Page 47 of Under Cover
“No!” Crosby barked, his voice ringing with authority and hurt andconviction,some goddamnedconvictionfor the first time that day. “I went to that poker game, and finally,finallywhat those assholes were saying about ‘the right people’ and ‘guys like us’—itfinallyfucking sank in. I finally got it. Every time I’d said, ‘I didn’tseethat guy do something, but if yousayso,’ I hadn’t been a clueless rookie. I’d been a fucking racist enabler. And I was sick realizing that. I wanted to rip off my own skin. And just about the time I wanted to run and hide and quit the force and never see any of those laughing bozos again, it really hit me.”
Garcia was so relieved—so goddamned relieved—that he almost hadn’t seen this coming.
“What?”
Crosby shook his head, devastated. “Ohmygod. Myfatherwas part of these guys. My dad. The guy I joined the force to be like. He was a fucking racist asshole. He was all that was wrong with the force, and with my city, and with my fucking country.” His voice was shaking. “I…. God. I remember that night. We’d been drinking scotch, and everybody was smoking cigars, which were fucking foul, and suddenly… like the light of goddamned God from above. I ran outside and puked, like McEnany did in our SUV. They gave me shit about it all the next day and told me I’d learn—I’dlearn, you hear—how to drink like a fish, how to pull over random Black people to make my conviction rate better. And… and that thing I did, with Brandeis, that thing that took me months to do because nobody was listening and kids were fuckingdying—that thing, that was amistakeI’d made. I’dfucked up, because who cared about those kids anyway, and I should’ve known better not to show up the guys who’d been there longer.”
His voice was fracturing, getting close to breaking, and Garcia snuck his hand behind him, palming the small of his back behind the seat, not sure if Denison and Harding could see him but almost not caring.
“That really sucks,” Garcia whispered. “What did you do?”
Crosby laughed, and it was an ugly sound. “I told McEnany the next day that I’d really rather not play poker anymore. He said, yeah, sure, as long as I remembered to do the right thing. And two days later, we were pursuing a suspect—a sixteen-year-old kid who had been trying to get into his buddy’s house to get his backpack, as it turned out—and McEnany pulled out his gun and looked me in the face as we were running.”
“Did he say anything?” Garcia asked, horrified.
“Yeah,” Crosby said bitterly. “He said, ‘You damned well better show up at poker.’ And then he fired.”
Harding pulled up alongside the Shake Shack and killed the engine, and Garcia tried to control his breathing.
“Oh God,” he said, the words coming out through a dry throat. “This is bad.”
Crosby pulled in a shuddering breath. “And then they all told me to ‘do the right thing’—and I had to. I had to do therealright thing, ’cause I couldn’t be a part of that. I… I didn’t think I’d make it home.”
It took Garcia a heartbeat to realize what he meant by that. That he’d fully expected McEnany or his stupid secret man group tokill himon the trip between his precinct and his house.
In the sudden silence of the vehicle, they could all hear Harding swallow. “The FBI had—hadmind you—a mole in with your precinct,” he said softly. “That’s how I knew to tap you that day, and to get your parents the hell out of there. I… I thought I’d give you a shot at the SCTF and maybe place you with NYPD later. I just thought that that kind of courage—it shouldn’t be repaid with a bullet in the back. But you were so good, kid. I mean…everythingabout you was so good. The way you got on with the team. The way you treated the witsandthe perps. Every day of the last two years, I thought, ‘Wow, that was some lucky break that landed that kid in my lap.’”
Crosby took in a ragged breath, and Garcia heard the tears he wouldn’t shed. “Thank you, sir,” he choked.
“No.” Harding turned around in his seat. “Thankyou.For not once making me question that decision. And I don’t question it now. You were right to tell the whole story. And I know it had to be hard—”
“My father, sir,” Crosby whispered. “My father.”
Harding closed his eyes and nodded. “Which is why New Mexico is making so much sense right now,” he said, a dry smile twitching at his lean lips. “I was thinking you’d send them to Florida, but you really didn’t want them close enough to visit, did you?”
“Christ no,” Crosby said with feeling. “I can’t even explain to them what they did wrong.”
“Butyouknow,” Harding murmured. “And you’ve worked your damnedest to make it right. I think everybody in this car respects that.”
Denison nodded soberly, and Garcia did too. What he wanted to do was hold Crosby in his arms until all that shame shuddered itself out into the wide open and only that goodness Harding had seen remained, but he couldn’t.
“I think everybody on the team will too,” Harding said softly, and Garcia wanted to cry at the betrayal on Crosby’s face.
“Sir?” he asked, agonized.
“We have to tell them,” Harding told him. “Because it’s part of the reason McEnany is here. It’s part of the reason he’s going after you now and trying to break up our team. I know….” His voice dropped. “Iknowwhy you’d want to hold this close to the vest, Crosby. But I hope you’ll trust me that this is the right call.”
“Sir?” Crosby asked again, and this time, it was Denison’s hand on his knee.
“Trust us,” she said softly. “All those things you’re afraid of being? We know you’re not. You have proven to us, every day, that you are not McEnany, and you’re not your father. I’ve trusted you to have my back for two years, Crosby. I’ve never regretted that.”
“It’s been a privilege,” Crosby whispered, and he dashed his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Let us take care of you,” Harding said softly.
His only answer was the shudder of Crosby’s breath, and Garcia spoke up. “Could you guys maybe go get me some food? All the meat and a giant shake for me. This guy wants a chicken sandwich ’cause he’s nuts.”
Crosby gave him a weak smile. “And a diet soda.”
