Page 96 of Slack Tide Kill

"See what?" Liam spat.

"Call me," Logan said, then left.

Liam tried to contain that; everything Logan had said, all the rage it brought up, but it just kept coming. Anger at Logan, at Sally, at Wilcot, at the last three months and Dark Peak and the utter sodding mess his life had become.

He couldn't take it anymore. He knew he owed a full debrief but that felt impossible now. He wouldn't know what to say or how to say it. He checked the time on his phone. Past 3. It was always happy hour somewhere.

He shoved the table back, knocking the sandwiches over. They fell to the floor, and he felt a perverse sting of pleasure. It could all wait. He stalked out of the tiny cell. There was no one to see as he shoved his way out into the car park. No Audi in the lot. No Mustang.

The press didn't pay him any attention as he loped into the gathering gloom. Evening was setting across Rye already. His neck had a crick that wouldn't go away, aching with every tiny shift of his head. His clothes were still soaked and stinking, but he didn't care.

It was always happy hour somewhere.

39 DUTY

Sally sat at the desk in the training room, head resting in her hands, reliving her final rush across the field. Liam shouting at her to stop. Then the tears on his cheeks afterward. The way he'd just stared at nothing.

Maybe she'd broken open the case. Maybe she'd just broken her partner.

How long had passed, now, sitting here? She checked the clock. 4 p.m. A few hours, at least. Aches filled her. Whiplash from the crash. Her neck, her back.

Still, she ached to run. Start and just keep going until every bit of feeling was gone. Just like every night, every day, every moment since she'd first come to this country.

She needed another Mud Beast. She needed to get out on the beach and pound sand. She rose to her feet and started pacing. She needed–

The door opened. It was the paramedic again, John Logan.

"No," Sally said sharply, not stopping her pacing. He didn't say anything, just stood there in the doorway holding a tray. Sandwiches, coffee, a chocolate bar. "Leave it and go."

"Believe me, I'd love to do that," Logan said, as calm and steady as ever. "But I've become some kind of gopher for your DCI. Delivering snacks."

"So deliver them. You've done your part, John. You can go."

Logan just tilted his head. "Roarke Rook is in hospital, if you're interested. Compound fracture of the humerus, with infection a possibility, given it was soaked in that runoff water." He looked at her. "It's a possibility for you too, with all your cuts and grazes. You need a proper shower followed by proper treatment."

Sally's glare hardened. "From a proper paramedic? Are there no real doctors in Rye?"

He smiled. "You know how much real doctors cost? Come on, Officer Rogers. Besides, you're kind of stinking up the station." He gestured around the training space. "Everyone else is too polite to say anything, so they asked me, the gopher, and…"

He trailed off.

Sally snorted. Doubtless that was a lie, but he had a point. She was back in the ice box anyway, pending further debriefs.

"Fine," she snarled, and stalked directly toward him. "Move."

Back in the shower, foul-smelling water streamed from her body and hair. It did feel good to be clean. Back in the bullpen, heads turned as she emerged. Blond hair pulled back so tightly the scar tissue in her scalp tingled. She eyed them and stalked past.

DI Gemmell raised a hand and shoved a path through chairs toward her. "Officer Rogers, have you got a minute?"

Sally stopped outside the training suite. "We're not supposed to talk. DCI's orders."

"I know, but it's your partner, O'Connell. He, uh… it looks like he's left the station."

Sally stared at him blankly. "What?"

"He's due to give his full debrief, but he's gone."

She frowned. "And you think I know where he is? I've been ordered not to talk to him either."