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The Poet (Samantha Jazz)

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“That’s what you were supposed to help with. We need electronic surveillance.”

“I can’t get that for you now.”

The door opens and Raymond Winter, the chief and my godfather, joins us with a command. “We need the room.”

The chief’s an imposing man and not just because he’s tall and muscular. His features are sharp, his eyes a piercing blue so penetrating they could cut through any level of bullshit right to your soul. He’s a man who owns a room just by walking into it like he owns this one now.

Evan stands up. “Chief,” he greets. “We’re on her side.”

“You better be,” he says, his voice all gruff authority when he has none over Evan.

The two men shake hands and exchange a few muffled words I can’t make out before the chief holds the door open for Evan, who quickly departs.

“Nicole,” he says, and her name’s clearly a warning.

“Chief, I can’t—”

“This isn’t official. She’s my damn goddaughter. We need the room.”

“Oh.” She looks at me in shock. “You didn’t tell me he was your godfather.”

“She doesn’t throw me around like a weapon,” the chief explains for me, pride in his voice.

Pride I don’t deserve this night. Nicole eyes me and I nod. She gets up and walks to the door. “The cameras are off?”

“They’re off,” the chief assures her.

She leaves and when the door shuts, I stand up. The next thing I know the chief is in front of me, pulling me into a bear hug. “My baby girl.”

My teeth clench. This is a test. His way of figuring out how ruined I am, how likely to be dead in the water, incapable of wearing my badge in the future. I will not fail. I’m not dead in the water. I want justice for that little boy. I want The Poet, and tears, at least not the public kind, will not make that happen.

“You do know I’m a badass detective, right?” It’s an inside joke between us that we’ve been saying since I first joined the force and he brought me cupcakes to celebrate.

He usually laughs. This time, he doesn’t. His hands settle on my shoulders and he leans back to inspect me. “And human. No one goes through what you did tonight without pain. You’re going to come out of this just fine, though. You’re tough as nails.” He releases me and settles his hands on his hips. “But you’ll have required counseling and a mandatory administrative leave for a month.”

“A month?” I balk. “I thought the book said three days? I have a killer to catch.”

“A month for you. It’s only three months after your father died right in front of you. That shapes your recovery.”

“Chief, damn it—”

“If you fall apart and something goes wrong, I take that heat. Furthermore, the press will find you if you’re underfoot. They will be stalking you right along with this killer. You’re going to want to lay low. I expect you to lay low. Wade said he has a team supporting you in San Antonio. Head down that direction. Get out of sight. Enjoy a nice long walk on the damn Riverwalk.”

“The Riverwalk stinks.”

“It doesn’t stink. It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t want to go to San Antonio,” I bite out.

“Newman’s threatening to sue. This is the only way you stay active and the lead on this case.”

“In other words, I’m on desk duty.” I don’t wait for him to reply. “This is what The Poet wants. Me out of the way.”

His expression tightens. “He’s obsessed with you. Seems to me he doesn’t want you gone at all. He wants you as obsessed with him as he is with you. We can only hope that if you step back, he’ll wait for you, and we’ll catch him while he does.” He leans in, kisses my cheek, and then walks to the door.

An image of me leaning over that little boy claws at me, and I stop him. “Chief?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Yes.”

“Do we know who the boy is yet?”

“No.” That’s it. No. And with that he exits. I stare after him, stunned by his harshness. As of now, I decide, the scoreboard reads: The Poet wins. I lose.

Chapter 75

I wait until Wade and I are in his fancy black pickup truck, the Texas version of a Mercedes, before I ask the question that I’ve wanted to ask for an hour and a half. “Why would you suggest they send me to San Antonio?”

He starts the engine and cranks the air, then rotates to face me. “They were going to send you to Houston to wait on Roberts’s return. I thought you’d prefer San Antonio, where you have more control over your investigation than you did here in Austin. And where you’re close enough to come back nightly and meet with your team.”

“They were going to send me to Houston?”



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