Page 75 of Thankless in Death

She smiled a little. “That’s just right.”

“Medal of Honor,” he said, and his basset hound face lit up. “Ain’t that a kick in the head.”

“Yeah, it is. I guess word’s out.”

“They don’t hand those out like gumdrops, kid. You did real good. And your man’s getting something shiny, too. I’m real proud of both of you.”

“Thanks.” And that meant more than any medal. “It feels weird.”

“It’s the bullshit around it feels weird,” he corrected, with precision accuracy. “But they gotta throw the confetti and blow the horn, Dallas. It’s a boost for the department, and not just the PR blah-de-blah. For morale.”

She hadn’t wound her way through to that, but could see it now. Feeney saw it from the starting gun, she thought. And that’s why he was who he was.

“I could do without the confetti and the blah-de-blah, but you’re right. Feeney... You could’ve taken Homicide captain when the bars came to you. But you didn’t.”

“I’d had enough DBs for a while.”

She shook her head. “That’s not it, not really, is it?”

“It played a part. I needed a break from them,” he admitted. “See them in your sleep, don’t you?”

She thought of Lori Nuccio—one of many. “God, yes.”

“I needed a break from that. Oh, we still get them, but mostly as support, not primary. Mostly, maybe even more, I wanted the e-work.”

“You’re the best there is.”

He popped another nut. “You don’t hear me arguing with that. It keeps my juices going. And you’re proof I’ve got a knack for training. I had a choice between EDD and Homicide. I went with my gut, so I’m here. I’ve got my boys.”

He nodded toward his bullpen, where regardless of body shape, his boys worked to their own drummer.

“I was a good murder cop. I’m a better e-man.”

Not altogether satisfied, she sampled some of the nuts from his bowl. “Do you miss the field? I know you still spend plenty of time out in it, but—”

“I spend a lot with my ass in the chair. I’m good with that. Where’s this going?”

“Whitney offered me captain.”

First his mouth dropped open, then it rebounded into a wide, wide grin as he slapped a hand on his desk. “About fucking time.”

“I turned it down. My gut said no,” she continued before he could respond. “It said I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing now, and how I’m supposed to be doing it. I think I’d be a good captain. I’m a better investigator, so I said no. Am I stupid?”

He had to blow out a long breath, take a moment to evaluate.

“I gotta get over you said no. Okay, hell. From my seat, stupid’s not listening to your gut. You’ll take it when you’re ready, but the point is, you earned it, and you earned it long before this.”

“That’s how I feel,” she told him. “I didn’t expect the offer, and I sure as hell didn’t expect to say no when it came. But that’s how I feel, it’s what I know.”

“The bars matter, kid, but they’re not the day in and out for cops like you and me. It’s the job that matters. I didn’t have to teach you that. You came in knowing it.”

“I think about somebody like Reinhold, and me reading reports on the investigation instead of investigating. Supervising or approving ops instead of running them. I don’t want to give it up, Feeney.”

“Like Reinhold.”

“Yeah, and like you and me—in a twisted way—he found what he really wants. He found it the minute he stuck the knife in his mother’s belly. He didn’t work for it, train for it, he wouldn’t risk his life for it, but he’ll learn, Feeney. With every one he kills, he’ll learn something new.”

“Go back to the beginning.”

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