aimlessly out the window. Or at the television. Or anything.
He was also a big part of why I became a police officer. Under his tutelage, I worked my arse off and listened to his suggestions when it came to key points in my career, including suggesting I look into undercover as an option. He wasn’t responsible for lighting the fire—that was in part due to a summer years and years ago—but he was the reason I didn’t give up. I’ll be forever grateful he’s in my life.
“Joe, spit it out,” I say, blowing out a noisy exhale as I sit back in the seat.
“I’m not sure I want to, Tally. Once it’s said, it's going to set things in motion…”
“By the sounds of your phone call, whether you tell me or not, things are already happening.”
He scrubs his hands over his face, perhaps figuring out his role in whatever he has to tell me. Rather than looking at me, he reaches down to open his bottom drawer, pulling out his hidden bottle of Scotch and pouring us both a decent nip.
He slides it over, and I wait until he’s looking at me again. “Wow, it must be bad.”
As is custom, we both tap our glasses before slinging the shot back. The alcohol burns my throat, making the half a donut in my stomach churn. I need to eat soon. Working on no sleep and crappy coffee isn’t good for anyone. My guts angrily agree.
Joe dips back down to his drawer and passes a wrapped sandwich my way.
“Thanks,” I murmur, ripping it open and shoving half of it into my mouth.
Working in constantly changing environments and pressures means you get pretty adapt at making quick work of simple things like food, water, and sleep. There’s nothing ladylike about the way I smash the sandwich.
He waits until I take another bite. Always the caregiver.
“First up, you did great in London. Gave us the break we’ve needed. The lead you gave us has enabled our team to get additional players in place.”
“I’m sorry we lost Barrett, sir,” I offer, blowing out a big exhale full of frustration.
“We all choose our own paths. He chose his, not you, and I don’t want to see that look in your eye that you failed our objectives. You didn’t. Although, I did hear you’ve got a few things to tell me.” I get a pointed stare, full of challenge.
“I’m fine.”
He stares longer, harder until I offer a snarl under my breath and tip my head back, starting there because it’s the most obvious.
“Four stitches.” And then I work down, cataloguing each of my injuries and what was done by the medics on each, because if I don’t, Joe will simply sit there until I do.
“Thank you.” He smiles briefly before the professionalism drains from his face. “You okay after last night's events, kid?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“Of course. I followed procedure the whole time. Barrett panicked, not me.”
“I meant being pulled out. I couldn’t give a rat's arse about him. He took the easy way out.”
I’m not surprised Joe’s first focus remains on my welfare, both physical and emotional. The dull ache in my side where I got hit beats angrily, as if forcing me not to forget how close a call I had last night. Which is the reason I wore my vest. My trust in Barrett was essentially non-existent, even though we were meant to be working the job together.
“Only my ego is bruised.”
