Page 95 of Slack Tide Kill

How many times had he covered for her already, in just two days? Looked the other way while she casually broke procedure? If Wilcot knew any of it, he'd be done already. Maybe he already was.

He'd known it would come to this. Debriefs on a serious incident. No room to lie, misremember, wriggle away. Only the truth could save him now; and damn Sally for good.

He rubbed his eyes. Simms returned with supermarket sandwiches, an apple and a paper cup of instant coffee. He paused a moment in the doorway, then sat down opposite Liam.

"Mate, you're not looking too clever. Seriously."

"Fuck off," Liam muttered.

"You're welcome for the sarnies," Simms said, wholly unbothered. "Sugar in the coffee, too, figured you needed it. Next stop, rinse the drowned cat off and give him a whisky IV. Am I right?"

Liam said nothing.

"Yeah, OK. Hang in there, all right?"

He left.

Liam worked his fingers through his hair, squeezing his scalp. All of this stung. It built a cold sickness in his belly, crawling up his throat.

Maybe he was a coward.

That was the deepest fear. No other way to say it. When they'd been flying across the field, him yelling for her to stop, he'd been terrified. For himself. For Sally. For what it all might mean. Breaking the rules he'd tried to follow all his life. Breaking a whole system of thinking.

One fist hammered the table. He looked at the sandwich and the coffee. The drink had spilled, cheap black liquid ringing around the cup. He knew it wouldn't fill this ache inside. There was only one cure for that. He hit the table once more, toppling the coffee. Liquid spilled onto the floor and he just watched it.

The door opened and someone came in. Liam looked up, and his heart palpitated hard. Not now. Shit, please.

"Hi, Liam," said John Logan. The AA paramedic. His voice too calm, his manner practiced, like he was trying to soothe a wounded animal. "I just want to do another checkup."

Fuck no, Liam thought. No fucking way.

"I'm fine," he said. "Nothing to check up on."

Logan looked at the coffee. "You've been in a serious accident. Anyone would feel unbalanced by that. On edge."

Liam raised his gaze and looked right into Logan's brown eyes. "Would they, John? Anyone?"

A tiny frown trickled across Logan's face. Good. "You're angry at me. You think I'm prying."

"Are you not?" Liam shot back. "Like any of this is your business? For God's sake, you're a paramedic, not a shrink, and I wouldn't want one even if you were."

Logan said nothing for a moment. He looked down at Liam's hand. It was trembling. Liam clamped his other hand over it.

"I may only be a paramedic," Logan said calmly. "But I was an addict first. Serious, bad. And there's one thing I've learned in all my years as an AA sponsor."

"Enlighten me, you smug prick."

Logan rapped the table twice. "Some people just need to hit bottom. I don't want that for you, Officer O'Connell. Because for some people, there is no bottom. Only deeper down."

Liam stared at him. In that moment he hated this man. A hatred that seethed in his chest. It took everything he had not to reach out and slam his kindly face into the table.

"Nice pop psychology, John," he said softly. "You get that from a Christmas cracker?"

"It's jokes in Christmas crackers, Liam. Maybe you're thinking of fortune cookies? In any case, I'll be here, OK?" He reached in his pocket and pushed a card across the table. "Whenever you want. I'm here."

"Zip-a-dee-doo-dah," Liam said, ignoring the card.

Logan regarded him a moment longer. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "Really. She doesn't see it. But I do."