Open Wounds (Harbour Bay #2)(9)

“Nick,” Kellie acknowledged, smiling at him. “Twice in one day. Lucky me.”

Darryl stiffened. Interesting.

Nick sat on the edge of his desk. “How are you?” he asked Kellie. “You were up and out before I had the chance to talk to you.”

Kellie’s eyes widened and he replayed the words and realised how they sounded. He winced. “At the gym today…you were up and out so quickly. I missed our chats,” he rephrased.

“Tomorrow then. Don’t be late or I’ll kick your arse,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

“You already do that. So what are you doing down here? I thought your kind stuck together.”

She accepted his dig at her job with good humour. “I’m on a case.”

Nick frowned. “Really? And you needed Donovan’s help with that?”

Kellie gnawed on her bottom lip and Nick glanced at Darryl before sliding a covert glance at Donovan who was busy ignoring them.

“Kel, no,” he said, his voice full of agony. “I know what I said about your kind, but we’re all cops here and Donovan’s one of the best.”

Her face showed a mixture of anguish and determination. “It’s just a formality, Nick. A complaint was made. It has to be followed up.”

“Shit.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “You know this could be a career ender,” he charged, anger evident in his voice.

He understood the need for Internal Affairs, but he didn’t have to like it. He hated the fact that Kellie was investigating one of their own—one he worked closely with. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. She had a job to do just as he did, but it had slipped out before he could censor himself. Her face paled at the harsh recrimination and he wondered if their friendship would survive this.

“Jesus, sorry, Kel. I didn’t mean to sound like such an arsehole.”

He reached over and pulled her gently to him, giving her an apologetic hug. The tension in her body was like a punch to the gut. He would give anything to go back and unspeak those words. Kellie didn’t need that shit from him. Her job was hard enough as it was.

He kissed her forehead, then stepped back. He withered beneath the look Darryl shot him.

“I know the deal, Nick,” Kellie said softly. “I’m not out to ruin careers.”

“I know that, honey. I’m sorry for opening my mouth.”

Amelia snorted. “I swear that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

Nick grinned light-heartedly at her, happy to be made fun of. He was sure that one day he would end up with his mouth duct-taped shut.

“Me too,” Darryl said as he brushed past him. Hill looked about ready to pack it in for the day. His once crisp shirt was now rumpled and had come loose from his pants. His tie had been jerked, causing the tails to be uneven and there were also lines on his face that hadn’t been there earlier.

Darryl rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and small sweat marks showed on the fabric under his armpits. He offered silent sympathy for his colleague. There was nothing worse than getting stuck between two furious females.

He loosened his own tie, the atmosphere in the room getting sucked out as the electricity crackled between Amelia and Kellie. He crossed his arms against his chest.

“Are we good?” he asked Kellie, determined to make it right before she left.

“I’d make him suffer,” Darryl told her.

She smiled and squeezed his arm gently. “Oh, he will, there’s no question about it. But it will be in the boxing ring.”

Her gaze drifted over to Darryl as the man bent to secure his firearm in his desk drawer. He unabashedly cleared his throat and Kellie’s gaze darted to his. She blushed profusely when he grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows. He saw the gleam in her eye that she got whenever she prepared to take him down, and was thankful they weren’t alone. He would pay tomorrow.

Catching sight of his partner, Dean Matthews, he gave out a loud wolf-whistle. Dean growled, or at least what Nick took for a growl since he couldn’t quite hear. It could’ve been a mumble but with the baring of teeth. He felt confident he’d hit the nail on the head. Dean’s chocolate brown eyes were bloodshot and his skin drawn, his honey blond hair roughly brushed but not styled.

“Good afternoon, sunshine,” Nick said, and Dean replied with another low growl.

He was dressed in his usual attire of slacks and a pale sunflower yellow shirt which clashed horribly with his blue tie. Nick couldn’t believe Dean still wore the pansy-arsed shirts he’d started wearing to defend his manhood. It had been years since the LAC had made fun of him, but typical to his style, he’d told them to go to hell and had continued to wear the pastel and feminine coloured shirts, daring anyone to say something. Nick had made the mistake of pointing it out once or twice, and was responsible for the constant ribbing in the first place.

“You look like hell, my friend,” Nick observed.

Dean sent him a glare. “Yeah, well, I was at a robbery until three o’clock this morning. What’s your excuse?” Dean challenged, his hackles up, ready to bite.

Nick held up his hands in surrender, watching his partner remove his weapon holster and place it in his top desk drawer before practically collapsing into his chair. He knew when to back down.

“Forget I said anything, man. Just trying to lighten the mood.”