Page 8 of Play the Game

So, he’d be disinclined to do Prescott, and by extension, me, any favors.

“If I could just have my phone call,” I said.

Ramirez stood and shoved his cell phone back into his suit pants pocket. “You’ll get it. Eventually.” He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

He called for the desk sergeant, barking orders as he moved down the hall so that by the time the young man entered the interrogation room, I knew he was there to escort me to booking, where they’d take my mugshot and fingerprints. X was going to love having to make that disappear. The guy, who was probably in his early twenties but still looked like a teenager, hung his head and avoided eye contact.

“Good evening, Officer...?”

“Delano,” he said quietly. “I’m here to take you to booking.”

“I heard.” I smiled, trying to build a rapport like our tactical agents would. “I’m sure everyone in the building heard. But I haven’t gotten my call yet.”

He slumped his shoulders and shook his head. “I don’t think—”

“I’m entitled to my phone call,” I said in my best imitation of TJ. Firm, commanding, and inviting no dissent. “You don’t want to be caught on the wrong side of denying a detainee his rights, do you, Delano?”

He finally met my gaze. “I guess not, but...” He glanced at the door.

“Just between us,” I said, slipping back into camaraderie. Jesus, this was exhausting. I didn’t know how tactical could do this—keep up a cover and work on the operation, all while managing the personalities and problems of everyone who got in the way. “Just one call. It’s to a Detective Prescott. Do you know him? He’d probably be happy to run interference with Ramirez.”

“I know him.” He sighed, then pulled out his cell phone. “Okay, I’ll call him and see if he wants to talk to you.”

“Thank you, Officer Delano.” I leaned back in my hard metal seat and recited the number to him.

He spoke into the phone, explaining that he had someone in custody who wouldn’t give an identity, which was probably all Prescott needed to hear to know it was one of Bond’s HEAT colleagues. Delano held the phone to my ear since I was still cuffed, and I requested a rescue. Prescott didn’t sound amused but did say he’d arrive in fifteen minutes.

Prescott hung up, and I relayed the good news to Delano. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.” I lowered my voice, drawing him in again. “Any chance you could delay the booking and fingerprinting and general messiness until he arrives?”

Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I don’t know. Detective Ramirez...”

“Just fifteen minutes,” I said. “Friday night, skeleton staff. Phone rings, things get busy.”

“Okay,” he whispered, “but not a minute longer.”

Thirteen minutes later, by my meticulously accurate HEAT-issued watch, I was still alone and cuffed. Another ten minutes went by before I heard Ramirez cussing outside my door. I hoped it was at me and not the kid at the front desk.

“Same to you, asshole,” Prescott said outside the door, which then swung open. Prescott stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “He’s an arrogant prick.”

I grinned, finally relaxing. “You two seem to have a mutual admiration society going.”

“Don’t smile at me,” he said as he unlocked my cuffs. “We are not friends right now, in the middle of the night, when you’ve yanked me out of a well-earned sleep and pissed off my significant other.”

That wiped the grin right off my face. Bond did not anger easily. “How upset is she? On a scale of one to ten.”

“Something exponential. Lots of fucking zeroes. She and your coconspirator are waiting in the parking lot.”

“Please tell me there are lights and cameras on that lot.” That would make it harder to murder me with their bare hands. “Or at least send me out with an armed escort.”

Prescott cocked an eyebrow. “Like Ramirez? Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He frowned but patted my shoulder. “We’ll be friends again when Red is less pissed.” He used his nickname for our team doctor. “Now get out of here.”

“Wait, do I have to come back Monday for my arraignment?”

“For what?” he asked. “You were never here.”

I glanced at the surveillance camera mounted in the corner.

“I’m an asshole, not an idiot,” Prescott said. “First thing I did was shut down the mics and cameras.”

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