Page 172 of Bossy Hero

“This might take a while. Let’s sit,” Bigsby announces. His eyes dart to my left, landing on the folding chairs stacked against the wall. He gestures towards them with an open palm.

With my guard up, I retrieve a chair from the wall and hand it off to Patterson. I grab another for the chief and then one for myself.

All three of us unfold them at virtually the same time, slamming them down on the shed floor with a confrontational force. It’s like a Machiavellian standoff.

I’ve long considered these men my partners in the fight to clean up the city. And more recently, to take down Lenkov. Yet in the last hour, everything I thought I knew has gone to shit.

Irritation coats my words like barbs when I say, “I’m not here for a circle jerk, gentleman. Somebody needs to get to talking before I lose my fucking patience.”

Chief Bigsby has the motherfucking audacity to pointedly roll his eyes at me.

He must not like how his face looks if he’s so blatantly asking me to rearrange it.

I stare him down, rebar straightening my spine.

He breaks first, dipping his head in a lone nod of concession. “Go ahead and ask what you wanted to ask me, Lancaster.”

My line of sight quickly bounces to Patterson and then returns to the chief. They both catch the movement.

Dammit. I tried to stop it, but it was involuntary. Because the things I want to ask the chief have a hell of a lot to do with Detective Patterson. Something tells me that asking right in front of the man won’t go well.

Then again, it seems all our cards are about to be laid on the table.

Unfortunately, I don’t know what side they’re fucking on right now. Although, I’m starting to strongly suspect it’s not mine.

Keeping my voice flat, I start with an innocuous question, one I planned to use to feel him out before all of this went sideways. “I thought we could start by discussing Undersheriff Dempsey.”

Bigsby’s thick brows knit together. “What about him?”

“I’m sure you’ve interacted before. What’s your take on him?”

They share a confused look, then Patterson leans forward in his chair, getting in my eyeline. “We’re wasting time. Is thatreallywhat you want to ask?”

Fuck it.

“Fine.” Irritation flares outward from my chest, tinging my vision. I focus solely on the chief. “What I really came to ask is why you assigned Patterson as the liaison for our partnership.”

The corner of Bigsby’s mouth quirks. “To keep an eye on you, of course. I needed to know if I could trust you and your team.”

His answers continue to toe the line, never clearly revealing which side he’s on.

“And what did you decide? Are we trustworthy?”

He waves his age-weathered open palm around the shed. “I’d have thought that bringing you here would answer that question.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

So he’s in Lenkov’s pocket too. That’s perfect.

Well, I wish them both the best of luck in the afterlife. This is about to end.

On the bright side, there’ll soon be two fewer cogs keeping the Lenkov machine running.

I rise to my feet, sending the folding chair clattering to the ground behind me. “I’m tired of pussyfooting around. Let’s get this over with.”

Neither of them flinches. Bigsby purses his lips, sparing a quick peek out of the corner of his eye at his henchman. Or designated ball guzzler. Whatever you wanna call this traitorous fucker.

Wish we would have realized Patterson was dirty sooner. I might have seen this connection with the chief before it came to this.

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