Page 77 of Under Cover
Good. I like that house.
I like you in it.
I want it more than anything.And that was true. He wanted it more than making this bust—even more than working with the rest of the team, and he’d never thought that was possible.
Then we’ll make it happen. Get stitched. Text me when you can. Love you.
Crosby caught his breath, and he saw the thought bubbles coming, and wondered if Garcia was going to try to backpedal, to take it back so Crosby didn’t panic.
He wasn’t panicking—he was so damned grateful Garcia had given that to him to cling to. Like a piece of flotsam in a torrent of chaos, Crosby had those words.
Love you too,he texted quickly, hitting Send before Garcia could overthink himself, take away those words that Crosby needed so badly.Text later.
The medic gave a particularly tough scrub on the wound she was cleaning, and Crosby grimaced as he slid his phone in his pocket with his free hand.
“Telling your girl you’ll be okay?” the medic—a twentysomething woman with a hint of purple in her dark ponytail and a silver ring in her eyebrow, contrasting with her bronze skin—asked.
“Yeah,” Crosby said, leaning against the back of the bus with relief. Texting in the car made him queasy even when he wasn’t getting worked on.
THE DEBRIEFin the hospital was pretty much what Crosby expected.
The staff cut off his long-sleeved uniform shirt, leaving him in his T-shirt and slacks, both of which were bloodstained by the time they’d put twenty stitches in his wrist and forearm. The whole area was aching fiercely under the local anesthetic by the time they were through, and they’d given him a sling so he could keep it immobile for at least a day.
Iliana joined him, Gambini, and Barnes in discussing the bust, particularly since Iliana was the one who would have to face the press later that day.
“You had no idea who the guy was,” Iliana reassured him, looking grim. “He’d been let go by the department months before you arrivedbecausehe had a drug problem, and it got a lot worse.” She frowned, and she and Crosby made eye contact. “Shit,” she muttered.
“Shit?” Gambini said. “Shit what? This whole day is shit—don’t give us any more.”
Crosby grunted, about ready to throw some bullshit on, when Iliana did him one better.
“When Rick was hired, his old captain called me. They were having some problems with meth flooding the streets, cut with fentanyl, really easy to get addicted to and available like candy on every street corner. He told me Rick knew what to look for, and that’s what we were both thinking, right, Rick?”
Crosby nodded, grateful for the cover. “Yeah—that sort of thing where a habit becomes a dragon—that’s the sort of drugs we’re looking at. And it’s flooding the two-four.” He remembered the clusterfuck that happened when Toby had been rescued. “That thing where the precinct was surrounded, about a month ago? Right before I started up here? They lost two guys there that they thought had been using.”
Gambini and Barnes looked suitably impressed, and Iliana gave the slightest tip of her chin to taking a lie and embroidering it with more truth.
“So have the drugs analyzed,” Gambini said. “Done.”
“And tell the detectives to look into who was dealing to the guy and his wife. I gotta be honest with you,” Crosby added, “I didn’t know the couple, but you know. That was a pretty good walk-up. They didn’t start out doing meth and stabbing flatfoots. They had to work up to that shit.”
Iliana nodded. “I’ll brief the detectives. I’ve got a couple in mind.” She swallowed and met Crosby’s eyes in a “help me out” sort of expression. “Should I go to the press with that?”
Oh yes, Crosby thought, his anger very close to the surface. “Absolutely,” he said with satisfaction. “Let the community know that the drugs are taking good men—good cops—down the tubes with them, and that’s no way for a community to be healthy. We want accountability for everybody.”
Iliana’s eyes lit up, and he could see her processing that soundbite in her head, spinning it to make her department and her precinct look good and self-aware and on top of the shit going down on their turf.
“That’s good,” she admitted, and Gambini and Barnes both nodded. “You guys get lost for a sec,” she said. “Me and Young here need to have a chat.” They buggered off, and she gave Crosby a look. “Now for you.”
Crosby grimaced, and she did too. He couldn’t be taken out too long—she knew that.
“Desk duty for two weeks,” she said. “Starting in three days. That’s when you get the sling off and just have a bandage, right?”
“Roger that,” he said, thinking wistfully about a little house in Queens.
“In the meantime, Ricky,” she said, pleading in her voice, “would you get some fucking sleep?”
“Roger that,” he mumbled, his head already aching with the lack of it. He thought momentarily about simply leaving from the hospital, but he was wearing a bloody T-shirt and his service weapon—he would need to go to the precinct and change and then take his clothes to get laundered for his return.