“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mitchell roared, his eyes bulging. Folding his arms, he leaned back on the counter where he stood in the break room.
Tasting his Powerade, Trey checked his renewed rage incited by his recitation of the much-condensed version of what had happened to Brittany. He couldn’t bear to repeat every detail she’d told him. It wasn’t any of Mitchell’s business. And Brittany would be mortified if he repeated everything she’d confided.
“Who the hell did it?”
“I don’t know.” With a heavy sigh, Trey rubbed his eyes, abandoning the pretense of being interested in the drink. He set the bottle on the counter and began to pace. “She just told me what happened today and she won’t tell me who it was. I know several judges. I intend to buy one of them off. Ask them to issue a court order based on probable cause.”
“You’ll never get it without involving her.”
“Forgery isn’t beyond my reach.”
Mitchell scowled at him. “I’m not fucking hearing this.”
“I want her records. Who knows what a discerning nurse might have recorded. Someone ordered testing for STDs.”
“You’re proposing a fucking felony.”
“My felonious activity versus a motherfucker who raped Brittany is not important.”
“You think? You fuck around with bullshit orders, you and your fucking judge will go to jail. Besides, you can’t get the warrant without further evidence. She reported this as a botched deflowering.”
Trey glowered at Mitchell. “Think about it,” he gritted. “With her having been so badly injured, someone might’ve been suspicious.”
“If they were, the cops would’ve been called. She was a fucking minor.”
“Who had an adult with her to back her story. Her cheerleading coach.”
“You’re pissing in the wind. Even if this didn’t put you on the wrong side of criminal and civil law, there would’ve been no reason to swab her for DNA.”
Trey swallowed. Discussing vaginal swabs and hoping there were specimens collected to get an assailant off the street sent rage through Trey. This was about Brittany, so, fuck yeah, he’d use crooked judges and whatever other method necessary to see justice done. For her, he’d risk everything that he stood for, everything that he was. He’d forget honor, morals, and principles. He’d kill or die on her behalf. She meant that much to him. However, he’d concede Mitchell’s wisdom. “You’re probably right. But I still have to try, even though she’s dead set against it. She wants me to leave well enough alone.”
“From the little you told me about the attack, I would think she needs a rape counselor. Besides, I’m recusing you from any investigation you might have in mind. This is too personal. You should’ve seen your fucking mug when I said it was a botched deflowering. It grew uglier when I mentioned the vaginal swabbing.”
“Enough.”
“Maybe if I talked to her—”
Trey stiffened at the prospect of Mitchell broaching the subject with her. She wanted everything to just go away. While that wouldn’t happen, Trey didn’t even want Bryson to push her for information. He didn’t need Mitchell interrogating her and asking her some very personal questions. Eventually, she’d confide the identity of her attacker to Trey but he didn’t want anyone damaging her by bringing up the subject to her. “No. I don’t want her to even know I told you.”
“Why the fuck did you tell me? You know I’m not going to let this fucking rest. There’s a goddamn monster out there. But you have to let me do this my way. Put some feelers out.”
“Mitch…”
“It isn’t as if our time is up,” the lieutenant explained.
Trey knew that. Most states had statues of limitations in place for prosecuting every crime except murder. This, however, was child molestation, and in Texas, in the case of a minor, the limitation was ten years from the time the victim turned eighteen.
Mitchell narrowed his eyes at Trey and he felt the weight of his friend’s scrutiny.
“How did she come to tell you?” Mitchell asked, in full investigative mode.
Because he’d wanted her to give him a blowjob and she’d freaked. “None of your damn business,” Trey snapped, turning away and snatching open the refrigerator, heat creeping up his neck. He knew he’d find nothing of interest in the refrigerator because he never brought anything except energy drinks to keep in there. He slammed the door shut with a vicious curse.
Mitchell shook his head, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up the sleeves of his starched shirt. “It’s like that, is it?” he asked with a sigh.
What could Trey say? He knew what the lieutenant was implying.
When Trey didn’t offer any denials, annoyance heated Mitchell’s eyes, layering his dark look with sparks of irritation, warning and disapproval. “I don’t relish two of my officers having a shootout like we’re at the OK Corral. Understand?” he asked, cold and curt, inches from where Trey stood. “If you’ve taken her to bed already, you either be damn sure you’re ready to have a go at a relationship or you leave her the fuck alone before Bryson finds out. Am I clear?”
A muscle ticked in Trey’s jaw. “Quite,” he responded, mirroring Mitchell’s tone. “I didn’t tell you about what happened to her because I wanted your opinion, interference or judgment. I told you because I wanted you to understand in case she acts a little strange.”
“Trey—”
“I don’t want to hear any more.”
Mitchell assessed Trey, like one would a specimen under a microscope. Finally, their gazes collided.
“Have you slept with her?”
Trey glowered at Mitchell, hating to admit his weakness for her. Karl had read him the riot act years ago. He didn’t need Mitchell doing the same thing. “I don’t see how that’s any of your damn business.”
“It isn’t,” Mitchell conceded. “What is my goddamn business are two of my best officers killing each other because one of them is screwing the other one’s little sister.”
“I’m seven years older than Brittany.”
“Who gives a rat’s ass? I’m ten years older than Spenser. She was twenty-two when we met, twenty-four when she gave birth to our first child. Twenty-five when we married and, let’s see, twenty-five and two months when she delivered our second baby.”
“So where is your happily ever-after? You’ve been with her eight years and she’s now pregnant with your fifth kid.”
“I was raised in a strict Catholic household. I don’t believe man should interfere with God’s laws.”
“You take ‘go forth and multiply’ a little too literally.” Trey refused to get into a religious debate, so he immediately steered the conversation to another subject. “Maybe that’s why your younger wife left you last year.”
“Fuck you. The goddamn reason my wife left me is none of your fucking business. She’s back and that’s what matters.”
“For now. But you hadn’t moved back in with her and the kids a whole month before you got her pregnant again.”
“She’s my wife, who I happen to be in love with and enjoy making love to. But, goddammit, this isn’t about me and Spenser. This is about you and Brittany Donovan.”
“There is no me and Brittany.”
“Why? Because she’s twenty? If that’s the case, then you’re an idiot. Age has nothing to do with the workings of your heart.”
Turning away from Mitchell, Trey rubbed the back of his neck. If it was a slow night, maybe he’d call Sylvia. The thought of sixty-nine-ing with her didn’t stir him but he’d find release. “Look in on Brittany when you can.”
“She’s in my goddamn office. I can’t help but look in on her.”
“She doesn’t know you. She won’t be comfortable having you near her all night.”
“I’m not going to bite her. But the thought is appealing. She’s delectable enough to make a man have wet dreams.”
The gleaming mockery in Mitchell’s eyes told Trey the man was goading him but he still drilled the lieutenant with a venomous glare. “You’re an asshole.”
Mitchell laughed. “Admit it, Sergeant Wilson. Brittany Donovan is gorgeous.”
“You’re twice her age.”
“I’m also married. But she’s not your type.”
“And what is my type?”
“Junoesque women. Amazons. Busty, willowy beauties.” Mitchell went down the list in a monotonous voice, using his hands to punctuate his words. “Svelte, leggy sex pots. Fuck, you like tall women. I always imagined you falling for a big broad named Bertha or Bettina or Belinda.” He shrugged. “At least I got the B name right.”
Trey’s laughter died in his throat. “I haven’t fallen for Brittany. I’m her friend. As her friend, I didn’t think she needed to be alone tonight. Not after what she went through today.”
“She’ll be fine here.” Mitchell’s voice gentled. “You make damn sure you have your head clear and don’t put yourself in any dangerous damn situations because you’re worried about her.”
“Hit me on my cell if she needs me.”
“Go do your damn job,” Mitchell ordered just as Bryson strolled in.
“What’s Brittany doing in your office, Mitch?” he asked, his gaze flitting over Trey, leveling about as much acknowledgment as he would a fly.
Trey glowered at Bryson, ignoring the overwhelming urge to clock his best friend.
“This ends now, Donovan,” Mitchell gritted. “Whatever beef you and Wilson have must be resolved. I’m not having my officers in any personal feuds.”
Bryson didn’t respond, instead transferring his militant gray-black gaze to Trey. “What’s she doing here?”
Trey shrugged. “She was afraid to be alone in the apartment. I didn’t know what to do with her and I didn’t know where the hell you were, so I brought her with me.”
Not acknowledging Trey’s explanation, Bryson looked at Mitchell. “I need to talk to you about my sister.”
Mitchell put a comforting hand on Bryson’s shoulder. “Trey has already talked to me about her.”
Bryson’s gaze snapped to Trey’s. Balling his hands into fists, Bryson stepped closer. “You don’t have a right to discuss her.”
“Don’t I?” Trey snarled back.
“Gentlemen! That’s fucking enough. Trey’s trying to help her. He’s as worried and concerned about her as you are.”
“So she talked to you, huh?” Bryson demanded with a bitter edge, his eyes filled with contempt.
“She doesn’t need the two of you quarreling.” Mitchell cut in.
“Yes she talked to me, like she always has.”
Bryson shoved Trey. “What else did she do to you?”
Mitchell tried to reason with Bryson again. “She needs to have as much support as she can get right now. Who the hell cares who she talked to as long as she talked?”
Fury blended the dark colors of Bryson’s eyes and twisted his features. “I’m going to fucking kill you if you use her for a cum receptacle.”
“Shut the fuck up, Donovan, and that’s an order.” Mitchell stepped between the two of them. “And you don’t say a fucking word, Wilson.”
By now, the altercation was drawing the attention of some of the other officers who were staring with rapt attention, some of them leaning in the doorway. Others looked through the divider window. A young officer appeared and barreled to the break room.
“Lieutenant Thomas.” The officer nodded at Trey and Bryson.
“This better be a dire fucking emergency, Wekler,” Mitchell snarled, the barrier of his body still restraining Trey and Bryson from throwing punches at one another.
Wekler was short and wiry, a martial arts expert with an impressive military record, but he paled at Mitchell’s tense pose and dangerous tone. “There’s a girl in your office,” he said in a voice watered down from its original confidence.
“You think I don’t fucking know there’s a fucking girl in my fucking office?”
“She’s getting a lotta attention, sir,” Wekler continued weakly. “She’s so pre…” His voice trailed off and he swallowed, glancing at Bryson. Worry creased his brow. “She said she’s your sister, Sarge.” He laughed. “But we know that ain’t true. I mean, look at you and look at her.” He transferred an uneasy glance to Trey. “Somebody else said she’s your woman, Sergeant Wilson, sir.”
Bryson growled low in his throat. “I wonder where that came from.”
“Brittany isn’t a goddamned freak show,” Trey barked. “She won’t like all this attention. Is she all right?”
“She seems a little nervous, sir.” Wekler’s blue eyes turned hopeful. “She ain’t your girl, is she, Sergeant Wilson? I sure would like to get to know her better.”
“She’s my sister.” Bryson evaded Mitchell and started for Wekler.
Mitchell stepped in front of Bryson, rage purpling his skin. “She’s off limits. Keep the fuck away from her and my goddamn office. Now get the fuck out of here.”
Wekler backed out of the room, nearly tripping over another officer.
“Close the goddamn door and get the fuck to work,” Mitchell yelled to everyone. Within moments, the door was slammed shut and the locker room was clear.
“I have to check on her. She was hysterical when we were—” Trey stopped his flow of words, his slip-up almost laughable.
Mitchell rounded on him and Bryson. “You--” he pointed at Trey-- “better know what the fuck you’re doing. And you—” He transferred his glare and his finger to Bryson. “Give your fucking best friend more credit than what you’re giving him at the moment.”
“All Trey has to tell me is he wants a serious relationship with her and I’m out of it.”
Bryson’s request wasn’t unreasonable but Trey didn’t know what he wanted with her.
Mitchell looked at Trey, grave and unsmiling. “Well?”
“I’m going to talk to her. That’s all I can say. This has to be between me and Brittany. I won’t touch her—”
“Again,” Bryson growled.
Trey sighed. Bryson thought he’d caught them red-handed this morning. Although that wasn’t the case, Bryson deduced Trey had taken his relationship with Brittany far beyond friendship.
Trey clenched his jaw. “Again,” he conceded.
Bryson cursed but didn’t lunge. He turned away, pacing to the table, staring in the direction of the locker room.
“What has she told you? Who did it? When did it happen?”
With even more tact than he’d shown when he’d related the story to Mitchell, Trey explained some of the tale to Bryson, watching as his friend’s emotions vacillated between anger and despair. After Trey finished speaking, Mitchell’s renewed outrage matched Trey’s, but Bryson stood as still as a statue, staring at Trey, not blinking, not speaking. If not for the rise and fall of his chest, Trey would have thought Bryson was frozen in time and place.
Sudden anger radiated from Bryson. He kicked the chair nearest to him, sending it flying into the wall across the room then he turned and stalked out.