Page 12 of Fletch

“Not a chance,” she snaps. “I’m not losing another good officer to that club. From now on, you run everything by me.”

I nod, and as she heads for the door, I exchange a look with Phil that tells him I’m going to push my luck. He knows me well enough now and lets out a groan. “Actually,” I add, and she slows, “I really believe he’ll be my way in.”

“How?”

“He was flirting.”

She groans too as I stand. “Just hear me out. What if we can get it approved for me to pursue this?”

“I just told you no.”

“I won’t get into a relationship with him,” I reassure her. “I’ll do it right.”

“Like Lexi Cooper?” she throws at me.

“I’m not like her. She was a rookie. I can do this. Let me get friendly and see what I can find out.”

She scrubs her hands over her tired face. “It won’t work. He’ll never let his guard down with you because he knows who you are.”

“I can spin it to make him think I’m like the old me.”

“And who exactly was that?” she demands.

“A carefree, flower-loving kid who didn’t want to follow in her father’s footsteps.”

“You know I have to run this by him.”

“Fine,” I mutter, shrugging and praying he doesn’t recognise the name. “Without all the detail?” I ask hopefully. “I don’t think my father needs to know about sixteen-year-old me falling for a biker.” Even though he already knows in way more depth than that.

Karen pulls open the door and leaves. I flop down into a chair as Phil sits opposite me. “He’ll never agree.”

“Of course, he won’t. Anything to stop me looking good.”

I wake with a start. I left the station at midnight and Peter still wasn’t home, so I’d fallen to sleep on the couch. Groaning, I push to sit as my muscles ache in protest. I grab my phone to check the time and see three missed calls from my father.

If I’m going to hear a lecture, I at least need caffeine, so I head for the kitchen and turn on the kettle. But before I’ve even grabbed a cup, it rings again, and I growl in frustration before answering. “Good morning,” I say brightly. “I was just about to return your calls.”

“It’s almost ten in the morning and you’ve only just woken up,” he barks.

“I pulled an eighteen-hour shift yesterday and still went back last night to speak to my super.”

“Cameron Fletcher,” he barks, and I wince. It was too much to hope he’d forgotten that name after everything.

“It’s a good opportunity,” I say.

“For you to go crawling back?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m practically married. I was a child when I last knew him.”

“I want you off the case,” he says firmly.

“No,” I snap. “Don’t you dare.”

“It’s my decision.”

“A bad one,” I yell angrily. “You hate that I might actually succeed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

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