Gino was a retired cop now managing his family’s bar. “I called him just after you left and explained the situation. He’ll verify your cover.”
“We’re taking a risk with my undercover identity,” Matt said. “She was carrying an iPhone like we’d have to pry it out of her cold, dead hands. I guarantee pictures from inside Eye Candy are all over the internet.”
“Everyone has a cell phone with a camera these days. It’s never bothered you before,” Hawthorn said. “She doesn’t hire women—”
“Thank God,” Sorenson said under her breath. Matt huffed. He’d spent plenty of time on the other end of a mike feed listening to Sorenson banter with johns.
“—and you’re our best.”
Hawthorn’s phone rang. Carlucci wandered off. Matt slumped in his chair and opened the top drawer of his desk, rummaging through the assortment of paper clips and pens in the pencil tray.
Across the desk, Sorenson was working her way through an arrest report. “What did you do to your knuckles?” she asked without looking up.
“Went at the speed bag a little too long last night.”
That got him raised eyebrows, Sorenson’s version of mother hen clucking and fussing.
“Luke didn’t get the job. He’s pretty frustrated.”
His brother graduated from college in May and still hadn’t found a full-time job in his field of biology. Matt told him not to worry about it, but with each near miss Luke’s temper frayed a little more. Tensions were high in the small house.
“And that sent you to the speed bag because…?”
“Needed a workout,” he said evenly.
Sorenson went back to the report. Matt returned his attention to his open desk drawer, pushed aside a jumble of small binder clips and rubber bands, and found a thin gold wedding ring He hooked it with his index finger, then used his opposing thumb and forefinger to set it spinning in a hypnotic, gleaming whirl on the surface of his desk.
Married? Not married? What’s my angle here?
When the gold circle spun down and clattered to a stop, Sorenson asked, “You think this’ll go down better if there’s a Mrs. Chad Henderson?”
Sometimes a ring helped. He wore it when working prostitution busts because hookers were less wary of a “married man,” as if wedding vows somehow explained trolling Craigslist for sex. The smart ones still made him strip to his skin before talking money because most cops wouldn’t go that far to throw off suspicion.
He would.
“I wasn’t wearing it for the interview,” he said as he flicked the ring into a second spin.
“Left it at home?” Sorenson offered.
“Possible,” he said absently.
If he wore the ring, she’d back off. No way would Eve start anything with a married man. But the stakes were too high to give her any excuse to put distance between them. Without her knowledge or consent, he had to get up in her business, in her personal life, in her head. He didn’t like it at all.
Do your job. She’s the most important informant in the biggest case in the department’s history, and she’s playing with fire. If the Strykers find out what she’s doing …
Snapshots of brutalized bodies flared in his brain. To scatter them he flattened his palm over the ring, ending the spin with a thud, swept it back in the drawer, and got to his feet.
“Hold on and I’ll wire you up,” Sorenson said.
Standard protocol for undercover operations called for any officer involved to wear a wire, but Matt shook his head. “She had a concert-worthy sound system in there,” he said. “And she said she’d get me my shirt later. No telling who will be around when I change.” He’d have to ditch the nearly invisible Sig P239 inside his waistband before he reported for work. The Ka-bar and the Kahr PM9 would be fine on either ankle, hidden by his jeans.
Sorenson sat back in her chair. “So no radio either, in what could be a long-term operation,” she said. “I don’t like it.”
He looked down at her. “You like working with someone who gets the job done.”
“There’s a fine line between ‘results’ and ‘cowboy.’ Grab a phone and give me the number,” she said. “Check in when you leave too, so I don’t lose my beauty sleep worrying about you.”
“I’m late. Tell Hawthorn,” he said, knowing his LT would be no happier with his unmonitored state than his partner was. Sorenson knew that too, because she flipped him off. He tossed her a half salute/half wave, signed out a cell phone he’d use as Chad Henderson’s for the duration of the case, registered his call sign and location with dispatch, then headed out to protect the department’s most valuable asset, who just happened to be the first woman in years he’d felt even a flicker of emotion for.
Lock it down, Dorchester. It’s on.
CHAPTER TWO
Eve tapped the screen on her iPhone to disconnect a call and smiled at Chad. “You’re early,” she said.