Conn stared at him.
“You’re right. That is grounds for termination, except when you can use your newfound detective skills and your experience as an undercover officer to get inside the ring and help us take it apart from the inside. Unless what you’re really saying is you won’t be a bad cop, but you also won’t be a snitch.”
The option of working to bring down the bad cops hadn’t occurred to him; he’d seen only the chance to be in or to be out. “You want me to work for him?”
“Right now I don’t have a case,” Hawthorn said. “We’ve got suspicions, a paper trail, trends. But I don’t have hard and fast evidence. You can get me the evidence we need to shut this down … if you agree to investigate your fellow officers. I know what they say. Don’t betray a brother or sister in blue. But when your brother or sister in blue betrays everything the department stands for, betrays the trust of the community he or she is sworn to protect and serve, then you call upon a different loyalty: the loyalty to the cops who stand against corruption.”
Like Kenny, Hawthorn made playing on his team sound cool, like being chosen, one of the elite in the worst possible way. Everyone rotated through Internal Affairs; it helped reduce the stigma of being the snitch who investigated and prosecuted other cops. But that didn’t change the “us against them mentality” most cops had for Internal Affairs. Kenny’s club was the cool kids smoking pot and ditching school. But unlike Kenny, Hawthorn’s invitation was a more refined, more elite version of being a cop. It was being one of the best cops, the ones who held themselves to a higher standard every single day, in every single encounter with the public or with their fellow officers.
He didn’t have to give up the only family he’d ever known.
Conn picked up his gun, then his badge from Hawthorn’s desk. He secured the holster on his right hip, then pinned his badge to his belt pocket. Despite the added weight of the gun he felt lighter, freer.
Hawthorn’s gaze sharpened. “You’re taking a big risk. There’s no guarantee they won’t kill a cop to protect themselves.”
Conn shrugged. “If I can take him down, I will. Leave this house a little cleaner than it was when I got here.”
Hawthorn nodded. “By the way, McCormick. As Ms. Ward’s body man you were isolated, alone, and off-balance,” Hawthorn mused. “And you handled it like a pro.”
Conn blinked.
“All those things your superior officers write you up for? The inability to control your impulses, your hotheaded approach, your total disregard for protocol and safety? It’s one thing to keep your head when bullets are flying. It’s another to do it when it’s the constant strain of a psychological threat. Nice job, Officer McCormick.”
“Thanks,” Conn said. The tips of his ears were turning red. He resisted the urge to shove his hands in his pockets of his utility pants.
“You’re welcome,” Hawthorn said genially. “Now go back to work, pretend I just reamed your ass, and help us take down these bastards.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A few days later, Cady stood on the corner of the busiest intersection in SoMa, Cady juice in one hand, her guitar case in the other. She’d had dinner with Chris while Conn had another in a series of mysterious meetings he’d been involved in lately; she didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell. Chris had wandered off in search of a gift for Natalie. With Conn’s watch cap tugged low over her eyebrows and ears, and her hair caught in a scarf, Cady had so far managed to avoid being recognized. A familiar energy pumped through her veins—anticipation, excitement, fear, and the thrill of doing something that left her both intensely vulnerable and intensely happy. It was, she realized, a throwback to the girl she’d been, singing anywhere, anytime, for anyone just for the sheer joy of it.
The group of kids playing Christmas carols on the opposite corner finished up and packed up their instruments and stands. She waited until they’d piled into their mom’s minivan before heading over to claim the corner, then took a picture of the street sign, Christmas lights dangling in the enormous potted tree behind it, and sent it to social media. Christmas carol sing-along, SoMa … come on down.