Page 56 of Draven

I shrug. “Beats me. I was hoping you might know.”

He purses his lips. “I haven’t heard a thing. I’ll speak to my FBI contact. Although, even if there is a wider case, I wouldn’t expect him to tell me. And until told otherwise, I’ll continue working this case just like I would any other.”

“Good man.”

Rick downs the rest of his drink, then places the cup on the table. “Now that the business stuff is out of the way, you can tell me what happened to your lip.”

“Nothing happened.” I growl. I should’ve known he’d ask me about it eventually. Damn thing looks like I’ve taken a fist to the face.

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Anything you want to share?”

“Not with you, no.”

Rick grins. “It’s a woman, then.”

I send a glower in Rick’s direction. “What the fuck is this? Dr. Phil?”

“Yup. Definitely a woman.”

“Louise wants to talk to the victims,” I say, deciding that ignoring the irritating little prick is the best course of action. “Can you arrange that?”

“Not her jurisdiction,” he says.

“I know that. Can you arrange it, or do I need to go over your head?”

Rick’s eyes widen. “Fucking hell. Time of the month, sweetheart?”

An involuntary bark of laugher rumbles through my chest. “You’re an asshole.”

“Right backatcha.”

“I’ll tell Louise to expect your call giving her a time and place.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“I know,” I say, a faint smile touching my lips. “But you will.”

Rick’s nostrils flare, and he exhales a long breath. “Fine. I’ll arrange it.”

“See. Wasn’t that easy?”

He screws his face into a grimace, which only makes me smile wider. He checks his watch. “I’ve gotta go before you get any more annoying, and I give you a black eye to go with the split lip.”

“You’re not that brave or that stupid.”

He looks at me much as I’d expect a teacher to look at an errant child. “Why are we friends?”

I hitch a shoulder. “Beats me.”

We walk back to the precinct, with Rick promising to be in touch if he has any news. I mount my bike, rev the engine, and kick the stand up. Next stop… Ciaran’s place.

“Wait, back up.” Ciaran rubs his forehead. “Let me get this straight. You told me you hated this woman, that she got you transferred from Jersey, that you were only helping her because this gang were working in the same area your mom, sister, and niece live in. And on the day of her sister’s funeral, you spend the night banging her. Have I got that right?”

“You’re missing the point of this conversation.” I grunt. “I came to talk about the case, not my sex life.”

“And we will,” Ciaran says, unable to wipe the smug grin off his face as he wanders over to the kitchen, fetches the coffee pot, and refills our cups. “Right now, I’m much more interested in finding out how you go from hating a woman one day to banging her the next.”

“Ask your brother,” I say, referring to Ciaran’s identical twin, Callum. “He hated Laurella at first. They seem to be making it work.”

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