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A COLD, DRIZZLY MORNING greeted Fish when he stepped outside the next day. He strolled toward the PT field, where Manny Rodriquez sipped from a stainless-steel travel mug, clipboard balanced against his hip, the ever-present stopwatch around his neck.
“Get your ass in gear, Fish. Three miles, then the obstacle course. Move it. Move it. Move it.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Fish muttered.
Ignoring the cactus-induced ache in his leg, he jogged toward the track where ten other operatives, both seasoned and newbies like himself, were spaced around the oval. He stopped beside the track, did his stretches, then set his watch to measure his distance before starting out. Do the run, make sure your time is within Manny’s standards. After a warmup lap, Fish settled into the pace he could keep up for hours, his mind wandering back to his first day with Lexi.
The LT had thought it was funny—or maybe he’d been setting them up to fail—pairing the dark, not-handsome-by-a-long-shot Jew with the Hollywood-starlet, gorgeous, green-eyed-blonde WASP.
If there was one thing Nana had drilled into him, it was there was no room for prejudice in their world. Everyone was to be judged on his or her merits. Of course, he’d never brought Lexi to meet Nana, especially not as a date, which would have blown his grandmother out of the water, not to mention expose her hypocrisy. Three years ago, she’d stopped asking if he was meeting nice Jewish girls and switched her criteria to nice girls, period. Who knows? In another year or two, she might switch to just plain girls.
Manny’s cursing broke into Fish’s reverie. He automatically picked up his pace—had he slowed while woolgathering? No, Manny was shouting at Travis. The trick was keeping your pace fast enough to finish in the upper end of Manny’s window, while saving enough for the obstacle course.
Fish had, but barely. Yesterday’s mission, the long hours, the thoughts of Lexi roiling through his brain had taken their toll. He finished, but endured an ass-chewing from Manny for his less-than-stellar performance.
“My sister could’ve outdone you today, Fish. She’s got ten years and forty pounds on you.”
“Sorry, Sir. Won’t happen again.”
“Damn right. To help you remember, you can scale the wall one more time.” Manny barked at Travis. “T-Bone, you’re spotting this slacker. Make sure he doesn’t kill himself.”
Great. Fish knew Manny wasn’t mad at him, but he had put in a crappy performance. Travis would be pissed at having to stay out in the cold instead of hitting a nice, hot shower.
He cast an apologetic glance in Travis’s direction, but the man was already high-tailing it to the obstacle course. Fish wasn’t going to use up one extra iota of strength, so he ignored the obvious taunt and jogged to the course.
Travis waited at the edge of the wall when Fish reached the starting point for the runup. After three deep inhales and exhales, he barreled toward the wall, took a flying leap, and thank you whoever watched over former fat boys, caught the rope on the first try. He struggled to the top, and straddled the wall, catching his breath.
“How’d it go with the Colorado op?” Travis called. “Heard about Olivia being on R and R. She get hurt?”
“Op went well enough,” Fish said. “Olivia had to be checked out for a concussion. Standard procedure. As for the R and R, that came from HQ, but nobody told me why. Could be she was due time off.”
“And you? Noticed a hitch in your step. What happened?”
“Picked up a few cactus spines. A couple are still under the skin. Hotshot said they’d work themselves out.”
“Not much of a story,” Travis said. “I’d up it to a knife graze, minimum, if you want to impress the ladies.”
“No need.”
“Ah, the unenviable dry spell. Kind of goes with the territory in this line of work.” Travis looked around, then stepped around the wall and thumped the rope against the boards. “Better get your ass down. Manny’s headed this way.”
Fish leaned over, grabbed the rope and rappelled—managed not to fall—and hit the sand pit at the bottom. Giving a wave, he trotted in Manny’s direction.
“Hit the showers,” Manny shouted. “You’re clear until called.”
Fish made sure he didn’t run faster than he had on the track as he headed to the compound’s housing unit. He’d grab lunch on the way home, then see what he could find out about a drug dealer named the Falcon.
Which was stupid. What could he do? Blackthorne had the highest level of intel gatherers. Fish’s computer skills were first rate, but Blackthorne’s gurus had avenues into places Fish could never penetrate.
Hell, Lexi hadn’t given him her new partner’s name. Intentionally, no doubt. Should he call in a favor from a friend on the force? No, that would get back to Lexi. Ask for Blackthorne’s help? Unless Lexi could prove her suspicions were justified, nobody in Intel here was going to spend time looking around. She wasn’t a client. Besides, her standing as a cop gave her an in to more databases than Fish, a mere civilian who was purportedly a computer maintenance tech for the public side of Blackthorne.
***
LEXI PARKED HER CAR in the station lot and entered the building. The smell of scorched coffee had her wishing she’d taken the few minutes to stop for an espresso, but getting here early, well before Devon Redburn, her partner, helped establish her position as his superior. Plus, it would give her almost an hour to search for the Falcon before roll call.
She changed into her uniform, shoved her personal belongings into her locker and twisted the dial on the combination lock. Upstairs, she found a vacant computer terminal and logged in. Not her case, and her tracks would be visible, but the Falcon was a suspected drug dealer. She’d be able to justify her search should her lieutenant or anyone else question it.
Knowing how easily she lost herself in searches, Lexi set an alarm on her phone for ten minutes before roll call and dove in. She started with an arrest she and Redburn had made that had drug ties, but one she hoped wouldn’t send up red flags if there was a cop—or cops—on the take. If she were doing anything shady, she’d for sure have wanted to know if anyone else was poking around.
Lexi sensed someone approaching and minimized the window. The clock at the bottom of the screen said thirty minutes had gone by. She swiveled in her chair as Redburn came over and rested his hands on the edge of the desk, his expensive aftershave bombarding her nostrils.
“Morning, Partner,” Redburn said. “Hard at work already, I see. Or are you Amazon shopping on company time?”
She fought the urge to smack him and forced a neutral expression.
“Trying to get a jump start on our day.” She gave him a slow, careful, visual inspection, spending extra time at the fit of his shirt. Reaching her hand out, as if to touch his chest, she said, “You have your vest on, right?”
“C’mon. Those things are hot. Heavy. And they chafe.”
“And they can save your life. You know the drill. A t-shirt under and over helps. Go. Change. I’ll meet you in roll call.”
He stomped away like a three-year-old being sent to his room. As soon as he was out of sight, Lexi reviewed the names she’d seen on the last report. Detective O’Reilly was a straight shooter. She could talk to him. After work. Over a beer, maybe. First, she had to get through her day with her reluctant, irritating, and arrogant boot.
With time to spare, she meandered to the assembly room, assessing each cop she passed, wondering if they were involved with the Falcon. Before taking a seat in the last row, she searched for Redburn.
He sat in the front row, third seat from the left, as he always did. Back straight, boots polished, uniform clean—with a vest, judging from his posture—staring intently at Officer Jaquette behind the lectern. Look at me. The perfect cop, listening to everything you’re saying, ready to get the bad guys off the street.
Of course, half of what Jaquette said never made it to Redburn’s brain to be processed, much less be remembered.
Aware she’d tuned out a lot of Jaquette’s routine comments, she had a twinge of guilt and refocused.
“Complaints of citizens being harassed by would-be gang-bangers on their way to the shops on Willard Street,” Jaquette said. “Watch the homeless at Schuyler Park. Reports that they’re dealing.”
Lexi’s ears perked up. Dealing? Could it be a lead to the Falcon? The homeless who hung out at Schuyler tended to be misfits, not troublemakers. Had the Falcon infiltrated with his own people pretending to be homeless? She doubted it. The people who called Schuyler home didn’t have the money to pay for drugs and were a tight group. Impostors would stand out.
Schuyler was on their beat. If there was a connection to the Falcon, no matter how remote, her boot’s behavior and body language might give her a clue as to whether he was involved.
“Questions?” Jaquette asked.
When there were none, Jaquette dismissed them with his usual, “Do good work.”
Lexi stood, moved toward the door, and waited for Redburn. His smile as he approached her was half a smirk. He thumped his hand against the Kevlar below his uniform. “Good to go.”
“Then let’s get on with it.” She marched for the motor pool at a brisk clip.
Before getting in the vehicle, she had Redburn verify everything was ready.
“Aren’t they supposed to do this when they turn the car in?” he asked as he worked through the checklist.
“Redundancy can save your life,” she said, and not for the first—or tenth—time. “Maybe the last officer to use the vehicle was rushed or had an unruly suspect to deal with.” Or was lazy.
Redburn sniffed. “At least the collar didn’t piss. Or puke. I tell you, someone leaves me a car like that, I’m going to track him down and make him clean it up before I get in.”
“Yeah, sure,” she muttered under her breath.
“Okay, done,” he said. “Where to first?”
Lexi itched to go straight to Schuyler Park, but the dispatcher’s voice on the radio changed her plans.
“Neighbors reporting gunshots at Third and Euclid, Belfast Apartments. See the woman in Two-D.”