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Caleb leaned back in his chair. His adrenaline was finally wearing off and he was fucking exhausted.
“You’re suspended. Pending an investigation,” the chief said quietly.
Caleb gripped the arms of the chair, but didn’t reply. He thought back to the dozens of Domestics he’d responded to over the years. He’d mostly been on-scene with grizzled patrolmen, ones who weren’t quite smart enough to get promoted to a desk. They were just riding it out, putting in their twenty until retirement, and Caleb’s unsanctioned style of bear-baiting wife-beaters into a physical confrontation in order to put them away for longer stretches never seemed to bother them. In fact, Caleb had gotten the distinct impression that though they wouldn’t risk it themselves, the old-timers secretly admired the younger officer’s efforts to put scumbags away. But when asked about it, face-to-face, by the head of the department, Caleb also suspected that not one of them would lie for him or even claim they didn’t remember the details of Caleb’s numerous arrests. It seemed his days of refusing to go by the book were going to end up getting the damn thing thrown at him.
Very reluctantly, he slid his badge out of his wallet and silently placed it on the desk. His service Glock was the next thing to go, though he didn’t feel nearly as tweaked having to part with it. His personal Desert Eagle .44 at home was his weapon of choice. But as he stood up, he noticed the distinct lightness at his hip, since the missing department-issue piece had a kind of weight of its own. And he had no one but himself to blame for any of it. Without another word, he turned and exited the office.
Chapter 13
Caleb pulled up to Maria’s and killed his Harley’s engine. He’d parked next to a large black Hummer—Tex’s ride—and sighed as he took off his aviators. When Shooter’s wife, Slick, didn’t make lunch for them, the men often made their way to the bar instead. Maria’s old man, Thomas, worked the grill for lunch and dinner. Easy’s woman, Daisy, was sure to be waiting tables this afternoon, as usual.
Caleb occasionally joined the men for grub, either at Burnout if Slick was delivering or here if she was busy. And so it happened that he’d called Shooter and asked which was which today and said he’d meet them at the bar without arousing suspicion that Caleb’s presence might be more than a mere lunch break.
He sighed again and put his bike’s kickstand down. He wasn’t in the habit of lying to his brothers—well, not about much, anyway. And they would understand when he told them about the suspension. It still felt a little too much like admitting defeat—or failure—and he was uncomfortable with either.
The place was a little slow, even for a weekday, and he easily found the guys at a table near the door. Daisy had seen him come in, and noting he wasn’t in uniform, was already filling a frosted glass for him. He nodded to her as he pulled up a chair to the end of the table.
“Free man today?” Hawk grunted around a cheeseburger.
Caleb frowned down at his gray Henley shirt. Maybe every day from here on out, he thought darkly. “Yeah,” he replied. “Listen,” he said a little more loudly. “I—”
“Hey, Doc!” Daisy said brightly as she set down his beer. “Burger and fries are coming up,” she told him.
He nodded again and waited for her to leave. Easy would of course tell her the news later, again, but right now he just wanted to get it out to his brothers, who would be surprised but wouldn’t press him for too many details.
“So what’s up?” Shooter prompted, watching Caleb watching Daisy as she headed to another table. By now the slightly older man must have figured something was wrong.
Caleb tore his gaze from Daisy’s retreating figure. “I—” he began but stopped again when he spotted the front door opening. He recognized the brunette from the previous night. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. The other men turned to look.
Daisy greeted Isabelle—Izzy, to her friends, he recalled—and gestured toward a table just a few feet away from theirs. When she caught sight of Caleb, she grinned.
“Friend of yours?” Hawk asked, undoubtedly intrigued. Caleb didn’t answer.
Izzy slid onto a seat facing him, giving another smile before picking up the menu and scanning the bar’s patrons. “What’s good here?” she asked Daisy, “aside from the view.”
Daisy laughed. “The burgers won’t kill you, but the fries might,” the blonde woman replied.
“That’s what I like to hear. Medium rare and a Coke, please.”
Caleb was actually grateful for his momentary reprieve. He still hadn’t quite figured out how to explain his suspension from the force. His brothers weren’t stupid. They’d know there was a bit more to it than just an OIS. And really there wasn’t anything to tell just yet. Not until the IA investigation was over. He got up from his seat and stalked over to Isabelle’s table. Pulling out a chair, he sat down across from her.
