Influenced by Eva Robinson (best free ebook reader TXT) 📗

Her heart was fluttering so fast, like hummingbird wings in her chest. It felt fundamentally wrong, and dizziness whirled in her mind.

She had something she needed to tell the doctors, and they could ask Mum to come. Mum always made her feel better. It was the tea she made, and the ointment that went on her chest.

But she was going there now, wasn’t she? She was at home, curled up on the sofa, and Mum was covering her in a blanket.

Eight

Ciara had made the mistake of having four cups of coffee that morning, and now she found herself grinding her teeth as she walked down the hallway of the Cambridge Police Department. Not a great start to the first day at a new job.

Not only was she about to meet the lieutenant, but she was also about to meet her new partner for the first time.

Her low heels clacked over the dark tiled floor, and the sound echoed off the clean white walls. She checked her watch. Still five minutes to go. Enough time to head into the bathroom and get a hold of herself before she met them. She let out a breath when she saw the black and white sign for a bathroom, and she went inside.

She found herself in a single-stall bathroom—gender-neutral, which of course meant it stank of piss because some men couldn’t aim. And to that effect, someone had scrawled a note on a piece of paper that read, Men! Please clean up after yourselves! Your mom is not here to help you.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt a little reassured. She at least looked the part of a competent detective, which she was. She straightened, smoothing her suit jacket. Today was important, so she’d brought out the Ann Taylor suit instead of the usual crap from Marshalls—the dusky indigo that complemented her ginger hair, with an ivory blouse underneath. Her green eyes and red lipstick made up for some of the milky paleness of her skin, but apart from that, she looked perfectly boring. Her tattoos and her sexy underwear with all the black ribbons were as deep undercover as a federal agent in the Mafia.

She pulled the elastic band from her hair and tried to smooth her ginger ringlets into a neat ponytail. When she’d reined in her hair, she gripped the sides of the sink.

“You’ll be fine,” she said out loud. “You’re Ciara Munroe.”

It was what her twin sister Jess always told her. It made no sense, but the pep talk seemed to work.

She flashed herself a smile in the mirror, trying to look lovely. That was what her detective sergeant in Boston had last told her: “Try to be lovelier, Munroe.”

Composed, she pulled open the door, feeling more confident now as she crossed to the end of the hall. There, she found the last door open.

The lieutenant sat at a large mahogany desk, with sober bookshelves lining the wall behind him. Lieutenant Bianchi had salt-and-pepper hair, and his olive skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled at her. He seemed lovely.

He beckoned her inside.

As she entered the room, she shot a glance at the other man in the room—unnervingly handsome. That must be Michael.

He rose and thrust out his hand as she approached.

Ciara shook it. “Hi. I’m Ciara.” Be lovely. She forced a smile, but it felt wrong, crooked.

“Michael. Nice to meet you.” She was surprised to hear a British accent, and immediately wanted to know how he’d ended up here.

Lieutenant Bianchi leaned back in his chair. “You’re coming in at a good time for us, Detective Munroe. Detective Stewart’s partner has retired, and your clearance rate in Boston impressed us, of course.”

She could feel her cheeks heating a little. She still had no idea how to take even the vaguest of compliments. “Well, I love this city, Lieutenant Bianchi.”

“You grew up around here, right?” asked the lieutenant.

“Yes.” She let it drop there. She didn’t add that she was from Lexington, because they’d assume she’d grown up rich, which she hadn’t.

The conversation lulled to an awkward silence, and she felt like she’d already made a slight misstep.

Bianchi nodded at Michael. “Right. Well, Detective Stewart will take you through some of the cases he’s already working on.” He leaned back in his chair, and she took this as their cue to leave. Seemed the lieutenant didn’t have much time, which was fine by her.

Michael stood and nodded at the door. “I’ll show you to your desk.”

In the hallway, Michael scrubbed his hand over his jaw, looking as though he were thinking hard about something.

She wondered if he regretted being stuck with her. And he had to be wondering why she’d left Boston. Or maybe he’d already heard—the rumors about her being difficult.

His silence unnerved her, and she found herself boiling over with the need to get it out in the open. “You probably want to know how I ended up here.”

He turned to face her, a look of surprise on his face. “I didn’t want to ask.”

Might as well get it out in the open, because he’d hear it through the grapevine. “They say I’m not a team player, that I have no loyalty. That’s because two dirtbags I worked with assaulted women they arrested. One of them broke a kid’s jaw because he didn’t like his attitude. And my notes detailed the truth, and that makes me disloyal. I got a verbal warning, and then frozen out by everyone I worked with. ‘Not a team player.’ Someone literally pissed in my coffee. They shredded my paperwork. Drew penises on my desk. Really mature. But I had a good clearance rate, and now I have you. And the truth is, I am loyal. As long as you’re not a dirtbag.”

He flashed her a faint smile. “Noted.”

“So what are you working on?” asked Ciara.

“Maybe not what I’m supposed to be working on.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued.”

He led her around a corner in a pristine hallway.