CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AFTER YEARS OF overseeing the Central Prison’s inmate rehabilitation program—listening to confessions and details most people viewed as unforgivable with lots of lies mixed in—Dexter had finally lost his grip on reality. It was the only explanation for this day.
For the way Charleen had looked so utterly defiant, those green eyes flicking to him under heavy lashes, daring him with their intensity.
Call me out, Dexter. Crush me when I tell you the truth.
The words had whispered along Dexter’s nerve endings as if Charleen had actually said them. The disappointment swirling beneath was a blip of emotion that socked a solid blow to his gut.
She hadn’t explained what she meant by she “saw it.” He had a million questions and everything in him wanted to demand concrete answers. But as he’d gazed into her fractured eyes, he’d fought the urge to call her out.
The last thing he wanted to do was crush her. Prove that she needed to continue donning that chip on her shoulder every morning.
No. Calling her out required finesse. Openness on his part. Some of that on hers as well. And laying down the events of the morning demanded something he wasn’t ready to give. Wasn’t ready to voice.
If he believed any of what he’d seen after he’d gone inside the crime scene to drag her out, it meant he’d gone off the deep end. Maybe even more so. The proof was in his pocket—a piece of heavy, cold metal.
She’d threatened to use the handcuffs this morning. Maybe if there’d been no mention of them he could chalk everything up to a really bad dream, with the remnants coming to him midday rather than upon waking.
He could’ve believed a flimsy excuse as to how they’d come to be in his possession for a little while. Enough to do his job and then get out of Dodge. Bury every thought on the matter behind his work.
Instead he’d let her off with a muted sentence that answered nothing. Even if he’d pressed the issue, he doubted he’d have gotten an answer. Not in that environment. He doubted the Internal Affairs building would entice Charleen to open up.
Not your problem.
He shook his head. It was his problem. Right now. This second. Major Fritz had called him in. Asked that Dexter head straight to the Internal Affairs building if possible. As if the older man had known exactly where Dexter was and what had happened.
Maybe he’d gotten used to iron bars and maximum security in an unhealthy fashion. Been blinded by his need to help men and women society wrote off.
He’d been in the camp once, too. Until he’d woken up from a nightmare and realized keeping people—even convicts—at arm’s length didn’t do any good. Even if getting on their level wasn’t possible in a manner it might be with a friend, he had to try in the most professional manner.
Lives were at stake. Souls.
Doing that with Charleen should be just as cut and dried.
“You can see he left a bit of a mess.” Major Ernie Fritz’s fingers tapped the mahogany desk inside Dr. Hicks’ office within Internal Affairs. Three files sat askew on the surface. A storage box near where Dexter stood on the opposite side of the desk was half full as if the man had been packing and for whatever reason had given up.
“I wouldn’t ask, but I’m between a rock and a hard place. I figured you could use a little distraction.”
The words punched irritation into his system. He wasn’t going to ask what the other man meant. Didn’t want to open a discussion about the explosion—one of many that Bethany Markel had orchestrated before being apprehended.
Charleen was right. It wasn’t an accident. Beth’s hateful actions had almost taken his life four years ago.
Dexter fiddled with the files. Most of them were thin, only a few pages in width. All except one at the top. Her name was clear across the tab: Detective Charleen Davis.
He didn’t need a distraction. He already had one. And he’d given that distraction a whole lot of personal information to run with.
I had—have a wife.
He cringed. It hadn’t happened. If it had, she would have asked for more details about the hazy area where he kept his wife in his mind. Would’ve grasped onto it—used it to her advantage—the minute he’d started asking for answers she refused to divulge.
She hadn’t.
“You’re telling me Dr. Hicks was fine one day and the next he up and quit?”
Major Fritz shook his head, the sides of his dark hair a salt-and-pepper mixture. “It’s not shocking to me. His philosophy in this profession was that he’d retire when he could no longer see a clear diagnosis.” He fiddled with the Newton’s Cradle on his side of the desk, his eyes glued to the symmetrical motion. “He hit his mark.”
Dexter straightened. “With any particular person or as a generalization?”
Fritz made eye contact then. “He’s not coming back. His wife’s health has been declining for a number of months. I don’t have any more information for you on the matter.”
Dexter picked up Charleen’s file, the weight more significant in his soul than in his hands. He’d already read enough information on her to last a lifetime, the bits and pieces stuck in his brain. Born in an abortion clinic. Spent time in the NICU. Was placed with a foster family who discovered she wasn’t healthy. Frequent hospital visits and major surgery prevented several adoption cases during her toddler years. Later on minuscule fights moved her from foster home to foster home until she graduated from high school and went on to college.
The details replayed in the middle of the night. During a meeting. When his mom called to check in on him. Springing to life at random as if he knew far more than the words communicated.
Major Fritz’s eyes dipped to the folder as if he’d thumbed through it numerous times and knew every single bit of the contents. Dexter couldn’t open it. He didn’t want to see inside her head from this perspective.
He wasn’t even sure he wanted to see inside her head from any perspective. What he already knew was bland facts gathered by the FBI.
This was adulthood. Her career. How she viewed life—or how Dr. Hicks perceived her views. And once he read it on paper, he couldn’t hear it from her lips. Decipher it in a fresh light.
“Don’t you think this would be better handled by whomever you hire to replace Dr. Hicks?”
“These things take time. I’ve got a few concerns that can’t wait for us to finish vetting the position.”
“I’m only here for three more days.” And he wasn’t staying one second longer.
“You could apply for the job. I’m sure your parents would love having you nearby.”
They would absolutely love it. Weekly phone calls would turn to daily meals until they had him married off and living next door to them. So he could have a nice quiet life and never mention the past ever again—which he never did.
They were the ones who brought it up during every visit as if it were a mountain he couldn’t climb. As if he hadn’t already had it conquered.
Which is why he hadn’t dropped his bags off or stopped by yet. He wasn’t ready to discuss the neighboring house for sale—Robinson and his sister’s childhood home—and how his parents’ good friends had a granddaughter who was young but perfect for him. And wouldn’t it be nice if they all sat down to dinner and everyone hit it off from the first moment?
“You could work with those of us on this side of the law.” Fritz’s voice called him back to the present.
Dexter shook his head. He’d already applied for the job once. Years ago. Right after a short stint with the military. When he’d been young and full of inventive ideas on how he could make a difference.
The Central Prison had offered first. By the time CMPD had gotten around to an interview, he’d been settled in Raleigh and buried in life. Halfway through proving he deserved the giant grant he’d been given to work miracles with some of the country’s most violent offenders. Some on death row. Most with longer sentences contingent on their progress. He’d convinced a lot of people potential was, in majority, about circumstance and having someone—anyone—believing that change was possible.
Was it? He didn’t know anymore.
“Listen.” Fritz shifted. Stress lined his face. “I know you’re saving the world in Raleigh. Do me a favor. Evaluate some of my team. Get the FBI off my back about last summer’s undercover deal.”
“So you mean Agent Robinson. Get him off your back about the lack of information regarding Davis’ undercover status well after it was needed?” Dexter waved Charleen’s file. “You had your guy—thanks, in part, to her.”
“We may have nailed the Pilot Bomber, but there were other bad apples.” He shifted. “Do this for me. I won’t mention the job again. Deal?”
At least with the inmates he already knew what he was getting into. He dropped the folder to the desk. “Am I supposed to use his supposedly burnt-out perceptions as my guide on these fit tests?”
“That’s your call, Dexter. Read them or don’t. I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t trust your judgment.” Fritz stepped away from the desk, but turned back, his fingers pointing to the file. “She gave him what she believes is the truth, and for reasons that aren’t clear, he didn’t discuss the possible issues with me.”
Much like Dexter wouldn’t go through the morning with Major Fritz. Had Dr. Hicks been protecting Charleen or…? “How can I get in touch with him?”
“You can try his cell, but I doubt he’ll answer.” He paused. “I can’t be impartial on this aspect of her job. She’s been friends with my youngest son since first grade. I’ve seen her limitations firsthand, but I’ve also been impressed with her abilities. She’s one of the best at what she does, so the cop side of me wants to believe she’s okay.” He brushed his open palm across the edge of his jaw. “The rest of me worries like a father. I just need to know she’s okay up here—” He pointed to his head. “After everything this last summer. Both of the deaths were self-defense. Nobody is arguing that. It’s the consecutive number and her refusal to discuss the incident.”
Dexter had been there for them. Had watched her pull the trigger with little thought.
The chair creaked as he sat, exhaustion riding on his shoulders. “If you’re really concerned, why does she still have a badge or her service weapon?”
“Because she’s very skilled at adapting.”
Dexter couldn’t argue with that. She’d jumped the balconies in a heartbeat, for a child who’d somehow managed to latch onto the few words she’d spoken.
“Her childhood taught her that. If I honestly thought she were a danger, I wouldn’t hesitate to take away her access to everything within these walls. The truth is she’s loyal to a fault, all about the details, and not much for drama. It’s why we asked her to go undercover four years ago. Right before that explosion you were involved in at the rehab center in Raleigh. At the time I thought I’d have to add incentives in order to get her on board. That wasn’t the case.”
“Why the big push? I assume you had other willing agents.”
“As a kid she often hung back. Would take in a scene and learn from it. Most of the time you wouldn’t even know she was around unless something happened that forced her from the sidelines. She has memory recall that has come in handy more often than not. Plus she understands how a criminal mind operates.”
“That’s the job, isn’t it?”
Fritz nodded. “Of course, but her understanding goes beyond what you can learn in classes. Let me put it this way, it’s like she’s had years of experience as a cop. The kind of intuition about situations that you only acquire after thirty to forty years on the job. That can’t be taught.”
It couldn’t. But it also came with a level of sacrifice. Profilers often saw the world in jaded hues, their personal lives taking a serious nosedive a dozen years in. It was the same for any department of justice employee. “So you need an impartial ear?”
“Yes. And I need someone who isn’t afraid to make a hard call, though I hope it isn’t necessary with anyone—much less Davis.” Fritz paused. “If she doesn’t cooperate, her career is over. There won’t be anything I can do about it. Especially after this morning.”
So much for keeping the details to himself. “What about it?”
“FBI Director Stotts is breathing down our necks. Our office had details—nobody knows how or from where—and called the FBI. Their squad didn’t make it to that house on time. Several elite citizens called their congressmen about it. Bam. Everybody is in a panic about explosives and that ceremony. Just wait for the storm on the news later. I’ve already had three reporters contact me for comment.”
If you walk inside that stadium without Elliot…
The scene inside the house with Charleen popped into his mind. What had the guy with the backpack—he had the same dark hair and green eyes—been doing there? What had he meant? How well did Charleen know him?
Was that encounter even real?
“The original stadium blast was with C-4. From what I heard, today’s incident was a nitro-manure mixture.”
“You and I both know that. Somebody screamed copycat and now everyone is in an uproar. I need the details. I need them fast. Gotta put out the fire before it expands.”
“You’ve got the wrong guy.” Dexter used his index finger to flick the folder. The pages fanned across the wood.
“Do I?” Fritz worked his jaw. “Seems like you’ve had a lot of success at the prison.”
“I doubt your team would like being compared to the people they help put there.” Charleen wouldn’t. He could already envision that chip she had on her shoulder talking. Throwing out words that shouldn’t be said just to make sure the person on the other side kept their guard up.
That’s me. All spit and vinegar. Proving I don’t care… On the sidelines. In the shadows. Just out of sight.
“My success is the immeasurable kind that law-abiding citizens don’t believe in or want to hear about. You’re talking apples and oranges.”
Fritz shifted. “And yet, you’ve devoted years of your life to inmate rehabilitation. Both during incarceration and following.”
He’d never worked with an inmate he’d known personally. It would’ve been unethical and a setup for disaster. “Say I can’t be impartial either. I was in the room that day in the hospital.” He’d watched the complete struggle on Amanda’s face as she tried to use her nondominant hand to take down the men holding them hostage. The gun shook in her fingers. Eileen Nettles bled out nearby.
Everyone in the space had been injured in some way, including Charleen and himself. She’d been lying next to him, unconscious one minute, up on her feet the next as if the knock she’d taken to the head had never happened.
She’d pulled the trigger. Taken out the threats. It hadn’t been in time to save Amanda’s mother, but everyone else had come out alive.
“That’s contrary, Dexter. I don’t need to get into the details, do I? The specific situation that should’ve left you very partial concerning a certain inmate and an explosion. Your near death. The remorseless way she killed a large number of people inside that rehab ce—”
“It’s not a discussion I’m willing to have.” Dexter’s molars slammed together.
Fritz straightened. “I need someone who’s got a solid head on his shoulders. You’ve proved that’s you. Or you would’ve refused to work with Bethany Markel. You would’ve lost your cool the first time she ever opened her mouth.”
Dexter took in a breath. He was starting to question the solid head on his shoulders idea.
“Because, if it were me in that situation, faced with someone who’d tried to kill me…”
He wasn’t engaging. Couldn’t afford to.
Fritz maintained eye contact, the motion trapping Dexter.
You could work with those of us on this side of the law…
“So when you said a few of your team, you meant Detective Davis.”
“Among others.” Fritz tapped the surface again. “My main goal is to get her back in the field. Get this mess straightened out. I’ve tried an impartial ear. I’m willing to try something else. Someone else. Someone with a little understanding of what it meant to be in that room last summer. Someone who knows what it’s like to stare into the face of a person who’s wronged them and do so with patience.”
Dexter clenched his hand into a fist and then released it. No matter where he lived or what he did, his life was never private. Hadn’t been that way for four years. Not since he’d woken up in that hospital following the rehab center explosion. Not since the culprit—Bethany Markel—had been booked inside The Central Prison and his program had nearly been dismantled.
It was the entire reason the city of Charlotte wanted to parade him and a bunch of other heroes across their new stage. They were hoping for absolution that wasn’t theirs to give or take.
“Consider it a little rehabilitation, Dexter, if nothing else. I’m unwilling to lose one man or woman to the monsters in their minds.” He tapped his head. “I refuse to lose my best.”
Dexter should say no. Walk out and forget this day. Forget Charleen. Her chaotic way of doing things that scared him right down to his core. The way she could take a frantic boy and make him think about anything beside his half-dead sister and the bomb fortified around them.
The way she could kiss him to get his attention and play the whole thing off as if it didn’t matter. How she brushed off friendship—in any manner—but didn’t let go completely.
He found himself nodding, the urge to protect rearing up. “One condition.”
Fritz didn’t move.
“The ceremony at the stadium. I want out.”
___
Stupid.
Charleen was the most stupid person on the planet. The truth buzzed inside every fiber of her being. This lifestyle wasn’t new, her cautious and evasive nature a well-worn habit that she never veered from.
Apparently not where Dexter was concerned.
So, how did you know, Charleen?
She flicked through the camera feed inside the Internal Affairs video lab. Rewound it, then watched the video again and tried to drown out Dexter’s seemingly simple question. Her not-so-simple answer.
The words had tumbled out so quickly, her mouth moving faster than her brain—a problem she couldn’t afford. Not with anyone, but especially Dexter.
He saw too much. Heard it with his heart instead of his ears. Was interested in digging deeper.
How was she supposed to explain that she’d known because she’d witnessed the bloodshed? No, she’d seen the direct aftermath. Been there—too little too late. That she’d traveled more consecutively than ever before. With no warning.
Dexter wasn’t going to get any of it. He wasn’t going to grasp the role he’d played through at least two of those absorptions—not only in her scope of reality, but connected to her in a way that had never happened before.
With anyone.
Was she supposed to blurt that out in one rush? Mosey away as if sunshine and roses ruled the day?
Beth made a long and high-pitched buzzing sound from where she sat next to Charleen inside the video lab. “Wrong conversation, Vi.” Beth propped her feet on the desk in front of her. “You start these conversations slow. Same as when you’re interviewing a suspect. Start simple. Work your way up.”
“Uh-huh. So you keep advising.” Charleen froze the old feed from last summer outside of the crime lab. “You’re forgetting the fatal flaw. I’m already on bad terms with Dexter.” She hit play. The vehicle came into view, the trajectory in line with her when she’d pulled her car out of the parking lot. There’d been no slowing. If anything, the van appeared to speed up. And then it sandwiched her Toyota between a tree and its metal before reversing, nearly running Amanda down, the latter conveniently off camera before disappearing out of sight.
None of the five angles had a clear picture of the man inside the vehicle and no distinguishing features that set it apart from any other Fords in the area, except the dent in its front bumper.
“Says you.” Beth moved her feet to the floor and leaned forward. “You’re not going to find anything on this old footage. You and Amanda already scoured it last summer. If there had been something to find, one of you would’ve found it already.”
“Searching for every Jo or Elliot isn’t exactly opening any doors either.” There were too many combinations. First name. Last name. Nickname. Children. Adults. Teens. Unless she could find a connection. A way to whittle the list down. Until then, these men were a blur of faces and nationalities. The process had led her down a ridiculous rabbit hole.
“It’s not stupid to care for someone, Vi. So you called up to Raleigh and asked for all available sign-in rosters from the rehab center the day of the explosion. You either find what you’re looking for or you don’t. No big deal.”
It was. She’d find answers on his mysterious wife, and then Dexter would be gone. That would be it. Problem solved.
A whoosh sounded in the quiet as the automatic doors to the lab opened.
“Should have known I’d find you here.” The deep masculine voice grated down her nerves with knife-like precision, an onslaught of emotions popping into her mind. Anger. Annoyance.
“Oh, goodie.” Beth crossed her arms over her chest. “Showdown number eighty-seven for the day. Featuring Mr. Bad Date. Wonder what he wants this time.”
The door slid closed as firm footfalls brought Detective Brent Harwood closer. He took the seat next to her, his large body taking up the space between their chairs. The sharp scent of his cologne incited an instant headache.
“Major Fritz is looking for you.” The words nicked over her like razor blades, hitting every raised piece of flesh along the way.
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t move. Didn’t let the prickle of anxiety covering her skin sink any deeper. Maybe if she kept her replies short and her focus elsewhere he’d leave.
“Keep dreaming, honey.” Beth’s hazel eyes were locked on Brent, his dark hair and chiseled face. The way he wore his uniform on the snug side. “He’s not going to get the hint. Your avoidance wasn’t a big enough sign. You gave chase.”
She’d accepted an undercover op. That was different. Not a chase she’d expected him to latch on to.
“From your perspective.” Beth smirked. “In his mind, you were right under his nose. Hurts the pride, honey. He’s a cop. He should’ve been able to find you, undercover deal or not. Now he’s a bad date that won’t go away.”
There had been a reprieve. At least before he’d shown up at Knight House last week.
Beth shook her head. “Because you jumped from that moment to a long series of undercover ops. Instead of confronting this issue and making it go away, you ran.”
Charleen ground her teeth together. The choice had been automatic, her decision leading to one extended mission she’d repeat.
“Which puts you right back here, Vi.” Annoyance dripped from Beth’s words.
Sent irritation through Charleen. She should’ve gone straight to the hospital. Tried to talk to Josiah. Checked in on Fay. Made sure the pair would have access to each other once Josiah came to Knight House.
Known she wouldn’t find anything of value in the Internal Affairs building.
Brent rolled a pen between his thumb and forefinger. “You hear about Hicks?”
She let out a breath. Maybe he’d shoot the breeze and leave. “Yup.” She didn’t know what to make of it. Had her words at their last counseling session hit that big a mark?
“They brought in an interim replacement. Some doctor that normally works with inmates.”
“I know.” She’d seen Dexter in Hicks’ office when she passed it and kept on walking. Pretended she’d never seen him. The image of Dexter’s tall form and violet eyes did stupid things to her stomach. “Thanks for the information.”
“Heard you made a big save today at that house on Avon Avenue.”
The slow ache building in her ribs wouldn’t let her forget. “Team effort.” Charleen flipped to another video, a scene that looked unfamiliar. She jotted down a few notes she didn’t need. Willed her hand to stop shaking.
“I didn’t realize you were back out in the field.”
She eyed him. “I wasn’t aware that you were in a position to be informed of my status.”
He leaned a forearm on the desk and moved closer. “That’s how this is going to go?”
What the…? She wasn’t backing away. Had already made that mistake today with Jo. Showing weakness had left her wide open for attack. “I guess since I have no idea what this is, yes.”
He shook his head. “I looked for you.”
She tried to keep her breathing even. She needed to get out of the room. Get out and not look back. “I wasn’t supposed to be found. That was the deal. No attachments.”
“We made plans. You disappeared. I thought something happened. Major Fritz wouldn’t give anyone any information.”
“Tell him to back off, Vi.” Beth stood. “It’s not complicated. You aren’t interested in anything with him. Period. End of story. Nothing personal, buddy. Your concern is appreciated.”
“Then you showed up on TV after the hospital shooting.” Harwood’s voice was quiet. “I’d like a chance to explain.”
Explain? She logged out of her browser and stood.
He followed suit and stepped closer. His hand moved toward her arm. The hair on her body stood at attention. If he touched her…
“I’d like to hear you explain.”
“Is he for real?” Beth rolled her eyes and flung her arms in his direction. “This is what you won’t undo? This?”
Nobody had gotten hurt. Nobody had gotten hurt. They’d been at a Pilot’s game—probably the best one in recent history—she’d gotten up. When she’d come back there had been someone else in her spot.
Charleen made a grab for her notebook and pen, the muscles across her ribcage protesting the motion. She sucked in a slow breath, then let it out and straightened. “There’s nothing to say. Nothing you need to clarify. Nothing I need to clarify.” Beth was right. This wasn’t personal. She’d done enough running today. First with Jo. Then Dexter. “We had two dates. Nothing to write home about.”
His eyebrows slammed together. “I wanted to give you more information. I couldn’t. You have to understand that. It was standard operating procedure.”
“Riiiiiight.”
“It wasn’t fake. And if I could do it again—”
Charleen shook her head. “You’d blow your wife’s cover? That’s really sweet, Harwood. What a guy.”
“Ex-wife.” His jaw clenched. “We could have something special.” His voice belied the words, the syllables devoid of anything that embodied it.
“No. We can’t.” It didn’t change the fact that she’d accepted the date because she desperately wanted to be normal. He’d asked. She’d said yes before her brain had time to process.
“We were in the middle of a divorce. She appeared out of nowhere. She kissed me. That’s what you saw. That’s why you left, right?”
“It doesn’t make a difference.” It was that simple. There hadn’t been disappointment. Just anger at her own stupidity.
“You know how many people we had working the Pilot Bomber case from the inside.”
Beth paced the space. “They were in the middle of a supposed divorce, yet they managed to share information. Confidential information that he didn’t have clearance for.” Beth stopped, her face a mask of I-told-you-so. “Wonder why.”
“It’s not my business.” Charleen resisted placing her hands over her ears. His ex-wife worked for the State Bureau of Investigations. Charleen knew what the other woman had contributed to the workload. What it had cost to be on the hunt for a faceless madman for a number of years. Praying it wasn’t someone she respected. Hoping they found their guy before more lives were lost.
Charleen had lived that. Had been terrified that those around her might be involved, and then just prayed for the means to catch their guy.
And was utterly devastated by the truth.
Harwood shifted. “I need you to understand.”
“No.” They weren’t going there. Not in any capacity. The past was just that. Even traveling in time didn’t offer complete absolution. There were no guarantees that a worse set of events wouldn’t occur. “The last place I’m going to understand it is here.” Or anywhere. Four years ago she might have told herself the sole reason for accepting an undercover op was the bad decision in front of her who had a wife she’d failed to be aware of.
It was more than that.
Being out of touch and behind the scenes hampered a normal person’s lifestyle. She didn’t have one—couldn’t have one—not with all her secreted truths.
She saved lives. That had always been the mission… That couldn’t be what Jo referred to. It was too vague. Something almost every person embodied a little bit of. If the chance was available, you saved a life.
“I’ve waited.” Harwood’s voice brought her back to the present.
His version of waiting was grossly different than hers. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. It was two dates. There were no declarations of love. We didn’t even kiss. Why bother?”
“Brent.” Harwood shifted, towering over her with linebacker height and build, effectively blocking a clear path to the exit. His dark eyes were focused on her. “Is it so hard to use my first name?”
Charleen gripped the pen in her hand. “I’m not interested. There’s nothing to explain. If absolution is your angle, you’ve got it. Good enough?”
He took another step closer, so they were nose to nose—or they would’ve been if he wasn’t so much taller than her. Dexter’s height lent security. Invited her to step closer. Harwood’s intimidated. Made the raging storm in her gut intensify.
“This is about last week outside that shelter.”
Charleen sucked in a breath. “Knight House is a home for boys. A respectable place where kids foster hope about what it means to be a part of a family.”
“It’s going to be a home for nobody soon. From what I can tell, there aren’t even any qualified individuals working there.”
“What are you talking about? It’s staffed full-time by a licensed social worker.”
“They’ve got too many kids.”
Juliana kept up to date on every single code in relation to the place. “And you’re the expert?”
His eyes narrowed. “One call to the state is all it takes.”
Red floated across Charleen’s vision. Her pulse pounded in her ears. They’d shut it down for an investigation. Those boys would lose their place.
“Harwood.” Major Fritz’s voice filled the room as he came into view. He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his immaculately pressed pants. His shoes tapped along the marble flooring with each step he took toward them, his eyes guarded. “This is Dexter Knight.” Major Fritz motioned to where Dexter stood, a few feet behind him, his posture stiff and his face carefully blank as if he’d heard every aspect of the conversation between herself and Harwood.
Dexter didn’t make eye contact with her, his gaze stuck on the other man.
“He needs to speak with you, Harwood. Now.”
Harwood’s eyes hit her in a way that didn’t leave much to the imagination. “I’ll call you later.”
“I’m good, thanks.” She refused to play his game.
He turned toward their boss and moved out of the space with Dexter as if he didn’t need any reassurances from her to succeed in whatever endeavor he had planned.
“You’ve been in here every day this week, I hear.” Fritz’s voice centered her attention.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Not when you’re working on something, no. But when you’re reviewing old footage—closed-case footage—it causes concern.”
She sat. Managed a full breath. Reopened her viewer. It wasn’t all closed, because some of the information she possessed had never been shared. Had never made it to a case at all because it was inconclusive and didn’t fit in the budget.
“And when you’re uncooperative with Dr. Hicks—”
She couldn’t catch a break today. “I’m not difficult on purpose. I’m fine. Just moving on like normal. It happened. Why does everyone want to talk it to death?”
He sat. “He needed to know one thing, Davis.”
It hadn’t been one thing. It had been the thing.
Would you do it again?
“Did we leave you out there too long?”
She shook her head. “I was working a job I already love.” Working alongside one of the best detectives she knew. Working alongside Amanda. Sometimes following her into the thick of a case. “I wasn’t ensconced with gang bangers, so no.”
“You spent over three years at the Third Precinct. That’s time to make friends, build trust. Sometimes outing those same people is hard.”
“I didn’t supply any information on anyone who didn’t deserve it. Friendship or not.” Not that there’d been a whole lot of that going on during her undercover work. She didn’t operate like that.
Fritz nodded. “What’s with Harwood?”
“Are you asking as Major Fritz or Mr. Fritz?”
“Is one guy better?”
She shrugged. They were absolutely the same, one able to hear more than the other.
“I’m pretty sure the average man advised you against starting anything with Harwood before you went undercover.”
“I had no idea he was married.”
“A lot of people didn’t.”
But Fritz had known. Had made it a point to know everything about everyone who worked under and around him, much like Charleen did—only she’d foregone that for a chance at normal. No, she’d foregone it for a reason she couldn’t name.
It was out of character. Plain and simple.
“A mistake I don’t intend to repeat. I wasn’t really interested then and I’m not now.”
He nodded. “I heard about your little jaunt today.” He folded his arms across his chest, his gray eyes scanning her as he stood. “Any intel you had should have come to me.”
“There wasn’t time.” Which was a complete understatement.
His gaze hardened. “You haven’t passed your evaluation—the majority of that your own doing. That means you don’t step foot in the field. You don’t make arrests. You don’t make demands of other officials. You don’t do much of anything. Since you have, I have to explain why the action was absolutely necessary.”
“Isn’t it obvious? Everyone inside that house would’ve been injured or dead.”
“Davis.” His index finger jabbed into the surface in front of her. “I want the details on my desk by tomorrow morning.”
Her heart started a frantic pound. “Yes, sir.”
“No exceptions.”
Right. Like not having any intel to provide. That wasn’t an exception at all.
“I’m sure you’ve heard that Dr. Hicks took a leave of absence. Dexter Knight is his interim replacement. You’ve got until this time tomorrow to talk to him.”
Fantastic. “That’s oddly unspecific. Do we shoot the breeze or…?”
One brow rose above the other. “I’ve given you as much time as you’re going to get. Don’t make me threaten things neither of us wants to see happen, Davis. Talk to him. ASAP.”