Page 13

With a sharp nod, Tick laid his pen aside and fixed the rookies with a look. “Get yourselves settled, then. Tomorrow, you start for real.”

The two of them trooped out, and Tick frowned after them. He glanced sideways to find Beech watching him.

Tick pointed toward the door. “He remind you of somebody?”

“Yeah.” Beech’s grin bordered on smug. “You.”

He made a derisive noise in his throat. “I wasn’t that uptight.”

“Right out of Quantico? No.” Beech chuckled. “When we walked in here three years after that? Yeah.”

Tick tipped his head in agreement. Houston had mattered, offering a chance to prove himself outside his mentor’s tutelage.

Then within hours of arriving, he’d looked up into Falconetti’s eyes and suddenly Houson mattered more than he’d ever dreamed.

“Both of them seem capable enough.” Beech jerked his chin toward the door and the hallway beyond.

“Yeah. Neither of them have road experience.” He shrugged. Not everything they did required a history in patrol work. “But they should be all right.”

Beech gave a slow nod, mouth twisted. “Which one do you think Aviles will hone in on?”

“Him. He’s eager, and it shows. Her ambition is more subtle. He won’t see an opening with her, unless she has a vulnerability we don’t see.” He frowned, disgust rolling through him. For Caitlin, her status as a young single mother had been the vulnerability Aviles exploited, and the asshole had tormented her. He flicked a glance at Beech. “Keep an eye out for him.”

“Of course.” Beech made an amused note in his throat. “He’s going to run me ragged.”

“For sure.” Tick leaned back in his chair and let one corner of his mouth hitch in a grin. “You’re an old man.”

Chuckling, Beech flipped him off. A beat hovered before he cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”

Tick glanced at the cluttered mess surrounding him. The day looked nothing like what he’d envisioned. “Tell me straight up if it starts to look like I’m screwing it to hell.”

“You’ll be good. A hard start doesn’t mean bad results.” Beech held his gaze, history and friendship hanging between them. “You know that better than anyone.”

“Yeah.”

“Well.” Beech clapped his hands together and levered off the window. “I’m going to go corral Eager Beaver and start laying the groundwork. You should unpack your shit.”

“Thanks.”

Once Beech strolled out, he allowed himself one inhale and exhale, then pushed up from the chair. Grabbing his mounted bass, he set it on the credenza behind his desk.

His phone buzzed, and he flipped it over to find a calendar reminder. ASAC Graham, ten minutes. Hell. He’d forgotten.

Leaving his FBI award atop his wedding photo, he grabbed his laptop and stuck his pen in his pocket.

His shit would have to wait.

An hour later, he stepped off the elevator into the familiar buzz of the bullpen — low voices, keyboards tapping, a phone ringing. The door to Caitlin’s office stood open, and he followed the draw there rather than the hallway to his own office and the chaos waiting for him.

At the door, he rested a hand on the frame and watched her, gaze on a printed report, Montblanc scratching over her notepad. She paused and glanced up. Her eyes warmed and a soft smile shaped her full mouth. “Hi.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Hey.”

“Where are you coming from?” She twirled the pen between her fingers.

“Meeting with Graham.”

“That sounds exciting.” Her nose wrinkled, her smile taking on an impish air. “What about?”