Page 4 of Cross the Line
"Hawley has been with Violent Crimes for eight years. Excellent clearance rate. Exceptional investigative skills." TheInspector's tone hardened. "Also has a habit of going solo against direct orders. During a hostage situation last month, he entered the building alone when specifically told to wait for backup."
I glanced sideways. Hawley stared straight ahead. His jaw was working. The small flex of muscle near his temple that told me, even on first acquaintance, that he was holding something off.
"Refused partnerships for the past three years. Intimidated two officers into requesting transfers. More complaints about his communication approach than anyone in the Division."
"Sir, respectfully, maybe we could start with temporary partnering on cases, rather than..."
"Did I ask for your input, Detective Carlson?" The Inspector's response cut clean.
"No, sir."
"Hawley has already been briefed on your situation. The PR disaster at 52. The leak that compromised a year-long investigation. Your habit of prioritizing image over procedure." Murphy's focus narrowed. "You're both on equal footing here. Both one mistake from termination."
Hawley shifted slightly. The movement was small. I felt it anyway. A ripple of tension that made me acutely aware of the few inches between us. Of his heat. His presence. The way he made the office feel airless.
"Now. As I explained to Carlson, this program requires more than working together during shifts."
Hawley's head turned a fraction toward me, then back to the Inspector. I caught his profile in passing. Sharp. Unforgiving. Striking.
"You'll be sharing departmental housing until you prove you can function as a unit."
The silence that followed was deafening.
I felt Hawley go completely still beside me. Not the stillness of calm. The stillness of a man deciding whether to fight or leave. His breathing changed. Became deliberately measured. I found myself matching it without meaning to.
"Sir, respectfully..." Hawley's tone was low and rough.
Murphy cut him off with a raised palm. He placed a single key on the desk between us. "Building's secure. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, common areas. Standard Service housing assignment."
One bathroom. I'd be sharing a bathroom with this much barely contained violence. Seeing him first thing in the morning. Last thing at night. Hearing him through the walls.
Why did that thought make my mouth go dry?
"Inspector. I have a condo in Yorkville. A lease. Furniture." The words sounded hollow even to me.
"And I have my own place." Each word from Hawley was deliberate and heavy.
"Not anymore." Murphy's expression didn't move. "Essential belongings will be delivered this afternoon."
"This is completely unreasonable. You can't just..." My carefully constructed composure slipped.
"I can and I have." The Inspector stood. "Move in tonight. I'll be conducting spot checks to ensure compliance."
Hawley's grip on the armrest tightened. His knuckles went white. For a moment I thought he might break it. Or hit someone. The violence sat just under his skin, and some treacherous part of me wanted to see it come out.
"For how long?" Hawley's register had dropped lower. Dangerous now.
"Until I'm convinced you can function as partners. Or until one of you quits." Murphy's attention traveled between us. "Try to game the system, sleep elsewhere, fake your cooperation, and you're both fired on the spot. No appeals. No second chances."
I fought to keep my expression neutral. Inside, panic clawed at my chest. Not just at losing my home. My one private place. At the thought of being trapped in close quarters with someone who already despised everything about me. Someone whose presence made me feel exposed. Inadequate. Someone who made me notice things I shouldn't be noticing. Like the way his throat moved when he swallowed.
"This starts now." Murphy slid the key toward us. "Questions?"
Hawley reached for it first. His fingertips brushed mine for a fraction of a second. Warm skin. Rough texture. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through me that I desperately hoped he didn't notice.
"No, sir." Flat. Controlled.
"Detective Carlson?" The Inspector's stare locked with mine, challenging.
