“Mom, one, please, for the love of God, don’t call me that. I’m not three years old anymore. And two, I can handle myself. Besides, I think I’m getting through to this one. He’s a good kid. He just needs someone rooting for him.” I offer more than I probably should. My need to prove the good I do here outweighs my responsibility to keep my cases confidential.
“Darling, it doesn’t matter if you’re three or thirty. Hell, in another thirty years you’ll still be my Bertie.” I shouldn’t give her a hard time about the name. I know she’ll never stop calling me it. It’s been my childhood name since birth when Jett couldn’t pronounce Liberty. The real problem I have is being treated like I don’t know what I’m doing.
“Well, try to refrain from calling me it here,” I compromise. The last thing I need is someone to catch onto the hideous nickname.
“Okay, dear.” She too concedes, before standing. “We should probably get out of your hair.” I check the time, cringing when I see I was meant to meet Mitch inside five minutes ago.
“Yes, I need to head out. We'll rain check for sure.”
“Okay, I’m holding you to it. Come on, Arabella, Aunt B has to work now, time to say good-bye.” Mom stands and picks up her bag.
Arabella packs up her book before walking back over to me.
“You always have to work.” She pouts as I take her in a hug.
Jesus, she spends too much time with my mother.
“How about I take you on a picnic next weekend to the park with the big slide you like?” I ask her, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, please.” She claps her hands, clearly excited at the prospect.
“Don’t forget you have that girls’ night thingy next Saturday night,” Mom reminds me. The look on my face must convey my forgetfulness because her easy smile sets into worried lines. “You cannot cancel on Payton. She’s looking forward to a night off.” Her tone pushes me to appease her.
“Of course I won’t. I promise.”
Shit. I was looking forward to a quiet night in.
“Good, she needs this, darling, a good night out with some friends.”
“I agree.” I also think she needs to stop letting my brother use her as a booty call, but I don’t say anything on the matter. Mom probably doesn’t need to know the finer details. “Okay, you guys have a nice lunch.”
“Would be better if you were coming.” She folds me in her arms, and even though I have a few inches on her, she still embraces me the way only a mother does. Gently and fiercely. Comforting and knowingly. The kind of hug where you physically feel your worries leave your body.
“Mom–”
“I’m proud of you, Bertie.” She cuts me off. “What you’re doing here, how passionate you are. I may worry, but never forget how proud your father and I are of you,” she whispers before releasing me.
“Jesus, Mom. Get out of here before you make me cry.” I wave her off, not needing this kind of moment here at work.
“I’m going. I’m going.” She takes Arabella’s hand and leaves me alone to process her words.
It’s moments like this, in the comfort of my mom’s reassurance, I realize how lucky I truly am and that makes me want to be here, working closely with these boys. Offering the same kind of love and support to them when no one else can.
Sometimes I might not be able to make them feel a fraction of what my mom gives me in a simple hug and a few words, but I’ll always try.
Because it’s what her love taught me.
Three
Hetch
“Why don’t you put the gun down and we can talk about it?” I keep my voice low, controlled, and free of any hostility.
“Don’t fucking play me. You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?” His voice is harsh, panicked, but I don’t relent. I need to stay in control.
“I have a clear shot,” Fox speaks into my coms, letting me know he’s in position.
Mason Fox, our go-to weapons and training specialist. Fox has been on Team One for longer than anyone else. The best of the best and one mean son of a bitch.
I hit the mute button on the phone and speak into my earpiece. “Not until you get the order,” I reply, letting him know I’m still in control here. The air is thick with tension. My team is in place, ready to move at a moment’s notice. We’ve been going at it all day. I’m tired, the team’s tired, but in situations like this, tired doesn’t enter your vocabulary.
“I’ve given you my demands. I want this now. I'm the one in control. Do you understand?”
“I understand the situation, Devon, but you need to know what you’re asking for is not what I can give you right now.”
“Then you leave me no choice. I’m gonna have to start shooting.”
“You don’t want to do that, Devon. Work with me on this. Give me something more, something I can go back to my bosses with. Then maybe I can give you what you’re asking for.” It’s all bullshit. Devon isn’t getting what he wants. In fact, Devon isn’t real. Devon is being played by Sergeant Kaighn, Team Two’s tactical leader, and while Team One and I are in place ready to eliminate the threat he's posing, it’s all for training and review purposes.