I let out a sigh in frustration. Iknowthere is more to this. And ignoring a huge portion of the evidence to save face with another agency is a mistake. “I have some vacation days,” I reply. “I’ll be taking them effective immediately.”
Once again, Captain Reynolds takes a long pause. “You’re going to lose your badge if you’re caught disobeying my order.”
“What I do on my own time isn’t the precinct’s business,” I reply. “So long as I don’t break any laws.”
“If I find out you’re investigating that accident?—”
“Then I’ll personally deliver my resignation to your desk. I’m taking two weeks. I’ll be back in after Christmas.” I end the call, knowing my hanging up is going to anger him further, but also not caring.
It’s no surprise that Reynolds isn’t interested in ruffling feathers. He’s a bureaucrat put in place to handle things while they try to find a captain to take over since our last one retired suddenly.
He would absolutely take my badge and feel no remorse over it. Honestly, he’d probably be glad to do so. He’s had it out for me since I questioned his theory on the first homicide we took on after he got the captain’s chair, in front of the entire precinct.
I was right, and he hasn’t forgotten.
Frustrated, I set my phone down and grip my porch railing, dropping my head down to take a deep breath.
I became a cop to help people.
To be a shining light in the darkness that lingers in this world.
To find the truth.
And if the local cops who handled this accident truly covered it up? Isn’t that a truth worth risking everything for?
My phone buzzes, so I glance down and feel a bit of relief when I see my mom’s name on the screen. “Hey, Ma.”
“Morning, darling. How are things faring on your side of the city today?”
I sigh.
“What is it?”
“A friend of mine was attacked last night.” Friend is stretching it a bit far, but I’m not sure what else to call the woman currently staying in my guest bedroom.
“Who? Are they okay?”
“You’ve never met her. Beckett Wallace.”
“Beckett? The lawyer?” she asks.
I shouldn’t be surprised she remembers her. The woman has a memory like a steel trap. “Yes. She came to town, looking into her husband’s death, and was attacked in her hotel room.”
“Oh no. Is she okay?”
“She is,” I reply.Barely.
“But?” she asks, stretching the word out in a way only she can.
“What do you mean, but?”
“Honey, I know you well enough to know that there’s more to the story.”
“It’s a lot, Ma.”
“Then you don’t have to tell me. Does she need anything? Is she still in town?”
I run a hand over the back of my neck. “She’s staying in my guest room until I can figure out what happened.”
