The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 2)

“I don’t want to do this over the phone.”

Rio’s eyes tracked the red-and-white signs that read “EMERGENCY,” and the fact that her hands and feet operated her beater all by themselves seemed a commentary on how used to dealing with emergencies she was.

“Do what,” she said remotely. “Over the phone.”

The emergency room was lit up like a ballpark, the bays for the ambulances and the glass-fronted entrance for walk-ins glowing like a promised land for the afflicted.

God, she hoped she didn’t end up with a cast.

“Hello?” she demanded. “Will you just tell me, Captain. I’m going to have to hang up in a second as I go inside.”

“What kind of car accident were you in?”

A quick memory of rolling up and over that Charger played like a ticker tape across her mind’s eye. She really should have kept that detail out when she reported Erie’s death.

“Just a fender bender,” she said.

“Then why are you getting checked out.”

“You know me, always following the rules.”

There was a multi-tiered parking lot on the far side of the ER, and out of habit, she avoided it and parked instead in the open air and directly under a streetlamp. Her ring of keys made a clapping sound as she turned off the engine, and when she got out, she made sure she hadn’t been followed.

“Hello?” she said into the phone. Like the roles were reversed and she wasn’t speaking to a very-much-higher-up.

Captain Carmichael was actually Chief Carmichael, but he was the kind of humble man who didn’t stand on ceremony. According to him, “captain” was enough when it came to titles, although he wasn’t going to turn down the office and especially not the private bathroom.

“Rio.”

“What.”

When the captain didn’t respond, she closed her eyes and leaned against the side of her car. “I’m not stopping. You’re not taking me off—”

“You called in two homicides tonight. Both gunshot victims.”

“I did what I’m supposed to—”

“So you know the rules. In addition to reporting in, if any officer is involved in a shooting, it’s mandatory admin leave until they’ve been assessed by a counselor and cleared by the county prosecutor and the AG—”

“I didn’t shoot either of them. And if you don’t believe me, check the ballistics. My gun wasn’t used.”

“The rules are what the rules are. You’re off the streets—”

“I’m so close to getting what we need on Mozart. Captain, come on, I just want another couple of weeks—and I can get you the supplier as well. I met him tonight, and I’m going to get the deal done—”

“Rules are there for a reason—”

“I’m being punished because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time!”

“This is not punishment. This is health and safety, Rio. I’m taking you off the case. Mozart is not as important as your life.”

So he knew about the cover being blown, she thought. That’s what this was really about.

And he was a good guy, so he wasn’t going to spell it out to her—because nothing was less professional than an undercover cop who’d had her identity compromised. Especially one like her with federal training.

Rio looked over to the ER’s entrance. An older woman and man were coming out, the man offering his arm, the woman taking it and leaning on him. She wasn’t limping, but she was tilted in as if she needed help carrying her own weight. But her problem wasn’t like what Rio had, it wasn’t an injury. She was sick. In the bright, icy illumination, her face was too red and she was breathing through her mouth and coughing.

“—assessment later this week,” her superior was saying. “And then a debriefing. After that, you’re taking a couple of weeks off—”

“How’re you going to replace me. Out on the street.” She leaned forward, like the man was in front of her in his suit and tie. “Who’ll take my place with Mozart? I’m the one who’s gone the furthest, and I’ve worked on this for eighteen months straight. I told you, I met the supplier contact tonight—and I was about to make the deal when we were rudely interrupted by a goddamn gunfight that had nothing to do with me.” Well, at least in theory, she tacked on to herself. “It’s not my fault that the Ballous decided to ride up on Caldwell and avenge Johnny Two Shoes—and before you criticize me for holding a meeting in an alley, where else am I supposed to face-to-face my contacts? The public library? Yeah, because that’ll go over so much better—”

“Your life is more important than this case.”

“I accepted the risks when I took the job.”

“There’s no getting around this, so let’s both be professional here. Your appointment’s been made with mental health, and I’ll expect to see you in my office tomorrow, shall we say eleven? Great. See you then—oh, and if you need to make a workers’ comp claim for that injury, bring your paperwork from St. Francis. Goodnight, Detective.”