One To Win. Michelle Monkou

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       Chapter 1

      “Budget cuts!” Detective Fiona Reed couldn’t believe what she’d heard.

      Frustration pumped anger through her veins. Her pulse pounded, accenting the soaring beat of her temper. Words bubbled up and pushed against the verbal barrier that kept her civil and respectable.

      “Watch your step,” Captain Baxter warned, “before you spew words that you can’t pull back.” His glare sparred with hers and won.

      “Sir, this budget cut is...is...plain stupid. We can’t get our job done with fewer hours—no overtime is nonsense. That’s just dumb. Most of the victims who are listed as missing in our case files are minors. Cuts along the support staff? We need more help. It’s not rocket science, what we need to solve these cases. And it’s definitely not about the counselor’s sound bites harping on government waste and effective management.” Her voice had escalated probably beyond the walls of the captain’s closed office. Oh, well—it wasn’t the first time that she’d delivered a vehement one-way pitch here.

      “Your area isn’t the only one affected.” Baxter ran a hand over his bald head. His haggard features spoke volumes as to his own misery as the messenger. “Every area, department, everything, has been whittled down. It’s how things are now. We all have to deal with it. That means you, as a team player.” He stabbed at the space between them. His thick black eyebrows drew down over his fierce gaze.

      Fiona heard the words. She listened to the message, but none of it satisfied her. None of it deflated her irritation. The Missing Persons Unit of Essex County, New York, needed more than the three detectives and two clerks assigned to it. The shortage in manpower had almost cost the lives of a set of twins who were habitual runaways, but had thankfully been found. Working around the clock wasn’t the exception. Day, night and the seconds in between, Fiona had followed every lead to track the sisters. The fifty dollars she had to pay here and there to get information came out of her pocket. Whatever it took to find any of these kids, she’d try.

      Bottom line, the shrinking budget mattered. With other social services around the county getting eliminated or slashed, too many cases of the missing remained unsolved with stomach-churning frequency. The deep tar pit of bureaucracy into which these people sank and disappeared from everyone’s attention twisted her gut in knots of frustration. After six years on the job, at times it felt like an insurmountable climb to have successful endings to the cases. If she had her wish, she’d do anything she could to double the funds to run this unit.

      Fiona studied her boss’s face, trying to read, trying to test, trying to gauge her footing. Where did his loyalties lie?

      “Are you fighting to keep the funding?” Fiona took the plunge into volatile depths.

      “Detective, watch your step.” Baxter spoke softly, but his displeasure radiated like an overheated sunlamp. His neck and shoulders were rigid with his annoyance.

      “We need the money.” She pounded her fist into her open hand. “What we do is worth fighting for.”

      The captain tossed aside his pen, poised over the paperwork on the desk, and shot up with such force that his chair hit the credenza behind him. His body rose to its full towering height. His shoulders squared and his chest puffed up with his indignation. Dark brown eyes pinned her in place. Baxter clenched his hands and leaned on the desk. His breathing was heavy, nostrils flaring, as he angled into her space.

      They faced off across the desk. Seconds felt like minutes. His eyes narrowed into a squint. No doubt she was in deep trouble. Not a particularly unique event in the life of her career. A stubborn streak in her refused to back down, even as the warnings flashed through her consciousness like a gaudily lit sign. She held her ground, despite a slight tremor in her knees that threatened to take over her entire body.

      “You’re overdue for your vacation. Take it, effective immediately,” Baxter delivered with his quiet anger.

      Fiona flinched from the swift punishment. “Sir, I’ve got a crazy caseload on my desk. You need everyone here.” Obviously, it was too late to retract or soften her belligerence.

      “This isn’t up for negotiation. Boggs and Fogarty will divvy up your files. You need to walk away and get your mind back in the game.”

      “Sir...” She was used to arguing with her captain. Those clashes might have ended in threats, scoldings, but never this...banishment.

      “A vacation or a suspension. And don’t try my patience. I understand that I didn’t exactly come onto the scene in the best of circumstances after Captain Doyle suffered a massive heart attack. You didn’t get the promotion that you wanted. And the media hasn’t been supportive of the strides made by this unit. The last thing needed around here is this implosion.” He folded his arms. “Now, I agree with everyone that you are a damn good detective. You’ve deserved every commendation. However, lately, you’ve been...”

      “Doing my job.” Fiona wasn’t going down without a fight.

      “Intense. Belligerent. Insubordinate. I know about your off-the-record tirade with Counselor Jenkins.”

      Each criticism was shot at her ego like a well-aimed dart.

      “So take two weeks. Get your head together and rejoin the team.”

      “I don’t—”

      The captain held up his finger. The gesture was a distant reminder of her days in school when the teacher reprimanded her for talking out of turn.

      “Yes, sir.” Fiona clenched her jaw. Logic pried its way in, past the hot rush of her impatience.

      “Effective immediately. Please close the door on your way out.” Every syllable Baxter uttered had its own beat.

      With no other choice, Fiona walked toward the door, turned the knob and opened it. Taking a deep breath and exhaling to put on a stoic face, she stepped into the hallway. But then her hand shook and she opened and closed it to steady her nerves before pulling the door shut. Then with her chin up, she returned to her cubicle.

      The walk of shame was self-made. She couldn’t blame a drink, a drug or lack of sleep for her brash behavior. Her colleagues avoided eye СКАЧАТЬ