“HOW LONG is he going to be in there? Quinn, I mean.” Inspector Browne nodded toward the double doors Quinn’d disappeared through. “Because now’s the time to do any talking we need to be doing, and I don’t want to get him involved in this if we don’t have to.”
Brownie was a throwback to Rafe’s childhood, possessing a semi-uncle status among the Morgans and their satellites—namely Sionn and Rafe—and now Riley’s senior partner. He was slimmer than Rafe remembered, his lackluster gray suit hanging on his shoulders as if he were a little boy playing dress up in his father’s clothes. A bout of appendicitis was to credit his weight loss, that and a hard-nosed wife who’d laid down the law about sweets. The man’d reminded Rafe of a basset hound before he’d trimmed up. If anything, the loss of twenty pounds only added to his jowls, making Browne look like he was one step away from starring in a movie with a Scottie named Jock.
Kane’d pulled Rafe into a conversation that’d obviously been started way before the doctor descended from the mount to tell them Brigid was going to be okay. An alcove served as a de facto war room, a cluster of folding chairs appropriated from the waiting area giving them a place to sit as they plotted. Riley sat in one, his long feet tapping out a rhythm so off beat Rafe was a second away from bashing his head in when a look from his partner stopped him. Kel Sanchez joined them a second later, handing out cups of bad coffee turned milky by watered-down creamer, much like the cups Rafe’d tossed before he’d been dragged over.
“Con and Sionn going to keep the Sinners boys busy?” Browne grunted at Kane’s nod. “Nosy pieces of shit. Don’t want them in this.”
“Hey, I’m one of those boys now,” Rafe protested, sniffing at the coffee. It smelled as bad the second time as it had the first. “’Course I just stuck my nose in this shit.”
“You don’t count. You’re scared of me. Those other two—the Addams Family twins—those two would be in our shit just because they think they should be.” Browne pointed at one of the chairs. “Sit. All of you. Riley, you take notes.”
“Quit your bitching,” Kane cut Riley off before he uttered a word from his opened mouth. “You’re the junior here.”
“And apparently I don’t count.” Rafe shrugged off Riley’s middle finger when it pointed his way. “Shit, they let just anyone into the SFPD now.”
“Settle down. Rafe, you’re here because I need to have you keep an eye on some things, and sadly, you’re my best bet in this mess.” Browne took one of the coffees, slurping at its rim like it didn’t taste like cat piss colored with a handful of powdered shit. “As of right now, the two of you—Morgans—are answering to me. Captain Book’s just agreed to let you ride shotgun on this. Kane, Sanchez is going to take lead on anything you’re assigned. As far as any of your reports go, he’s primary. If there’s any reason you feel the need to do something, you’re to run it by Sanchez first. He’s to make the call.”
“At least on paper,” Sanchez interjected. “Brownie and Lieutenant Casey don’t think you two are going to go all Wallace on someone, but let’s face it, some asshole just shot your mother. Department’s probably a hair away from asking you guys to step back and take a breather.”
“Not something I want to do,” Kane growled at his partner. Riley nodded, his face stern and set in a frown.
It was interesting seeing Kane pull on his full cop face. It was all business with the second Morgan son, and the fourth as well. Riley’s build ran more to Quinn’s, slightly leaner than his beefy oldest brothers, but Donal’d left his stamp. Both men sat forward on their seats, focused intently on the other men sitting at the table, and it was clear to all, they had one thing on their minds—taking out whomever put their mother under a knife.
And who probably wasn’t done fucking with Quinn’s life.
“One question, why am I here? Yeah, keeping my eye on things… what things?” Rafe raised his hand, pulling the older inspector’s attention away from the case files he’d begin laying out on a triangular table someone’d pulled over for them to use. “Not a cop. And I don’t know enough about who Quinn’s got in his life now to say shit about who to trust.”
“That’s why I want you here. Kane said you don’t know anyone in Quinn’s circle but Quinn, and apparently….” Rafe couldn’t read the look Browne exchanged with Kane, but they’d definitely come to some sort of agreement between them. “Well, since Quinn’s… with you, I want you to watch out for anyone who approaches him.”