Page 31 of Devil's Hour
“Aren’t you worried about the backlash and accusations you covered up the incident at the mayor’s home?” Blue asked.
Rigby scowled, making Royce fight the urge to fidget, and he wasn’t the one who questioned her decision. “I’m not covering anything up, Blue. I’m actively investigating the threats to our city to the best of my ability and in a manner that doesn’t incite panic and chaos. No level-headed person would fault me for putting the safety of the citizens first. The mayor’s relationship with Mr. Tedrickisn’tcriminal, or I would’ve arrested her myself. We don’t police cheating spouses. She hasn’t, at least to my knowledge, violated any oaths of office either. I can’t make her press charges for something she views as pesky harassment. Hell, I can’t even prove someone broke into her home since there was no sign of forced entry. At this point, my only concern is stopping The Purists before someone ends up killed. These things always escalate, and innocent bystanders get caught up in their path. I want them stopped before that happens.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What is the mayor officially saying about the early morning visit from the fire department?” Royce asked.
“She hasn’t shared those details with me, but I suspect it will be something minor and she’ll thank the fire department profusely for putting it out before significant damage could occur.”
“Sounds about right,” Blue said, shaking his head.
“This is your only case right now,” Chief said firmly, meeting both their gazes.
“Yes, ma’am,” they both said.
“I want daily updates, Locke.”
“You got it, Chief.”
“Blue, that’s all I need to discuss with you right now. If you don’t mind, I want to have a private word with Locke.”
“No problem,” Blue said, slapping Royce’s good shoulder when he passed.
Once alone, Rigby pulled a large envelope out of her drawer and slid it across the desk to him. It had her name and the word “private” printed on it. Royce glanced up at Rigby, but her stoic expression gave nothing away.
“Open it,” she said.
She’d opened the one end with a letter opener, so Royce tipped the envelope, and a photo slid onto her desk. Not just any picture butthephoto of Royce caressing Sawyer’s face in the newspaper parking lot the previous day.Fucking Fleabag Franklinwas his first thought.Damn, we look good togetherwas the second.
Royce slid the picture back inside the envelope while trying to choose the right words. Apologizing for his relationship was out of the question because he wasn’t sorry, and he wasn’t going to lie and say he was. “Chief, I—”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I am a wife, a mother, and a cop, which is the trifecta of badass. I see and know everything, Locke. Keep your relationship away from the job, or I won’t hesitate to assign new partners for both of you.”
Grinning, Royce said, “Yes, ma’am.” There was a hell of a lot worse she could do to them.
“After I bust you down to reading meters for six months.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Quit wearing his clothes to crime scenes and do not frame that photo and put it on your desk.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Get the hell out of my office.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Royce replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. He snagged the envelope from her desk and got out of there before she changed her mind.
Sawyer wasn’t in the bullpen when he stepped out of the chief’s office, but all other eyes in the room were on Royce, reminding him of his stunt at the bar the previous night. He met their gazes and only saw open curiosity and amusement staring back at him. No scorn. No disbelief. No disgust. “What the fuck are you all looking at?” he said, breaking the ice. “Get back to work.”
As if a movie director yelled “action,” everyone continued as they were before he entered the room.
“Bunch of knuckleheads,” he mumbled when he dropped down into his desk chair. He stowed the photo that Franklin had sent to Rigby in his top desk drawer until he could show it to Sawyer later, then booted up his computer.
He knew Sawyer was someplace in the building because he’d followed him to work this time instead of the other way around. His guy had safely arrived to work without running stop signs and getting pulled over. Rather than wonder what Sawyer was up to, he decided to get a jump start on searching the internet for anything he could find on The Purists. He typed the words, hit enter, then immediately regretted it. Every ounce of pleasure he’d found that morning with Sawyer dissipated when he discovered the vigilantes had started a web page. It was pretty basic and crude with only their name and flames shooting up the screen. It kind of reminded Royce of those screensavers with the burning logs people used around Christmas. What snagged and held his attention was a digital clock at the top of the site ticking down. It switched over from four hours to three hours and fifty-nine minutes. Royce glanced at his watch, noting the clock was counting down to noon.
High noon.
But for what? Royce really didn’t want to find out.