Once at Reception he didn’t speak, just took the book.
Anouka, still sitting behind the desk, reached to pull it out of his hands. “I’m afraid that is private and—”
I flashed my badge at her. “This is evidence.”
“Oh, okay.” She sat back, her eyes wide and stared between the two of us. She’d clearly had no idea Jonathan was a cop.
“Anything?” I asked, also bending over the book.
He ran his finger down the list of names. “Nothing of use, but we’ve seen the asshole’s face. I won’t forget it.”
“Neither will I.” I pulled out my phone and took a shot of the book, just in case it came in useful. “He’ll pay for what he did.”
Jonathan and I met Ricardo, Sean and Balko in the precinct lot the next morning. We’d shared a ride after spending the night together. I’d slept well—several orgasms and his strong arms around me had ensured that.
“Hey, guys,” Balko said, looking between us. “Car pooling?”
“Something like that.” I shrugged and patted my vest, checking everything was in its place.
Ricardo grinned at me. He knew where we’d been the night before. “How was your evening, boss?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.” I made a point of not looking at Jonathan and continued to stride towards the precinct, the morning sun already heating up.
“First day out in Miami,” Balko said, walking alongside me. His T-shirt was tight on his shoulders, his beefy biceps bulging around the sleeves and his vest, like each of ours, was loaded with equipment. He wore black combats and sturdy boots, and his cap sat backward on his head.
“Yeah, and you’re going to get a whole load of weird shit thrown at you,” I said with a huff. “Get ready for it. You ain’t in Boston anymore.”
“Don’t I know it.” He pointed at the sun. “Hot enough to melt a nun’s candle.”
“A nun’s candle?” Ricardo said.
He shrugged. “They’re not allowed to play with cocks and there’s plenty of candles on the altars. Stands to reason that’s what they’d substitute the real thing for.”
His sideways glance at me was telling. He wondered if I’d be offended or laugh at his crudeness.
I laughed. Being one of the boys wasn’t a new gig for me.
We wandered down into the basement to get our morning update from the chief.
Our team room was large, windowless, and in the centre was a large desk at waist height with several computers placed on it. There was a huge whiteboard covered in scrawling snippets of information, and a projector and screen.
The chief was already there. A crisp line ran down his smart black pants and his short-sleeved white shirt had the Miami Police Department logo on the chest pocket.
“Good, you’re here,” he said, looking up from one of the laptops.
“Morning, sir,” I said with a nod.
He returned the gesture then swung his gaze over Balko and Sean. “I hope you’re ready to get thrown in at the deep end.”
“Only way we like it, sir,” Sean said, clasping his hands behind his back and raising his chin.
He reminded me of a Hollywood actor arriving on set. He was damn cute in the clean-cut, clean-shaven way. His SWAT outfit hugged his body to perfection and enthusiasm radiated from every pore and every breath. His blue eyes were the colour of the ocean on a sunny day and shone with intelligence.
The chief ran his gaze over him.
I wondered what was going throughhismind. New team members always disrupted the status quo for a few weeks, until it was proven everyone was competent and had each other’s backs. We had to become family—there were no lone riders here. Team meant together, no matter what.
“This guy.” The chief flicked on the projector. “Who is it?”