Chapter 4
HARLAN - THE CRACKS
The bullpen felt colder now.
Not physically. Just… wrong. Off. Like something sacred had been broken open, and we were all pretending we didn’t see the pieces.
Ava Sinclair’s voice still rang in my ears. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck who you diddle, Chief. You could be hosting department-wide adult-consenting-orgies for all I care. Just make sure your people do their damn jobs.”
The entire interaction left me feeling like I had whiplash.
Jesus Christ.
I stood rooted for a full minute after she left, jaw locked, pulse still pounding. Jack was rubbing his temples. Erin was glaring daggers at the floor like she could burn through it.
“What the hell just happened?” I asked.
Neither answered, and maybe I didn't expect them to.
Jack finally straightened, smoothing his tie with practiced precision. “Your department just got put on notice by a trauma counsellor and came out looking like a pack of jackals.”
Erin scoffed. “That stuck-up bitch thinks she runs this town. Always throwing her weight around like her clinic’s above reproach.”
I turned on her. “That’s enough, Voss.” I shot her a look that told her we would be having a discussion later.
She crossed her arms. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. She acts like she’s better than us. Like she’s untouchable.”
Jack stepped in before I could. His voice was calm, but sharp as a scalpel. “This station is clueless, isn’t it?”
Erin bristled. “Aren’t you supposed to be on our side? You’re the damn prosecutor.”
“I’m on the side of what’s right,” Jack replied coolly. “And in my experience, that side consistently aligns with Ava Sinclair and Remi Carter.”
Erin barked a laugh. “Right. The emotionally constipated trauma twins. They think they can control everything, but they don’t do anything with anyone. Never go out, never socialize. Like they’re too good for the rest of us.”
Jack didn’t even blink; he muttered something that sounded an awful lot like 'is this high school' before answering, “You got one thing right, Sergeant. Ava and Remi are a package deal. But not in the crude way you keep suggesting.”
He stepped in closer, quiet now, but somehow more dangerous.
“They have a bond you clearly don’t understand.
A sisterhood born from a history of pain, loss, and betrayal by people who claimed to care.
You know why they don’t go out drinking with you?
" He looked at her like something smelled foul. "Because they’re too damn busy putting broken pieces back together in this town. Because they don’t trust easily, and they shouldn’t have to. ”
Erin rolled her eyes. “Oh, spare me the bleeding heart shit.”
“They don’t just talk about helping,” Jack said, not flinching. “They show up. Shelter shifts, court accompaniment, custody battles, victim interviews.... You name it. Those two don't stop. When was the last time you did anything that didn’t serve your ego, Sergeant?”
I cleared my throat, sharp and loud.
They both went quiet.
Then a junior officer stepped out of dispatch, eyebrows raised.
“Uh… is the angry fire sprite still here?”
Jack chuckled under his breath. “That is the most accurate description of Ava I’ve ever heard.”
I gave the kid a look. Today feels like I stepped inside a funhouse... except I wasn't having any fun. “She’s gone. What is it?”
The officer held up a slip of paper. “We got a call. Someone was asking for her. Wouldn’t say who they were. Just that they’d only talk to Sinclair or Carter.”
Erin made a choking sound of disbelief. “Are you kidding me? See? This is what I mean, Chief. She thinks she runs this place like she’s some vigilante hotline operator. Why don't we just give her the keys to the damn county...”
I turned to the officer. “Did they say what it was about?”
“Nope. Just kept repeating they’d only talk to one of them.”
“Did you trace it?”
He shook his head. “They seemed frustrated, sir. They hung up when I offered to get Sergeant Voss instead.”
My jaw ticked. I looked at Jack. “What the hell is going on?”
Jack met my gaze without hesitation. “Isn’t that the thing, Chief? Someone calls your station… looking for them. Two trauma counsellors. Not your officers. Not your sergeant.”
Jack watched me for a long moment. Then he gave a dry, humourless laugh.
“You know,” he said, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, “The first time I asked Remi why she never drank, why she always bailed on nights out, I figured it was because she was uptight. Wound too tight from the job.”
He paused. His expression changed, the kind of shift that made my gut tighten. A mix of grief and respect. Maybe regret. His dark brown eyes didn't often give much, something I felt was practiced... but they spoke volumes now.
“She looked at me, and I’ll never forget it,” he said. “She didn’t yell. Didn’t posture. Just asked me one question.”
Then Jack turned to me fully, face unreadable. “But you know what, Chief? Don’t take it from me.”
He nodded toward holding. “Ask her yourself.”
The room stilled, like the calm before a life-altering moment. I just didn't know it yet.
I nodded to Reid, and he went to collect Remi Carter from the holding area.
I didn’t know what I expected to find when she walked out with the rookie, maybe defiance. Maybe exhaustion. But when the officer led Remi Carter out, what I saw was something else entirely.
Calm.
She was composed in that eerie, bone-deep way that made your skin crawl, not because she was threatening, but because you knew you were standing in front of someone who had survived things... who knew things that would break most men.
“Ms. Carter,” I said slowly. “I have a question.”
She tilted her head, cautious.
Jack gave her a small, almost sad smile. A nod.
I swallowed., fuck this was awkward. I didn't even know why I was letting this play out... but something deep within pushed me to ask, “Why don’t you go out? Why don’t you drink?”
She met my eyes, not sharp like Ava’s, not full of fire. No, Remi’s gaze was calm, steady. Like the still before a storm that you know is coming.
She didn’t raise her voice.
She didn’t need to; the weight of what she said was enough.
“You ever been a woman at night, Chief?” she asked. “Alone?”
I didn’t answer.
“You ever had one too many drinks and suddenly every bad decision made by a man in the room becomes your fault?”
Her voice didn’t shake. Her words were the wind against glass, relentless and quiet. The kind of storm that doesn’t scream but erodes.
“You ever wear a skirt too short? Smile at the wrong person? Walk past the wrong alley? Have you ever been told it was your fault because of how you walked? Or talked? Or breathed?”
Erin huffed from the corner. I didn’t dare look at her.
Remi didn’t even flinch.
“That’s the average woman’s experience... their daily fear,” she said. "Why women pee together, travel in groups, hold a key between their fingers on the way through a dark parking lot, hold their thumb over the top of their beer bottle..."
She studied me for a moment, making sure she was being heard, and then she continued. “Now imagine living that... and knowing what actually waits in those alleyways. What happens when someone forgets to cover their drink? What it means when a girl dares to run alone and doesn’t come back?”
She stepped closer. Just one step. Not threatening. Just... present, commanding the room.
“That’s my every day. My work. My history. My fucking reality.”
She studied the room, took in her audience, and then turned her eyes on me entirely. “So no, I don’t drink in public. I don’t go out partying. I don’t take the risk. Because I’ve seen what’s on the other side.”
Silence fell like a curtain.
Even Erin didn’t speak.
No one did.
I was left standing in the center of the bullpen, stripped of every assumption I’d ever made.
I didn’t have a response.
Not one.
Jack exhaled beside me, quiet and bitter. “Like I said, Chief. You want to know who the good guys are? Maybe start with the ones who keep showing up for everyone else... even when no one shows up for them.”