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“Well, what do you know, looks like it’s quittin’ time. I’ll meet you at reception.” Dex got to his feet, his usual big dopey grin on his face. “Want to come? We’re going to grab some dinner.”
“In case you missed my subtle gesture, I’m trying to get rid of you.”
“Gotcha.” With a wink, Dex headed for the office door. “See you tomorrow, partner.”
“Get lost.” Sloane tapped his desk’s surface and pulled up Dex’s report on his observations from the last crime scene. The door swished quietly and Sloane glanced up, letting out a sigh of relief. Finally, a little peace and quiet. It was hard to believe today had been Dex’s first day. It felt like a lot longer. To say the guy was unlike any partner Sloane had ever had would be the understatement of the century, but there was also an easy way about him, something that made those around him comfortable. Sloane could easily fool himself into believing he’d known the guy much longer.
Everything about today should have been routine. A routine introduction, routine callout, routine ride in the BearCat, yet nothing about today had felt routine. Dex wasn’t inti
midated by him, but he wasn’t challenging Sloane’s authority at every turn in order to prove his mettle either. He went with the flow, and although his inability to shut his trap grated on Sloane’s nerves at times, there were also times when the guy seemed to know exactly what to say. The whole thing was somewhat confusing.
“You okay?”
Sloane’s head snapped up at the unexpected intrusion, and he felt embarrassed at being caught with his head in the clouds by his sergeant. “Hey, boss. Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
Maddock gave a lazy shrug before he walked into the room and made himself comfortable in Dex’s chair. “Nothing. Just, you were smiling.”
“Oh.” Sloane cleared his throat, unaware he’d been doing that. “Just thinking about something stupid. Don’t worry about it.”
“Something Dex did?”
That alone had Sloane trying to hold back a smile. There was no point lying to his sergeant. The guy could smell bullshit from two towns over. The thought had him chuckling. “Yeah, he was singing some cheesy song and playing air guitar or drums, I don’t know, something ridiculous like that.”
“Get used to it. He does that a lot. He also doesn’t know any songs after 1989.”
Sloane peered at him. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Nope.” Maddock shook his head, his usual stern expression unmoving.
Inexplicably, Sloane broke into laughter, and when Maddock joined in, Sloane was laughing so hard, he had tears in his eyes. A few moments later, he finally managed to get a hold of himself. He gave a sniff and wiped his eyes. “No disrespect, Maddock, but your kid is fucking weird.”
Maddock chuckled, his grin wide. “Yeah, he is.” He sobered up and leaned forward, meeting Sloane’s gaze. “But maybe he’s precisely the kind of weird the team needs.”
Sloane mirrored his sergeant’s pose. “You think so?”
“I do, and I know you’ve had the same thought.”
Sloane arched an eyebrow at his sergeant, not in the least bit surprised the guy had figured out as much. There was no hiding anything from Maddock. Growing up in the Maddock household must have been interesting to say the least. He didn’t know who to feel sorrier for: Maddock having to keep Dex and Cael out of trouble, or Dex and Cael for undoubtedly being caught before any of their boyhood shenanigans had a chance to take off. “Okay,” Sloane admitted, “yes, maybe the thought crossed my mind.”
“Good. How was his first day?”
Sloane mentally recapped their day, from the moment Dex had run into him in the training bay to their sparring session where the guy wouldn’t stay down, the showers and the carefree way he ribbed his baby brother, the briefing room and mansion where he’d shown insight, their encounter with the media and how Dex had managed to calm Sloane with his sincerity and compassion, to moments ago where Dex had made him laugh like he hadn’t laughed since… since Gabe. Sloane met Maddock’s steady gaze.
“He’s going to do fine here. If he doesn’t drive us all crazy first.”
Maddock smiled and stood. “That’s all I wanted to know.” He headed for the door and paused. When he turned, his softened expression was unexpected. “It’s good to hear you laugh again, son.”
Sloane swallowed hard, his voice rough when he spoke. “Thanks, Sarge.”
With that, Maddock was gone, leaving Sloane in the empty silence of his office, a silence he had grown accustomed to. Not that it ever bothered him. In fact, in his line of work, moments of solitude were slim to nonexistent, and he often found himself needing those moments to gather himself and his thoughts. He focused his attention on the open reports, deciding he was better off losing himself in his work rather than the minefield in his head. He started reading through everything to make sure Dex hadn’t left anything out, doing his best not to feel the lingering effects of Maddock’s words and the reminder of how hard the last year and few months had been for him. Shaking himself out of it, he told himself not to go down that route again. He scanned the report, his sight landing on the digital sticky note with his name neatly scribbled across it. How was it the guy freaked out when he minimized his own documents, but he had no trouble adding a personal note to his report, which was a multistep process?
Their desk interface allowed for secure communication between them, away from the prying eyes of other agents if marked as such. Sloane eyed the yellow rectangle, wondering why he hadn’t opened it yet. There was absolutely no reason not to. Tapping it, it expanded. There was nothing on it except for a “play” symbol. It was an audio file.
“Don’t do it, Sloane.” He stared at the little triangle, a sense of foreboding washing over him. “Nothing good can come from pressing play.” His finger hovered over the note. What if it was important? Sloane grimaced. If it were important, Dex would have told him. He cringed and tapped the button, knowing he was going to regret it.
The melody of a harmonica blared from his desk, and he gave a start. A few seconds in, a woman’s voice started singing away, telling him to keep on smiling. Several more artists joined the cheesy eighties ballad with saccharine lyrics about shining and friendship with the wailing harmonica not missing a beat. Sloane had never heard anything more terrifying.
“Oh dear God.” He hit the mute button on his desk, horrified when nothing happened. He tapped it repeatedly before bringing up the speaker settings on his desk. Nothing seemed to work. This couldn’t be happening. With every cheesy word, the song got louder. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” No matter what he did, he couldn’t get the damn thing to stop playing. “Oh God, please make it stop.”
