Page 34 of Tapped

I lean back in my chair. “No shit? You haven’t even been on the force two years.”

“I know. I’m that exceptional.”

“You’re proving to be.”

He sounds alert. “Brax doesn’t know. Landyn is going to lose her shit.”

He’s not wrong about that. Rocco Monroe was a prospect in one of the most dangerous biker gangs on the west coast. Brax is the one who pulled him in, but it’s his wife, Landyn, who really connected with him when he was barely eighteen.

Rocco isn’t wrong, she will lose her shit when she finds out Rocco is joining the Miami SWAT team. She’s already hormonal from being pregnant.

“Your secret is safe with me. I don’t want to be in the general vicinity when you tell Landyn Cruz. Even so, nicely done, Roc. People rarely get accepted into SWAT before their third year.”

“I have you to thank for a lot too.” He yawns. “Text me the details.”

And he hangs up. I’ve known Rocco for years and that’s as warm and fuzzy as he gets.

I down the rest of my coffee as I pull up the newest contact in my phone.

Me – Please tell me your new security detail hasn’t fallen asleep on the job yet.

I answer a few emails and review the latest wire transcripts. So far, they have no idea Jeff Michaels is out of commission and sitting in jail awaiting an initial appearance in front of a judge. That should happen by the end of the day.

I’m about to call Brax and see where he is, when my phone vibrates.

Evita – Not yet, thank goodness. He can’t exactly follow me into the hospital or exam rooms. He’s spent his morning sitting in waiting rooms.

Me – That doesn’t make for tight security, Evie.

Evita – I have no other choice, MICAH.

Me – Are you screaming at me?

Evita – Of course not. I am throwing sarcasm at you. You actually called me by name in a text.

Me – It’s your name. What else am I supposed to call you?

Evita – I have a patient waiting, MICAH. Are you texting me to tell me my husband has been charged with attempted murder yet?

Me – No. I need to meet with you. Sooner rather than later. I need details about the accident so I can dig.

Evita – My day is packed. I told you I have a funeral.

Shit. A funeral.

And the fitted black dress.

Me – Are you attending this funeral alone?

Evita – Yes. Seriously, the longer I make this patient wait, the farther behind I’ll be.

I cannot believe I’m doing this. I do not do funerals. I haven’t for years.

Me – When? I’ll pick you up and take you. We can talk on the way there and back. Your security detail can take a lunch break.

Evita – You do not need to do that.

Me – Tell me when.

---