Retorts jumped to her tongue, ones about being a glorified babysitter. The look in Major Nichols’s eyes told her to keep them to herself.
“What kind of cop is this guy?” she asked. “What’s his service record?”
“He has no service record, Detective.”
“I don’t understand. If he has the rank of—”
Then she did. “He graduated from his hocus-pocus academy with the rank of detective. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
She saw from their expressions that she’d guessed correctly. It pissed her off. Big time. She, like every other sworn officer in the room, had worked for their rank, paying their dues by putting their life on the line every, stinking day.
“Son of a bitch. Does he even know how to use a firearm?”
Chief Howard ignored her question. “The Sixers program is top secret. No one other than those personally involved are to know anything about it. Beyond this room, Detective Harris is just like every other officer on the force.”
It took a moment for the ramifications of that to sink in. When they had, she shook her head. “How do I explain him?”
“You don’t, Detective. Your partner moved up and we paired you with Harris.”
“Let me get this straight. Carmine’s promoted. But instead of replacing him with someone from within, you’ve imported this Harris dude.”
“Correct.”
She shook her head. “There’re going to be some mighty pissed-off folks. Off the top of my head, I can name a half dozen deserving candidates in the Eighth alone.”
“That’s not your concern.”
But it was because she was part of the team. “Since the truth’s not an option, what’s the official story? And it better be good, or my partner’s going to have a great big bullseye on his back.”
Captain O’Shay spoke up. “I can help you with that, Detective. He has connections to the force.”
Micki looked her way. Patti O’Shay had broken down a lot of NOPD walls, making it easier for the next generation of women cops. Like her. There were those who had whined “nepotism,” pointing to O’Shay’s familial ties to the force, including that of her husband, Sammy. The naysayers, in Micki’s opinion, suffered from sour grapes. Patti O’Shay had earned her rank, every bit of it.
“What connections?” Micki asked.
“Me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Sammy had a younger sister, Erin. At seventeen, she ran off with her boyfriend. At eighteen she had a child, a boy.”
“Zach Harris?”
“That’s the story were using. She put him up for adoption.” O’Shay passed Micki a file folder. “Unknowingly, he followed in the family footsteps and became a cop.”
“Nice scenario so far. How did you find him?”
“He found us. Searching for his roots.”
“And his mother?”
“He hasn’t located her yet.”
Micki flipped open the file. The best lies contained elements of truth. The more elemental those truths, the more believable the lie. Truth: Sammy O’Shay, like his wife, had been a captain. During Hurricane Katrina, he’d been killed in the line of duty. Also true: He’d had one brother, Sean, who’d retired the force shortly after. He and his wife had moved to Florida.
And, obviously, the third truth had to do with the sister. Micki nodded. “Sammy really did have a sister named Erin who ran away at seventeen.”
Captain O’Shay nodded. “She was wild, always getting in trouble. When she ran off, she was pregnant. Or so she said.”
“Sammy never tried to find her?”
“He and Sean both did. Without luck.”
“What do you really know about her child?”
“Nothing. We don’t even know if she actually gave birth.”
“And the adoption angle, that’s part of the fabrication?”
“Not entirely. Detective Harris was, himself, adopted. All he knows about his birth mother is she was young and from the south.”
Micki let that sink in a moment. “And Carmine’s promotion—you pulled strings.”
“Yes.” Captain O’Shay paused. “So you see, I’ll be the one with a bullseye on my back.”
But Harris would, too, Micki knew. Without a doubt. And depending on her level of involvement, so would she.
“With all due respect, Chief Howard, this blows.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. “Welcome to the Sixers program, Detective Dare. We’ll give you an hour to familiarize yourself with your role. The real party starts after that.”
“The real party?”
“When your Sixer arrives.” He stood. “Congratulations. The future begins now.”
Chapter Two
Monday, July 8
7:40 A.M.
Micki stopped Major Nichols on his way out. “Could I have a word in private?”
She imagined that in his heyday, Frank Nichols cut a formidable figure. He topped six feet three inches and had the shoulders of a professional football player. Although more paunch than punch now, his physical presence still demanded respect.
To hell with all that, she was fighting mad. And when Micki Dee Dare got mad, smart folks took heed.