Page 187 of Wild Card

When she saw us closing in, she wriggled free, took a swing and missed. He raised the gun, and that’s when Ford neutralized him with a shot to the arm.

The owner is in surgery, predicted to make it.

The two thugs are in surgery, likely to survive.

We bypass our desks, heading straight to Captain Boyd’s office.

He watches us file in, sitting back in his chair with a cool expression.

“I’ll do the paperwork, but not going for another fucking psyche evaluation.” Ford has been bitching about the possibility of a psyche evaluation since shooting the guy.

Boyd’s eyes flare. “You get a promotion since you walked into the station?”

Ford remains quiet.

“Why is it always you four who think you can tell me how to manage my department?” Boyd asks, then throws up his hand. “No response necessary. I’m not in the mood for your mouths. I’ll read your reports, which I expect before you rookies breeze out of here.”

I make a show of checking my watch, already knowing our shift ended over an hour ago. Since moving Willow into thehouse, overnight shifts aren’t as irritating. But I’m ready for this one to end.

And I’m not alone.

Boyd crooks his eyebrows expectantly, reading my thoughts. “You got somewhere to be?”

“Someone a lot prettier than you is expecting me.”

“All of you are pains in my ass.”

I crack a grin, my mood lifting with the chance to fuck with him. “Peewee, Peewee, Peewee, you know you hit the jackpot with us.”

He glowers. “More like rock bottom. You make a man consider retirement.”

All teasing halts. The man can outperform half the men who work under him. Most avoid him at all costs, knowing he sets high expectations. Our relationship is different. We may push boundaries, but Boyd gives as good as he takes.

He’s a powerhouse of a leader who would be a loss for the force.

“You serious?”

“Came out of the academy at eighteen, edging up on thirty-two years.”

“What the hell would you do with yourself?” Ace responds flatly.

Boyd shrugs. “Got options.”

The calmness of his response is a tell. The man may be an abrasive hard-ass, but he’s methodical. No way he’s taking retirement at fifty and playing golf.

The wheels in my head spin, recalling anything unusual. My eyes scan over his desk, catching the edge of a black folder with the familiar gold-blazed emblem.

Several things fall into place.

The closed-door calls.

Mid-day disappearances.

Ford and Rowan’s shower. Boyd and Tom in a private discussion that appeared serious.

Tom left the force to open his bar. He and Boyd worked together for over twenty years.

Boyd has no interest in opening a bar, but he would go to his friend for advice.

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