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“Yeah, but I don’t eat breakfast. By the time we grab something, the restaurant will be filling up, and it’ll be twelve before any food is in front of me. Let’s go, Andrews.”
Eric was antsy the whole drive. His only words were to inform me that we’re meeting Justin at Mint, a trendy restaurant inside The Cove—an upscale luxury hotel downtown. Luckily for me, it’s considered a working lunch, so the meal is expensed according to Eric.
With Tom out to ax me, I’m starting to think I was lucky I still got paid while I was out on leave. Something else I might owe thanks to not only Eric but Justin too.
He knows the nondisclosure agreement Eric presented to my boss with both of our signatures on it is bullshit, yet he still recommended my reinstatement, putting in his report that he didn’t find any foul play on my part of the investigation into any criminal actions on Drago’s part; citing I accepted an undercover special assignment where having a personal relationship was part of the plan from the beginning.
I spent the first part of my morning reading every detail he outlined in the report. The phone number Tom gave me for Captain Roy Williams was the wrong number, so even though it was a department-issued cellular number, the number Tom gave me was currently unassigned. But being that it was only off by one digit, Justin cited it as an error on the chief’s part.
I’m starting to wonder if it really was an error, or if it was intentional. What if Tom isn’t the man and cop I thought he was? It’s one thing to be a hard-ass and expect your subordinates to follow your rules to the letter. It’s another entirely to break the rules and ethics we all swore to uphold.
“Goddammit,” Eric huffs out in frustration.
Looking over, I see him cutting his eyes up and down, looking at his cell phone and then back to the road.
“Problem?”
“Yeah, but nothing I can’t handle. Just some shit from another case I’m working.” He sighs. “Look, I’m going to drop you off to meet J. He can bring you back to the field office to grab your car afterward. Is that cool?”
“It’s fine unless there’s something I can help you with?”
I’m not sure I want to be alone with Justin. I don’t know him that well, and he may be a part of Eric’s task force, but he’s still IA. It’s a stigma, I know, but it’s one I’m not sure I can get past.
“Unfortunately, no.”
He parks along a curb, not pulling into the valet parking section in front of the hotel. Throwing the gear shift into park, he leans back into his seat and looks over at me.
“It wasn’t your boss that pissed me off. Well, he did, but that wouldn’t have gotten under my skin. He doesn’t want you in the detective bureau anymore, yet he doesn’t have a viable reason to fire you. So, he’s stuck until you fuck up or he still has the option to transfer you to another precinct, which is where he’s leaning.”
“Ugh,” I breathe out, relaxing into the back of the seat. “Fuck me,” I whine, because why not.
It’s not like I can beat the shit out of something to expel all the frustration coursing through me. It’s not unusual for me to get angry or upset in my line of work, but I’ve always had kickboxing and now MMA training to work out all the stress inside me. Now that I haven’t been to the gym in over two weeks, I’m tight all over, especially in my neck and shoulders.
“It was Houston.” Eric’s admission brings me out of my thoughts. “That’s who ticked me off and why I told Ramirez I’d take you off his hands while this case is active or until he finds you another home with PD.”
“What?!”
Is he serious right now? I never asked or even wanted to be a part of the DEA; not that there’s anything wrong with anyone that is. It’s just never once crossed my mind. I like my job and where I work. Other than being mad at Connie these last couple of weeks, I enjoy being partners with her.
His head swings toward me, and there is something in the way he looks at me that makes me do a double-take. It’s concern.
“Houston’s partner, Travis Hayes, is going out for surgery later this week and is expected to be out for at least six weeks. Houston conveniently volunteered to let you step in and—” Eric looks away from me, blowing air out of his mouth.
“And what?” I demand.
A scowl develops between his brows.
“It was the way he said it and the gleam in his eyes.” Eric shakes his head rapidly. “I didn’t trust him. I don’t trust that motherfucker,” he clarifies.
“I’m not afraid of Houston if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Maybe you should be.” He turns his head, training his dark eyes on me again.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means Diaz tried to kill you. If you hadn’t been wearing a vest, you’d be dead right now. Do you really understand how lucky you are to be sitting there?”
As his words sink in, I realize it hadn’t truly hit me until right now.
