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“You know it won’t stick,” Carson says, interrupting my thoughts. “There’s no way a judge will buy that shit.”
Not in a just world, where criminals don’t have judges in their pockets—but we can’t trust a system that’s already proven to be corrupt.
“Is there surveillance on the perps now?” I ask.
“At least two unis,” he says, eyebrows drawn together in question.
“Okay. Good. Collect all intel from them and then stay put in your office until I call you.”
“I can do that.” He turns toward me. “What are you going to do?”
What I have to.
“I’ll contact you soon,” I say as I take off toward Wexler’s office.
Not even a full two days, and I’m crawling back to the only thing I know. I don’t give a shit what it looks like—if every person on this floor pities the pathetic has-been detective. I’m not moving forward without my badge.
I knock on the captain’s door. When it opens, I’m not surprised to see a couple of Feds inside, despite hoping to do this in private. “Captain?”
He looks washed-out. His gray hair mussed, and he’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday. He motions me through the doorway. “Just in time,” he says. “Come on in.”
As I enter, the two Feds nod to me in greeting. I’m well acquainted with Agent Rollins, but the woman with long dark hair to his left I can’t place.
“Special Agent Rollins you’ve met. He was a great help to us on the previous serial killer case. And this is Special Agent Bell.”
She extends her hand. “Lena,” she says, and I raise my brows. “Yes, I know. Lena Bell. My name is a little sing-song.” She smiles warmly as I shake her hand. “My mother was a bit different.”
Vague and open at the same time. A difficult combination to pull off, but this agent does it with style. “You’re the head of the Organized Crime Division.”
Her smile spreads easily, making her the brightest thing in Wexler’s drab office. “I am, detective. Good instincts. That’s precisely why I’ve requested to bring you back in.”
Requested. I look at Wexler for confirmation on this. From his overworked appearance, I’d say she hardly requested nicely. The captain settles behind his desk and opens a drawer. “You’ve been officially reinstated, Quinn.” He places my gun and badge on the desk.
Like Carson, I came here with one purpose: to fight for my job. To make sure that what transpires next is upheld within the parameters of the law. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m somewhat disappointed. I had a whole speech prepared and everything, and I’m still locked and loaded.
Relaxing my stiff shoulders, I bury my rebuttal with a heavy exhale. “I appreciate your confidence in me.” It comes out more condescending than I intend.
“I never lost confidence in you,” Wexler states. “You do understand that reprimands have to be issued. This was far less severe than it could’ve been—”
“But there are more pressing circumstances than dangerous highway pursuits,” Agent Bell interrupts. “In the Bureau, your methods used to rescue Doctor Johnson would’ve been received with praise rather than reprimand. As such, I’m convinced that we need you on this investigation, Detective Quinn.”
I holster my gun in my shoulder harness and tuck my badge into the inseam of my coat. I take a moment to appreciate the feel of being reinstated, complete as a detective, before turning toward the agent. “Then you’re aware of how I operate,” I say, measuring her facial response. “My partner and I work alone.”
She must be as skilled as I am at schooling her features. As hard as that statement was to make about Sadie—as difficult as it is to openly stand by her, having confirmed my worst suspicions—I did so with the cool confidence of a detective with nothing to hide, and the agent doesn’t bat an eye or tick a muscle.
“Although the Bureau is inclined to see things done with a certain order,” she says, closing the gap between us. “I realize that each of my agents have their own skills, their own methods, in which they operate.”
I stare into her eyes, aware of the awkwardness our standoff is creating for the other two men in this office. “I’m not one of your agents.”
Here, her lips do twitch. A slight smile pulls into place. “Doesn’t mean we can’t work well together, detective.”
I should ask what she needs from this department. She obviously requires the cooperation from my team, which is the only reason why I’ve been reinstated. She needs me to corral the officers, get them in line and onboard. Operating under her command.
I should ask—but it might be more interesting to watch it play out.
I match her smile. “I think we will work quite well together, Agent Bell. I’m at your disposal.”
Her tongue traces her bottom lip before her smile widens. I let my gaze be drawn to her full lips and that action, giving her what she wants; a sense of control over me. “Great,” she says. “Let’s get to work.”
