Chapter 2
Chapter Two
TALLY
“ A hh, here’s our little honey trap. Nice of you to join us, Murphy. We need to get your slow arse back to The Farm for some training.”
“Fuck you too, Grimsby,” I slap back, loud enough for the room to hear.
Undercover work is definitely a man’s world.
“How about some respect, goddamn it,” he snaps, rubbing a hand down his face. He looks at me, exhaustion in his eyes. As if that’s a plausible excuse for him being a condescending dick. Newsflash—it’s not.
“My bad, sorry.” I offer a bland smile, flipping him the bird on my way through the department. “Better? Honestly, it’s been months since I was last here, and it’s the same BS today as it was then.”
I choose the path right past the new guy's desk, snatching the last donut from the box, stuffing half of it into my mouth before anyone can argue. “What’d I miss?”
“Are you serious?” the new guy offers back, his voice way too quiet.
If he doesn’t find a way to speak up, he’s going to last a few weeks, tops. But that’s on him. I learned a long time ago not to waste my time telling Alphas what to do.
“Alright, let’s take this circus to the briefing room. We’d ask Murphy to join us, but word is, Captain is waiting to see her pretty face in his office.” He pauses to check his watch. “Five minutes ago.”
I roll my eyes and walk past him. “I’m watching you, Wazowski.”
His face burns bright as he tries to figure out if I insulted him. I don’t stick around, instead throwing a wave over my shoulder to make my way to the meeting I’m now really late for.
It’s never a good sign when the captain draws his blinds down low, stopping everyone from seeing who he’s meeting with.
Still, I tap over the crown logo the National Crime Authority uses.
While I wait, I flick my phone to silent, checking a few messages and replying to an email to forensics on an older case, letting them know I’ll come collect the report myself.
The door swings open, and he waves me in, still talking on his mobile. By the stilted flow of the conversation, and the way he placates the person talking with a carefully spaced out, “Alright. No, Sir. I understand,” I can tell it’s not a sociable call.
He hangs up, and I give him a few moments. His scent is full of heady notes of too much coffee, while the bags under his eyes signal his stress and anxiety. Nothing new, really, considering his job.
“All good, Cap?” I ask after a few minutes.
He drops his elbow on his desk, half holding his head up as he scratches it. Which doesn’t sit well with me; that generally means he’s about to ruin someone’s day. Given the fact it’s just him and me in the room, I have little doubt my day is about to go up in flames.
“Jesus, kid, it’s not great,” he says quietly.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hiding from him already because he makes me face things I don’t want to face.
Captain Joseph White is the dad I never had growing up. He was mom’s best friend. The man gave me so much, but he gave my mom more. I will be forever grateful for the way he always rallied around her, regardless of what was going on.
Joe was one of the few who knew how sick my mom was, and he never broke her confidence. After she died, he swooped in when I was stuck staring aimlessly out the window. Or at the television. Or anything.
He was also a big part of why I became a police officer.
Under his tutelage, I worked my arse off and listened to his suggestions when it came to key points in my career, including suggesting I look into undercover as an option.
He wasn’t responsible for lighting the fire—that was in part due to a summer years and years ago—but he was the reason I didn’t give up.
I’ll be forever grateful he’s in my life.
“Joe, spit it out,” I say, blowing out a noisy exhale as I sit back in the seat.
“I’m not sure I want to, Tally. Once it’s said, it's going to set things in motion…”
“By the sounds of your phone call, whether you tell me or not, things are already happening.”
He scrubs his hands over his face, perhaps figuring out his role in whatever he has to tell me. Rather than looking at me, he reaches down to open his bottom drawer, pulling out his hidden bottle of Scotch and pouring us both a decent nip.
He slides it over, and I wait until he’s looking at me again. “Wow, it must be bad.”
As is custom, we both tap our glasses before slinging the shot back. The alcohol burns my throat, making the half a donut in my stomach churn. I need to eat soon. Working on no sleep and crappy coffee isn’t good for anyone. My guts angrily agree.
Joe dips back down to his drawer and passes a wrapped sandwich my way.
“Thanks,” I murmur, ripping it open and shoving half of it into my mouth.
Working in constantly changing environments and pressures means you get pretty adapt at making quick work of simple things like food, water, and sleep. There’s nothing ladylike about the way I smash the sandwich.
He waits until I take another bite. Always the caregiver.
“First up, you did great in London. Gave us the break we’ve needed. The lead you gave us has enabled our team to get additional players in place.”
“I’m sorry we lost Barrett, sir,” I offer, blowing out a big exhale full of frustration.
“We all choose our own paths. He chose his, not you, and I don’t want to see that look in your eye that you failed our objectives. You didn’t. Although, I did hear you’ve got a few things to tell me.” I get a pointed stare, full of challenge.
“I’m fine.”
He stares longer, harder until I offer a snarl under my breath and tip my head back, starting there because it’s the most obvious.
“Four stitches.” And then I work down, cataloguing each of my injuries and what was done by the medics on each, because if I don’t, Joe will simply sit there until I do.
“Thank you.” He smiles briefly before the professionalism drains from his face. “You okay after last night's events, kid?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“Of course. I followed procedure the whole time. Barrett panicked, not me.”
“I meant being pulled out. I couldn’t give a rat's arse about him. He took the easy way out.”
I’m not surprised Joe’s first focus remains on my welfare, both physical and emotional.
The dull ache in my side where I got hit beats angrily, as if forcing me not to forget how close a call I had last night.
Which is the reason I wore my vest. My trust in Barrett was essentially non-existent, even though we were meant to be working the job together.
“Only my ego is bruised.”
“You need a reminder every now and then, girl. Don’t be brash. You know I couldn’t cope without you.”
He’s twisting the knife, ensuring I remember the pain. After Mom’s death, though, we’re each other’s sounding board and reality check rolled into one.
“Joe, I’m okay. I was sloppy and didn’t expect him to fire. It won’t happen again.”
He nods, also pointing at the half-eaten sandwich between us.
“I think we all knew as soon as the job was called, and the two of you were assigned to work together, that you’d be pulled.
We’ve got people on the street spreading that you had a very nasty accident in one of the holding cells because you got caught.
Tommy Smithers was apparently not a happy man; he didn't get his diamonds. But at least he hasn’t lost any face now both Barrett and Nina Collins are dead. ”
Nina Collins is who I’ve been parading as for the last couple of years.
Beta with a faint tea scent, blonde hair, blue eyes, and a reputation for having sticky fingers.
And the ability to get a job done. Working in Tommy’s world tested all my skills and consumed every minute of every day I was there.
The adjustment back to being me is going to take time, though I won't be sad to be out of London and that scene.
“So, are you going to tell me who was riling you up enough that we’re taking nips of your Scotch?”
His cheeks blow out as he exhales noisily, his hand rubbing down his face after. When he looks across the table at me, he’s back to being my boss. “DOCB has heard about you. They’ve got in the ear of the Superintendent, and as a result, you’re transferring to Ireland.”
“What the fuck? I swear you need to repeat what you just said, because the Garda National Drugs and Organized Crime Bureau requested me join them.”
He raises his chin, the color in his eyes muting as he shuts down on me. Confirmation in his actions is as clear as if he’d spoken. Though I still push him for that too.
“Joe, I’m not going to Ireland.”
For about a thousand reasons. None of them having to do with the weather.
His lips curl as he sorts through the waves of emotions flashing in his eyes. Eventually he speaks, and he wavers between being both a fatherly figure and my boss.
“It’s not your choice, Tally. We knew the risk of you accepting the career fast track. It’s a joint task force, so you could have ended up in Wales or Australia.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes and scenting like fire. “Yeah, but nowhere in any of the documents, or any of the conversations we’ve had, did anyone mention fucking Ireland.”
“Sweetheart, you and I both know you’re too good to stay with this team. And the experience will be invaluable.”
“Why?”
“Don’t be modest. You’re damn good at what you do. You get shit done in next to no time too.”
“I can’t do Ireland. Look what happened last time, Joe.”
“Your cousin going missing wasn’t because of Ireland.”
“Bullshit. If we weren’t there for that summer, we wouldn’t have gone to Blarney Castle, and Liam wouldn’t have lost his wallet and gone searching for it without me. He’d still be with us.”
“What if this is your one chance at finding out the truth? You digging might get us the closure you’ve been looking for all this time. Or, Tally, you let go of your promise.”
“I can’t do that,” I whisper, getting dragged backwards to the moment in time when I held my mom’s hand and gave her my promise.