Page 28 of Time Bomb
Torque
THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.
Staring at my brother, he rolls his eyes at me again, but I catch the simmering rage behind the mask. He likes my Philly too much to sit on the sidelines for this one.
“Dorian’s the best man for this.” He says it again. I know he’s right. Dorian Wagner was Hale’s partner for years before he was promoted; now, Hale mostly sits behind a desk. Laken loves that he’s out of danger. Hale hates it.
“I know, bro. Doesn’t make it any easier.” Anyone seeing my girl the way Dorian is right now makes my blood boil.
“Hey, Tor, man, we’ll get him, and no one will see her like that again.” Except the assholes who have downloaded the videos of us already. Those will never go away. He’s kind enough not to say that, however. A ding on his computer brings a grin to his face. “Videos are down.” That’s something, I guess.
“Thanks.” I don’t mention that Ophelia’s still going to be hurt as fuck. Shit like this, some women never recover. I don’t want my girl to be one of them.
“There’s this organization up in Pensacola, I want you to give them a call. They might be able to help more than we can.” He doesn’t sound like he’s pleased about it.
Handing me a card, I see it’s called The Heart Foundation. I recognize the names on the front. Biggest construction company in the state. “I’ll give it to Ophelia.”
“IP address leads to a dead lot on the south side of the city.” Dorian comes into Hale’s office, computer in hand, head down, as he says this.
“Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Not what I wanted to hear.
“Hey, now, don’t give up on me yet.” The ordinarily sour man has a gleam in his eye. “Didn’t say I couldn’t get a name.” His shit-eating grin is all I need to realize we’ve found pay dirt. “Know a Ronald Cunningham?”
Fucking hell. “No.” I hate this merry-go-round we seem to be on. I’d like to get off with the name of the man who hurt my girl.
“He’s dead.”
“Get to the fucking point, Wagner,” Hale growls out as he sits forward.
“I need a little more time to dig into who holds his assets. Tomorrow, I’ll have a name.” He sounds confident as he walks out the door again.
“You need to get to your shift, Tor. We’ll get this guy, I promise.” I have no doubt my brother will keep his word. I just worry it won’t be enough. Not in time for Ophelia to forgive me.
Leaving the precinct, I drive by Philly’s house on my way home, hoping for a glimpse of her, but like yesterday when I arrived, she’s shut up tight inside. I know from Laken that she didn’t open the shop again this morning, and she doesn’t know when she will. It’s killing me.
Because the lieutenant on second shift is sick as a dog, I volunteered to fill in for him. So even though I should have three days off after a two-day shift, I’m heading back barely twenty-four hours after I left.
I’ve worked with this group of guys a few times before, filled with more cowboys than I like, but they’re good at their jobs at least. They just don’t always follow direction when they should.
If today’s as slow as I’d like it to be, I intend on putting them through their paces until they’re doing drills precisely as I command. They need training and direction, something their normal lieu lacks giving them. I’m surprised our chief allows it to slide, if I’m honest.
Hustling through a shower and packing my shit for the day, I head back out, and a feeling of being watched stands the hairs on my neck and arms straight up. I’m not one to usually ignore something like that, so I keep my steps casual as I glance around my street, wondering if it’s whoever is tormenting Ophelia or if it’s one of my neighbors.
Tossing my bag in the truck, I lean on the box with my forearms and make a point of surveilling the area. Trying to spot whomever it is. If they’re still observing, they’ll quickly notice that I’m onto them. I wait another minute before climbing in and going to the firehouse.
“Hey, Lieu!” I’m greeted by one of the guys. Giving him a nod, I head up to my quarters to store my bag before going in search of the shift’s captain.
“Hey, Torque. What’s going on?” Captain Mark Rhodes holds out a hand for me to shake as he grabs a water from the fridge.
“Not much.” I accept the bottle he hands me. “I was thinking, if it’s a quiet shift, about putting the guys through some drills?” I don’t mention their discipline issues, but he gets it.
“Trying to get them up to your standards?” He laughs as he cracks open his bottle and takes a long swig.
“There’s a reason probies don’t get assigned to this shift.” I don’t say it as an accusation, just an honest observation.
His eyes narrow before he nods. “You’re right. Let’s do it.” We head out to the truck bay, where the guys are sitting around checking their equipment.
“Heard you were on shift today, Decker. Thought we’d get a head start on checking our gear.” Matthews grins up at me. He’s the youngest on their crew with the most to prove. I like him, but he can be like a puppy sometimes.