“He didn’t do this, and you know it.” My voice wavers, and I hate that it does. I wish it were steady and strong. I am strong, but I feel like I’m on the verge of breaking.
“You don’t know shit.” I swear I see spit fly from his mouth as he sneers his words. “If you knew what I had to deal with from these lowlifes, you’d be chomping at the bit to get him in here and sweating in his seat.” 'Lowlifes' hits a nerve with me. I’ve been called a lowlife before more than once. I grew up in a trailer until my mom got clean. It wasn’t my fault. If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have lived there. I wanted real walls around my bedroom, not thin sheets of metal that barely protected me from anything that happened to bang against them in the middle of the night.
My only saving grace was my sister. I’ll never understand how we grew up in the same environment, yet turned out so different. After we moved to the suburbs, she just naturally fit in. It didn’t take long for me to settle down and find ways to fit in as well, but I never forgot who I was. She was a good girl through and through. It’s not that I was a bad girl. I just had to tame that spitfire in me and throw my favorite sparkly pink polish on top so I could blend in better.
He walks closer to me with a scowl on his face. “He’s one of the big fish in the family. We can get him to talk. I know we can.”
That’s what this is about. He's looking for anything he can get to put the Valettis behind bars. But not this way. I fucking hate that he’s chasing a name and bending the law. What’s right is right, and what’s wrong is wrong. And right now what Detective Harrison is doing is just plain wrong.
I learned long ago that if you just do what’s right, bad shit tends to stay away from you. Most of the time. My heart clenches in my chest and I almost reach for the locket I used to wear every day, but I don’t. Sometimes bad shit just happens, but you still try to do the right thing.
Harrison and his vendetta could fuck this up for me. I don’t care about past crimes. Shit, I don’t even care about whatever the hell the Valettis are doing now. I care about one name, and getting the information I need to make sure he pays. I care about revenge.
Some may think it’s wrong, taking revenge. But it’s not. Not for me. My sister deserves justice, and I won’t stop until she gets it.
I speak through clenched teeth, arching my neck to look this prick in his eyes. He might be taller than me, but he’s not going to intimidate me. At least not so much that it’s completely obvious to him. “You and I both know Petrov had that deal lined up with the Bratva in Kirov.” All the wire transfers and cell phone activity point to it. He knows it, and I know it. It’s fucking obvious, and international relations corroborated our theory. The Valettis put an end to that shit, and got a target on their backs for their troubles. Yet Detective Harrison is ready to pin the entire case on Thomas Valetti. The evidence is weak at best, but he’s pushing.
“You’ll stick to the script, or spend every fucking day sifting through these files, Kelly.”
“I’m not your goddamned secretary.” I walk past him and head straight to the Lieutenant’s office. I’m done with this conversation. Since I can’t kick his ass, I’ll just go around him. He’s not my boss, and I’m not going to put up with this.
I knock on the closed door with my white-knuckled fist and keep my back to Harrison as he stomps up behind me. His shadow looms over me. I can’t fucking stand him. He crosses the line whenever the hell he wants. I’m tired of him ordering me around and threatening me when he’s the one in the wrong. I know I’m new and I have to prove myself, but there comes a point when it’s just him being an asshole.
I raise my fist to pound against the door again, but it flies open.
“Harrison!” Jerry Weldon is an old man who’s tired of Harrison’s shit, too. I have to work hard to keep the grin from showing on my face.
“Lieutenant--” Harrison tries to speak over me, but Jerry cuts him off.
“I swear to God, if this is over the Valetti case, I’m going to fucking pull you off it, Harrison.” The grin slips into place, and I feel like a damn villain for enjoying this. But I can’t help it.
“He’s threatening to take me off, Lieutenant,” I say as calmly and professionally as possible. Which is easier than I’d thought it’d be. I can play the good girl part when I have to.
Jerry’s eyebrow cocks and he looks at Harrison like the fucking cockroach he is, then back at me. “I don’t have time for this shit, Kelly. Ignore his ass for now and do your damn job.” The blood drains from my face. Fuck. I hate that he’s scolding me like a petulant child. I just want Harrison off my ass. Is that too much to ask?
Again I feel like I’m in high school. The teachers looked at me with sympathy because they thought I just couldn't help that I was always getting into trouble. It was bullshit then, and it’s bullshit now. I swear to God some days I feel like I’ve taken crazy pills.
“He’s in holding now, and you’ll interview him together. Is that clear?” Jerry asks, looking between both of us.
“Yes, sir.” I answer clearly while Harrison practically mumbles. I didn’t bust my ass to get here so that I’d have to stand by men like him. He earned this position, and I should respect him for it. I try so hard to respect him for it. If he’d stop being an asshole, it’d be easier. I know the Valettis are big fish, but this is my case. And he needs to stop trying to shut me out of it.
I would cave and drop it if it weren’t for Petrov. He’s the only reason I’m here, and if Harrison knew why, he’d stop trying to push me off the case, because he’d know there’s no way I’m ever backing down. But none of them know; I don’t want them to. I can’t let them know this is personal.
Jerry gives me a tight smile, and I can see a faint glimmer of sympathy in his eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m standing next to this asshole and I don’t have a choice, or if it’s because he thinks I won’t make it.
I’m petite, I like the color pink, especially hot pink, and I’d rather smile and joke around than brood over something stupid. Or I used to, anyway. Now it seems like all I do is get pissed off. But that’s an exception. It’s because I’m forced to deal with an ass all day.
All of those girly touches I love so much make me seem young and naive. Everyone looks at me like I don’t belong, and maybe they’re right. Maybe I learned to like all of that girly stuff because it softened me up some. Maybe I just wanted to copy my sweet-as-sugar sister. I don’t know. I’m a tough girl, but I’m still a girl. I don’t understand why people don’t think I can be both, like they're mutually exclusive or something. Instead I’m judged and shunned, no matter how many times I prove I have what it takes.
I stopped wearing anything remotely fashionable to the social gatherings. Even though I have palettes upon palettes of eyeshadow, I keep my makeup simple, or I just don’t wear makeup at all. I don’t wear any jewelry or get my nails done anymore. I have to wear my hair up in a ponytail or a bun. When it’s down I look way too feminine. I do everything I can to look like I fit in, because apparently that’s a requirement here. It doesn’t matter that I graduated at the top of my class back at the academy. A girly girl can’t survive here. Or so they say behind my back.