“This is total bullshit!” she exploded when the door snapped shut. “Did you really think I’d go for this?”
“I suggest you back down, Detective Dare. Now.”
She held her ground a moment, then took a step back, her gaze never wavering from his. “Undercover in my own department? No. Absolutely not.”
“You’ve got your orders, Detective.”
His mildly amused tone infuriated her. “I’m not the only one being jerked around here. You’re talking about my family. The Eighth’s my kin.”
“I’m on your side, Mick, but my hands are tied. This is bigger than you, me, or even this department. They want you, they get you.”
“Dammit! Why me?”
“I don’t know for certain. As I understand it, they reviewed the service records of every detective in the Eighth.”
“What are my options?”
“I think you know.”
Go along with it or suffer the consequences. Demotion. The worst details, the shit sandwich brigade. Micki stood a moment, absorbing the truth of that, quivering with indignation and fury. At the Fed’s arrogance. Chief Howard’s disloyalty. At her own helplessness.
She wore none well, and for a moment thought of quitting—handing Nichols her gun and badge, then giving the lot of them the bird on her way out.
But where would she go? This was it; it’s what she did. Who she was.
“What about Carmine?” she asked.
“Don’t worry too much about Detective Angelo, he’s Cold Case squad now. He got his dream job.”
“F’ing wonderful.” She rolled her shoulders. “Lucky me, Sideshow Mick.”
“That’s the way it is.”
“I still don’t get it. Why me? It doesn’t make sense.”
He lowered his voice. “I think the bigger question here is, why New Orleans?”
“I don’t follow.”
“If Sixers fails, they blame it on us. Not on their brilliant idea. Face it, to a lot of the country the NOPD is still the face of Katrina. The Danziger Five. The chaos outside the Convention Center and the wild rumors from inside the Superdome. To a lot of folks, New Orleans is a drunken, dirty, amoral city with one of the highest crime rates in the country. A place that’s a whole lot of fun to visit but they sure as hell wouldn’t want to live here.”
She nodded, understanding. “The rest of the country expects us to screw up anyway.”
“That’s my thinking. The Bureau’s covering all bases but keeping expectations low.”
That ticked her off. New Orleans may be flawed, but it was her home; the NOPD might not be her blood, but it was the only family she had.
“I’m not a sideshow after all,” she said. “I’m a sacrificial lamb.”
“Not necessarily. Yes, they won’t hesitate to throw you under the bus, but they genuinely want this to work. For whatever reasons, they decided you’re their best bet for success.”
Micki let her breath out in a huff. All right, then. She would do her best to make this whole blasted Sixer thing shine so bright it’d glow in the frickin’ dark.
She caught him trying not to smile and scowled. “You knew I’d respond this way.”
“Yup. And I suspect from reading your file, they knew it, too.”
She hated being predictable almost as much she hated being helpless. “For the record, I’m not happy.”
“Noted.”
Her cell phone, holstered to her belt, vibrated. Her friend Jacqui, she saw. She answered it but before she could say hello, Nichols stopped and turned back. “It’s not a total loss, Micki. Saw a picture of your new partner. He’s easy on the eyes. Real easy.”
“Great,” she muttered. “A pretty boy with powers. God help me.”
“Micki? You there?”
The call. Jacqui. “Sorry,” she said, sounding as frustrated as she was.
“Bad time?”
“There’ve been some developments here. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
Micki frowned. Fours years ago she’d caught the then seventeen-year-old, very pregnant Jacqui breaking into her neighbor’s house in search of food. The girl had reminded her of herself at the same age—alone, hungry, and desperate.
Hank had been the one who caught her. He had been her guardian angel.
In that moment, Micki had surprised herself. Instead of busting the teenager, she’d offered her a meal and, eventually, a place to stay.
“You’re sure? What about Alexander? He’s not—” Micki began.
“Zander’s wonderful. Really.”
“Then why’d you call?”
Jacqui made an exasperated sound. “I don’t know. To say hello maybe? To hear your voice? Besides, I thought I’d catch you driving in. Obviously not.”
Micki laughed, the sound more sheepish than amused. “Sorry. Like I said, developments. I promise, I’ll call you back as soon as things settle down.”
Even as the words passed her lips, Micki admitted she had no clue when that would happen. She didn’t need a psychic to tell her that, for the short term at least, her life was going to be anything but settled.
Chapter Three
Monday, July 8
8:05 A.M.