Page 73 of Tortured Eyes
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” Being able to reach Logan will be one hell of a temptation, but it doesn’t stop me taking the card and wanting him to have my number in return.
“You never know when you'll need me, Red.” His words hold a promise of something, his tone low and soft, but just as before, the phone vibrates and breaks the pull between us.
I don’t know what I was expecting with this heart-to-heart, but him picking up the phone and talking again extinguishes it, regardless of his eyes on me. Still, I watch him for a few more seconds, unable to take my eyes off his mouth as he talks of anarchy, until I go back to my own seat and set about sending myself crazy over Logan Cane.
* * *
Work. Finally, something concrete to focus my thoughts on. I walk into the station and get a frosty welcome as I sign in and head through each security point. It’s only been a few weeks, but mentally, it’s as if I’ve been fighting a war since I last came in.
After reporting and registering my new SIG, I head to my office. The door slams and still rattles the windows in my office, and there’s a neat pile of case files in the middle of my desk, but aside from that, everything is exactly as it was. The photos of the crime scene I was working on still stare down at me, reminding me of how I’ve failed at my job.
“Morning, boss.” Nigel knocks before entering at least. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you. Anything you need to get me up to speed on?”
“Well, aside from the rise in drug-related crime, no.”
“What sort of crimes? What’s Mason saying?” I pull the first file towards me and start to review the details.
“A lot of murders. More than usual.”
“Timeframe?” I pull another case towards me.
“Last two weeks. A few days after you… left.”
I’d give anything to be able to present the facts in a way that Nigel, and Benson for that matter, will understand, but they won’t.
“I’m sorry. I appreciate you stepping up.”
“It’s cool. It’s all covered. Mason is heading up the investigation.”
“Mason? But he’s narcotics. He’s not serious crime.”
“Since Nathan Cane’s funeral and the disappearance of Emilio Mortoni, the cartels are playing at war on the streets. His game. Not ours.”
“Bullshit."
Nigel raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, you’ve not been here. Benson signed it off.”
“Leave it with me, Nigel. Thanks.”
I dismiss him, partly annoyed that everything Logan said has been proved right within twenty minutes of me being back at work. I can't deny anything about him, and to make things worse, there’s that draw to him I'm slipping into. That’s scary. It’s a growing fascination and blurs the lines of my reality. He’s got everything figured out. Playing the system. Playing me. And he knows exactly what his next move will be, well ahead of anyone else.
Me included.
The stack of paperwork in front of me isn’t quick to review, but that’s not due to the complexities of the cases, more the number. Each is similar to the others, and all victims are associates of one of the cartels. It’s a small mercy they keep the deaths within their own ranks. No consolation to their loved ones, though.
As I see more and more victims, all associated with the same common cause, it becomes harder to keep my mind clear of Logan. Our conversation and whatever is left between us is so far from being resolved—if a resolution is even possible—but I can’t let that rule my thoughts. I owe it to myself and to my job to keep him separate. After all, I am a cop, and I have a duty. But he screws all of that up. The black and white once again coloured to a murky grey.
The shrill ring of the phone snaps my attention away from my current line of thinking. “McCarthy.”
“I expected you in my office when you reported in.” Benson is straight to the point.
“Sorry, sir. I was catching up on the paperwork and files. I’ll be right with you.”
He hangs up. Clearly pissed. I don’t want to be interrogated by him once again. He’s had the psych report and probably wants to grill me over it. I know I would if it was Nigel who'd had one done.
I walk down to my lieutenant’s office and knock on the doorjamb as the door is already ajar.
