Page 11 of Newly Tied

“Let’s go,” my partner snapped because he was both hungry and annoyed, so I followed him, with lots of snickering happening behind us and me flipping off the room as we headed to the supervisory deputy’s office.

“You look like a child when you do that,” Lang assured me.

“Stop bein’ mad at me because I’m the only one here with you. This ain’t my fault.”

“Did you get me extra meatballs on my sub?”

I shot him a look. As if I’d ever forgotten.

He grunted, but I got the shoulder bump that told me he was done being grouchy.

We got there before Pazzi and Yamane, which meant they had to sit in the chairs closest to the big man’s desk, and we got the ones farther away. New people always wondered why Becker’s office was bigger than Kage’s, but the chief deputy didn’t have lots of people in his office at one time to have morale discussions. He did the one-on-one thing in his space. If you were going in there, it was just you and him and God help you. So far, thankfully, it had never been me and him alone in his office, and I preferred it that way.

I sat down and crossed my arms, Lang did the same, and I wedged my knee against his.

“Are you two even aware of your body language?” Becker asked as Wes Ching, the SOG commander, stuck his head into the office.

“Are we going to—oh, sorry. Never mind. I think I got my days mixed up.”

“No, you didn’t,” Becker told him, gesturing at us. “But these two and Pazzi and Yamane are having a thing.”

“Which one is Pazzi? I feel like I know that name.”

“He’s the one Kohn threw the stapler at,” I reminded him. I really liked Wes Ching. He said exactly what he thought at all times, and since he didn’t share an office with the rest of us, he never got talked to about sharing his judgments.

“Oh yeah.” He glanced at Becker. “Maybe let these guys go so we can eat, since Pazzi’s an idiot.”

No comment from Becker on that. “Text Cho and find out what she’s picking up. Get something for me, and we can eat in here. This won’t take long.”

Ching grunted and leaned out as Pazzi and Yamane came in. Pazzi closed the door behind them.

“Nice,” Yamane said in a really judgy voice at our back-of-the-room seating as he and Pazzi sat down.

I would have flipped him off but I didn’t want to annoy my boss.

“Start at the beginning and tell me why you did what you did,” Becker told Pazzi. “I already heard from Lang and the cowboy here.”

I didn’t mind the cowboy thing. It was the hat, which I only wore occasionally now, and my boots that were still a wardrobe staple. There were Wranglers as well, and my belt buckle was apparently far too big, according to my partner.

Yamane put up his hand to shut up his partner and explained that yes, Pazzi had been overly cautious, but technically, he was working from our training.

Lang countered that there was training and procedure and then there was stupidity when enough forms of identification were confirmed to satisfy detainment. “And even if you want to waste time waiting for IAFIS when you have everything but a goddamn birth certificate in front of you,” Lang said, his voice getting sharp and precise like it did when he was pissed, “all fugitives or suspected fugitives should be in restraints. That is for our protection as well as theirs.”

“I—”

“Period,” Lang nearly yelled, shutting Pazzi down.

“Are you going to let me talk?”

“Was it your turn to talk?”

I glanced at Becker, who was quietly listening. I had a horrible vision of him making us swap partners for two weeks or something, and so I gently bumped Lang with my shoulder, then turned to Pazzi.

“We both know Vargas should have been restrained, yeah? Why so careful?”

Pazzi stared at me.

“It’s always better to err on the side of caution, ain’t it? That’s just common sense. We all worry about bein’ wrong, but I had to run five blocks.”