Chapter Fifteen Dilemma #2
“With the right person, yeah.” He took her hand, kissed her knuckles. “My head’s a mess, Ni. Full-blown mess.”
“Did something happen? Between you and Ellison?”
Warren said nothing. Safer that way. Plausible deniability.
But Naomi narrowed her eyes enough to count. “You like him.”
“I’ll handle it.”
She didn’t let him look away. “We can talk about it. As us.”
“What would you say?”
“That I saw it coming.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Long before you ever did.”
He huffed something close to a laugh. “You were always the better detective.”
“It’s not as bad as you think.”
Warren cocked his head.
“Obviously, it would have been better had you made this realisation with someone not involved in the op you’re working but we don’t always get the neat version, do we?” She pressed her forehead to his. “Keep it in check. Do the job. Then only when it’s done, go see where it leads.”
She tapped his cheek, then sauntered off towards the hallway.
“What made you suspect?” he called after her.
She glanced back over her shoulder. “Birmingham.”
The word landed heavier than she probably intended. He knew exactly what she meant. The deep cover job, the gang leader’s test, the night he went along with it because blowing the cover wasn’t an option. Things had changed between him and her after that.
Naomi dropped her gaze to the floor, then came back up.
“But lately? Because you’ve been more yourself here than I’ve ever known you.
Even when I lived with you. You’re not being DS Beckford ticking the boxes.
You’re… Mr Bailey. As if maybe that’s who you’ve wanted to be all along.
” She smiled. “Bit like you are when you’re around your family.
I think you like yourself better when you’re around him. ”
He sat with that for a moment, watching her climb the stairs. He’d thought Birmingham was one of those things they’d buried. Turns out she’d kept it in her pocket the whole time.
And she was right.
With Jude, he didn’t feel like he was playing a part.
* * * *
Warren’s burner pinged just after five a.m.
No name. No signature. Just a location.
Seagulls Café – Northbridge. 07:00.
He stared at it for a second longer than he should’ve, the words heavy enough to push him out of bed. Not that he’d slept much anyway. All he kept thinking about was Jude. In that house. And the hope he’d seen his message in the glasses case, and he’d hear a knock on the door at any moment.
He hadn’t.
But when DI Patel wanted face-to-face, he had to show up. No excuses.
So he showered. Got in his school gear. And by half-six he was parked a street over from the café, watching the river roll under the low autumn sun. Northbridge was quieter than Worthbridge. Less traffic. More dog walkers. Jude would probably like it here.
God, he needed to stop thinking about him.
He checked his mirrors, scanned the pavements. No tails. No one paying him undue attention. Years of habit had him running the loop twice before he crossed the road and pushed through the café’s door at seven on the dot.
Seagulls was a small café. Independent. Opened at five for the early risers.
They baked their bread fresh and made the pastries out back which they served both inside in the seated area and through a hatch in the wall for the runners, cyclists and motorbikes scooting by.
Its big windows faced the quay, light bouncing off the stainless-steel counter where a lone barista served a pensioner in a flat cap.
Patel was exactly where he expected her to be. Back to the wall in the far corner, tea in hand, scanning without looking as if she was scanning.
“Morning,” she said as he slid into the seat opposite. “Coffee’s on its way. Cinnamon whirls here are to die for. Might sweeten whatever you’re about to dump on my desk.”
He gave a half-smile, glancing to the waitress before speaking. “Bit early for you.”
“Figured I’d get to you before football training.”
“Right.”
“You’ve got something for me.”
“Yeah.”
The waitress reappeared with his coffee. Warren wrapped both hands around the takeaway cup, used the heat to buy himself a few seconds.
Patel rolled her eyes. “The suspense is killing me.”
He set the coffee down. “Ellison’s a DV victim. I’m confident he was being kept by Reid before Reid went away. When Reid got nicked, Ellison bolted.”
“And this intel comes directly from Ellison?”
Warren hesitated, rolling a shoulder. “Sort of.”
“‘Sort of’ doesn’t get me over the disclosure hurdle.”
“He’s jumpy. Shut down. All the red flags. Hypervigilance, flinching at contact, keeping exits in sight. And…” Warren paused, weighing what to give her.
He wasn’t going to tell Patel about the bed, the kiss, or how close it had come to going further.
Not because she’d think it was a breach—Christ, she’d probably say it was good tradecraft.
Exploit the attraction. Use him to get to Reid.
Use Reid to get to Radley. But that was the problem.
Warren didn’t want it to be an order. He wanted it because he wanted it.
Which meant he couldn’t give her that leverage.
So instead, he said, “I saw a tattoo. Lower back, V-shape, barbed wire. Classic gang property mark. That placement’s not decorative, it’s territorial. In some crews, it’s the visual shorthand for ‘kept boy.’”
Patel sat back, letting that settle. “And you think Reid put it there?”
“I’d stake good money on it.”
“And how exactly did you come to see this tattoo? Not the sort of thing you spot on playground duty.”
Warren kept his face neutral. “School trip. Overnight stay. Accommodation mix-up meant we ended up sharing a room. He came out of the shower, towel slipped. I clocked it.”
Patel’s gaze stayed locked on him, weighing the answer. “Convenient.”
He gave a small shrug. “I wasn’t looking for it. But when you’ve worked in Covert for as long as I have, you don’t forget certain markers when you see them. And this one’s textbook. Not artistic, not subtle. Designed to humiliate and to warn others off.”
Patel sipped her tea, still watching him. “And Ellison’s reaction?”
“Embarrassed. Guarded. Like I’d just dug up something he’d buried.” Warren took a measured sip of coffee, masking the memory of Jude’s eyes in the dark, the shift in the bed between them. “Didn’t want to talk about it. Changed the subject fast.”
“Could be nothing.”
“Could be.” He met her eyes. “Or it could be the cleanest link we’ve had between Reid and a current vulnerable. And he’s in his house.” Warren clenched his fist under the table. “Right now.”
“And you know that for certain?”
“I saw him. Yesterday. Went to drop something off, he was looking out the window and Jude wouldn’t open the door more than an inch.”
Patel tapped her teaspoon on the rim of her mug, thinking. “Jude?”
“First-name terms outside the classroom, obviously. Keeps cover authentic.”
Patel shifted, leaning back in her chair. “If you’re right, you’ve got an angle.”
An angle. Warren knew what that meant. Not extraction. Not safeguarding. Leverage. His gut twisted. “How so?”
“We use him.”
Warren clenched his jaw, forcing his voice low. Controlled. “He’s already been through enough. We get him out.”
Patel tipped her head. “Since when do you make the operational calls?”
Warren exhaled hard, pinching the bridge of his nose before sitting back. “He won’t do it.”
“And you know that how?”
“I know him.”
“You’ve known him less than a month. Is this the same way you ‘knew’ that girl on your last job needed pulling out?”
The words landed heavy. Warren met her stare head on.
“Yes, DS Beckford, I read the file. I also signed off on your second chance here. Don’t mistake that for authority to blow an operation because you’ve decided someone’s worth saving on your own timetable.
You don’t get to pull a live asset because you feel protective.
This isn’t your call. It’s mine. And right now, he stays in place. ”
Warren kept his posture straight, voice even. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Good. Now, what we need to establish is how much Ellison knows. If he’s got leverage over Reid, if he’s protecting him, or if he’s sitting on something we can use. Then we decide: do we pull him in to flip, or do we move him straight to a formal statement?”
Warren pushed up from his chair.
Patel’s eyes tracked him. “Going somewhere?”
“School.” He snatched his coffee off the table. “When you decide which option you’re going with, you can loop me in.”
“Warren.”
He turned back, masking the spark of irritation.
“I want daily updates from now on. No gaps.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
He pivoted for the door, then almost ploughed straight into a wall of leather and muscle.
“Whoa…” The bloke caught him, grinning. “Alright? Warren, isn’t it?”
It took Warren a second to place him. “Reece. Fire service.”
“Yeah.” Reece shifted his helmet to his other hand. “This is my other half, Trent.” He jerked his chin to the blond behind him, who offered a small, easy smile.
Warren nodded. “Nice to meet you.” He took Trent’s hand, shaking it with a firm grip.
“So you’re the new PE teacher all the Worthbridge girls are apparently lusting after?” Trent’s grin carried a wink. “Can see why.”
Warren huffed a dry laugh. “Ha. Yeah. Thanks.”
Reece shot his boyfriend a look before glancing past Warren towards Patel. “You…er, here early to get the cinnamon whirls too or…” Reece narrowed his eyes. “Something else?”
“Kids at school keep going on about the whirls. Place is all over TikTok.”
“They are to die for.” Reece bumped his fist to Warren’s. “See you in the gym.”
Warren stepped aside, slipped out into the street, and let the sharp blast of sea air cut through the mess of his thoughts.