Chapter 9 Levi
NINE
Levi
I didn’t sleep after Doc—Alejandro—left.
Every time I closed my eyes, the dark pressed in, and all I could see was him walking away.
No looking back. One minute, Alejandro was there, his breath still on my skin, and the next, the apartment was empty—just the faint smell of him lingering, fading by the hour.
I told myself it didn’t matter and that it had meant nothing.
But the pretending didn’t hold, and by the time I walked into the precinct the next morning, all I felt was stupid for letting a criminal who’d stalked me to my own home put his hands on me.
Still wanting him when I shouldn’t, when every instinct said to run, and resigned to the fact that wanting the wrong man was just one more thing I’d fucked up.
The lights were too bright, buzzing with that cheap fluorescent hum that drilled behind my eyes as I got coffee.
People moved around me, voices overlapping, the whole place feeling louder than it had any right to be because I was tired and lost in thought.
Some of them spoke to me, and I think I answered, but it was all distant—shock settling in, bruised and guilty in a way that felt bone-deep.
He watched a man die. I should hate him.
I watched a man die. I should hate myself.
Frank took one look at me and raised an eyebrow. “Rough night?”
“Didn’t sleep,” I muttered, dropping into my chair.
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t push, but the look he gave me said he could smell the lie.
We were barely settled when Davis called the morning meeting for every detective, cop, and administrator who was at their desks.
We filed into the conference room, coffees in hand, folders under arms. I forced myself to focus, to sit straight, to look like the person I was supposed to be, nervous as if anyone could tell what I’d done.
Then realized I was being absurd, because how in hell could anyone know?
Captain Davis tapped the SMART Board, and the display shifted to an X-ray—knee joint, clean metal glinting where bone should’ve been.
“We’ve got our second match yesterday,” he said.
“On older remains. Titanium plate with a useful serial number. Marcus Lannon.” He glanced at me, and I stiffened.
Marcus Lannon had been one of the names in the case against my father—a lost file, an overlooked key piece of evidence, another MC asshole who’d gotten away with murder.
Was it the same guy? “There’s a file on him from ‘97.” That said it all without being explicit.
It was the same man, one from my dad’s corruption case.
Across the room, Stanton cursed, staring right at me. “Marcus Lannon went missing in 2002. Before that, he served three years for MC activity—low-level enforcement and transport work. He only beat murder because dirty hands buried the case.”
Several people murmured—those like Stanton who knew my father’s case because they’d been there, others because they’d known the details secondhand.
No one said anything to me directly—I wasn’t my father, and they knew better than to say shit.
Still, I could see their expressions—the kid must have known what his dad was doing—but how the fuck was that possible given I’d been nine when it happened, and twelve when my dad was murdered in prison.
As people shoved back their chairs and filed out, Stanton stopped in front of me, “Maybe we should save ourselves the trouble and pull you off the case.” He leaned in, voice dropping. “Before you ruin this one, too. You’re a liability, Rosen—just like your father.”
Someone near the doorway grunted in agreement—ugly, quiet, and meant to sting.
Temper flared hot in my chest and made my vision tighten—but I shoved it down, forced it back where it belonged.
Almost.
“Stanton. Rosen,” Davis said over the shuffle of people leaving. “My office.”
My stomach dropped. Someone huffed in disgust—Stanton probably—but it was Frank I focused on, and his expression tightened. Warning. Sympathy. Something like brace yourself.
Now what?
Stanton followed Davis in, back straight, acting righteous. I followed and shut the door behind me, then sat because he gestured to the chair next to Stanton. The captain’s office felt smaller today, cramped and heavy, blinds half-closed to keep out the glare.
Davis didn’t let the silence sit long.
“Stanton, rein it in,” he snapped, voice low but carrying. “You want to act like a child, do it on your own time. In this department, we work as a team. Rosen is one of our best detectives, and we’re not closing a case this size if half the squad is too busy pissing in corners.”
Stanton stiffened, jaw flexing. “I’m just saying—”
“No,” Davis cut in. “You’re shit-stirring because you can’t let go of the past. You think you were the only one who lost cases because of Rosen Senior?
I had three homicide cases collapse in court.
I was shot by one of the men that asshole got off free.
” His gaze slid to me—defensive, protective, and raw.
“And I still show up and work with the man’s son because Levi is not his dad, and he’s a good cop who earned his place here. ”
That shut Stanton up—for about half a second. “Well, sir, while we’re being honest, how about Rosen explains how he’s so damn quick at getting information he shouldn’t know?”
Ice dropped in my stomach. “It’s called police work,” I said, voice flat. “Instead of bitching about the past, you should try it sometime.”
Stanton’s head snapped toward me as if he’d been yanked on a wire. “You little—” He rounded on me, lip curled. “Careful, Rosen. One day you’ll find out the hard way that no one cares what you say… only what they can pin on you.”
“Go on,” I said, turning to him fully. “Say it. Because maybe if you’d been a better cop back then, when I was a fucking kid, you could’ve stopped my dad before he burned half this department to the ground and ended up getting my brother killed.”
The vein in Stanton’s temple turned purple. He leaned in just enough so only I could hear: “Keep talking, Rosen. One slip—one mistake—and IA will eat you alive. And I’ll make damn sure they know where to look.”
“Fuck you, asshole!”
His chair scraped back two inches as he surged up, but Davis slammed a hand on the desk.
“Enough,” Davis barked. “Sit down, Stanton, before IA gets gifted a brand-new fistfight to investigate.”
“I apologize,” I lied in my best fake-apologetic tone. Stanton was an asshole, and yeah, I felt for him getting caught up in my dad’s shit, but fuck that noise. No one got to revisit my dad’s sins on me.
No one else lost their older brother to a revenge killing or watched grief kill their mother.
After a pause, Stanton sat, but he stared ahead and refused to engage with me.
Davis exhaled slowly. “Stanton, as lead, carry on your work with the unidentified remains. Rosen, you and Frank get out of the fucking office and take point on the medical records for our newly ID’d victim.
And for the last time—” His gaze swept over both of us, hard and unyielding, then he focused directly on Stanton.
“We work this as a team. Do you understand?”
Stanton muttered something that might’ve been agreement.
“Detective Rosen?” Davis pressed.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Good. Stanton, get the hell out of my office and do your job.” I stood to leave as well. “Rosen, wait.”
As soon as the door shut on Stanton, Davis relaxed and regarded me with something like compassion. “How are you holding up?” he asked.
The question rocked me harder than if he’d yelled. I blinked, caught off guard. “I’m fine, sir.”
He didn’t buy it. “This case is hitting too close to old territory. Organ harvesting, bodies dumped, hospitals ignoring protocols, MC crap in the middle of it, cartel connections… You must understand the kind of mess your dad’s team got stuck in back when is going to affect how people look at you.”
“I know.” My throat was tight, heat crawling under my collar. I stared at a spot on his desk, so I didn’t have to meet his eyes. “It’s all good.”
“You look like you haven’t slept,” Davis said quietly. “Do you want to talk about that?”
“No.” It came out harsher than I meant.
“I’ve noticed a couple of the other older guys giving you the cold shoulder.” He waited for me to fill in names, but I still had to work with them, and hell, most of them would be gone in the next couple of years. Davis tutted at my silence. “Do you want to take any action?”
“No.”
Davis didn’t react. He just leaned back, folding his arms, and a cold prickle crawled up my spine.
“People are going to talk,” he said. “IA might start sniffing around you with anything MC and Cartel where you’re part of the team.”
I swallowed hard. My hands wouldn’t stay still, so I pressed them against my thighs. “They can do what they want. I’m not my father.”
He grunted his agreement. “If something hits too hard, come to me first, not after you snap and wring Stanton’s neck.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything you need to tell me at this point?” he asked.
I know he meant the case and my fellow cops, but it was Alejandro in the dark, his lips on mine, his hands gripping my hips, that was on my mind.
“No,” I said, steady despite everything inside me unraveling. “Nothing.”
He nodded once and let me go.
I stepped out, and the bullpen buzzed around me like static. Stanton glanced up at me and grimaced, but I focused on Frank standing by my desk, pretending to scroll through his phone.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said—another lie. But as I sat down, trying to breathe, I knew that I wasn’t good. And the worst part was, after everything that had happened last night… I wasn’t sure I wanted to be.
“We’ve got the hospital,” Frank announced when we headed out. He held up a thin folder. “St. Patrick’s pulled the archived medical records—full surgical notes, pre-op scans, the works. Lannon’s knee plate matches their implant stock from ‘97.”