Open Wounds (Harbour Bay #2)(6)

She exited the elevator and started toward her work station directly ahead, the first cubical on the floor. Her boss dumped a file on her slightly disorganised desk and started to walk away.

“Hey, you can’t just dump and run,” she announced, and sped up her pace as fast as she could, hindered by her skirt and heels to catch up to him.

Kellie picked up the folder and waved it in front of her boss’s face.

“What’s this?”

Her boss, Lewis Carlisle, ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. He was one of the unfortunate men whose hairline receded far too early. “New case. A complaint was made that one of the detectives downstairs was being a little rough with the crims.”

Her eyebrow shot up as she opened the folder. “A little rough?”

Kellie’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze found the official police department’s photo of Detective Inspector Amelia Donovan. She read the name on the file in case by some accident it had been misfiled. It hadn’t.

Amelia’s file was thick, filled with recommendations and what seemed like a matching amount of complaints that had been filed against her for rough handling.

Detective Donovan was ambitious and it was no secret she took no shit from anyone, least of all the criminals she brought in. She commanded a lot of respect from her colleagues and worked hard for it. She didn’t let the fact she was a woman deter her, nor did she ask for preferential treatment. She gave it as good as she got.

Kellie glanced up at Carlisle. He watched her closely.

“Sir, you know I can’t take the case.”

Lewis exhaled loudly as if she purposely went out of her way to make things hard for him. “You’re the only one I can spare at the moment. Both Holly and Fitzsimmons are buried deep in their cases.”

Clark Holly and Frank Fitzsimmons were the two other high ranking officers within the SCIA. While both were fine men and good cops on their own, Holly was an anal son-of-a-bitch who took the hide out of anyone who so much as dared to borrow his stapler. Fitzsimmons was more laid back, a veteran of thirty years who went home to his wife and children every night.

“And the personal history?” she asked.

“It shouldn’t be a problem. After all, you’re a professional and I have the upmost respect for your opinion. I know you’ll not let personal entanglements sway your decisions.”

If only she had his confidence. It had been some time since she had seen Amelia. They no longer ran in the same circles and neither had sought the other out. Even though they worked in the same town, on different floors of the same building, they never spoke. She wasn’t certain this would go over well. Even without the past between them, she was IA and automatically despised by most cops, some seeing her as something lower than the criminals they arrested and Mia was sure to be no different.

Kellie believed in what she was doing, and the truth was somebody had to do it, so why not her? Someone had to police the police. Cops were not above the law and they needed to know they still answered to someone.

It would be difficult, and Mia wouldn’t help the situation.

The next few weeks were not going to be easy, and not just because of the present situation but because of the past as well. The past which hung over them like a dark grey cloud, forever threatening a storm.

But there was a difference between personal and professional. Now all she had to do was act the part. She gave hear boss a curt nod before turning her attention to Mia’s file, reading the complaint that had prompted the IA investigation.

Twenty minutes later she was on her way to the second floor. She tried to calm her knotting stomach as the ensuing confrontation filled her mind.





Chapter 4



Superintendent Alec Harris’s face burned. His voice was a tenor below shouting as he spoke to the two detectives standing in his office. The vein in his temple throbbed from the restraint. He felt like he would blow a gasket, and he couldn’t believe the suspect Hill and Donovan had brought in was all black and purple—the result of a fine beating courtesy a la Donovan.

This was not the first time he had been in this position and until he retired it wouldn’t be the last. The date, only a year and half away, felt like forever.

Alec ran his hand through his blond hair with its streaks of white—the only thing that showed his true age—and took a steady breath. When he spoke again, his voice was a deep baritone. “The guy looks like he was in the ring with Mike Tyson.”

Internal Affairs was going to be all over this, and he’d already had a long chat with Lewis Carlisle up in the penthouse suite. He knew he’d be sending one of his own down here. That’s all his command needed, a goddamn IA investigation.

He shook his head. “You can’t just go round beating the suspects to a bloody pulp.”

Donovan didn’t look remorseful at all. “In my defence, he had a weapon and my back-up was nowhere nearby.”

Alec stared at the ceiling as if he’d receive some divine answer. He almost asked the Almighty, Why me?

It was never ending. At home he had the joys of dealing with his very stubborn, headstrong, troublesome teenage daughter, Sophie, who was too much like him for his liking. Sometimes he wished she’d be more like her mother, but then he shuddered. Caitlyn hadn’t come without her problems and bad habits, either. At the thought of what it had taken to ensnare her, he felt somewhat relieved his daughter took more after him than her mother.