Open Wounds (Harbour Bay #2)(16)

Dean shrugged. A job was a job and he’d taken on his fair share of shitty assignments; this one didn’t even come close. “Someone’s got to do it. It may as well be you and me. Besides, I doubt this case is going to be glamorous no matter what your task.” He smirked. “But I reckon you just want to be around Munroe, am I right?”

Nick glared at him. “You know I don’t screw around with people I work with. Kellie is a friend, nothing more.”

Dean gave him a sidelong glance. He was the type who could easily be the playboy with his good looks and no effort charm, but he wasn’t and Dean admired him for that. Especially when women did practically everything to get in his pants. Nick was a chameleon, fitting easily into any role. The charmer, the sleaze, the kidder, the stoic—it impressed the hell out Dean, and even though Nick pissed him off half the time with his joker attitude, there was no one else he’d rather be partnered with.

Especially since he was no prize. He knew he was a moody S-O-B. Never the prankster, always the serious one. He’d seen too much to float around life with a glass half-full outlook. Pessimistic, not optimistic. That was how his co-workers thought of him, an introvert who liked to keep to himself and never shared his thoughts or bared his soul.

Dean Matthews was damaged. He’d lost a part of himself on his last tour which he could never get back. His colleagues could never understand why he kept his distance, why he had to remain detached. He couldn’t care. It caused him too much pain. Caring only made a man weak and vulnerable and easy to hurt and manipulate. Just look what it had done to Tony, he reminded himself. He steered away from the horrid memories because he knew the nightmare had been a reality. Screams, blood, begging, watching someone he cared about die.

One thing was for certain. Dean would never fall in love, would never care about a woman so much he couldn’t live without her.

“How do you think the IA case is going to go down?” Nick asked, breaking the silence.

Dean shrugged. He had no idea. It was a fifty-fifty chance. Although he believed that if Donovan was kicked off the force, it would be a colossal mistake. The sassy, tough-talking, back-chatting woman didn’t know the meaning of giving up. He’d worked with her on and off for years and respected the hell out of her. Sure, she was rough around the edges but she was an asset, and he had to pity the person who couldn’t see that.

“No idea. I just hope your friend knows what she’s doing.”

“Kellie’s a professional,” Nick assured him.

He hoped so.

Ten minutes later, Dean pulled his car into the loading zone at the LAC. “See you tomorrow,” he said, and with that, Nick climbed out of the car and shut the door.





Chapter 9



Amelia worked off her suppressed anger in the gym. Her face taut with rage, her lips nothing but thin strips. Her body coiled tight, she pounded the boxing bag hard, causing it to rock precariously back and forth on the chain attached to the roof of the gym. Bottled up emotion fuelled her. She sensed Kellie’s approach and felt the familiar burn inside her. She didn’t look up or acknowledge her old friend as she hit the bag harder than before. She wasn’t mad at her; she was mad at herself, at the past, and at the situation.

Kellie stood to the side, just within her peripheral vision, and Amelia knew it was deliberate. She gave the bag a left jab followed closely by a right hook and another left. Quick puffs of breath exited her mouth as she exerted herself. She darted an annoyed look at Kellie. She stood with her hands resting on her hips, in an unflattering pair of black stretch pants and a tight pink tank top but she managed to work the ensemble, looking elegant with her hair pulled back off her face in a ponytail. Amelia knew it was nothing she tried to accomplish; it was natural and ingrained in her. She had looked that way for as long as she could remember.

Amelia could feel Kellie assessing her, probably determining just how volatile she was at the moment. She was amazed she’d even approached her. Many of the men at the LAC knew when she hit the bag she was not in a good mood and it was best to keep clear of her, but Kellie had never been one to put up with her crap and had fought her all the way. Until she hadn’t.

Not the easiest teenager, she hadn’t changed much—only gotten worse. Her temper had shortened with age, and her patience wore thin much quicker these days.

She’d had a habit of putting herself down and was easily discouraged. A memory skittered across her mind of Kellie refusing to let her give up. Back then they’d been inseparable, both born in a section of Harbour Bay known as Coleani’s territory.

A sadistic man, he oversaw every criminal element in town. Years ago it had only been a twelve block radius of his strip club, the Satin Thong. The neighbourhood was a breeding ground of druggies, prostitutes, and a healthy number of homeless. The council liked to pretend it didn’t exist and thus Coleani was free to continue ruling over the inhabitants and making their lives more miserable than they already were. Amelia had lived with her grandparents at the caravan park, whereas Kellie and her mother had resided in a tenement a few blocks south.

“I’m sorry it had to be me.” Kellie’s voice came through her self-reflection.

Amelia shrugged. If it hadn’t been her, it would have been some other IA agent with a career to make for themselves. Looking at it objectively, she was better off with Kellie. She wasn’t the type to stab someone in the back just to get ahead. She worked hard, and from what she had heard around the office, got to the truth and never made any decision without being absolutely sure.