Page 81 of Donovan's Men

She snickered. “Oh, it matters. I know you’ve been lonely since—”

“That’s not relevant.” And I’d been lonely for a lot longer before my wife officially left me. I hadn’t wanted to see the writing on the wall—that relationship had been circling the drain for a long time. “I haven’t…you know…”

“Told me whether it’s Reyes or Riggs either…” Mariah narrowed her eyes. “Oh. Okay. I wasn’t sure if you swung both ways—being married and all that—but…” She snickered again. “Well, at least he’s a looker. Hope he’s good in bed. Does he…” She made what I interpreted to be a lewd gesture. “Or do you…” She repeated the gesture.

I groaned. “We haven’t, and it doesn’t make any difference.” The last thing I wanted was to be discussing my sex life with my gossipy partner. By the time I was fired, the entire department would know my sexual proclivities.

“So you’re willing to throw away your career, and you don’t even know if he’s a good lay?” She arched an eyebrow yet again. “Hell, I’m not even sure if I believe you—that you’ve kept your relationship chaste.”

My cheeks heated at the memory of the blow jobs. And of all the other kisses Donovan and I’d shared.Chastesure wasn’t the word I would use. Restrained? That sounded better.

Mariah whistled. “Splash cold water on your face. You shouldn’t have shaved. A couple days growth might’ve hidden your reaction.” She snorted. “Or not.”

I couldn’t decide if I would miss her snide remarks or not. After making a mental inventory of everything I would need to toss into a box when I got my walking papers, I headed to my boss’s office.

Wendy Mathers was a force to be reckoned with. She stood a statuesque five-feet-nine inches. She had a dozen years on me, putting her in her mid-forties. Her blonde hair was always pulled back into a severe bun, accentuating her high cheekbones, square jaw, and widow’s peak hairline. Her aquamarine eyes always assessed everyone—daring them to offer bullshit that she’d quickly pick apart. She didn’t accept excuses, but she was also damn fair. All in all, she was someone I would want to emulate—were I ever in a position of authority.

Which distinctly felt like an impossibility at this moment.

“Come in, McGillvary.” She didn’t look up from her computer.

I stepped into her office and closed the door.

She glanced up from her monitor. “Are you going to sit, or are you here to deliver news that’s going to piss me off, and you’re aiming for a quick escape?”

“Both?”

Her frown intensified.

I sat. Normally, I would search for a way to get comfortable in her distinctly uncomfortable visitor’s chair, but I didn’t bother today. Instead, I hunched forward, placing my hands on my thighs. I took a deep breath.

She held her gaze steady. When I didn’t speak, she arched an eyebrow.

“It’s the Hamilton case.”

“Okay.” She gave nothing away.

“I…haven’t acted inappropriately.”Much.“But now that the case is officially closed, I would like permission to see one of the victims.”

“Socially? Romantically? Sexually?” She continued to hold my gaze with her fathomless blue-green eyes.

“Yes.”

She leaned back in her chair. “You know the policy, Detective. The rules are very clear about this. Victims are in a vulnerable position and often see law enforcement officers as some kind of saviors. Those feelings are not appropriate…nor are they the basis for any possible relationship. So we just sayno. End of story.”

The dismissal was within reach. She was about to send me on my way—believing I would follow the rules. Because that’s what I was—a rule follower. Even when I should’ve spoken out, I hadn’t. I’d held the line. My conscience still didn’t like that decision. I had plenty of regrets in my life.

Donovan and Hamish weren’t going to be two more.

I cleared my throat.

Wendy sat forward.

“Not this time. First, the case is done. Resolved. Signed off. We’ve always had the perpetrator in custody, so I’m not anyone’s savior.” At least here, I could be honest.

She quirked an eyebrow.

“He’s…not in distress. Yes, being shot—”