A f**k-up of that magnitude could take months to sort out.
He got that any officer-involved shooting was a big deal. Add to it the recent corruption at the station with a few cops on the take, working for the very scum who had died in his apartment, and yeah, no wonder the D.A. and I.A. were being so thorough.
Reese knew without a shadow of a doubt that both Logan and Lieutenant Peterson were on the up-and-up. Okay, so he’d once suspected Peterson. He’d been way off base on that one.
In a low voice, Logan said to Reese, “I found out a few things.”
“The kidnapping?”
“Yeah.” He glanced toward the lieutenant, walking ahead of them. “It was big news when Alice reappeared after being gone for so long. Course the press got hold of it. The thing is, she claimed not to know much—not who had taken her, or where. According to her, some anonymous man rescued her, dropped her off with money to get home, and that was that.”
“Bullshit,” Reese said low.
“That’s what I figured, too. Thing is, a lot of women were recovered right around that time. Separate from Alice showing up.”
Damn.
Logan watched Peterson’s back, ensuring she didn’t overhear. “Someone killed the traffickers, set the women loose and then...vanished.”
“They interviewed the other women?”
“Yes, and most had the same tale. That they were freed by some anonymous champion.”
What exactly had Alice been involved in?
Lieutenant Peterson glanced back at them. “If you two hens are done whispering, how about we grab some coffee?”
Reese wanted to talk more with Logan. He needed dinner.
And he needed Alice.
But before he could find an excuse to decline, Logan checked his watch and said, “I can take time for a cup.”
Great. Coffee. Hadn’t they seen each other enough for one day? Of course, under normal circumstances, they would naturally gravitate to the coffeepot, so maybe it was better not to make Peterson suspicious by varying things.
“Is your arm bothering you?” she asked Logan without a lot of concern or sympathy. Peterson was not a woman to indulge coddling.
She was hard. And cold. And thankfully, honorable.
This time, Reese spoke ahead of Logan. “More likely, it’s that he has Pepper Yates waiting to tuck him back into bed.”
Peterson gave a small smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t get grilled more on that whole situation.”
Reese wasn’t at all surprised. “Any man who saw Pepper understood Logan’s predicament.”
Logan just smiled.
At thirty, Peterson was the youngest lieutenant in the state. She was on the short side, deceptively slender, with short brown hair and big blue eyes. She’d be a looker if she didn’t favor containing all femininity within structured business suits and a ball-buster attitude that put many a man in his place—which was whatever place Peterson deemed appropriate for him at the time.
Somehow, Reese doubted that place was ever in a bed, naked, going deep. He could be wrong, but he just couldn’t see it.
“Pepper was never really a witness,” Logan argued, but he kept his voice low, aware that I.A. and the D.A. were still around.
They’d first answered questions for the district attorney, and everyone knew Internal Affairs watched through the two-way mirror. They’d had their own store of questions afterward.
“What about you?” Peterson asked. “You and the neighbor connecting?”
Prying, or just conversation? Reese wasn’t sure. Peterson’s motives were always murky—which accounted in part for why he’d once doubted her integrity. Not a sterling moment for him.
Logan repaid him by answering. “He and Alice—that’s her name, Alice—are an item now.”
“Is that right?” Peterson arched a brow. “I take it you disarmed her before getting too cozy?”
God knew he’d be forever ribbed over the way Alice had shown up on the scene, gun in hand, a haunted look in her eyes.
Sometimes it’s better if they’re dead. That stark statement coming from a woman like Alice—understated in appearance and manner—had left everyone speculating.
Reese shook his head.
“What’s this?” Peterson teased. Disconcerting both detectives, she stepped ahead and opened the door to the break room for them to enter. “Reese Bareden is without a comeback? Now, you know all sorts of scenarios are coming to mind.”
“She’s very sweet,” he said, and walked past the lieutenant into the room. He counted it a blessing that no one else sat at the long table.
“Just like a sweet Ma Barker, huh?” Peterson let the door fall shut behind Logan.
“Sit,” he told Logan and Peterson as he went to the coffee machine and filled three cups. He tried not to let the lieutenant’s ribbing get to him. That’d only make him fair game for everyone else at the station.
“Cream and sugar in mine,” she said. “So, tell me about her.”
“Who?” Reese stalled, looking for a way out.
Logan grunted a laugh—and tried to hide his discomfort.
“Alice...what’s her last name?”
He didn’t want to say. He didn’t want Peterson to start digging. Damn it, Alice had too many secrets, and until he knew what they entailed, he didn’t dare have her exposed.
An image of Alice in the bed that morning—baby-soft hair fanned out on the pillow, her face utterly relaxed, expression peaceful—contradicted any ideas of her being trouble.
He got that any officer-involved shooting was a big deal. Add to it the recent corruption at the station with a few cops on the take, working for the very scum who had died in his apartment, and yeah, no wonder the D.A. and I.A. were being so thorough.
Reese knew without a shadow of a doubt that both Logan and Lieutenant Peterson were on the up-and-up. Okay, so he’d once suspected Peterson. He’d been way off base on that one.
In a low voice, Logan said to Reese, “I found out a few things.”
“The kidnapping?”
“Yeah.” He glanced toward the lieutenant, walking ahead of them. “It was big news when Alice reappeared after being gone for so long. Course the press got hold of it. The thing is, she claimed not to know much—not who had taken her, or where. According to her, some anonymous man rescued her, dropped her off with money to get home, and that was that.”
“Bullshit,” Reese said low.
“That’s what I figured, too. Thing is, a lot of women were recovered right around that time. Separate from Alice showing up.”
Damn.
Logan watched Peterson’s back, ensuring she didn’t overhear. “Someone killed the traffickers, set the women loose and then...vanished.”
“They interviewed the other women?”
“Yes, and most had the same tale. That they were freed by some anonymous champion.”
What exactly had Alice been involved in?
Lieutenant Peterson glanced back at them. “If you two hens are done whispering, how about we grab some coffee?”
Reese wanted to talk more with Logan. He needed dinner.
And he needed Alice.
But before he could find an excuse to decline, Logan checked his watch and said, “I can take time for a cup.”
Great. Coffee. Hadn’t they seen each other enough for one day? Of course, under normal circumstances, they would naturally gravitate to the coffeepot, so maybe it was better not to make Peterson suspicious by varying things.
“Is your arm bothering you?” she asked Logan without a lot of concern or sympathy. Peterson was not a woman to indulge coddling.
She was hard. And cold. And thankfully, honorable.
This time, Reese spoke ahead of Logan. “More likely, it’s that he has Pepper Yates waiting to tuck him back into bed.”
Peterson gave a small smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t get grilled more on that whole situation.”
Reese wasn’t at all surprised. “Any man who saw Pepper understood Logan’s predicament.”
Logan just smiled.
At thirty, Peterson was the youngest lieutenant in the state. She was on the short side, deceptively slender, with short brown hair and big blue eyes. She’d be a looker if she didn’t favor containing all femininity within structured business suits and a ball-buster attitude that put many a man in his place—which was whatever place Peterson deemed appropriate for him at the time.
Somehow, Reese doubted that place was ever in a bed, naked, going deep. He could be wrong, but he just couldn’t see it.
“Pepper was never really a witness,” Logan argued, but he kept his voice low, aware that I.A. and the D.A. were still around.
They’d first answered questions for the district attorney, and everyone knew Internal Affairs watched through the two-way mirror. They’d had their own store of questions afterward.
“What about you?” Peterson asked. “You and the neighbor connecting?”
Prying, or just conversation? Reese wasn’t sure. Peterson’s motives were always murky—which accounted in part for why he’d once doubted her integrity. Not a sterling moment for him.
Logan repaid him by answering. “He and Alice—that’s her name, Alice—are an item now.”
“Is that right?” Peterson arched a brow. “I take it you disarmed her before getting too cozy?”
God knew he’d be forever ribbed over the way Alice had shown up on the scene, gun in hand, a haunted look in her eyes.
Sometimes it’s better if they’re dead. That stark statement coming from a woman like Alice—understated in appearance and manner—had left everyone speculating.
Reese shook his head.
“What’s this?” Peterson teased. Disconcerting both detectives, she stepped ahead and opened the door to the break room for them to enter. “Reese Bareden is without a comeback? Now, you know all sorts of scenarios are coming to mind.”
“She’s very sweet,” he said, and walked past the lieutenant into the room. He counted it a blessing that no one else sat at the long table.
“Just like a sweet Ma Barker, huh?” Peterson let the door fall shut behind Logan.
“Sit,” he told Logan and Peterson as he went to the coffee machine and filled three cups. He tried not to let the lieutenant’s ribbing get to him. That’d only make him fair game for everyone else at the station.
“Cream and sugar in mine,” she said. “So, tell me about her.”
“Who?” Reese stalled, looking for a way out.
Logan grunted a laugh—and tried to hide his discomfort.
“Alice...what’s her last name?”
He didn’t want to say. He didn’t want Peterson to start digging. Damn it, Alice had too many secrets, and until he knew what they entailed, he didn’t dare have her exposed.
An image of Alice in the bed that morning—baby-soft hair fanned out on the pillow, her face utterly relaxed, expression peaceful—contradicted any ideas of her being trouble.
