Free took a deep breath. The closer he got downstairs the better he began to feel. He immediately recognized the pulsing in his right temple as a tension headache. Free hated to be afraid. His fear was like none other, because very few people had survived what he had. He closed his eyes and began his count backwards from twenty to calm the lingering anxiety.
“Free, do you want me to walk with you to your department?” Mason used the same soothing tone with him that he’d heard him use when he took victim statements.
All he could do was nod since his throat felt closed. Mason gave him a comforting smile as the doors dinged open and several officers and other personnel waited for them to exit.
Mason held the door for him and walked with him into the narcotics department and Tech was the first to stand up. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Free’s tongue felt too thick to speak. He robotically pushed the cart to the other side of the office and rolled it into the conference room. His best friend came in and shut the glass door behind them.
“FreeBaby.” Tech touched his cheek. “What happened?”
Free stared through the door at Mason as he spoke with God, Day and Syn. He was most likely telling them what he’d just witnessed, and what he’d had to do. God’s scowl got deeper the longer he stood there listening. Syn stormed over to his desk and picked up his phone, his mouth moving fast. He slammed the receiver down then went back to Mason.
“Was it Vasquez?” Tech asked in a hushed tone.
Free nodded. He slowly exhaled, “That guy is such a prick.”
“Motherfucker. I knew it.” Tech sat next to him. “It’s gonna be all right. God and Day are gonna handle this guy, once and for all. Syn probably just called his sergeant.”
Free sat up straighter when Hart walked through their department doors. His smile had been bright enough to light up the room, but the moment he saw God’s face it fell fast. Hart quickly scanned the large office before his eyes landed on Free’s. It felt as if a laser beam was going to make the glass shatter between them—that was how fiercely Hart was staring at him as he listened to the conversation. Hart spun around, aimed toward the door, his eyes blazing, and his bald head gleaming with perspiration as it turned an alarming shade of red. God just barely caught him, roughly hooking his forearm inside Hart’s and tugging him back. It didn’t look easy. God’s bicep bulged under his sleeve, his veins protruding in his forearms as he held onto Hart, whispering forcefully in his ear.
“Oh my gosh.” Free shook his head. “This is a mess, Shawn. I’m okay. He was apologizing at first, then he flipped and was getting mad I wouldn’t put in a good word for him with God.”
“Geez. That guy just doesn’t know when to give up. God and Day will never let him in, no matter what he does. It’s unethical for me to tell you that’s he’s been cited multiple times for conduct unbecoming a police officer, but I will anyway.”
Free’s chest ached again, but for a whole other reason now. Hart was finally calming himself and returning to his natural color as God continued to talk him down. Day and Syn were still conversing with Mason when an older black man, dressed in a quality blue suit came into their office.
“This is getting out of control.” Free clutched his chest. He didn’t want any trouble. If trouble came, he’d have to leave again. He couldn’t go. Not yet. And Hart’s reaction made him feel so many things. The way he was fuming and flexing his muscles, it appeared as if he wanted to get a piece of Vasquez, once again jumping to protect him. Free slowed his breathing. He didn’t want his other parts responding. He had to turn his eyes, no longer able to stare at those glistening blue eyes, and dark beard.
“It’s not out of control. You don’t have to be harassed where you work. Especially if you work in the goddamn police department. That’s also why Vasquez will never make it on the team, because he’s an idiot. Right now they’re gonna—”
“Who’s that in the suit?” Free asked. The man looked important, serious, and not too happy to be there.
“That’s Sergeant Hutton. Vasquez’s supervisor. Just like if anyone wants to complain about us regarding behavior, they talk to Syn. Sarge most likely wants to give Hutton a heads-up on what’s going on. He’ll have him speak with Vasquez and order his ass back in line and remember why he’s fuckin’ here.” Tech’s voice grew harsher.
Free turned toward his best friend, smirking as he remembered how fierce Tech could get over him since his attack. He reached over and put his hand on Tech’s thigh, gently rubbing the rough denim before squeezing. He was too cute, cursing and hissing with such venom, but he was dressed like a doggone boy scout—complete with snug, tan corduroy pants and a cream Ivy-league polo shirt.