Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Damn.

What had Welker meant, they’d be revisiting this? What had she agreed to? Moira’s brain felt like it was going haywire in her head.

And…had he really, before catching himself, said that she meant a lot to him? It had to have been a slip of the tongue. But still, the rock-of-a-man hadn’t hesitated to comfort her when she’d been close to breaking down.

The tears she hadn’t let fall still clouded her eyes, so she turned her back and wiped them away with her sleeve. It was too late for Welker not to see the moisture, but she certainly didn’t want any of her teammates to catch her being emotional.

“Why do you do that?” Welker asked quietly.

After telling Mike and Sin who had just entered the room, that “everything goes out the windows”, he’d taken Moira’s arm and steered her out into the hallway.

“Do what?” she asked.

“Shut down your real emotions in front of your friends?”

“ Teammates ,” she corrected, then thought about what she’d say next. She could give Welker an earful of why she was so fucked up, or a truncated version of her childhood that was PG.

She went with the lessor of two evils.

“I wasn’t encouraged, as a youngster, to have feelings. Nor did I want to with my…situation.”

Moira knew that was cryptic, and that Welker would silently chew on it for a few hours or days until he came up with just the right question to draw more out of her.

But…maybe when he asked, she’d give him what he was looking for. Perhaps it was time she started sharing why she was so fucked up. Maybe, once she gave him an earful, Welker would also share, then would stop engaging with her, and haunting her freaking dreams. Once he found out the kind of abnormal shit she was made of, he’d put her firmly back in the “teammate zone”, and she could get the hell over him.

“Moira?” Mason called up the stairs.

She looked down to see that he was on the phone. Her chief, thankfully, was giving her a needed reprieve from Welker’s probing.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Do you remember Dean Christopherson?”

“Crash?’ Moira answered, slowly coming down the stairs with Welker at her back. “Sure. He and Adeline left Hilly’s camp a few weeks ago.”

Where was the boss going with this?

“Then you probably know that he’s part of a group of folks in San Antonio who go above and beyond.”

She did. Several of Crash’s friends had come to the team’s rescue in other times of need; Cruz Livingston who was FBI, Conor Paxton, a Parks and Wildlife officer, and Quint Axton with the SAPD had all helped save the day when some of her teammates’ women had been in jeopardy.

“Uh, huh.” Her curiosity was peaked as she came to the bottom of the steps and stopped.

“Well, one of theirs, Hayden Yates, is with the Sheriff’s Department there.”

“Okay,” Moira raised a brow, urging Mase to continue.

“So, I explained your compromised situation, told her your department was short-staffed, and that you’d been put on leave for an indefinite period of time. Hayden was…intrigued, to say the least, by what’s going on, as I knew she would be when given the details. After we talked, she accessed the national website that all sheriffs’ departments share, and found that Gladstone is advertising for help.”

Right. The prick couldn’t have been bothered to hire anyone while she’d been busting her ass covering all the extra shifts, but now that she was out of commission, he was more than willing to look for extra hands.

“What does that have to do with…all this?” she asked shrewdly.

Moira had an idea as to what was going on. She wasn’t stupid.

“It seemed to me and Hayden—and a lot of our team who’ve been discussing it—that something’s off with how Gladstone treated not only the MC investigation and trial, basically leaving it all to you, but also with the attitude they’ve adopted where your break-in is concerned.”

Moira nodded her agreement, waiting patiently for Mason to get to his point.

“The office Hayden works in is a tight-knit bunch, and when she told the story to her boss and asked about applying for the job—bogusly and undercover of course—he readily agreed that something sounded fishy, and if anyone could find out what was going down, it would be Hayden.”

“So she’s…?” Moira was dumbstruck.

“…putting together a kick-ass résumé with stellar references from her boss, and hoping she’ll get the job.”

Moira frowned. “If Gladstone, Pickenstahl, or the pair of them are rotten, Hayden might be putting herself in danger.”

Mason laughed, holding the phone out for Moira as the person on the other end of the line obviously had something to say about that. “She wants to talk to you.”

Moira hesitantly reached for the phone. It was one thing for her teammates to come to her rescue. It was another thing entirely for a complete stranger to ride in on a white horse.

“Hello?” Moira asked, tentatively.

“Hi, Moira. I’m Hayden, and I can’t wait to meet you. Mason says you’re an awesome part of his team, and I’m so sorry that shit has been dropping on you like it has. If all goes well, I’ll be digging into your woes within the week.”

Moira swallowed, feeling that a warning was necessary. “You know you could be putting a target on your back,” she stated.

Hayden laughed. “Which is why my very overprotective husband, Boone, will be joining me. I’m no slouch, but he’s a big-bad-cowboy, takes his protective streak of me very seriously, and kicks some serious ass, so we’ll be fine. Besides, we’ve always wanted to visit Maine.”

What could Moira say to that? In one sentence, Hayden had pretty much negated all Moira’s arguments.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am. I just hope I can convince your boss that I’ll be a worthy addition to the department.”

Moira pondered that for a second, and decided to give her a few pointers. “Just agree with everything he says, and don’t come off sounding too self-assured. That’s where Gladstone and I have had our problems. Pickenstahl, too. They’re old school, and thinks that we women should take a back seat to our male counterparts.”

“Fuck that,” Hayden responded vehemently, which made Moira like the deputy, even more. “But if playing the subservient female is what it takes to get the job, I can pretend, at least for a little while,” she chortled.

“What will you be looking for if they take you in?” Moira asked, curious. She had a few ideas, but wanted to hear from Hayden, what she thought to accomplish.

“Scuttlebutt on how your boss and your colleagues actually feel about you. A deep, surreptitious dive into what they’re up to in their off time with the help of a friend named Tex. I’m also very good at making myself extremely pleasant, and even invisible when the need arises, so I’m sure people will talk while I’m around. They’ll never suspect that I might have an interest in what’s going on with you.”

“I have to say that a lot of the guys in the office are pretty good about buckling down and working with me when the situation calls for it,” Moira told her. “There are only a few who simply…ignore me.”

Hayden grumbled, and Moira continued.

“In particular, I guess, if I were you, I’d be looking into Gladstone, Pickenstahl, and a newer deputy, Henley Murphy, who’s been with the department for about six months, ever since he took the place of one of our deputies who was killed while on duty.”

“Tell me about that,” Hayden urged.

It was a sad chapter in their department. Moira had liked the young, father of two, who’d been killed.

“Deputy Alstead was beaten to death one night about eight months ago,” Moira related with a bite to her voice. “Gladstone spearheaded the investigation, but never found his murderers.”

“Never easy to lose a colleague,” Hayden responded lamentably. “And Murphy?”

“Since his hiring, he’s been completely sucking up to both our bosses’ asses.”

“Got it,” Hayden replied. “I can make this work,” she said with confidence. “Give me your number so I can let you know if I’ve been hired, then we can keep in touch, sharing info as things unfold.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Moira shot off her contact info and received Hayden’s in return. She really liked the sound of the no-nonsense woman.

“Talk soon,” Hayden replied, then disconnected.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” Mason asked, smiling as Moira handed back his phone.

“You’ve met her?” Moira questioned.

“A few times. You know I went to college with Quint, right?”

Moira nodded.

“Well, Hayden is one of his close friends. When I go out to visit, we inevitably end up at Quint’s favorite bar, surrounded by his buds.”

It sounded a little bit like what this SWAT team had been doing on their off time, and even though Moira hadn’t joined in all that much, she’d envied the easy comradery. Maybe she’d?—

“Speaking of which…” Cisco stopped next to them on his way out to the dumpster; a busted-up kitchen cabinet in his hands. “A bunch of us are checking out that new place for drinks tonight that just opened in town. It’s called Harper’s. You and Everlee going to join us?” he asked Mason.

“Sure. What time?”

“How does eight sound? That gives everyone time to go home and eat first. We’ll throw back a few beers, your preggers wife can sip seltzer, and,” he grinned, “they have a slew of skee-ball machines in an adjacent room so I can show off my prowess,” he added slyly.

Welker snorted. “You know I always kick your ass when we go to Old Orchard Beach, Cisco.” Not waiting for a reply to that challenge, Welk turned to Moira. “What do you say? You want to go?”

Moira hesitated. He was inviting her? Specifically? “I’ve, uh, never played skee-ball.”

“What?” Both Welker and Cisco stared at her as if she had three heads.

“Is that a crime?” She immediately got her back up. Yeah, she knew about those boardwalk arcade places, but she’d never been to one. It wasn’t as if her father had given a shit about her entertainment when she was young. During college, she supposed she could have tagged along when some of her loosely bonded group went, but she’d been afraid of embarrassing herself with her lack of skills.

“Nope,” Welker was quick to reassure her. “But now you have to come.”

Moira didn’t know how to wiggle out of the offer. She was staying with Welker, and Welker was clearly going. So…

“I guess,” she shrugged.

“Good. It’s a plan,” Cisco replied merrily. “I’ll go see how many more of our team I can round up.”

Knowing Cisco-the-gregarious, Moira figured he’d have nearly all fifty SWAT members crowding around tables, not to mention the “significant others” a number of her teammates had added over the past couple years. Moira hoped he’d warned the manager at Harper’s that they’d be taking over the place.

Welker gently grasped her elbow, which gave her a pleasant jolt, and drew her off to the side. “We don’t have to go if you’re fearful to be seen in public, but with most of our team present, I’m pretty sure you’ll be safe.”

Moira wasn’t concerned for her safety. She was thinking about her social discomfort. And…what the hell would she wear?

“I don’t have any clothes,” she let fall from her mouth.

Welker raised a brow, giving her a significant perusal, up and down, to which she almost blushed.

“What’s wrong with what you’ve got on?”

Typical guy. First, she was wearing what she’d call, average-chick-workout-clothes, and who went to a venue like Cisco had described, in black-stretchy stuff? Second, as soon as she’d begun pitching in to throw her busted up stuff into the dumpster, she’d become dirty, sweaty, and probably stinky.

Moira simply gave Welker a look.

He smirked. “Is that your ‘someone’s damned clueless’ stare?”

“Got it in one, Vestore,” she answered back.

“Okay, then. New clothes it is. I know it’s not ideal, but will the big box store just outside of town work for finding something? With the MC possibly trolling for you, I don’t think we should be walking down Main Street checking out the boutiques.”

“Agreed,” Moira answered. “And that will be fine.”

What would Welker say if she told him she’d never stepped foot in any of the cute little stores so many of her counterparts frequented? He probably wouldn’t be surprised. Her purchases were normally made at the big chain he’d mentioned, and limited to men’s sweats which he well knew.

Moira bit back a sigh. She still hated shopping in any form, but she could suck it up and make a targeted assault on the women’s clothing department to find something appropriate.

And there was another plus to shopping in the extensive store. “While we’re there, we can also buy food so we don’t have to go to the market in town.”

“Great idea,” Welker agreed. “Problems solved. Now let’s get moving so we can have some fun on our Saturday night.”

Right. Moira barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Fun.

With all the available hands—Moira counted no less than twenty-five teammates who’d volunteered to help—it took less than three hours to clean up all her things. That didn’t, of course, include removing the nasty painted words, but those could wait for later. That particular damage would need some special attention.

As the day wound down, and finally most of the bigger pieces of smashed furniture were tossed, Moira grew a little…sad, realizing that her whole life actually fit into one dumpster. But it was even more depressing that—other than her bird-stuff—none of it meant anything.

Was this really where she was at thirty-four years old?

Maybe it was time for a change; time to stop letting her asshole father dictate how she lived. He’d never thought her worthy of his home and his fortune, but Moira was out from under him now, and had been for a dozen years, so why was she still hearing his voice in her head, issuing his fucked-up edicts? She should be making her own choices, instead of hiding herself away as she’d had to do for so many years. Perhaps her decisions, moving forward, should reflect the person she was, deep inside, instead of the woman she’d been conditioned to be.

It was a scary prospect, but she had a feeling if she opened her heretofore closed door the smallest crack, a lot of her teammates would be walking through…with Welker at the front of the line.

Moira and Welk wrestled the last item—her mangled couch—into the dumpster, and with her mind in a serious state of flux at the finality of it all, she blurted out, “Why are you bothering with me, anyway?”

Oh, fuck. She’d really asked that?

Welker wiped his hands down his jeans. She could tell he was slowly contemplating his answer.

“You want to talk? Here?” he finally asked thoughtfully. “I did mention that we’d be…revisiting things once we were alone.”

How could she forget?

Moira looked around. “I don’t see anybody right now.”

Welker snorted “Seriously? You think what I have to say can be done in a few minutes, next to a dumpster?”

Moira wasn’t going to give up. She’d dared make the first move toward lowering her defenses, and momentum was everything.

“How about a hint, then?” She stared him down, hoping he would give her some kind of clarification. She didn’t know if his newfound interest in her was simply him being altruistic, whether he was playing her for some kind of weird jollies, or if he really, truly…liked her.

Welker took a deep breath. “Okay. Fine. You felt it, Moira. I know you did.” His already black irises, darkened.

She knew what he was talking about, and swallowed convulsively.

“There’s something between us,” he continued. “Something I’ve never felt with any woman before you, and it needs to be explored.”

Well, shit. That was unexpected, and as far as Moira could tell—with the team beginning to emerge from the empty house, truncating the moment—Welker was dead serious.