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I get it’s a conflict of interest and I can’t officially be a part of Eric’s team, but it still stings a little. As much as I want to scream bullshit, I know it’s not. In any other circumstance, I’d readily agree.
I just hope Eric’s partner doesn’t fuck around and does what needs to be done to find Gabe—since Drago won’t.
Gabriel is still my highest priority and I will find him. I have to believe searching for Diaz’s inside man will lead me straight to Sebastian himself, and in turn, find the baby I need back in my arms.
The last couple of nights I’ve scoured known drug places looking for anyone that might have any connection to where Diaz may be hiding out. I’ve hounded two informants that I’ve worked with on multiple occasions, but they know nothing. It was a lost cause from the get-go; even they admitted a man like Diaz could spot a narc a mile away. I had to at least try.
This morning I’m at the Pacifica office—my precinct. Eric is meeting with Ramirez and Houston now, informing them he’s taking the case. I’m not exactly sure why Lance is in there since he’s a homicide detective, and seeing as how I didn’t die, there isn’t a murder to investigate. Who knows? Apparently, I’m not privy to this information—yet.
When Justin said the chief wanted to meet today, I had expected it to take place at his office downtown, not here on the northeast side of the county. Guess he wasn’t too happy about me coming back to work after all.
“DEA, Bri?” Connie says, the disgust evident on her tongue. “You never once mentioned your interest in the DE fucking A. They’re brainless cowboys, and you want to be one of them? Others around here might be buying that bullshit, but I’m not. We’ve been partners for two years.”
She has the audacity to be mad at me. It pisses me off, and if she isn’t careful, I’m going to tell her exactly how I feel.
Connie has been going off on a childish tangent for the last half hour. I wish Eric would hurry the hell up. I mean, how long does it take to lay down the law and tell a local department a federal agency is taking their case?
“Why, huh?”
“It’s been over two weeks and you haven’t once come by, or even returned a text or phone call since I’ve been shot. You weren’t at the hospital. If it had been you, I would have been there every second I wasn’t out looking for the fucker who shot you. But not you apparently, so I guess we weren’t that tight of partners to begin with.”
I really want to tell her to fuck off but causing a scene isn’t worth it. The one she’s causing is enough for those around us to gossip about for weeks.
“I do too care.” Her mouth drops open in shock. “How can you say we weren’t tight? I tell you things I don’t even tell my sister for Pete’s sake.”
“She was ordered not to talk to you, Bri,” Mike chimes in from his perch on the corner of Connie’s desk.
“No one asked you to butt in.”
“You’re both acting like children.” He crosses his arms, eyeing me with disapproval. I have to look away, finding something—anything—on my desk to look at instead. His respect matters most to me. His approval is something I’ve sought since I joined the detective department.
“Who told you I wanted to become a DEA agent? Ever stop to think I’m just helping them out?”
“Houston says you’ve been playing both sides of the field,” she states. Using PD resources to further the DEA’s case. What happened to looking out for your own?”
“We’re all on the same damn team. We all want the same thing.”
At least that’s what I thought. Isn’t being a cop about justice? Serving and protecting? But there are obviously those on the force that aren’t abiding by the laws or upholding them—Lance Houston being one.
“Oh, please. Don’t give me that BS,we’re all on the same team,” she mocks in a whine.
She acts like it’s us versus them. Who knows; maybe it is. I do know one thing, though. If Tom is on the side of the dirty, he’s the last person I want to work for.
“Can it, Bristols.” Mike scowls at her. Then he unfolds his arms as he lifts his ass off the corner of her desk. Looking down at me, he says, “Bri’s right. We are all on the same side; even she is. Right, Andrews?”
The temperature inside my head escalates.
“If your—”
I don’t get a chance to finish my thought. Mike rounds behind my desk. Bending down, he stretches his arms out, wrapping his hands around the armrests on each side of me and stalls inches away from my face.
“No,” he bites out. And then he lowers his voice so that only Connie and I can hear him. “I don’t think for a second you’re a bad cop or a bad person, but whatever shit is going on up there”—he jerks his chin up, indicating to my head—“has you so messed up, you haven’t been acting like yourself for a while now.”
He pushes himself away, taking a step back.
“Mike,” I call, but he isn’t finished.
“I should have never let you take that kid home with you.” He sighs, shaking his head. “It all stems from that. I know it does. Maybe you are helping the DEA on their case, but I can see this is also personal for you. I just don’t know if it’s because the boy was taken from your home or if it’s something deeper with Acerbi.”
