9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Kathleen hated writing reports.
There were many things she loved about her job—busting dirtbags being high on that list. The satisfaction of a good collar—seeing their faces when she put on the cuffs, or when she put them in lockup, or on the stand as they realized they weren’t walking free.
The paperwork was by far the worst part of the job, however.
Give her a multi-victim murder scene any day of the week over paperwork.
It was worse than usual today. This was the first time Kathleen had ever deliberately lied on a report, and she could feel the weight of it like a physical pressure on her chest.
Sure, she had omitted things before. Sometimes for convenience, sometimes to protect a source or a fellow officer’s fuck up. This was different, though. This was crossing a line. Protecting a literal murderer.
Why?
That was the thing Kathleen couldn’t answer, any more than the reason the assassin had left her alive. How could she explain the look she had seen in his eyes, like someone on autopilot? The gut feeling she had that he wasn’t completely in control of himself? Or, in fact, why he had such a profound effect on her.
Before the thought could burn through her again, Kathleen pushed away from the desk in disgust, her chair squeaking in protest.
“I’d offer to help, but I already drafted as best I could,” Gibson said, eying her from his desk.
“It’s not that.”
“Oh? This about the Fed?”
“Fuck the Fed.”
“No thanks. I don’t know where he’s been.”
It was dumb, but it made her laugh. Gibson grinned at her like he’d scored a win.
He glanced at his watch. “It’s past beer o’clock. Drinks?”
Very tempting. “Give me ten to finish this report.”
The subject, Kathleen wrote, moved the table I had been sheltering Liang under. He shot twice, point blank. Suspect showed little interest in me and left immediately after. I did not get a clear view of the suspect as he wore a face covering. He appeared to be in his thirties, fit, with dark hair and light skin. He carried himself like someone trained—military or LEO.
Kathleen read and re-read the words, second-guessing herself as an uneasiness lingered. In the end, she saved and submitted the report as is.
“Done,” she said, standing and reaching to grab her leather jacket off the back of the chair at the same time.
“Harper!” the Captain’s voice rang out from her office.
Shit. Kathleen had forgotten the new system automatically delivered reports straight into Murphy’s inbox.
Gibson shot her a sympathetic look.
Kathleen let her jacket fall back onto her chair before entering Murphy’s office. “Yes, ma’am?”
Sam Murphy’s gaze was on her screen, eyes flickering over the contents. “So, vague description of the shooter. You know what this means.”
Kathleen frowned. She knew, and she didn’t like it one bit. “We still have a shot.”
“No, we don’t. All our suspects are dead.”
“We both know who’s behind this.”
“Harper.” Murphy’s gaze was sharp. “Shut the door.”
That could only mean Kathleen was in trouble. As she closed the door to the office, she saw Gibson making a face at her from outside.
“Sit down,” Murphy said.
The seats in front of the Captain’s desk were plastic and uncomfortable. Kathleen had a private theory they were designed to discourage visitors from staying overly long.
She sat.
“I want to be clear with you, Harper,” Murphy leaned forward, lacing her hands as she rested them on the desk. “You are not to go after Governor Wyatt Wilson. Do you hear me?”
Well, shit. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I get it. Believe me, I do.” Murphy sighed and leaned back. “I’ve been in your shoes. I had to prove myself twice as hard as any man out there.” She waved toward the rest of the office. “Just because I didn’t have a dick. You’ve come far, and I won’t let you throw away all you’ve worked for over some shitbag politician.”
It caught her off guard. Murphy was normally careful when speaking about senior leadership, politicians, and reporters. Kathleen suspected Murphy was afraid of word getting back to them. She’d never heard her boss even utter the slightest bit of disparagement toward any one of them before, even when they clearly deserved it.
Murphy’s smile told Kathleen her boss had noted her surprise. “I play the game, Harper, because I have to. It doesn’t mean I like it.” Her gaze flicked to the computer screen. “You sink under the weight of the bullshit, or you learn to swim with the sharks. I’ve played in these waters long enough to know that a shitstorm is going to rain down on someone for this, and I prefer it not to be us.”
Kathleen clenched her fingers, feeling her nails bite into her palms. What Murphy was saying made sense, but Kathleen wasn’t great at leaving things alone. “So we just let him get away with it? He can hire out a bunch of criminals, and he goes off to the Senate with a smile and a handshake?”
Murphy’s gaze settled on Kathleen’s. “I have many jobs here. One of them is to play nice with the media and the powers that be. One of them is to try and solve cases. But as far as I’m concerned, the most important job I have is to protect you—all of you—so that you can do your fucking jobs. Which you can’t if you get yourself shit-canned by some uppity politician. Clear?”
Kathleen’s fists clenched tighter. She hated this. What choice did she have, though? She tried for a neutral tone, though she wasn’t sure how well she managed, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. I’m going to make a few changes to your report before I finalize it. Make sure you read it over first thing Monday. Dismissed.”
Kathleen left the Captain’s office, shutting the door behind her. All she did was look at Gibson. As she approached her desk, he stood.
“Drinks,” he said.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Kathleen breathed. Drinking away her problems was a fine way to end a terrible day.