Page 101 of Forgotten Promise

Though he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing because he was too distracted by…

God.

By them.

He’d never come so close to true happiness, so the fact that it had slipped through his fingers was killing him.

John tried to shut down that line of thinking as he rose and walked to the captain’s office.

“Come in and shut the door,” Captain Danielson said, in his typically gruff manner, from where he sat behind his desk. If the chief had an organizational scheme for his shit, John couldn’t understand it. As it was, the captain’s desk was covered with countless untidy piles of paper and books, stacked so high they seemed to defy gravity by not toppling over. There were three dirty coffee mugs, the ceramic stained so dark inside, he wondered if they’d ever been washed properly—with soap—or if the chief just swilled them out with water before refilling them each day.

John closed the door, then dropped down in the chair across from his boss. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. Listen, I know you just got back from vacation, so I hate to do this to you,” Captain Danielson said, “but I just got off the phone with 100 West.”

John raised his brows, but inside he was cursing—100 West was the address of LAPD Headquarters, meaning, his captain had just gotten a call from someone higher up the chain of command.

Did this have something to do with the Trinity Masters? Had Selene used her new pull to make something happen? Maybe they were pissed he left, but technically he wasn’t even supposed to be there. And the task he’d taken on, handling the robbery, was done. He sure as shit had no personal reason to stay.

“And they just got off the phone with Interpol.”

“Interpol?” That…wasn’t what he’d expected the captain to say.

Captain Danielson pointed at him with a dirty coffee mug. “Exactly.”

“Are we getting visitors?” John asked, wondering if Interpol was chasing down someone in L.A. and needed some local help.

“Actually, they are. You’re joining a task force.”

John blinked. “Interpol is in Europe.”

“Technically the U.S. is a member of Interpol.”

“Huh. Didn’t know that.”

“But this is about Europe,” his captain confirmed.

John shook his head. “I’ve never even been to Europe.”

“You have a passport?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because you’re going to…” Captain Danielson picked up and then discarded several pieces of paper before finding the one he wanted. “Monaco.”

“Monaco?” John usually wasn’t the guy who just repeated what he’d been told, but this was seriously unexpected. At least now he knew it had nothing to do with Trinity Masters, since it was in Europe.

“Interpol’s NCB in Monaco is coordinating the ask on behalf of the Criminal Investigations Department of Public Security.”

“Monaco is requesting something from us?” John asked, wondering what the hell the LAPD could offer that would require him, apparently, playing errand boy.

“Not something. Someone. You.”

“Me? Why?”

The chief picked up a retractable pen, clicking it open and closed, open and closed. John had worked for Chief Danielson for six years, so he was accustomed to his boss’ annoying habit. It had driven him crazy the first year or so he was here, but now he’d learned to ignore it—mostly.

“Apparently, you closed a case last year, and they think someone in that case is involved in one of their cases, and they want you, in person, to weigh in.”

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