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Good question.
I rub the back of my neck trying to release the tension that’s gathered since Tom made it clear Lance would be my partner on this case. To say I’m irritated is an understatement.
“I don’t know really.” I pause. “Maybe because Tom has wanted to bring down the Acerbi family for years and he thinks Houston having more experience than me will ensure no mistakes are made.”
I shake my head. Something in my gut tells me that isn’t it at all, but I don’t tell my friend this. I shouldn’t be telling her this much to begin with. And doing it on the office phone isn’t exactly wise. Hell, maybe I’m not as intelligent as I think I am.
At the sound of rustling, I look up to see Ronnie setting a bag on top of his desk before plopping down into his chair.
“Yeah, okay.” She chuckles. “This is the same sleaze I met when I did that half-marathon with you a while back. He’s going to be the one that fucks your shit up, babe.”
“Probably,” I agree.
“Honey, I have to run. Karla is standing in my office waving me to another meeting.”
“Okay. Love you.” I end the call. I need to get in touch with the chief while I have a few minutes anyway.
Not placing the receiver down, I press one of the buttons with a pre-programmed phone number stored on it and wait, hoping he’ll be in his office.
Becky, Tom’s assistant, picks up on the second ring.
“Deputy Chief Ramirez’s office, how can I help you?”
“Hi, Becky, it’s Brianna Andrews from the Pacific station. I was hoping Tom had a minute to talk.”
“Oh, hi, detective,” she greets me in her usual cheery voice. “He’s in his office. I’ll put you through to him, okay?”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
She doesn’t reply. Instead, the line rings again, only this time it’s barely a full ring before the chief’s bark comes through.
“Ramirez.”
“Tom, it’s Bri.” I let him know it’s me.
“Do you have something already?” he sounds disbelieving.
“Well, no, sir.”
“Then why are you calling me, detective? I don’t have time to hold your hand. That’s what Houston is for.”
I have to pause before I say something I’ll regret. No need to piss the man off even though the words are itching to come out of my mouth. I don’t need anyone, especially Lance Houston, to hold my hand.
Apparently, my silence goes on too long.
“Are you planning on telling me why you are bothering me, today, or do you need to call back tomorrow to do so?”
I’ve heard multiple officers say Thomas Ramirez has a jerk complex, but until this moment, I’ve never witnessed it.
“No, sir, of course not. I’m not calling about Acerbi. I’m calling—” he cuts me off.
“Then take up your issues with Houston. Call me when you have something solid on our criminal.”
He hangs up before I can tell him I’ve been unable to reach his contact in Special Ops.
Great. What on earth am I going to do about the kid?
* * *
