stay emotionally detached on the scene while at the same time showing compassion when called for. The latter was easy when a child was involved. When the girl rushed toward her, Gabby’s instinct was to shield the child and not let her see the horrific state of her mother’s body. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Social services is taking over. It’s out of our hands,” Mitchell said. “Go home. It’s Friday. I don’t want to see your faces until Monday morning.”
“The reading of the will is tomorrow, right?” Kelso asked.
Her mouth flattened and she gave a brief nod.
“Not looking forward to it, huh?”
Gabby shrugged. “Just want to get it over and done.”
Long and short of it was, she didn’t care.
“And your brother?”
“Half-brother,” Gabby corrected, getting slightly irritated that her partner would bring up such a matter now. “He’s got money of his own. I’d be surprised if he didn’t apply for emancipation.”
“If you need more time to get your personal affairs in order, take some vacation,” Mitchell said.
“I’ll take that under advisement.” Gabby jerked her head to the CSI techs who seemed to be interested in their conversation. The last thing she needed was to have one of them talk to the tabloids.
“It’s okay to slow down, Woodward.” Mitchell exhaled an effusive breath and studied the carnage in the room. “Hope we don’t start from square one. Ortega is a slippery bastard.”
“That’s what happens when you go in half-cocked.”
Kelso coughed.
Mitchell raised a brow.
“Which is why you need all hands on deck at Division, sir,” she quickly added.
Mitchell’s shoulders sagged and it pained Gabby to see him this way. He’d been her mentor for fourteen years, taking the wide-eyed rookie under his wing, but their bond went back much further than that. The captain was a hard ass, a legend in the LAPD who gave up rank and position so he could remain on the streets where his experience was needed the most.
He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze before striding to the door. He paused under its frame and turned back to her. “The dead are important to us, but so are the living. In this case, I think your brother needs you more.”
NORTHERN VIRGINIA
Staring at ceilings was nothing new for Declan Roarke. Getting thrown into jail wasn’t new either, but he’d never been incarcerated on U.S. soil before. As a former mercenary, he was no stranger to dungeons and prisons in foreign countries. What he did was not always legal.
After the Judge Advocate General (JAG) disbanded their private military company, banning them from any form of international work, Declan thought personal protection was the way to go. Turned out, the void left by his former life couldn’t be filled with new businesses, more money, or the first world comfort of booze and functional indoor plumbing.
The cot was comfy for short-term confinement in Loudoun County, but he hadn’t been comfortable in his own skin for a while.
He shifted his gaze to the cracked cement wall he shared with a drunk who was brought in at the same time he was. The eardrum-shattering snore of his jail-mate assured him he wasn’t getting any kind of sleep tonight, and Declan wondered if the man’s off-key singing earlier would have made a better companion. He winced in remembrance. Probably not.
The door to the drunk tank opened, and a shadow danced on the arrow of light before a lanky man in khakis appeared at his barred door.
“You’re free to go.”
Declan swung his long legs off the cot, got up, and approached the deputy. “I made bail?” He’d been in here for twenty-four hours.
“Charges dropped,” the deputy said shortly and slid the cell door to the left. “You’re lucky the Congressman didn’t press assault charges.”
It took all of Declan’s self-restraint not to say that Congressman Tomlin deserved it. He merely nodded at the officer and stepped out to his freedom.
Declan glanced over to his business partner, driving their company vehicle. Kade Spear opened Elite Shield Security—ESS—a year ago and asked him if he wanted to join in. Declan thought it was a good idea at that time. Now he wasn’t sure if personal protection was the right fit for him. Bodyguard duties were an intrinsic part of private military work, but there was usually a level of imminent threat. Protecting someone whose politics he didn’t agree with had never been a problem either. But being here in the Capital, he’d witnessed how vicious politicians could get in pushing their