Page 9 of Welker

“Chief, they would have found me if Welk hadn’t shown up.”

There. She’d thrown that out for consideration, which was the extent of what she’d say.

“They were that close to locating you?” Mason continued questioning.

Moira gave him a simple, but serious nod this time.

“Well, shit.” He turned to Welker. “It looks like you can keep your job this time, but no more fuck-ups. You got me?”

Welker actually turned to give her a wink.

A wink. What the hell?

He gave puppy-dog eyes to Mase.

“Yeah, Chief. I hear you,” he responded with a voice that sounded duly chastised. “And in my defense, if I hadn’t gotten a mayday call from Moira, I absolutely would have waited for you.”

Moira would have snorted if she’d wanted to engage any further, but she was done with this part of the conversation. It was time for logistics.

“Did Mike’s unit apprehend the bikers?” Moira felt comfortable asking. That was business, after all.

Mason gave a look of disgust. “There was a detour on the route he and his unit took to get to their position, and by the time they’d gone around it, the MC was long gone.”

Fuck. Moira had known about the bridge that was out, but had forgotten to mention it. “My fault, I should have told you?—”

“Moira,” Mason interrupted. “You were on the roof, avoiding capture. You had more important things on your mind.”

Moira didn’t refute Mason, but inside, she refused to cut herself any slack. Because… Wasn’t that what her life was all about? Tactical awareness? If she didn’t have that, was there any meaning to her existence? She had no friends, no social life outside what her teammates coerced her into. If she couldn’t do her job correctly, she might as well hang up her badge and become a hermit.

“Hey.” Welker stepped closer and rocked a hip into hers. “Stop thinking so hard.”

Why was he?—?

The arrival of Mike and his squad saved Moira from having to respond.

The big man got out of his truck with a look of disgust on his face.

“Shit. I wish we could have nailed them, Moira.” He sent a hand sweeping across her yard. “This is unacceptable.”

“No worries. I’ll clean it up, tomorrow,” Moira told him, not wanting him to feel bad. She still believed the fuck-up was hers.

“We’ll clean it up, tomorrow,” Mason interjected. “It’s Saturday, so a lot of our team will have the day off. With twenty, maybe even thirty willing bodies, we should have things taken care of here within a few hours.”

“I’ll have a dumpster on site first thing in the morning,” Mike added. His extended family owned a trash disposal service, for which Moira, right now, was grateful. But she frowned anyway. Could she ask so much of?—?

“Don’t even go there.” Mason glowered, seeing her expression, and intuiting her refusal. “We’re helping, and that’s that. I can see your gears grinding, Moira, and you can argue all you want, but you’re not getting your way. Not this time.”

Known for her stubbornness, Moira often dug her heels in when orders she didn’t like were given, but she could tell Mason wasn’t going to cut her any slack, this time.

“Fine,” she relented. “But we need to see the damage inside.” Maybe the scope of the job would discourage Mason.

Yeah. Right.

Moira turned reluctant feet toward her front door and started walking, shocked when she found Welker right with her, elbow to elbow.

“It’s probably going to be bad, Moira,” he warned. “Are you going to be okay?”

Okay?

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