“Then why are Quinn and I here, and more importantly, why is Sebastian?”
Ferguson blew out a breath and looked like he’d really appreciate lighting up that nicotine about then. “This case is mirroring those others in some uniquely disturbing ways.”
Calvin’s voice hardened as he asked, “Mirroring which ones, exactly?”
“Any of them. All of them. You and Lancaster have the most experience with these batshit-crazy, off-the-wall situations, so I want you to take lead.”
“Wait,what?” Radcliff said suddenly, dropping his easygoing, boy-next-door personality in a snap. “With all due respect, I can do this without a handler.”
Ferguson pointed a finger at Radcliff, silencing his immediate protest. “This isn’t about not trusting you to do the job, Radcliff. This is about learning from a more experienced team.”
“But I—”
“And as for Snow,” Ferguson said, speaking over Radcliff. “The department—” He paused, shook his head, then said, like he didn’t entirely believe his own words, “The department wants to hire him—to consult on any artifacts as they arise in this case.”
For exactly one second, the bullpen was so silent that all five of us could have heard a pin drop on carpet.
Then Calvin laughed.
And it wasn’t a nice laugh.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
Ferguson crossed his arms. “It’s not your decision to make, Winter.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
“Okay,” I interrupted, turning to pat Calvin’s chest. “Let’s take it down a notch.”
“I’ll only give you one warning to watch your tone with me,” Ferguson said.
“I’m his husband—” Calvin started, but Ferguson cut him off.
“Your differing opinion is noted, but if I want to hire him, that’s between me and Snow.”
“I’m not allowing—”
I took a step in front of Calvin and this time put my hand in the center of his chest and gave a firm push. “Can I talk to you in private?” He didn’t move his feet, and if I haven’t said this enough, let me reiterate—Calvin is strong as hell. A mountain of a man who didn’t do anything unless he wanted to. So I tried a more placating tone. “Please, Cal.”
Calvin glanced down, a frown pronouncing the lines in his face, and I realized that maybe for the first time since I’d met him, I was experiencing Calvin at his absolute limit. The man was well and truly pissed, and maybe,maybeif the circumstances were different, I’d have been oddly flattered at this defensiveness he had on my behalf. Thankfully, he took a step backward without another word of pleading from me. As I followed him toward the hallway, I could feel the gazes of the other cops burning holes into my back.
Calvin opened his office door and loomed in the threshold. I stepped inside first, the overhead flicking on as Calvin followed and shut the door. The office was still how I remembered seeing it two and a half years ago: two desks facing each other, computer chairs wedged into the kneeholes, a filing cabinet to my right, window overlooking the street, blinds closed, and spartan-like cleanliness.
“We’re not going to have this discussion.”
I turned around.
“Period.”
“Isn’t that unfair to me?”
Calvin shook his head. “You can be mad if you want.”
“I’m not mad. But if you don’t let me get a word in, I’ll get bitchy, and you’ll like that even less.”
Calvin set his jaw and stared at me with an intensity reserved for questioning suspects, which I knew because I’d been on the receiving end of it once or twice.
“I know you’re not thrilled,” I began.
