Internal Affair. Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.
go there, Patrick ordered himself coldly. He muttered another curse as he walked into the tiny adjacent bathroom, naked as the day he was born. He couldn’t afford to think about Ramirez, couldn’t afford to allow himself to dwell in the land of “what ifs.” The guilt was still too raw, weighed too much. Dwelling on the pain left him winded and bleeding inside.
It was the beginning of a new week and he needed to be sharp. To survive the way others before him hadn’t survived. He owed it to the department, but mostly to Patience. They had uncles and cousins, but he was the only immediate family she had. If he let this consume him, likely as not, he’d get himself killed. Leaving her alone.
Wasn’t gonna happen. Yet.
Blowing out a deep breath, Patrick wrapped his anger around himself and stepped into the shower.
The shower handle was poised on cold. He pulled it and let the water hit him full blast. Jolting him into Monday.
“New assignment, Mag?”
Depositing the frying pan into the dishwasher, she picked up the breakfast she’d prepared and placed it in front of her father. She’d been too preoccupied to hear his question. “What?”
Matthew McKenna pushed forward his coffee cup. An independent man, he lived alone now and liked his space. He liked it even more when his only daughter, his only child, dropped by before beginning her mornings. It wasn’t something he took for granted. “Today, don’t you start your new assignment?”
“Yes. Right.”
The words came out like staccato gunfire. Mary Margaret McKenna—Maggi to those she considered part of her inner circle, or 3M to those who enjoyed honing in on her no-nonsense nature—poured coffee into her father’s cup. She was bracing herself for the morning and the change of venue she was about to face.
She supposed that was why she’d stopped by this morning to make breakfast for her father. To touch base with what she considered to be her true self. Before she left that behind. Belatedly, she offered her father a smile along with cream for his coffee.
She was what she was because of her father. And because of him, in an indirect way, she had chosen the less-traveled path within her career. Patrolman Matthew McKenna had been one of Aurora’s finest until a bullet had ended his career less than six months ago. The bullet had come from one of his own men. One of those awful things that happened in the heat of battle when shots went wild. The other policeman was found dead, a victim of one of the so-called suspects’ deadly aim, or dumb luck, take your pick. But it was the service revolver in his hand that had fired the bullet which had found its way into Matthew’s hip and left him with a slight limp. And a new appreciation for life.
She had been living in San Francisco when she’d gotten the call about her father. Without any hesitation, Maggi had handed in her resignation and come home to Aurora, to stand vigil over her father in the hospital and then nurse him back to health. When she was satisfied that he was on the mend, she put in for a job on the Aurora police force. It took little to work her way up. And when a position in Internal Affairs opened up, she applied for it.
The thought of spying on her fellow police officers bothered her. The thought of rogue police officers, giving the force a bad name, bothered her more. She took the position, signing on to work undercover. She still grappled with her own decision. It was a dirty job, she’d tell herself. But someone had to do it. For now, that someone was her.
Matthew sighed, looking at her over the rim of his cup. “You know, Mag, this isn’t the kind of life your mother and I envisioned for you, dodging bullets and bad guys.”
She finished her breakfast in three bites—toast, consumed mostly on her feet. Impatience danced through her, as it always did at the start of a new assignment. She thought of it as stage fright. A little always made you perform better.
“We all make our own way in the world, remember?” Maggie dusted off her fingers over the sink. “That was what you taught me.”
Matthew shook his head. “I also taught you that there was no shame in taking the easy way, as long as it wasn’t against the law.”
Maggie laughed, partially to set him at ease. He worried too much. Just as much as she had when he had been the one to walk out the door wearing a badge. “Where’s the fun in that?”
His expression was serious. “You think it’s fun, my sitting here, wondering if you’re going to walk in through that door again?”
Maggie refused to be drawn into a serious discussion. Not this morning. The seriousness of her work was bad enough. She needed an outlet, a haven where she could laugh, where she could put down her sword and shield and just be herself.
So instead, she winked at him. “I could move back up to San Francisco, take that burden away from you.” Her grin widened as unspoken love entered her eyes. “You’re old enough to live on your own now.”
She’d moved back home to take care of him. And once he was on his feet, with the aid of a quad cane he hated, Maggi knew it was time for her to leave. But one thing after another seemed to get in the way and she remained, telling herself that she’d look for an apartment over the weekend. She’d finally moved out less than three weeks ago. But this still felt like home. She had a feeling it always would.
The somber expression refused to be teased away. “You know what I mean, Mary Margaret.”
“Oh-uh, two names. Serious stuff.” Inwardly she gritted her teeth together. She’d always hated her full name. Hearing it reminded her of eight years of dour-faced nuns looking down at her disapprovingly because she hadn’t lived up to their expectations. All except for Sister Michael. Sister Michael had tried to encourage her to let her “better side out.” She suspected that Sister Michael had probably been as much of a hellion in her day as she was accused of being in hers.
She’d turned to Sister Michael when her mother had died and she felt she couldn’t cry in front of her father. Couldn’t cry because she was all that was keeping him together.
She crossed to him now and placed her arm around his shoulders. “Dad, you know damn well that you’re my hero and I was honor-bound to grow up just like you.”
The sigh was liberally laced with guilt. “I should have married Edna,” he lamented. “She would have found a way to shave those rough edges off you.”
“No, Edna would have turned out to be the reason I ran away from home.”
Edna Grady was the woman his father had dated when she was fifteen. The widow had her cap set on marriage and would have stopped at nothing to arrive at that destination. She had a host of ideas about what their life was going to be like after the ceremony. It hadn’t included having a stepdaughter under her roof. That was when her father had balked, terminating their relationship. Maggi had been eternally grateful when he had.
Maggi paused to kiss the top of her father’s snow-white head, her heart swelling with love. He really was her rock, her pillar. “You did just fine raising me, Dad. You gave me all the right values. I’m just making sure they’re in play, that’s all. And that everyone else shares them.”
While he applauded the principle, he didn’t like the thought of his daughter risking her life every day. He vividly realized what his wife must have gone through all those years they were married and he was on the force.
He looked at her, disgruntled. “If I hadn’t been shot, you would have been married by now.”
“Divorced,” she corrected, “I would have been divorced by now.”
She firmly believed that. Maggi thought of Taylor Ramsford, the up-and-coming lawyer she’d met while working on the vice squad. He’d dazzled her with his wit, his charm, and they’d gotten engaged. But Taylor, it turned out, was not nearly the man she’d thought he was. Beneath the appealing exterior, there was nothing but a man who wanted to get ahead. A man centered on his own goals and nothing more. Marrying her had just been another goal. When she’d told him she was going