Carved in Darkness by Maegan Beaumont

the designated chopper, grater, and slicer,” she said. “Sometimes, Val lets me stir.” She popped her collar, and he laughed.
    “You’ll make someone a wonderful cop someday.” He switched off his computer. “Last chance … ”
    She just smiled and shook her head, silently urging him to leave. They’d just closed their case and hadn’t caught another. There was no legitimate reason for her to print anything. If she pulled the file while he was still there, he’d want to know what she was working on. He’d pester and insist on being let into the loop. Michael O’Shea was one loop he was safer being kept out of.
    Muttering something about bullshit and pantywaists, he pushed his chair in. He stopped for a minute, glared at his newly cleaned desk, and shook his head. “You won’t be here tomorrow.”
    “Nope.”
    “You know what this means, don’t you?”
    “You’re gonna have to do your own paperwork?”
    “Exactly. How friggin’ depressing.”
    “I’ll be back before you know it. Go, drown your sorrows. Have a few for me.” She waved him off. Just as he turned to leave, a uniform dropped by her desk to let her know Sanford had been spotted in the parking lot. The news stopped Strickland dead in his tracks.
    She gave him a vague smile. “Go on, I can get one of the guys to walk me out,” she said.
    “Yeah, you could .” He plopped down in his chair and leaned back. “But you won’t.”
    “Really, Strickland—”
    “I’m not leaving this building without you,” he said, his tone stubborn enough to give her pause.
    She stood up. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
    He just stared at her.
    “I’m not afraid of Sanford.” The petty insistence she heard in her own voice was like an ice pick in her ear.
    Strickland nodded. “Yeah, I know.” He laced his fingers together before propping them behind his head. The definition of I’m not going anywhere . “Which makes you bat shit crazy.” It was no secret Sanford fought dirty; how he’d managed to hang onto his badge was a mystery.
    “I can take care of myself.”
    “Yup, I know that, too.” He looked at her and smiled. “But I’m your partner, which means I’m watching your back whether you want me to or not. Now, are you going to walk or am I pulling a caveman and dragging your ass out of here?”
    In the three months they’d been partners, she’d come to know that look. He’d sit there all night rather than leave without her. “Fine. You win. But touch me, and I break something important.” She scooped up O’Shea’s file and jammed it into her bag before shouldering it.
    He watched her swipe the papers off the printer tray. “What’s that?”
    “None of your business, Lancelot .” His coddling was almost more than she could stand.
    He gave her a deadpan expression. “Perhaps you’re confused about how a partnership is supposed to work—let me break it down for you. We help each other. Trust each other.” He leaned forward in his chair and glared up at her. “We tell each other when we decide to commit career suicide and pursue suspects off the clock.” He delivered the last line in a low tone meant for her ears only.
    Her stomach did a slow roll, tickling her tonsils on the upswing. “What are you talking about?” she said, but it was useless. Strickland was a pit bull. Once he caught the investigative scent, there was no shaking him. It was what made him so good at his job.
    “You’re good. Really good, but I know you lied to me this morning about the junior dirtbag you were checking out on your computer.” He smiled and pointed at her. “I don’t know what you’re doing.” He stopped smiling. “But whatever it is, I know you shouldn’t be doing it alone.”
    “I told you—”
    “A lie. I know this because I refreshed the search history on your computer while you were off playing grab-ass with Nickels. That kid you were running background on is thirty-five years old,” he said without an ounce of