The Perfect Lie. Блейк Пирс

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      Jessie turned around to find Decker staring at her impatiently.

      “You done?” he asked sharply. “Or should I take in a showing of The Notebook while you all work out your emotions some more?”

      “It’s good to be back, Captain,” she sighed.

      He started walking inside and waved for her to follow him. She ignored the twinge in her leg and back and jogged after him. She was only just catching up when he launched into his plan for her.

      “So don’t expect any fieldwork for a while,” he said gruffly. “I wasn’t kidding about keeping you on a desk. You’re rusty and I can see you desperately trying not to limp on that right leg as you walk. Until I think you’re solid again, you should get used the bullpen’s fluorescent lights.”

      “Don’t you think I’d get back in the swing of things quicker if I just dived in?” Jessie asked, trying not to sound pleading. She had to take two steps to every one of his to keep up as he barreled down the hall.

      “Funny, that’s almost exactly what your buddy Hernandez said when he came back last week. I put him on desk duty too. And guess what? He’s still there.”

      “I didn’t know Hernandez was back,” she said.

      “I thought you two were bosom buddies,” he said as they rounded the corner.

      Jessie glanced over at him sideways, trying to determine if her boss was suggesting anything. But he seemed to be sincere.

      “We’re friends,” she acknowledged. “But I think with the injuries he suffered and his divorce, he wanted a little time to himself.”

      “Really?” Decker said. “You could have fooled me.”

      She didn’t know what to make of that comment but didn’t have time to ask before they arrived at the station bullpen, a large room with filled with a mishmash of desks pushed together, all populated by various detectives representing different LAPD divisions. At the far end of the bullpen, with the other Homicide Special Section detectives, was Ryan Hernandez.

      For a man who’d been stabbed twice only two months earlier by her father (it seemed that every injured person she knew these days got their wounds at the hands of her father), Hernandez looked pretty good.

      His left forearm wasn’t even bandaged anymore. The other wound had been to the left side of his abdomen. But considering that he was standing upright and laughing, she figured it couldn’t be bothering him that much.

      As Decker led her over, she found herself perplexed by how annoyed she was at Hernandez joking around. She should be happy that he wasn’t depressed in the aftermath of having his marriage fall apart and nearly being killed. But if he was doing so well, why hadn’t he reached out more than two perfunctory times in the last couple of months?

      She’d made much more of an effort to check in and rarely heard back. She’d assumed it was because he was struggling and had given him space to regroup. But based on how he looked now, everything seemed to be peachy.

      “Nice to see the Homicide Special Section is in such good spirits on this fine morning,” Decker bellowed, startling the five men and one woman who comprised the unit. Detective Alan Trembley, looking as scattershot as usual, even dropped his bagel.

      Homicide Special Section was a division assigned to high-profile cases, often ones with intense media scrutiny. That meant lots of homicides with multiple victims and serial killers. It was prestigious assignment and Hernandez was considered the cream of the crop.

      “Look who’s back,” Detective Callum Reid said enthusiastically. “I didn’t know you were returning today. Now we’ve finally got some class back in the joint.”

      “You know,” Jessie said, deciding to embrace the vibe of the group, “you could be classy too, Reid, if you didn’t let one rip every ten seconds. It’s not a high bar.”

      Everyone busted out laughing.

      “It’s funny because it’s true,” Trembley said happily, his unkempt blond curls bouncing as he laughed. He pushed up his glasses, which perpetually slid down his nose.

      “How you feeling, Jessie?” Hernandez said when the noise had died down.

      “I’m getting by,” she answered, trying not to sound cold. “You look like you’re on the mend.”

      “Getting there,” he said. “I’ve still got a few aches and pains. But as I keep telling the Captain here, if he’d let me in the game I could make a real difference. I’m tired of riding the bench, Coach.”

      “That never gets old, Hernandez,” Decker said grumpily, clearly tired of the team analogy. “Hunt, I’ll give you a few minutes to get resettled. Then we’ll go over your case load. I have a bunch of unsolved homicide files that could use a fresh eye. Maybe a profiler’s perspective will shake things up. I expect the rest of you to give me case updates in my office in five minutes. It looks like you have the spare time.”

      He headed for his office grumbling to himself. The rest of the team assembled their files as Hernandez plopped down across from Jessie.

      “You don’t have anything to report?” she asked.

      “I don’t have any cases of my own yet. I’ve been backing these guys up on everything. Maybe now that you’re back, we can tag team Decker and get him to send us out on something. The two of us together make up one almost totally healthy person.”

      “I’m glad that you’re in such good spirits,” Jessie said, desperately trying to stop herself from saying more but failing to do so. “I wish you’d have let me know you were all good earlier. I steered clear because I thought you were working stuff out.”

      Hernandez’s smile faded as he took in what she said. He seemed to be weighing how to respond. As she waited for his reply and despite her annoyance, Jessie couldn’t help but admit the guy had maintained himself pretty well while recovering from a grievous injury and a divorce.

      He looked put together. Not a strand of his short black hair was out of place. His brown eyes were clear and focused. And somehow, despite his injuries, he’d managed to keep in shape. He might have lost five pounds off his usual six-foot, two-hundred-pound frame, probably related to difficulty eating right after getting his stomach sliced open. But at thirty-one, he still had the toned look of a man who worked out often.

      “Yeah, about that,” he started to say, snapping her back into the moment. “I wanted to call, but the thing is, some stuff has been going on and I wasn’t sure how to talk about it.”

      “What kind of stuff?” she asked nervously. She didn’t like where this was headed.

      Hernandez looked down, as if deciding how best to broach what was clearly a touchy subject. After a full five seconds he looked back up at her. Just as he was opening his mouth, Decker burst out of his office.

      “We’ve got a gang-involved shooting in Westlake North,” he shouted. “The scene is still active. We already have four fatalities and an unknown number of injuries. I need SWAT, HSS, and gang units en route now. This is all hands on deck, people!”

      CHAPTER THREE

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