Page 36 of Donovan's Men

Letting go of the good memories was proving harder than I’d hoped. In truth, no one ever came here, so no one would ever need to sleep in the spare room anyway.

I put my gun into my safe in the bedroom closet, then stripped and headed to the shower. Usually, I showered before shifts and often after if I smelled bad. More back in my beat days when I often encountered people…who hadn’t been at their best. The scent of vomit, shit, and death could cling.

In the shower, the hot water hit my muscles, and I tried to relax into the warm spray.You deserve a break. Keep breathing. Keep moving ahead. Keep living. Because living a good life was the best revenge.

As I cleaned my bits, my fingers brushing my cock stirred lust within me.Why not wank off? A little stress relief…right?I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done this—certainly before the shooting.

I grasped my cock and worked to bring myself stiff, and then after some more effort, I got off.

Jesus, that was fucking empty.The same way I felt each time I did this. When was the last time I’d gotten off and had pleasure from it?

I wracked my brain—and eventually gave up. In the last few months of my marriage, my sex life had been nonexistent. I’d been focused on nursing my father, and Tammy’s disinterest hadn’t really registered. That she’d left me before my dad even died hadn’t been lost on me. By then, I hadn’t given a shit.

Then Dad died, I signed divorce papers, and I’d tried to move on.

After getting out of the shower, I towel dried myself. Although my condo was nice enough, this was a hell of a fall from a four-bedroom, three-bathroom home in Brentwood over in Burnaby. Longer commute. Smaller living space. Nowhere to properly entertain people.

Except after Dad got sick, I’d stopped inviting people over. I hadn’t sought to take that habit back up.

Because of what you did.

That thought hit me in the chest. Yeah, I had reasons for not fraternizing with fellow cops these days. A cross between disgust with some and embarrassment with others.

You should’ve done the right thing.

Yeah, but that time had come and gone. Now I just had to live with the consequences of my inaction.

Clean and feeling human for the first time since the manhunt had begun, I sat at the breakfast bar to eat my sub.

The urge to turn on the television was easily suppressed. After finishing my food, I headed to bed.

Chapter Eight

Hamish

My weekend proved relatively quiet as I read all the reports from my team. In the end, we hadn’t embedded someone at the studio, and it didn’t appear we would need to. Marianne reported lots of people coming to meet Ollie, but that everything really seemed okay. Ollie exuded warmth and charm, which people reacted to, but no one had broken down. The pair had encountered more smiles than anything, and by Friday afternoon, she’d concluded she likely wouldn’t be needed again.

Hala and Ian reported much of the same—by the end of the week they’d only had a couple of counseling sessions. Hala recommended Julie Reyes continue with care, but she didn’t spot any other people who weren’t coping. I coordinated with Seamus, the production assistant, and confirmed that all cast and crew who’d been on set that day had spoken to one of us and that he’d given our information to everyone else associated with the production. Some had called, some had dropped in, and some let Seamus know they felt okay.

At least they knew how to reach out to us if that changed. We offered twenty-four-hour-a-day counseling. Occasionally, I manned overnight shifts—sometimes when we might be low on staff, and other times to keep connected to why I did this job.

I spent Monday in debriefs with the team and a meeting with my boss, Alessandra, and her husband, Smith. Allie appeared marginally less stressed, and her newborn son, Wesley, had slept through most of her workday. Smith clearly wanted to cosset his wife and son—keeping them away from work—but my boss’s formidable attitude meant if she wanted to do something, she damn well did it.

Tuesday morning, I’d stood outside Cole Hamilton’s posh Point Grey home. I’d had no idea what to expect, and even now, as I typed up my notes, I replayed the scene in my mind—Cole on the couch looking tired but in better shape than I’d expected. Meeting Caressa for the first time—her looking as unglamorous as possible in pajamas and her riot of dark curls appearing more like a rat’s nest. How they’d been wary.

I’d found resistance—from both of them. I’d also had some hard-won victories.

As well as some awkward moments.

“Donovan is an interesting man.” Cole’s words. “Tell him to get his head out of his ass and to be honest with you. He’s carrying on like being shot was no big deal—that being a hero doesn’t mean anything.”

Caressa had clearly agreed.

As I was leaving, after I put my shoes on, Cole had yelled from the other room,“Tell Donovan I say to mind his own fucking business.” Blunt. Very Cole Hamilton-like, I was discovering. He had an interesting relationship with Donovan.

I might’ve thought that was none of my business, but curiosity was eating away at me.

I’d replied to Cole, ensuring I could be heard in the other room, “Uh, yes, I’ll do that.” To Caressa’s laughing eyes, I whispered, “Although maybe not in those exact words.”