Quintic

She’s a smart, somewhat delusional, shy but cocky female writer with no family but for a couple of odd friends whose past company have given her plenty of reasons to hate cops. Until him. All she wishes for is a quiet job as ordinary people have so she can turn the reality of everyday life into fiction.
While hoping for her dream job, she agrees to fill in for the Big guy’s secretary. Answering phones, fetching coffees and admiring her cop of a boyfriend should be safe enough. Days at the desk and evenings writing a follow-up story of her female serial epic, life is grand. It’s about time her PI character gets a story of her own. She might just help her fictional character (not my alter ego, I only do fiction, Big guy) by investigating her (one single) cold case file.
He’s a tough, no-nonsense, independent forty-ish chief homicide detective, more bent on getting results than following the law. He has money to spare and nothing to lose. Until her. He does things his way, and does them thoroughly, including her.
The two like each other. Sparks fly. It could be just your ordinary love affair, but nothing’s ever ordinary when the damn woman is involved. And when her past catches up with her, she gets it in her head to train his rookie officer, solve the case and protect him. Him! I’m training and armed, Angel. The idea of handcuffing her to his bedposts is becoming more enticing by the minute.
“You guys in the mood for a beer?” He asked around. “My treat.”
The team was always in the mood for a beer. Even more so when they had open cases or unfinished business. Fucking right, unfinished business. “Reid? Le? How about giving Patricia a ride, I’ll meet up with you there?” He had a feeling LeRoy and Reid wouldn’t be the only ones around for drinks. “Charles, Ham, my office. Now.”
He didn’t wait to watch them scamper out of the conference room.
“Ham, I want you to run a background check on Lemieux while I talk with Charles. See what turns up,” he ordered midway to his office.
“Charles, let me make a couple of calls before we review the case again. Any objection to working with us on this?” He didn’t wait for Charles’s answer. To have the case transferred (and Charles temporarily assigned to his team), he had to hunt for a replacement for the local chief.
He briefly thought of the quartet’s leftovers but decided against it. He had enough enemies already, hadn’t he? Enemies but friends also, it took him about a dozen phone calls, half an hour of favour calling, flattery and bribes to set up everything; he even called Central to check it with them. Not that it would have made a fucking difference for him. Just keeping my eyes on Lemieux for you, Darling of mine.
He briefed Charles about the way of the team. About his ways. “I know you want in. I see it in your eyes, same as in my guys, but Charles, it won’t be easy.” Fuck, the guy looked like a kiddie cop. A fucking rookie.
He briefly hesitated on what to tell the kid about Patricia. “About Patricia. She works here part time. She. Is. Not. A. Cop.” He decided to spell out precisely what was allowed and what was not. “Anything she says, asks, demands, requests, orders, or begs for, you clear it with me. She doesn’t do anything or go anywhere without me breathing down her neck. Got it?” As he spoke, he speculated how long it would take for her to trick the rookie.
He repeated, keeping it simple, “Never do anything she asks; never go somewhere she wants to, unless I, your boss, have authorised it specifically, out loud and face-to-face. And Charles? I will never consent to it. Ever.”