Chapter 22 Backup
Ryan
"Don't worry about the evidence files, Carlson," Voss called after me as he walked away. His voice carried easily across the bullpen. Heads turned. They were no longer pretending not to listen. "I'll make sure they're handled properly this time."
The implied threat hung in the air between us. My steps faltered for a moment. A reaction I couldn't fully suppress. I forced myself to keep walking. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how deep this cut.
My mind raced through contingencies. We needed those files. Needed the evidence of tampering. Without it, we had nothing but suspicions and Voss's careful fiction pointing back at me.
I ducked into the restroom. The door swung shut behind me with a soft thud that echoed in the empty space.
I braced my hands against the cool porcelain of the sink.
Stared at my reflection. The man staring back looked composed.
Professional. The same Detective Carlson I'd spent years building.
Only the tightness around my eyes gave anything away.
Clear thinking. That's what I needed. Voss's performance in the interrogation room. The doctored files. The convenient suspect. It all pointed to a coordinated effort to solidify the story of my guilt while hiding the real culprits.
My knuckles whitened on the edge of the sink.
Each breath was a conscious effort. Water dripped from the faucet.
Each drop hit loud in the silent bathroom.
My shoulders wouldn't drop. My hands wouldn't still.
I made the count. Four in. Four out. A trick I'd taught myself before press conferences, back when my pulse was running three beats above where it should have been.
Four in. Four out. The breath did what I told it to. The hands did not.
Just a ghost.
I watched them tremble against the porcelain.
Watched the shoulders in the mirror refuse to drop.
The last hour had taught me what I should have known already.
The people who'd built my career had built my ruin into the same blueprint.
And it had taken everything I had to walk out of that interrogation room without putting my fist through the one-way glass.
Get the shaking under control. Then get yourself out of this bathroom.
"Get it together." The whisper came harsh in the empty space.
I turned on the cold water. Cupped my hands beneath the stream and splashed it against my face. The shock of it helped. For a moment it washed away the suffocating feeling of being back in this building. Water dripped from my chin as I reached blindly for a paper towel.
The squeak of the bathroom door made me freeze. In the mirror, Hawley's broad frame filled the doorway. His gaze found mine in the reflection. I straightened. Wiped my face with more force than necessary.
"I'm fine. Just needed a minute."
The slight tremor in my words betrayed me. Hawley stayed in the doorway. Silent. Watchful. The weight of his attention twisted something in my chest.
"What? Did you find something in the records?"
He didn't answer right away. He just kept watching me with that focus that made me feel like he could see straight through me.
"Stop looking at me like that. I don't need your pity. I knew what I was walking into. Inspector Murphy warned me this wouldn't be a friendly visit."
Hawley stepped into the bathroom. Let the door swing shut behind him. He approached deliberately. Stopped a few feet away. Close enough to speak quietly. Far enough to give me space.
"It's not pity. It's backup."
The simple statement hung between us. Heavier than its three words. I blinked. Caught off guard by both his words and the quiet certainty with which he delivered them.
Backup.
The word didn't fit. Not the way I'd been holding the room. Pity was what I'd braced for. Pity I knew how to refuse. I had a whole arsenal of grins and deflections waiting for the next person who looked at me like I was something to be salvaged.
Backup was a different word entirely. Backup meant we were a unit. Backup meant Hawley had already decided he'd be in the room for whatever came next. That the math included him.
I let go of the sink. The porcelain had left red marks in the heels of my hands. I hadn't noticed gripping that hard. Hadn't noticed deciding to let go.
Hawley watched me notice. He didn't move closer. He didn't look away.
Our reflections met in the mirror again.
Something must have shown on my face. After months of carrying the blame alone.
Of walking the halls of 51 Division as an outsider.
Of sleeping in departmental housing with a man who barely spoke to me.
This unexpected alliance felt like solid ground beneath my feet.
The moment stretched between us. The bathroom was silent except for the steady drip of the faucet and our quiet breathing. Slowly, my own breath steadied. It matched the calm rhythm of his. I straightened. Smoothed down my tie and jacket. Pulled myself together piece by piece.
I leaned heavily against the sink. Finally let my shoulders drop as the tension turned into exhaustion.
"We need to get back to those records. Whatever Voss has been hiding..."
"I already went through everything. Every file, every report related to your case. There's nothing concrete we can use."
"What? There has to be something. Discrepancies, changed dates, missing statements..."
"That's the problem. As you said, everything looks clean because it's been systematically altered. Not just edits. Complete replacements. Professional job. Nothing out of place that couldn't be explained as standard procedure."
I exhaled slowly. The revelation settled like lead in my stomach. "So we have nothing."
"We have what we know. Just not what we can prove. Not yet."
We stood in silence for a moment. The weight of our impossible position sat between us. Finally, I straightened and adjusted my tie.
"We should go. Inspector Murphy is expecting us back, and I'd rather not give Voss the satisfaction of seeing us escorted out."
Hawley nodded. He stepped aside to let me pass. We walked through the bullpen. Past the curious stares and whispered comments. I kept my focus forward. Chin raised. The same posture I'd kept when I first walked out of this building in disgrace.
At the elevator, I paused. Took in the space that had once been my professional home. The desks. The case board. The familiar rhythm of detective work continuing without me. Something twisted painfully in my chest.
"I thought I'd feel better. Knowing the truth. I don't."
Hawley stood beside me. Solid. Grounding. His attention followed mine across the room. Took in the scene with those eyes that missed nothing.
"Truth isn't about feeling better. It's about knowing where to stand."
I turned to look at him. Really look at him.
Not the stoic partner I'd been assigned.
Someone who understood what it meant to face your past without flinching.
In that moment, the distance between us seemed to contract.
As if we'd finally found a common language after months of talking past each other.
"Then let's make sure we're standing on the right side when this breaks open."