by J Paton
He balanced one elbow on the messy desk and pointed at me, his brow pinched. “You think? I’m not so sure. It doesn’t tell me how you’ve managed to get yourself buried up to your neck in this shitstorm.”
Opting for a partial truth, I met the boss’s hard stare. “This case has struck a chord with me. I wanted to follow it through—”
“Is that the role of this department? No, it’s fucking not. If you’d wanted that kind of police work, then you should have asked to transfer to a different department. Whatever your intentions were, it looks like you’ll get more than you bargained for. I hope it makes you fucking happy!” he ground out.
This was nothing like I’d intended, far—fucking—from it. I bit my tongue to stop any more crap from falling from my mouth. It was a wasted effort as my boss waved a hand at the door. “Get out. You’ll need to sort out your caseload, and where possible hand over what you can to Hobbs. Give me a list of cases that you’ll need to action. Clear out your desk too while you’re at it.”
A second later, I found myself staring at the top of his head as he looked down at his desk, dismissing me.
Clear my desk!
What the fuck.
Had the Assistant Chief Constable already informed Carl that I was moving teams before he’d spoken to me? He must have done. Carl had arrived as soon as the other man had left. So, when had all of this been decided? Blood skipped through my veins at a pace that didn’t make me happy as I returned to my desk. The more I ran through what had been said, the more rattled I became.
Something wasn’t right with this case, with everything that had just happened. But what was it? And why the shitting hell did it feel like I was up to my neck in shit?
Movement to my left caught my attention, and I turned to see Preston perch his arse on the side of Mulroney’s desk. It took way more effort than usual to keep my emotions in check as I ignored the grinning fool.
“Looking a little flushed there.” Preston glanced down to where my arse met the seat, his brows arching. “You look like you’re missing part of your arse there. Did you get it chewed off?” He tilted his head towards the office I’d just left, his gaze shifting to Mulroney. “What do you think?” Mulroney?”
Mulroney shrank down in his seat, a tell-tale red flush creeping up his neck as he looked anywhere but at us.
“Do I need to write you up for insubordination?” The threat in my voice was impossible to miss as I met Preston’s stare head-on. The thin line that Preston had continued to straddle since New Year became invisible as his jaw flexed, a look of contempt on his face.
“I was just joking with you… Sir.” Preston’s lips peeled back into an ugly sneer.
“Then go and fucking joke on the other side of the room,” I responded with venom. I was too pissed off to give two fucks about what others might make of my reaction.
Preston laughed as he got up. “Be careful where you sit, you wouldn’t want to hurt your arse any more than it is already.”
There was the sound of a sharp exhale from Mulroney, but I kept my gaze fixed on Preston. “You seem to be showing a lot of interest in my arse.” I got up and crowded Preston. “Is that because you fancy a piece of it yourself?”
Choked laughter followed, Preston looking flustered as he stepped back with his hands clenched at his sides and a slash of red decorating his cheekbones. His lips parted to say something, but nothing came out.
I spun around, turning my back on him and returning to my seat. I inhaled and exhaled several times to slow my pulse rate down, pleased that my hands were steady by the time I reached for my phone. A glance around showed that everyone had returned to whatever it was they were doing. I exhaled slowly as I dialled a number I hadn’t rung in over two years. Given the clusterfuck that my life had become, and the limited options left to me, there was only one person I trusted. The only issue was that after cutting him out of my life, I wasn’t sure what reception I’d get.
The phone was answered after three rings, and I closed my eyes, sending up a silent prayer that I was doing the right thing. “Hey, Dean.”
Tucker
Hours later, I was sitting in a service station café off the M1 waiting for my previous special ops boss, Superintendent Dean Wicklow, to arrive. I’d lied to Jup about working late, knowing that he’d never watch the news so he wouldn’t become suspicious if there was nothing reported that would require a response team. Although, given everything that had happened earlier, that was the least of my problems.
Sweat gathered beneath my armpits at the probability of what was about to go down. My old friend and boss was the one person I’d never been able to lie to. That was why I’d made sure to sever all ties when I’d left Newcastle to return to London. Distance from him had seemed like my only option at the time, given what I’d been hiding from him.
Now I’d had some time to think about it, it struck me as strange that he’d not questioned my call, or appeared pissed off at me having cut him out of my life. Why was that?
With no real answer coming to mind, I rubbed at my chest in an attempt to ease the tightness that had dogged me ever since I’d been hauled over the coals. I distracted myself by watching the men sat around in the noisy truck stop café, who were shooting the breeze and talking crap. There was no point in worrying about what would happen next. I’d thrown the dice and it hadn’t landed in my favour. Now I was having to pay the house. Only it wasn’t money they wanted; it was my fucking soul.
Way to go, that kind of thinking is really going to help!
No matter how many breathing techniques I tried while waiting for Dean, nothing helped to settle the storm of anxiety brewing inside me. Slick palms made holding the mug of liquid sludge that was allegedly coffee difficult, while I considered whether I wanted to risk another sip. The bitter aftertaste was a reminder of how bad it was when I gave in to the temptation, and swallowed.
The door opened, but the man who came through the door wasn’t Dean. I glanced past him to the large truck park outside. Had Dean changed his car? I scanned the cars parked in between the dozen or so trucks. It was past the time we’d been supposed to meet, Dean tending to run late for everything.
I checked my watch, gauging whether this was just him running late, or if he’d come to his senses and decided to skip the meeting. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Over the last few years, I’d cut everyone out of my life, the risk too great to have people getting close to Jup and asking questions, ones I couldn’t and wouldn’t answer. It was too late for regrets. I’d quite literally made my own bed, and I had to lie in it. Only now I’d been turfed out of it by my own stupid actions. Would I ever learn?
Scratching my neck, I sighed at the obvious answer while I once more checked the door. Had Dean got stuck in traffic while travelling from Newcastle? All it took was one freak accident to create major tailbacks. Was that why he was late? I pulled out my phone to check whether he’d messaged before remembering he didn’t have my new number. Shit!
Why hadn’t I thought to give him my number? I pulled up his number again and sent a quick text to check in. I left my phone on the table, returning to watching the truck park. Would Dean have changed much over the years?
The last time I’d seen Dean ran through my mind.
“What’s this crap, Tuck?” The piece of paper Dean held was waved in the air between us.
“It’s my transfer papers. I gave you fair warning. I can’t do this anymore. I already talked to you about it. This last case…” Images of men I couldn’t protect flashed through my head in a macabre picture show Stephen King would have been proud to have written. No one wanted or needed that in their head, and I was no different. I could no longer continue to live this life with the dregs of society taking chunks out of me.
“Take some leave, decompress for a bit—”
“Sir, no disrespect, but there isn’t enough leave in the world to fix this.” My answer was honest. Nothing could fix what I’d seen, or what I’d inadvertently done. Yo
u had to do it, or he’d be dead.
“I get that this case was harder than anything you’ve ever had to deal with before.”
‘Harder than before!’ That was the fucking understatement of the decade. I ran my hands through my hair, struggling to hold on to my temper.
“You need to put a bit of distance between you and what happened. Listen to me, give yourself two weeks, and then come back and we’ll talk about it again.”
My boss’s voice was soft and cajoling, but all I could see was battered and mutilated men held prisoner at the whim of sick, sadistic Dom’s.
“It’s been a while, Tuck. You’re looking good.”
The familiar voice pulled me from the past and I blinked the café back into focus, forcing my lips into a smile as I looked up into the face of the man who’d once been my friend. “It has, and thanks.” I got up and after giving Dean a bear hug, I took in his appearance. He’d aged well. There was more silver at his temples, and extra flecked through the hair he’d left longer on the top, but he still looked younger than his forty-four years.
I chuckled at Dean’s uniform of choice: the scruffy trousers and short-sleeved shirt he always wore.
He stood back, offering me a genuine smile. “You know you haven’t lost the skill to tell someone to fuck off without saying the words.”
For the first time that day, I let out a bark of laughter. “You know, I learnt from the best.” My laughter didn’t smother my regret at having had to distance myself from someone I’d classed as a close friend.
“You’ve still got a smart mouth.” He held up his hand when I made to respond. “Alright, you learnt that from me too.”
“That I did,” I replied good-humouredly. “Wanna have some truly dreadful coffee?”
“How can I say no to that? Add in a sandwich too, will you? I skipped lunch to drive down from Newcastle to see a friend at a moment’s notice.”
Guilt formed a greasy knot in my stomach, making it impossible to swallow without feeling nauseous. I eyed Dean and nodded, accepting that I deserved his slightly pissed-off tone and expression. “Take a seat. I’ll get you something to eat, and then you can catch me up on what I’ve missed.” Once he’d nodded, I walked off to the counter, doing my best not to think about Dean’s hurt expression when I’d mentioning catching up.
Sandwich and mug in hand, I returned to the table, placing both in front of Dean before sitting back down. Dean poked at the limp chicken salad sandwich, sighing as he picked up the mug. He glanced around, wincing as he took a sip of the coffee. “Yep, you were right, dreadful.” He eyed me over the rim of the mug. “So… tell me why after two years of radio silence you’ve reached out?”
Searching for something to do while I gathered my thoughts, I picked up my coffee. “Firstly, I’m sorry for not contacting you after I left. I had my reasons, but I can’t explain what they were, other than to say it was for your own good.”
The second the words left my mouth, Dean’s posture stiffened and his eyes narrowed on me. “What the fuck, Tuck. My own good. What’s that supposed to mean? We were, we are friends, and you know I’ve always had your back. So what’s this fucking nonsense about it being for my own good?”
Okay, that maybe hadn’t been the right way to start!
My hopes of avoiding answering anything too personal faded at the stubborn expression Dean wore. “Shit, I don’t want to be a dick—”
“Then don’t, and just tell me what made you return to London and lose the ability to return a call or a message?” Dean lowered his voice as he leaned over the table and met my stare. “Come on, you reached out, not me. You need my help, or why else would I be here?”
Sipping the bitter, lukewarm coffee to wet my dry mouth, I made a decision that I prayed I wouldn’t regret. Careful how to phrase it, I swallowed hard before diving off the high board and hoping the water was deep enough to stop me from breaking my neck. “On my last undercover op, I broke a cardinal rule and got involved with one of the subs.” That didn’t even come close to describing what I’d done.
Dean choked on the sip of coffee he’d just taken. When all he did was cough and rub his lips, I took a shaky breath. “He belonged to Macintosh.”
A loud hiss was followed by the sound of Dean’s mug hitting the table. He seemed oblivious to the coffee that sloshed over the rim to splash the table. “You’re shitting me!”
My heart was pounding so hard against my ribs that I was worried it might break one or two, my hand holding the mug trembling. I’d expected this reaction. Macintosh was a bad arse motherfucker who had appeared untouchable in Newcastle. He’d owned the club where I’d gone undercover, the one where I’d first come into contact with Jup. “I wish I was, but sadly, no.”
“Holy crap! You know they never managed to catch the fucker, right?” Dean’s tone was grave, icy chills running down my spine even though the café was warm. “He skipped right out from under our noses during the court case. His sub, Jupiter, disappeared too, only that was months before the case came to court. There were rumours that Macintosh had gotten rid of him. Though when we identified the site they’d used to dump the bodies, and carried out a search, Jupiter’s was never found.”
Using every bit of my training I had, I managed to keep my gaze fixed on Dean and my tone even. “Yeah, I heard that on the grapevine.”
Deep lines formed around Dean’s mouth. “And this is why you kept away, why you maintained radio silence? You were frightened that Macintosh would come after you if he found out about you touching his sub?”
That was an easy question to answer. “Yes.” What had happened on the night the club had been raided by the police was far more complicated than that, though.
“Then what has made you reach out now? Have you found out something about Macintosh that might help us to catch the bastard?”
“I wish. No…” I lowered my mug, glancing around to see if anyone was paying us any attention. Seeing nothing to make me concerned, I turned my attention back to Dean. “I’ve gotten into a bit of trouble.” Lowering my voice, I rested my forearms on the table, leaning towards Dean, who mirrored my position. “At New Year I was called to a kidnapping situation in a BDSM club. On the surface it all looked cut and dry. A Dom with issues-in-letting-his-sub-go type situation, or so everyone thought. My gut said there was more to it, but I put my antsy feelings down to my past. A few weeks ago, the guy that was kidnapped reached out to me and instead of handing it over to the SIO managing the case as I should have done, I went to meet the guy instead.”
“That’s the Tuck I know.” Dean chuckled, the sound anything but humorous.
“Thanks! Anyway, it turns out that the Dom had never been the guy’s boyfriend. He stated that he was given to the Dom the first night he attended a BDSM club called Dom’s Haven. That he was taken from the club, and then locked in the Dom’s house as his prisoner and sex sub for well over a year.”
“Jesus Christ.” Dean’s growl was loud enough to have several heads turning in our direction.
I glanced around, hissing through clenched teeth, “Keep it down.”
“Fuck, shit, sorry. But there’s a few too many parallels to your last case.”
“Yes, I know, and that’s why I found myself getting sucked in. If you met the guy and heard his story…” I ran my hands over my face and groaned. “I don’t want to go back into that world. I swore I’d never go back—”
“But you’ve decided to?”
“No.” My aggressive answer had Dean blinking rapidly. I dialled back on the anger. “No. I meant it when I said that I never wanted to go back to that kind of work. However, Assistant Chief Constable Kelly in the Met has other ideas.”
“What? Back up. Why would an Assistant Chief Constable be getting involved in this? Surely that’s a bit below his pay grade. Also, how the hell would he know you were in special ops? Or what cases you worked in the past? That shit is locked down tighter than a drum. Or at least it should be.”
Dean
glowered at me, but I didn’t take it personally because Dean wasn’t wrong, and it only confirmed my own thoughts. “I’m not sure. This guy has a real hard on for me for some reason I can’t fathom, other than the obvious—that I broke protocol and didn’t follow a direct order.” I ignored the eye roll Dean gave me. “Whatever the reason, it looks like he requested access to undercover officer data before he came to ream my arse. My boss, Kelly knows about some, or all, of my past case involvement and by the way he spoke I’d go with the latter. He’s insisting I return to special ops.” Voicing it aloud made my gut churn at the reality of what it would mean to me and Jup.
I sucked in a deep breath before asking the question that had had me reaching out in the first place. “Can they force me back into the job?”
Dean’s sigh spoke volumes, and I acknowledged that my fate was sealed even before he answered. “Yeah, they can. You can fight it, but you know better than anyone that your contract allows them to utilise your skills where they’re best suited in the interests of public safety.”
I was fucked! Well and truly.
Tucker
The second I entered the sanctuary of my home, the day’s events came crashing down on me, and I struggled to keep control of my feelings. The scent of polish and detergent said that Jup had been on a cleaning spree—again. The man in question wasn’t in the hallway to greet me, meaning he’d had a good day.
Several deep breaths did little to alleviate the fear of what would come next when I did what I was going to have to do. My eyes and temples ached, and that wasn’t going to change until I’d talked about what had happened today with Jup.
Dropping the bag of stuff I’d cleared from my desk on the floor, I kicked it under the hall table, refusing to think about how long it would be before I’d be back with the armed response team. Sounds of movement and humming came from the kitchen, and I forced my feet down the hallway and into the kitchen. Whenever Jup was happy, he had a habit of humming popular music to himself.