What We Deserve

By HM Thomas

Two years ago, victim therapist Miranda Lawson lost everything after an assignment left a victim dead and her marriage in shambles. Now, she's determined to get her former life back, including her old job and possibly her ex-husband.  Detective Logan Pearson's job is the only thing he's managed to not screw up in the past few years. Miranda's return proves both treat and trial as she and Logan realize their divorce has done nothing to diminish the fire that burns between them.

 

When a girl arrives at the station beaten and mute, Miranda realizes a nightmare from her past now threatens her future. She and Logan must overcome the pain of their pasts to start again and ensure everyone gets what they deserve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Nov 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781771550352

Book preview

What We Deserve

HM THOMAS

CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP

What We Deserve

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

2373 NE Evergreen Avenue, Albany OR 97321 U.S.A.

~~~

First Edition 2020

eISBN: 978-1-77155-035-2

Copyright © 2020 HM Thomas All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Robyn Hart

Champagne Book Group supports copyright which encourages creativity and diverse voices, creates a rich culture, and promotes free speech. Thank you by complying by not scanning, uploading, and distributing this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher. Your purchase of an authorized electronic edition supports the author’s rights and hard work and allows Champagne Book Group to continue to bring readers fiction at its finest.

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To Andy. I never wanted to belong to

anyone until you showed me love

without walls. No matter where we

travel, you will always be home.

Chapter One

Miranda Pearson strode toward the police barricade, the soft soles of her flats sticking to the hot asphalt. The thick, August air closed in on her and made breathing difficult. She longed for even the slightest breeze, but none stirred, as if the wind held its breath for what would happen next. She glanced at the neighborhood sign at the entrance to the subdivision filled with new money and loose morals. Meadow Haven. Only the neighborhood offered no refuge tonight as blue and red lights flashed, accenting the scene in an eerie glow of funhouse hues.

What’s going on? she asked as she approached Detective Marcus Rodriguez.

He shook his head. It’s not good Miranda.

Obviously. If the situation had been good, he wouldn’t have called for a victim therapist in the middle of the night. Any time her services were needed, shit had hit the fan.

She studied the man in front of her. Even though he was her husband’s partner and her friend, he never used her first name on the job. His doing so told her more than the hard set of his jaw or the darkness of his usually smiling eyes, this situation must look hopeless.

What is it? She squared her shoulders, wiped a strand of dark hair from her eyes and braced herself.

His barrel chest rose and fell with a sigh. Sophia Threatt. He ran a hand over his close–cropped dark hair then shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis.

Sophia? Her voice hitched. This isn’t her neighborhood.

One of her latest patients, Sophia, had been raped almost a year ago by a classmate. Last week, the rapist had walked out of the courtroom a free man, still the richest, smartest, most handsome boy in school. Miranda swallowed the familiar anger at her husband for being the detective who’d helped people believe in the boy’s innocence when she’d been certain of his guilt.

It’s—

Miranda shook her head. It’s Bobby Blair’s neighborhood.

Yeah, Bobby Blair’s. She’s got him in his house. Marcus swallowed. She’s got a gun on him. She plans to use it.

Her stomach twisted, and bile rose in her throat. She choked back the acid and scanned the crowd of teens and adults huddled around. Tears and anxiety covered their faces. She imagined parents tried to decide whether to hold their children close or leave them alone, while officers struggled between regarding Sophia as a victim or a perp. She could understand their positions, but she could also empathize with Sophia’s. Miranda didn’t spot her husband in the crowd. She breathed easier.

Have you called Logan?

No, I—

Don’t. Logan had done enough to ruin Sophia’s life. She didn’t need him here tonight to make the situation worse. She slipped on the vest Marcus offered her. I’ll handle this. She’ll be fine.

Marcus stared at her. If you can’t get through to her…

He didn’t have to finish. If she couldn’t reason with the girl, no one could. Miranda was everyone’s last hope. So be it. She’d gotten them through similar situations before.

Dr. Pearson. An officer came forward with a tall boy. His disheveled blond hair looked as if he’d been gripping handfuls. He smelled of alcohol, but his wide eyes appeared sober.

Yes. She fastened the vest and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

I’m Leo Swartz. His voice shook. I was at Bobby’s when Sophia came in. He swallowed and fidgeted. His face grew so pale Miranda feared he’d pass out.

She took his arm and waited for him to lock his watery blue gaze with hers. Go ahead, she urged.

She’s going to kill him. He swallowed. And I don’t blame her.

Miranda glanced at Marcus’s calm face and then turned back to the boy. Why not?

He raped her. Tears slid down the boy’s face as he spoke. He told me he did. I-I didn’t believe her at first. But he raped her, and he laughed when he got off.

She bit back her anger. Anger at the boy, the system, herself, her husband. They’d all failed Sophia. We’ll fix this. She offered hope she didn’t feel. Leo nodded solemnly before the officer led him away.

She and Marcus strode down the deserted suburban street to the house. What happened? she asked when the spectators could no longer hear them.

Marcus took the phone from his pocket and handed it over. Sophia was on the screen. Miranda pressed the small white arrow, bringing the girl’s tear-stained face to life. In the background, Bobby berated her, laughing because no one believed her, telling her he could use her whenever he wanted. Sophia shook her head, told him no, the way she’d sworn she had the night he stole her virginity. He laughed and called her weak, told her she had no power. Miranda’s stomach churned and then her breath caught as the girl jerked a gun from her bag and pointed it at Bobby.

Taking the phone from her hand, Marcus ended the video and slipped the device back into his pocket.

I can still fix this.

Several kids got it on video, Marcus explained. It’s probably all over social media by now.

Are there any kids left inside?

He shook his head. Just Sophia and Bobby. They all ran after she pulled the gun.

Sucking in a deep breath, Miranda studied the massive stone structure in front of her. The front door gaped open. Bobby’s parents had enough money to get him out of any trouble he found himself in, but their money couldn’t compete with a desperate girl and a gun.

The first officers attempted to talk to her, Marcus continued. She wouldn’t communicate, just threatened to shoot.

Of course she didn’t want to talk to the police. They’d failed her once already. Guilt and anger washed over her. Neither would help. She pushed her emotions aside and stepped into the house.

Miranda scanned the foyer, taking in the remnants of the interrupted party. Shards of broken glass crunched under her shoes and reflected light from the massive chandelier hanging above her in the two–story entryway. To her left, the dining room held a table large enough for a baronial feast. On the tabletop, an enormous vase of fresh flowers lay on its side, water dripping onto the Persian rug.

Marcus shifted his brown-eyed gaze toward the stairs and nodded.

She inched closer to the curving staircase. Sophia. It’s Miranda Pearson.

Go away, Sophia called down.

Miranda crept forward, signaling for Marcus to stay put. The girl would never open up to her if she saw an officer. She stepped onto the plush, white carpet runner, marred with dirty footprints. Who the hell put white carpet on their stairs? People with enough money to erase accidents.

She should’ve seen this coming. She’d met weekly with the girl since her rape. Although depressed, she had never expected Sophia would go after Bobby. When the trial ended a week ago, Miranda, not Sophia, had been furious with the verdict and everyone who’d helped obtain the decision. She should’ve known her patient’s quiet acceptance covered something more sinister.

I’m coming up. Miranda climbed the stairs, peering through the open railings to the floor above her.

Go away. Sophia’s voice cracked. I don’t want you here.

You know I’m not going to leave you. She edged onto the landing at the top of the stairs.

Why not? the girl screeched. Everyone else has. They all look at me differently. My own mom and dad look at me differently…when they look at me at all. Her high, tinny voice sounded near hysteria. They think I’m a slut. They heard what he did to me. They think I liked it, that I-I let him do that to me.

During the trial, she’d described every ugly, dirty detail of her attack. Another violation that only served to provide the masses with more fodder for ridicule.

With an aching heart, she followed Sophia’s voice past closed doors to the end of the hall. Here a door stood open, revealing a large bedroom decorated in garnet and black, the colors of the university Bobby planned to attend in the fall. This must be his bedroom, the room where he stripped his victim of her innocence.

You’re not a slut. She stopped outside the bedroom door. He raped you. Everyone knows now. He admitted he raped you on video.

It doesn’t matter. Her patient shrugged.

Across the room, Bobby trembled on the bed. Sophia stood in front of him with the handgun pointed at his head. Her placid face showed no physical evidence of the panic in her voice. Her mouth even tilted upward at the corners.

Terror kicked in Miranda’s chest. What do you hope to get from this? She didn’t need to ask, but she needed to keep the girl talking. Sophia wanted the rapist to pay. She wanted him to be as terrified and helpless as she’d been. Miranda crossed the threshold.

Sophia shook her head. Stay out, Miranda. You’ve been good to me. I don’t want you to see what I have to do.

Sophia. She sharpened her voice, her stern cut the bullshit voice, but the girl didn’t even glance her way. "You don’t have to do anything. He admitted he raped you. No one will doubt you now. This whole nightmare is over."

The girl laughed, an eerie laugh, and Miranda’s blood ran cold.

You’re right, it is. She sounded distant. Defeated. I can’t get away from what he did to me. I can’t eat, sleep. I can’t even look at myself. I shower with my eyes closed.

She’d said these same things during their sessions.

You’re still beautiful. The girl had been quietly, classically beautiful before the rape. Over the past year, her inner strength had carved her into a woman with wise eyes and a beautiful smile. "He didn’t change you, Sophia. You’re still as special as you ever were."

Her patient’s hand tightened on the gun. No. He ruined me. The girl I was is damaged. She’s dead. Her gaze flickered to Miranda for a split second. She squeezed the trigger.

Miranda froze as the bullet pierced Bobby Blair’s skull. Blood splattered the headboard behind him. Footsteps pounded up the staircase.

She swung her gaze to the victim turned vigilante. The desperate girl already held the gun to her temple.

Miranda inched forward. Sophia, don’t—

The side of Sophia’s head exploded as she rushed to her. The girl’s blood showered her and the plush rug beneath. Catching the girl’s body in her arms, Miranda stumbled with the weight and collapsed to her knees. The room fell as silent as a tomb.

She jumped, startled when Marcus touched her shoulder. When had he arrived? With his help, she lowered Sophia’s body to the floor and slipped her arms from beneath her, ignoring the blood that stained her hands and clothes.

Miranda? Marcus took her by the arms and pulled her to her feet. Are you okay?

She closed her eyes. The girl’s face and the vacant, haunted look in her eyes hid behind Miranda’s lids. She was already gone. He killed her months ago.

Bobby lay dead in the same place he’d ended Sophia’s life a year earlier. His blood splattered the bedspread the young girl’s own virginal blood had marred. Miranda turned and exited the house.

~ * ~

Logan sat at the table in the cozy kitchen of the home he and Miranda had shared for six years. Once, the familiar scent of the cinnamon candles she favored and small trinkets from their adventures had comforted him. Not tonight. Instead, he comforted himself with a bottle of whiskey. The liquor didn’t work either.

In the drive, tires crunched over the gravel and then headlights swept through the plantation blinds. The microwave clock glowed 1:58. He’d grown accustomed to Miranda coming home later and later, but even this was unusual for her. Another man might assume his wife had a lover. He didn’t. Though she no longer welcomed his touch, she respected marriage too much to defile theirs by having sex with someone else. But why else would a wife come home at 2 AM?

Over the past two years, their marriage had crumbled. Now, they were merely two people sharing one house. He snickered. House. Their address was the only thing they shared. They didn’t even sleep in the same bed. Not that either of them acknowledged the chasm that stretched between them. Instead, he conveniently fell asleep on the couch, even if he lay awake for hours staring at the ceiling first. When had they begun to drift apart? Was it the night Sophia Threatt claimed Bobby Blair raped her, and he hadn’t believed her? Or before? Maybe if he could pinpoint the start, he could fix their ruined marriage. He’d do anything to make Miranda happy, but he’d run out of ideas. The only thing he could do for her now was to offer her an out, a way to escape him without having to escape her whole life.

He stared at the door for long minutes before the key turned in the lock. She glanced at him from under her dark lashes as she trudged through the kitchen. Her movements were stiff and awkward. The soles of her flats shuffled across the hardwood, as if the simple act of walking took too much energy. She didn’t speak, just passed by into the living room and on to the bedroom. Her footsteps stopped. He rose to follow her

What’s this? She stared at the empty bedroom closet then turned to take in the lack of his clutter in the bedroom.

He opened his mouth to answer but couldn’t find his voice.

She walked to the bathroom door and glanced inside where his toothbrush, razor, everything was gone from the polished countertop. Logan, what is this? she whispered.

When she faced him, he noticed blood spotted the sleeves of her wrinkled button–up shirt and clumped in the dark hair that had fallen from its confines. A few specks lingered on her pale face. His heart sank, and he forgot. Forgot most of his belongings waited in his car. Forgot he’d already booked a hotel room for the night. Forgot the two of them hadn’t had a real conversation in months.

He closed the physical distance between them and ran his hands over her face and hair, checking for injuries. What happened? Are you okay? My God. He tried to pull her closer, but she placed her hands on his chest, holding him back.

What is this, Logan? Are you leaving?

He stepped away, mirroring the emotional gulf between them. I won’t. He’d stay. She’d tell him about the blood. They’d mend their marriage. Fuck what his friends and self–help books said. Love was enough. He’d make it enough.

Her green eyes filled with tears, but they were absent from her voice when she said, Go. If you planned on walking out on me tonight, deserting our marriage, go ahead. Don’t let a little blood stop you.

She spun away and stomped into the bathroom, shutting the door in his face. The faint click of the lock sounded like a grenade decimating a once familiar landscape.

He braced his hands on the doorjamb, leaning his head against the wood door. Miranda, he pleaded, tears clogging his throat.

Go, she repeated.

From the other side of the door came the sound of running water, but the noise did nothing to drown out her sobs. He gathered the few remaining pieces of his heart, trudged to the kitchen for his keys and left the only woman he’d ever loved.

Chapter Two

Two Years Later

Logan pumped into the petite blonde, setting a pounding rhythm sure to leave them both sweaty and at least temporarily satisfied. She yelped again, moaning and writhing beneath him. Drowning out her theatrics, he concentrated on the task at hand, but even as her body squeezed around him, and she came, he couldn’t find any pleasure in her release. She was nothing like his ex-wife who had moaned and whispered his name, her hands clutching at him until she went boneless beneath him.

Damn it. He tried to shake away the image of Miranda’s lovely face awash with pleasure, but the attempt proved useless. Once his ex-wife’s ghost surfaced, he couldn’t force it back. Despite how little he deserved the pleasure of those memories, they belonged to him. Still thinking of his ex, his own pleasure broke through, emptying him.

He rolled away from the blonde, Sara Beth or Sally Anne. He couldn’t remember. She had one of those double names he hated. Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t need to use it again. Next to him, the woman sighed. He closed his eyes, and his jaw clenched tight. When she scooted closer to snuggle, he slid from her bed and retreated to the bathroom.

Slipping off the condom, he tossed it into the small trash can between the pedestal sink and shower. He despised rubbers. After being with Miranda for ten years, he’d never planned to use them again, but there wasn’t a way in hell he’d risk disease or worse yet, pregnancy. He’d loved his wife more than life, and he hadn’t been able to keep her. He wouldn’t tie himself to someone else forever by knocking them up.

He washed his hands and stared into the mirror over the sink. These days, he barely recognized himself. Light no longer shone in his dull eyes, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely smiled. Fortunately, he’d become a damn good actor. Pasting on a smile, he returned to the blonde’s bedroom. She lay curled on her side, facing the bathroom. A light snore escaped her. Thank God.

Creeping through the cramped room, he picked over the woman’s discarded garments and shoes to gather his clothes. His shin collided with a stool buried under a layer of clothes. He bit back a curse and froze, but she didn’t stir. Dragging on his boxers and pants, he didn’t bother fastening them as he shoved his feet into sneakers. Silently, he opened the door and slipped out, pulling his shirt over his head as he went. Once out of the apartment, he fastened his belt, tied his shoes and released an easy breath.

His head still swam. He’d been right to leave his Jeep at the bar. He was in no shape to drive. There was an all–night diner nearby. The night was crisp, cold enough he could see his breath in front of him, but a cloudless sky hung overhead. Maybe the walk would help clear his head. Besides, a stale cup of coffee while he waited on a cab beat the hell out of waking the blonde and risking a conversation.

Not a block from the apartment complex, a car approached, enveloping him in its headlights. Concentrating on the shadow he cast on the sidewalk, he shoved his hands into his pockets and ducked his head. The car slowed but didn’t pass. Moving from the cracked sidewalk into the grass, he feigned nonchalance when in reality every muscle in his body tensed. He’d left his gun at home, and its absence made him feel more exposed than he had naked and buried inside the blonde. A familiar blurp sounded behind him, followed by the unmistakable strobe of a blue light.

Ah fuck. Just what he needed—someone from the precinct catching him in his walk of shame. Trying to remember who patrolled this area, he stopped and turned toward the unmarked car creeping up beside him. Ah fuck, he said aloud this time when the brunette stopped. Anyone but her.

Get in, she told him through the open window.

I’m good, Detective. He turned away.

Right, she mumbled. That’s no doubt why you’re out walking in the middle of the night miles from home. Get in.

I was drunk, didn’t want to drive. I’m being responsible. He kept walking, and she kept following.

Damn it, Pearson, get in the car. She hit the brakes, and they both stopped. I can’t leave you out here. If you get hit or lost or whatever…

I can handle myself, Detective. I’m certainly not your responsibility.

She drummed her slender fingers on the steering wheel, and he almost laughed. How many of his memories had that steady beat as background noise? Debriefings, interrogations, stakeouts, court sessions. Vanessa’s incessant tap tap tap filled all the empty spaces.

You’re right, she snapped. I’d really like for you to walk home. Freezing your ass off is probably just what you deserve after whatever the hell you’ve been up to. Unfortunately, there are people I care about who, for some reason, care about you, and they’ll be pissed if I let you die. So, she took a deep breath, in the car, Pearson.

Maybe he’d drank more than he remembered because her words made his head swim. Finally, he gave in, opened the door and slid onto the passenger seat. Warm air pumped from the vents, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of rubbing his hands in front of them. Instead, he curled his fists in his lap.

You care about people? he quipped.

She narrowed her caramel eyes and motioned for him to put on his seat belt. A few.

"And these people would care? About me?"

I’m as baffled as you are. She eased back onto the street.

But not you?

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel until her bitten nails dug into the vinyl grip. I’ve made my distaste for you quite clear over the past two years.

More like three, he corrected.

Even before he’d left Miranda, her best friend had begun building walls against him. Maybe intuition came from working side by side with someone in such tense conditions. Whatever the reason, he was convinced Detective Vanessa Malone had known he planned to leave his wife even before he knew. She’d hated him every day since.

He lay his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. So, who are you doing this favor for?

I’d say Marcus, but with you gone, the captain would finally stop trying to find a fourth to even out our team.

You’d drive each other crazy within a month.

I don’t know. You and I managed when he refused to work with you after Miranda left. Marcus and I would be fine.

No. Vanessa would be fine. Poor Marcus would be flattened. The woman next to him had a tendency of steamrolling their other partner. She might hate Logan, but she needed him to be real with her and sometimes keep her in check. Something their other partner hesitated to do. No. The three of them needed each other. Only Miranda had ever been able to infiltrate their group.

Great. So, you’re actually saying no one cares if I survive in this world.

I’m sure your family cares.

He rubbed a hand over his face. Yeah. Maybe. Like Marcus, they also kept their forgiveness for leaving Miranda under lock and key.

Vanessa flicked on her blinker, the steady click filling the silence. When she finally parked in front of his townhome, he opened his mouth to thank her, but she cut him off. When are you going to stop this?

He looked into her dark eyes, hidden behind a layer of moisture, and flinched. What the hell? Vanessa Malone didn’t cry. They’d seen horrific things together: murdered mothers, abused babies, raped teenagers. She was a fucking rock.

Vanessa what the—

"You left her. You broke her heart. I will not feel sorry for you." Anger and tears swirled in her voice.

What are you talking about?

You’re killing yourself, she explained. I don’t even recognize you anymore. Why? Is this what you want? Is drinking and screwing better than what you shared with Miranda? I don’t…I can’t believe it is.

He sat up straighter, suddenly alert. Did Miranda say that? Does she think I left her because I wanted something else?

She scoffed. I’m sure she does. What should she think? You deserted her, and this is how you’ve spent the past two years—getting drunk and hopping from bed to bed. What happens when you knock up one of these co–eds and break her heart again?

Her words twisted a knife in his heart. I’m careful.

So you’re free to screw every female in town? Do you know what that does to her?

To who? No one cared who he slept with, except maybe the women he left behind.

Miranda, you dumbass.

This time the knife didn’t just twist. The blade went deeper, harder and stuck. Miranda doesn’t give a damn who I—

Right. His partner smirked. And you don’t care who she’s with either.

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t a liar, but this was one truth he couldn’t voice. He’d known what he was doing when he walked away from his wife, moved out of their home and signed the divorce papers. He wanted her to be happy, to have the life he’d failed to give her. For years, he’d kept her from happiness. He wouldn’t begrudge her now. But yes, he cared. The day she found someone else and moved on would likely kill him.

Vanessa blinked away tears and stared through the window. You’re a coward.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. I’m too drunk for this shit.

Her head snapped back around. You’re always too drunk, or too pissed, or too hungover. Jesus Logan, you’re pathetic.

He wanted to tell her to fuck off, but he couldn’t muster the anger. She wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t told himself a thousand times. He was a coward, and he was pathetic, but at least Miranda wasn’t miserable anymore.

Thanks for the lift— he pushed open the door —and the pep talk. Without waiting for a reply, he slammed the door and stomped to his front stoop.

I gave you a ride for her, the woman called from the car.

With his foot on the first step leading to his townhome, he didn’t face her.

She’d die if anything happened to you. And her heart breaks every time someone tells her they’ve seen you with someone else. Her voice cracked, and she coughed to cover the emotion.

He shifted to face his former friend.

She still loves you, but she’ll never tell you because right now, this version of you isn’t who she loves. You’re not worthy of what she has to give you.

She doesn’t want to give me anything. How dare she give him hope? She doesn’t love me anymore, but good try, because she’s the only one I’d change for.

You have to change for yourself. The Logan Pearson she fell in love with would.

She didn’t wait for his response but drove away from the curb. He waited for her taillights to disappear before he went inside and closed the door on the conversation. Despite her detective instincts, she didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. He was almost sure of it.

~ * ~

Logan dropped onto the unforgiving, plastic seat in the conference room. There was no use attempting to make himself comfortable. These chairs were built for efficiency not comfort. He scanned the white walls for any clues as to why their captain had called them here, but his superior hadn’t bothered to post an agenda on the whiteboard against the wall. Good, maybe this meeting would be short and sweet. Officers from every division trickled in, some of them off duty, some of them, like him, just starting their shift. Across the room, Vanessa sipped her coffee and chatted with one of the dispatchers. Thankfully, to date, she hadn’t mentioned the ride or the pep talk she’d given him two weeks ago. He sure as hell hadn’t brought them up.

Marcus entered the room and hurried to his side to squeeze into the seat next to him. The officer on the other side of him shot him an irritated glare as he was nudged from his seat. The large man didn’t even notice.

I’ve been looking for you. He bounced his knee in time with some unheard rhythm.

I’ve been right here. You should’ve started where the boss told me to be.

I mean since last night. I went by your house and then the bar. The bartender said you haven’t been by in weeks.

He looked away. About two.

Two weeks? Wow! D’you find a new watering hole? His partner chuckled. The small chair creaked beneath him.

He shrugged. He hadn’t found a new watering hole. He’d found a gym where he could pound out his frustrations instead of drinking them away. He hadn’t had a drink or a woman in sixteen days. He missed the alcohol most.

Pulling at the collar of his shirt, he opened his mouth to ask why his partner had been searching for him instead of at home with his wife and two kids, but the sight of a vaguely familiar blonde bob stopped him. His stomach knotted, sending a splash of the coffee he’d been drinking into his throat where it burned. The blonde lifted her head and scanned the room. When she spotted him her eyes brightened, and a smile spread across her face.

Ah fuck. He stared past her as if he didn’t recognize her.

What? Marcus’s head jerked toward the door.

What’s up with you? Normally the calm and collected good cop, today his partner acted like a nervous, fucking wreck.

N-nothing, Marcus stammered.

Sure. He inclined his head toward the door. Who are the plain clothes who just came in? He didn’t dare look. The blonde might assume an invitation he didn’t intend to give. Right now, he just needed his partner to assure him he hadn’t done the one thing he swore to never do again.

Couple of rookies Captain brought in a few weeks ago. Marcus shrugged, uninterested.

They’re cops? He did look now.

The blonde stood with two other women as young and petite as her. Women like that weren’t supposed to be police officers. He didn’t sleep with police officers. His job remained the one thing he’d managed to not screw up, the one place where he took charge, where he knew what he was doing. He couldn’t ruin his career by sleeping with fellow officers. Hadn’t he learned anything from his relationship with Miranda?

I don’t know much about them except they look barely legal… His partner’s gaze burned into the side of his face.

They’re plenty legal, he murmured.

Jesus Logan. D’you sleep with all of ’em or just—?

Just one, and I didn’t know.

You probably don’t even know her fucking name. The disgust in his voice stopped any rebuttal.

Slumping and crossing his arms over his chest, he didn’t look at his friend, and he didn’t glance at the women. Instead, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He needed a drink.

When the large man shifted beside him, he peeked one eye open.

At the front of the room, the captain entered through the glass doors, texting as he moved toward the podium. He scanned the crowd and nodded, as if satisfied most were here. He checked his phone one last time and then slid the device into his pocket and clapped his hands in front of him. The sound echoed in the cinder block room, and the voices quieted.

Logan sat up. He may give everyone around him the impression he didn’t give a shit about anything, but he loved his job.

Thank you for coming. Captain Mickels’s loud voice thundered through the room. I’ll try to not keep you. As most of you are aware, Dr. Thorsland resigned.

As he half-listened to his captain, his gaze drifted across the room to where the blonde leaned against the wall with the other rookies, her small dark eyes gazing at him. He snapped his focus back to Mickels.

We’ve been lucky to find a remarkable replacement, the captain continued. She planned to be here this morning, but she’s already hard at work.

Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees. Beside him, Marcus tapped his foot on the floor. Dr. Thorsland had replaced Miranda two years ago when she resigned. He never warmed up to the other woman who, while intelligent, had no skill for soothing victims. Anyone would be better than her.

At the front of the room, the captain continued. "She’s been working the Marquez case and the victim returned to school today. Some problems arose, so she’s there, smoothing things