“What’d you do over the week and weekend, Charlie?” The glee seeps through his tone, and if I had hackles, they’d raise.
I flex my jaw because he knows damn well what I was doing. Everyone does, but thankfully, no one except the captain and Miles knows where I now live. I don’t have to worry about anyone stopping by, not that they did before, but the last thing I want is widow casseroles from their wives.
“Putting my husband to rest, asshole.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Was he really your husband though? I mean –”
“Yes.”
He places his hands on my desk and leans forward, and I have a mind to headbutt him with how close he is nowand make that smirk become a bloody nose. “No one in your family should marry, so I suppose it’s for the best.”
“Good thing I’m the only one left in my family,” I sneer. “I could say the same about you, Fred.” I cock my head to the side. “How many girlfriends does your wife know about now?”
His nostrils twitch. “Leave my wife out of it.”
I raise an eyebrow, knowing I struck a nerve by being privy to his secret life. “One little call and I can blow your life wide open.”
There’s a certain sort of satisfaction that licks my stomach when his face turns red. “You wouldn’t.”
I lean close to him so that our noses are almost touching. “Try me, or fuck off.”
He stands there for a moment because men like him don’t like to be bested, but eventually, he pushes off my desk, picks up my pen, and chucks it to the floor. I roll my eyes as he strides away, wounded pride and all. He may be an ass, and he may know how to grate my nerves, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to cower under his boot. I can dish it right back because I made it a valid point to find his weak spots when he discovered mine.
With a contented sigh, I readjust my seated position and reach to pick up my pen, not the one on the floor – because like hell will I give him the satisfaction of doing so – but another pen I have in my holder.
Just as my fingertip grazes it, my name is called from the other side of the station. I glance up and find Miles waving me over. Captain Visser stands right beside him, his phone up to his ear and only his side profile in view.
Visser is a formidable man who doesn’t put up with any shit. I suppose that’s how he got the job. He’s clean-cut with slicked-back brown hair, a thin waist, and broad shoulders that fill out his crisp, white button-down shirt. Iused to have a crush on him in my teens, but as an adult, my preferences have changed. Even though my husband was my age, I found attraction to those a little older. Just not that old.
I sigh for a whole different reason. I don’t want to be lectured about desk duty and all the things I can and can’t do.
Scooting back my chair, I stand and weave between the desks as I make my way over. I’m in absolutely no mood to be reminded of where I stand in the food chain, but I bite my tongue instead of slinging a slew of curse words at the captain himself.
Miles glances at Visser for a second, probably hoping he’ll get off the phone, but when he doesn’t, he turns fully to face me while crossing his arms. “We have a situation.”
“Oh?” I like situations. Situations are my kind of thing. I like them, they like me, and the world goes round with a merry little tune. “What kind?”
“Someone was brought in this morning, and I want you to sit in on the questioning.”
Right.As if I couldn’t handle one on my own, but it’s Miles, so I know he doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings. Hell, it probably took some convincing with Visser for me to even leave my desk.
“Okay,” I say with a nod. I look at the closed and solid black interrogation room’s door and then back at Miles. “Who is it? What did they do?”
He answers my second question because that must be more important to him. “He was pulled over, and a dead body was found in his car.”
I blink. And then I blink again. Although this is Manhattan and death is far from unheard of . . . “Just in his car? Hanging out?”
Miles nods and rolls his neck. It pops a few times. “Pulled over for intoxication, arrested for the body in his trunk.”
I curse under my breath. “Okay, well, let’s get –”
Visser hangs up his phone. “Oh no. There’s no ‘let’s’. You’ll be behind the glass with me.”
“But –” I begin, ready to plead my case.
Miles rotates to Visser and thins his lips into a fine line. “She needs the practice, sir, and this is a good opportunity for something other than traffic violations and prostitution.” Which is basically all I’ve gotten to interview since I left the academy.
Visser, with his big bushy eyebrows, narrows his dark eyes that miss absolutely nothing. He considers it for a moment, twitching the corners of his eyes like he’s debating about combusting or not, but eventually, he holds up a finger. “Fine. But she’s not to talk, only observe.” He swivels his hard gaze to me. “Understood?”
