Chapter Fifteen Dilemma
Chapter fifteen
Dilemma
Warren sat at the kitchen table in the safe house, staring at the wall.
His thinking spot. Cooling-off corner.
He’d been there far too long. The room was black but for the sodium glow leaking through the blinds. He should be asleep. Or better, he should’ve already called it in. Passed his handler the intel on Callum Reid. Added everything he’d picked up about Jude. That should’ve been hours ago.
Instead, he sat here with his jaw locked, head a churn of heat and static, trying not to picture himself marching back to Jude’s place, putting Callum Reid through the floor, and kissing Jude like he meant it.
Christ. He shut his eyes.
He was fucked.
He’d thought he’d blown it on his last job. Got benched for months after going off script, chained to a desk sifting fraud reports he barely understood had been his penance. Then came the official slap on the wrist and whispered warnings about “protocol.”
But this… This was worse.
Because there were feelings here.
Not just sympathy, or the human urge to get an innocent out of harm’s way.
He had a stake in this one. A personal horse in the race.
The thing every training manual and every briefing told him not to have.
And the answer to whether he could act on it?
The right answer? The professional answer? Well, that was simple: no.
Jesus Christ.
He dug his nails into his scalp until it stung.
First step was clear: make the secure call to the cover number. Bullet-point the facts. Follow with the written intel report. Wait for the meet, face-to-face, where the sensitive stuff could be handed over without risk of interception. That was the job. The system. The rule book.
So why wasn’t he doing it?
Because the second he made that call, the leash would tighten. He’d be told to hold position, let things play out, stay out of that house. Don’t spook Reid. Don’t compromise cover. Which in real terms meant leaving Jude right where he was, alone with Reid, until the op decided it was time to move.
Warren wasn’t sure he could stomach it.
The front door latch turning snapped through the quiet like a shot. He scraped his chair back hard as he came up on his feet, sliding one hand under the lip of the table to where he’d taped a fixed-blade flat to the underside. Standard discreet defensive weapon should he ever need it.
A shadow filled the hall.
“Stand down, Sergeant.” Naomi’s amused voice came calm, dry, and familiar. She stepped inside, kicking the door shut with her heel and dropping her holdall by the wall.
Warren let the knife go, the tension unspooling from his shoulders.
He didn’t move for a second. Habit made him run the mental checklist before he sat back down.
Breathing evenly. Hands clear. Lines of sight to both doors intact.
This wasn’t a fully equipped safehouse. No guards standing by.
No uniforms on watch and no CCTV. All they had was each other.
It hadn’t been deemed a dangerous operation. Simple surveillance.
Naomi arched a brow as she shrugged off her jacket. “What’s got you spooked?”
Warren exhaled through his nose, a sound that could’ve been a laugh if it had any humour in it. “Nothing.”
He didn’t look at her when he said it.
That alone told her enough.
Naomi walked through to the kitchen as Warren dropped back into his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. She paused long enough to read him, then pulled open the fridge.
“I’m going to need you Saturday.” She let the fridge door thump shut, twisted the cap off a bottle of water, and took a long drink.
Warren glanced over. “For what?”
“The Radleys are hosting a do.” She arched her brows, clicking the cap back into place. “Guess who’s been put in charge of service.”
He smirked. “Well played.”
“I know. Thank you.” She curtseyed. “Told them my cousin’s looking for cash-in-hand work and could wait tables. Patel’ll clear a couple of others. We’ll seed the place without them clocking it.”
“What’s the event?”
“Standard Worthbridge mixer. Local business, council faces. Might get us into rooms I haven’t been invited to yet. and let us see who Radley’s shaking hands with.”
“Alright. Run it through Patel first. Might look a bit off, PE teacher moonlighting on the weekends.”
“Plausible enough. Already told them you’re my cousin.”
“True.” Warren shifted his gaze away.
Naomi tipped her head, watching him. “So… how was your little school trip with the cherubs?”
Warren let out a short snort. “One lad torched a lifelong friendship by snogging his girlfriend’s best mate, and I’m pretty sure Worthbridge Academy’s blacklisted from the Premier Inn Portsmouth until they figure out how to get mystery stains out of the carpet.”
Naomi pulled a face.
“Breakfast stains,” he added. “Obviously.”
“Obviously. Unless you and the teacher…” She crooked a finger in a knowing little gesture.
The joke landed flat. Warren looked away.
And Naomi, being a trained detective, clocked it immediately.
She let the silence hang a beat, long enough to be uncomfortable. Then she pushed off the counter, bottle in hand, and closed the distance to the table. Sitting right opposite him.
“What’s happened?”
Warren drummed his fingers. “Nothing.”
“Bollocks.” Naomi’s tone was pure CID. The same one she used when dismantling half-baked statements from cocky teens who thought they could run rings around an interview. “You just stiffened like I’ve walked you into an IOP debrief. Try again.”
Warren exhaled hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pretty sure Jude Ellison’s a DV victim. Survivor, maybe.” The maybe because he knew the man wasn’t out of the firing line yet. Not even close.
Naomi’s eyes sharpened. “Go on.”
“Pretty sure, he was Reid’s kept boy before prison.”
Naomi fell back in her chair, folding her arms.
“And I’m fully fucking sure Reid is in his house right now.”
Her brows ticked up. “You call it in?”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You know the drill. Secure call, five-by-five, face-to-face for the sensitive bits.”
“I know.” He rolled his head back, jaw clenching, then cracked his neck in hope it might ease the pressure building.
“Then why are we having this conversation here instead of with Patel?”
“Because the second I do, I’m benched. Told to sit tight. Which means Jude stays in that house until the op says so.”
Naomi watched him for a beat, then took a long pull from her water. “And what? Your plan is to kick the door in, drag Reid out by the hair, and play the white knight?”
“Black knight.”
Naomi snorted. “All that gets you is suspended without pay, and hands Reid a gift-wrapped assault complaint to wave at PSD.”
“I know.”
“But you still want to do it.”
He curled his hand into a fist on the table until his knuckles crunched. “Yeah.”
“Good thing I’m here, then.” She jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you fucking dare.” She then studied him. Assessed him. Thoroughly. “Why?”
Warren frowned. “Why what?”
“Why this one? You’ve been in tighter spots and kept your head.
Christ, remember that County Lines job? I was under as a working girl, stuck in a trap house with Murphy and his two psycho enforcers.
You knew exactly what they were capable of, and you still let me stay in there for three nights straight while we built the case. ”
“That was your cover. Your job.”
Naomi’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “And you’re telling me Ellison’s not getting paid one way or another for what he’s doing?”
The anger flared so hot it surprised him and the need to defend was instant and un-fucking-real. “Fuck you.”
Naomi didn’t flinch at the bite in his tone. She leaned forward, dumping her elbows on the table, dropping her voice into that measured, detective-sergeant cadence she used when she wanted someone to feel the weight of every word.
“You let me stay in that house, Warren. You knew they were armed, coked up, paranoid as hell, and one bad mood swing away from dumping me in the river. You didn’t kick the door in then. You trusted the op. Trusted me to handle it. Because that’s what the job needed.”
He worked his jaw, but didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Because she was right.
She held his gaze. “Why’s this different? What’s Ellison to you that makes you want to chuck your training and blow the whole thing?”
He stared her down, the muscles in his forearm tight as cable.
Naomi eased back in her chair, letting the quiet stretch. “Fuck, Warren.”
He shut his eyes, voice flat. “It’s nothing. I just hate men like Reid.”
“We all do. That’s why we’re here. Why we follow the bloody procedure.
Because if we don’t, it won’t stick. Then there’ll be a dozen more victims like Ellison.
And every kid Reid’s grooming into Radley’s little side hustle so he can swan around with Cristal and throw these bullshit parties.
You want to help him? Sit tight. See it through.
Bring the whole thing down, not just save one bloke. ”
Warren slammed his palm down hard on the table. Then he stood, yanked his burner from his pocket, and punched in the number.
The line clicked, a voice on the other end. “Go ahead.”
“Alpha One. Got fresh intel for the log. Callum Reid was inside Jude Ellison’s address tonight. Direct contact. No visible conflict. I’ll put the full five-by-five on paper and be ready to brief in person. Over.”
“Copy that, Alpha One. Keep digging. Maintain cover. We’ll arrange the meet.”
He tucked the phone back in the drawer. Looked at Naomi. “Happy?”
“Won’t be happy till this lot are behind bars.” Naomi pushed to her feet and moved around the table, gliding her palm over the tense line of his shoulder blades. For a moment she lingered there, then dipped to press a brief kiss to his shoulder. “Maybe you just need to get laid.”
“You know that was never the cure for me.”
Naomi leaned back, holding his gaze as she bit her lip. “On the contrary, DS Beckford. I remember you reaching for that cure more than once.”