Page 41 of Tapped

Again, not at all like a rom com, but such is my life.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Micah states, as if he’s doing me a favor.

“It’s not like I have anything to rush home to, but I’m sure my patients will appreciate that.”

He pushes off the door jamb and turns to walk away from me.

When he rounds the corner, I jump when I hear a file hit the counter. Naomi is standing there with eyes the size of saucers with her jaw hanging wide. “For the love of law men everywhere, that man wants to dust off your vagina. I know it!”

“I told you not to talk about my vagina,” I whisper. “You’re getting the silent treatment for the rest of the day.”

I turn down the hall to find my next appointment when she calls in a whisper, “The first sign of needing help is pretending that you don’t need help.”

I ignore her, open the door, plaster a smile on my face, and do everything I can to forget my life. “Mr. Putney, how are your grandbabies? Do you have new pictures to show me?”

11

OUCH

Micah

Ijerk awake when my phone vibrates on my thigh. When I see who it is, I put it to my ear. “Yeah?”

“The next time you need something, call a lieutenant or a sergeant or even a damn detective. Do you know the hoops I jumped through today?”

I drag a hand down my face before rubbing my eyes. “Did you get the accident report or not?”

“Yeah, I got it. It just took me a fucking hour and four conversations,” Rocco complains. “That means I had to explain four times what I was doing and who needed it. Not fun.”

I look at my watch. It’s almost seven o’clock. I went back to the office after the funeral to check on the wiretaps. There’s chatter, but it’s not about shipments or distributions once the loads hit Miami.

The organization is pissed from the bottom to the top. There’s a kink in their pipeline—no one knows what happened to Jeff Michaels.

We’ve kept that under wraps, but it’ll no doubt change. Michaels was arraigned late this afternoon for premeditated murder. We all agreed to hold the drug charges back for now. I’m not ready to blow the case up if I can avoid it.

What was the strongest case of my career has turned into a shit show that threatens to negate years of work.

There’s a blacked-out silhouette at the top of the hierarchy that I need to uncover. I’ve worked too long and too hard to let them go.

I stand and head to the refrigerator for a protein drink. “Did you talk to higher ups you’ve never talked to before?”

“You know I had to,” he bites.

“Then you’re welcome. Consider this little project a gift. Networking is just ass-kissing when there’s no reason for it. They won’t forget you when your name comes up for a promotion.”

“Whatever. I don’t want to promote. I’m SWAT now, remember? I’m going to kick doors in and shit.”

“Chill, Rambo. Where’s my report?”

“Check your email.” I hear a car door slam in the background. “Will I see you at Brax and Landyn’s tomorrow?”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“Never mind. You probably weren’t invited. I forget that Landyn hates you.” I can almost hear the shit-eating grin in his tone.

“Landyn doesn’t hate me. I might’ve been an asshole for a day or two, but it’s been years. Will that storyline never die?”

“Nope.”

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