NOT EDITED

Back home from a boxing session intense enough to hopefully keep Ed out of his head for a few hours, Dallas dropped into his desk chair, snagging the folder Bo had given him at the station. Though he was still supposed to be ‘taking it easy’ on his shoulder, he had needed the workout, had needed Ed to shut the hell up for ever an hour. He’d been careful with the arm, if nothing else. That had to count for something.

He kicked his feet up on his desk and flipped open the folder.

The first page in the file was Bo’s report on the scene and his initial impressions on the body. For instance, he had noticed right away that blood had pooled in the victim’s back, despite being found on his stomach. According to Bo, the fact that livor mortis had been unaltered by his position in the sand meant that he had been dead more than six hours.

The internal temperature taken at the scene had confirmed it, placing his time of death around eleven o’clock the night before.

Dallas flipped through a few pages, stopping at the autopsy results. Though Bo had included more paperwork about a body than Dallas had ever known possible, his eyes went to the blonde’s computer-like handwriting on the half-sheet of paper clipped to the top of the page.

Silver,

You’ll learn rather quickly that you don’t need to truly understand most of the paperwork in this file, but I’m required to include it for eventual trial-related reasons. I’ll include your key points below.

* I’ve been unable to identify the victim up to this point; I’m running his picture through the DMV’s database

* the victim appears to have a needle mark on his inner arm, near the elbow of the left arm; I won’t know what kind of drugs were injected into his system until after the tox screen comes back

* four of his organs were removed: the heart, both kidneys, and the right lung (the left has tumors in the superior lobe)

* I haven’t had the chance to identify them all, but many of his carvings translate to ‘strength’ or ‘power’ in various languages, religions, and cultures

You may do whatever you please with that information, and as long as you have no intention of bringing up Burke and involving yourself in that situation, you may call me with any questions you have. I’ve included my cell phone number below.

Dallas let out a breath, tossing the folder onto his desk. He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned up to pull his cell phone from his pocket. He added Bo’s number to his contacts and called it, pressing the device to his ear.

“Austen.”

“Hey, it’s Dallas Silver.”

“Yes.”

Dallas cleared his throat. “Apologies again for involving myself.”

“Okay. Did you read the file?”

“Yeah, yeah. Umm, why do you think the organs were taken?” Dallas asked.

“The same reasons the symbols were carved: for something he believes in,” Bo said, as if that answered every damn question in the world.

“And, uh, what kind of belief would that be?” Dallas asked.

“It’s hard to say. There’s no specific belief system that tells its believers to carve symbols into themselves and have someone else remove their organs. “Much of what I can say about it past that would only be an assumption.”

“Are you against assumptions?”

“I’m against giving assumptions to people I’m inexperienced with, yes. The wrong assumption can and will lead an investigator down the wrong path, not to mention a closed-minded path. Being uncertain as to if the investigator can ignore that assumption if need be is a necessity for me,” Bo said.

“Can we assume I’m pretty damn good at following any path I can in an investigation?”

“As much as I’d like to, your investigations previous to this one have been… different. You aren’t after someone selling drugs. You’re after a murderer.”

“Many of those dealers and ‘someones’ that were selling drugs were also cold-blooded killers,” Dallas said.

“Yes, but those murders weren’t part of your investigation. Those murders were investigated by a homicide detective, maybe even the FBI.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Dallas kicked his feet up on his desk again, his injured arm resting against his chest. “How long does it take before you trust me enough to give me some assumptions?”

“If I told you that, you’d ask our lieutenant for a new analyst buddy.”

Dallas laughed. “All right, man.  No new analyst buddy, then. I’ll just have to work my ass off for you to trust me.”

“And I’ll wish you the best of luck with that endeavor.”

Dallas snorted. Bo’s sentences were entirely deadpan, and Dallas had a feeling he had no damn idea that he was funny in any sense of the word. “What if I pitch a couple theories to you? Would you be cool with that?”

“Is that something you feel you need to do?”

“It’s what I would’ve done in Narcotics?”

Bo fell silent for a moment. “Okay.”

We should invite him over. We could ask about Burke, find out a little more than we already know. Yes?

Dallas shook his head. He had hoped his workout would keep Ed at bay for a bit longer. Sometimes he lucked out with his boxing sessions and managed to silence the bastard for a couple hours. Tragically, the days where he ‘lucked out’ had become far less frequent again. “The fact that he had other people willing to carve him up like that over an extended period of time makes me feel like we’ve got some sort of cult on our hands.”

“It could certainly be a possibility. Admittedly, it would be hard to convince one’s standard friends or family members to cut symbols into their skin for a year or two,” Bo said.

“Yeah, I was thinking much the same there. You said the symbols are from different religions and whatnot, right?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s pretty unlikely that we’re looking at a religious cult?”

“That’s… a less than straightforward answer.”

“Fine with me. We don’t have to see the case in only black or white, yeah?”

Again, Bo’s silence hung in the air for several seconds. “I suppose not.” He cleared his throat. “In the same way that different cultures see specific actions differently–for instance, an action being respectful in some cultures but disrespectful as others–there’s always the opportunity for a religion to adopt symbols from other religions, though they usually change the name and the meaning. That said, I still find it doubtful that all of these symbols belong to any single recognized religion. I’m not a religious man, nor have I ever been, but I’m aware of many aspects of many of the major religions. If a single religion holds all of these symbols, it is not one that is practiced on a vast scale.”

“Mm.” Dallas pinned his phone between his shoulder and ear long enough to reach out and grab the folder from his desk. “Your notes say the symbols–the ones you knew, anyway–were mostly symbols for strength. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So if we couple that with the missing organs and the fact they didn’t take the presumably diseased lung…”

“You won’t trick me into filling in that assumption, Mister Silver,” Bo said after several seconds of silence.

Dallas chuckled. “Apologies. I was trying to interrogation tactic you.”

“I assumed.”

“Are there cases of human consumption of organs for, like, strength? That sounds vaguely familiar to me.”

“Technically, but not in the sense you’re thinking of. There are historical records of certain cultures believing that eating an organ would give them the strength that organ held.”

“Mm, okay. So… it’s possible that these people were using the strength symbols to, like, what? Supercharge the superpowers they’d get from eating someone’s kidney?”

“Well, the strength, if that’s the theory we’re hypothesizing around. And, yes, it would be a possibility that the symbols were used as some sort of… ‘charging’ method for the strength of the healthy organs.”

“Maybe it’s a cult of sick people. So eating the healthy supercharged lung is supposed to fix… their lung cancer, y’know?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Dallas nodded. “What could possibly drive modern Americans to believe in that kind of thing?”

“There are many possibilities. What drives people to do anything they do in terms of murder?”

“Money, greed, jealousy, sex, desperation, curiosity.” Dallas glanced up at the ceiling. “I guess if I was sick and had tried everything to get better, I’d be desperate as hell. I’d try anything to get rid of the sickness.”

Aww, I’m a sickness now? Ed asked. I have feelings, you know, Tex.

Dallas cleared his throat. “So if we hypothesize with this theory a bit, what’s our next step?”

“Well, we need to watch and analyze the footage from the parking lot.”

“I should have access to that tomorrow.”

“Okay. I still need to identify the victim, as well. It’ll allow you to speak to his family and find out what they know about what he may or may not have been involved with when he was alive. Like I said, a cult situation is a possibility, and there are cases where the family of the members of those cults are aware that their children belong to a cult. The members often don’t see it that way, but the people on the outside looking in have a different… perspective.”

“Yeah. Think you’ll have an ID on him by tomorrow too?” Dallas asked.

“As long as he had a driver’s license, yes, I would imagine I’ll have a match by then.”

“Great. So I’ll see you tomorrow, and we’ll go get our security footage, yes?”

“If you would like me to accompany you, yes.”

“You’re sorta my babysitter for now, remember?”

“You’re older than me by… Well, I’m unsure. A few years, at the very least.”

Dallas snorted. “Five. Sometimes adults need supervision too.”

“I suppose. I’ll go with you tomorrow, then, after Burke gives you the warrant.”

“Great. I’ll see you then. Enjoy your evening, Austen.”

“You as well, Mister Silver.”

Dallas pulled his phone from his ear and ended the call. “Xavier?”

“Yeah?” his little brother’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“You eat supper yet?”

“No!”

“You hungry?”

“Yeah!”

Dallas set the folder on his desk, dropped his feet to the floor, and pushed himself out of his chair. He headed down the hall and opened the door to his brother’s room. At the age of fifteen, Xavier was still in his awkward years in terms of growth. Though he was slowly approaching Dallas’s just over six-foot frame, he was mostly all leg, which was painfully obvious when he gamed in his beanbag chair in the middle of his room, legs bent like those of a grasshopper.

“Got anything in mind?” Dallas asked.

“No, anything’s fine.” Xavier paused his game and twisted in his chair to meet his brother’s eyes. “How was day uno of Homicide?”

“Not bad. My lieutenant partnered me with a lab geek so I’d still have a… I don’t know, an advisor of sorts, I guess. That was appreciated. And I have a case already.”

Xavier smiled. “Proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Dallas tapped a hand against the door frame, taking a small step back. “Well, back to your game, then. I’ll whip up something for us.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need help?”

“Will do.” Dallas closed the door, letting out a breath. He’d been raising his little brother for the last few years, though his grandparents had done the majority of raising while Dallas was in college. Now, his brother was solely his responsibility, and though Ed made it far more difficult than it needed to be, he wouldn’t change it for the world. No one would ever hurt Xavier again, and even if killing their father had given Ed far more control over Dallas than he had ever hoped to relinquish, that was all that mattered.

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NOT EDITED

Chapter Four

Dallas pushed himself to his feet, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “Where do we go from here?”

“Well, I’ll continue to take pictures, search for evidence, take more pictures, bag anything I can find… That’s my piece in all this.” Bo glanced up at him. “Since you’ll be playing detective whenever Burke gets assigned a case, you’ll have to really play that part.”

Dallas nodded. “You worked with the last officer she did this to, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“What would his first step have been?”

“Questioning the person who called in the body.” Bo pointed over to one of the barricades. “It appears she’s seated over there by the other officers. That’s usually where he would have begun.”

“Thank you.”

Bo nodded rather than offering any sort of verbal response. That didn’t surprise Dallas in the least. Though he didn’t know anything about Bo’s schooling, it was more than obvious that the station and the people within it had beaten him down more than once. The more often he responded with actual words, the greater chances Dallas had to tell him he had said something wrong.

He’ll never do anything wrong ever again if we kill him.

Dallas rolled his eyes as he walked back toward the yellow tape. Back in the day, he and Ed had made a compromise of sorts. Every now and then, he’d let Ed take control of his killer drive and take a life, but it had to be that of a criminal. Ed had agreed, but it hadn’t stopped him from pleading his case for the taking of any life around him.

Somehow, Dallas still had his fingers crossed that the bastard would eventually get the message. As it stood, ‘eventually’ was nowhere in sight.

He ducked under the crime scene tape and stopped at the barricade closest to the scene. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Officer Silver. You mind answering a few questions about how you stumbled upon this?”

Arms wrapped around herself, she shook her head. “No, ask whatever you have to.”

“Thank you.” It struck Dallas in that moment that Narcotics was not at all like Homicide, and he had no idea how the hell to question this woman.

“What were you doing out on the beach this early in the morning?” Bo asked from behind Dallas.

“I come out here and pick up trash in the mornings before work. It doesn’t help a ton, but it helps keep the beach a little cleaner,” she said.

Bo nodded. “Of course. We appreciate your hard work in helping to keep our city clean. How long were you out here before you spotted him?”

“Not long. Maybe twenty minutes?”

“What’d you do when you first spotted him?”

“I called out to him a couple times, asked if he was okay, if he needed help. I figured he might’ve been asleep when he didn’t respond, so I did my best to stay quiet and went back to picking up trash. But when I walked by him, I noticed he was on his stomach, and then I noticed his back.”

“Did you touch the body?”

“No.”

“Do you have the container you were using to store the trash you collected?” Bo asked.

“Not with me. It’s the trash bag a couple feet away from his… body,” she said quietly.

“I’ll ask you to go to the station with one of our officers here so you can be fingerprinted. It will allow us to eliminate your prints from the bag and the trash inside when we’re looking for potential evidence.”

She nodded. “Okay. I-I can do that.”

“Thank you. Your cooperation is appreciated. Did you happen to see anyone else this morning? Walking away from the beach when you arrived? Anything like that?”

“No, I’m sorry. It was empty when I got here. I mean… aside from him, but if there was someone else up and about, I would’ve noticed them. I’m sure of that.”

Bo nodded. “All right, thank you.” He pointed to one of the uniformed officers by the yellow tape. “This is Officer Montgomery. He will take you to the station to be fingerprinted, or you may follow him in your own vehicle.”

“I’ll follow him.”

“All right. I’ll ask that you leave your name and phone number with Officer Silver here, but otherwise, thank you, and you’re free to leave with Officer Montgomery whenever you’re ready,” Bo said. “Without any further goodbyes, he ducked under the tape and made his way back to the body.

Dallas offered a smile, pulling his notepad from his pocket. “Your name and a number we can reach you at, ma’am?”

Once Dallas had her information written down, he tucked his notepad away and walked back to Bo. “Thanks for jumping in there, Austen. Had no damn idea what to say.”

“No problem.”

“Appreciate you not letting me suffer in this station the same way others have done to you.”

Bo remained silent, not that Dallas was surprised. He snapped another picture and rose to his feet. “Will you help me move him to his back once I lay down a tarp to protect any evidence on his back?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you. I’ll have a pair of gloves for you in a moment.”

“All right, man. I’ll be here.”

Bo walked back to the car, returning with a tarp and a pair of gloves. He handed the gloves to Dallas, unfolding the tarp while the officer pulled the gloves on. “I need you to help move his legs over. I’ll handle his shoulders and head.”

“Okay.”

As they turned him over, Bo cleared his throat. “I’ve been treated like some sort of cancerous, contagious abnormality most of my life. I would never set my goal as making someone else feel the same.”

“Ending the cycle of abuse is far from a bad thing.”

“Yes.” Bo squatted down beside the body, his expression neutral despite the autopsy-like suture job on the corpse’s torso. “This is the Y-shaped cut usually used in an autopsy, though not as long toward the shoulders or pubic bone. He was alive when this cut was made, based on the bruising, but it’s doubtful he was awake. The cuts are clean, and even restraints would’ve allowed for some movement, not to mention bruises or cuts. He could’ve been under some type of anesthetic.”

“So… why stitch him back up afterward?” Dallas asked.

Bo circled a hand above the body. “These symbols have been cut into his skin in a circular fashion. The small dashes along the outside circumference of them, as well as the dashes along the inside circumference, give the impression of two closed circles, both of which are used to help the symbols act as a frame.”

“Like a seal.”

Bo met his gaze for a few seconds before dropping his eyes to the body again. “Yes, like a seal.” He traced a hand through the air a few inches above the stitched up Y on the body’s front. “The seal was broken, and after they were done breaking it, they stitched it back up. Whether that was to ‘repair’ the seal or for something else entirely, we can’t know for sure.”

Dallas let out a breath, clasping his hands between his knees. “So what’s our next step? I mean, after you finish taking pictures and collecting evidence?”

“Our next steps will differ. I have a body to re-cut open and see what they did to his insides when they broke the seal. Your next step, however, could go any number of ways.”

“What would your favorite officer have done next?” Dallas asked.

Bo nodded toward the other side of the beach. “The parking lot has security cameras. The owner of that lot doesn’t enjoy helping the cops, so you’ll need a warrant to view the footage. The officer in question would’ve gone about getting a warrant.”

“Now, that, I know how to do.”

A small smile crossed Bo’s face. “I’ll be a bit more than a few hours. You can head into the station and get started on the affidavit for the warrant. Burke or her partner will have to sign it and claim they wrote it, but we won’t get the warrant if you request one of them to actually… do something.”

“Okay. You wanna call me when you need a ride?”

“I’ll catch a ride back to the station when the body’s transported there. People who work with corpses tend to be much more… tolerant of me.” Bo offered a smile. “I’ll be all right, but I’ll call your desk phone if my plans fall through.”

“All right, man.” Dallas pushed himself to his feet. “Good luck, Austen.”

“To you as well, Silver.”

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Updates every Thursday!

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NOT EDITED

Chapter Three

Near the body, Dallas squatted down beside Bo. Squatting in the sand was a constant balancing act, and Dallas appeared to be struggling far more than Bo. If nothing else, he managed to stay on his feet rather than fall face first onto the corpse.

Though that’d be pretty hilarious, huh, Tex?

Dallas rolled his eyes, focusing his attention on Bo rather than Ed. That was bound to piss the bastard off.

While the analyst snapped pictures of the body from different angles, Dallas simply… observed. He kept his hands to himself, knowing better than to contaminate the body or the crime scene around it. Dallas had been to many homicide crime scenes before. This was simply the first one he had attended after it had been called into the police.

“So what do you think we’re looking at here?” Dallas asked.

“A white male, presumably in his late twenties or early thirties. He’s most likely a smoker, based on the nicotine stains on his fingertips,” Bo said.

Dallas nodded. It made sense that Bo would answer the question with the most literal translation he could rather than taking any liberties or assumptions with what Dallas had meant.

“What about these cuts?”

Bo glanced over at him, not even long enough to make eye contact. “Apologies… What about them?”

“You think any of the cuts are what killed him?”

“No. None of them are deep enough for that. None of them would’ve ever needed stitches to heal. He couldn’t have bled out from them, and they aren’t deep enough to have damaged anything internally.”

“Any idea how old they are?”

“Well… some of the ones up here, near his shoulders. Do you see the bruising?”

“Yeah.”

“Those could’ve happened a few hours before his death. I would say those are the most recent. Some of these other ones are in various stages of healing: some a few days old, some a few weeks old. Some are approaching their status as scars, closer to a month or two old. Some of them even appear to be years old, based on the coloring of the scars and how little they swell up from the rest of his skin.”

“You can tell all of that just by looking at them?”

“Well, I can estimate by looking at them. Cuts have a standard process in which they heal, unless that process is interrupted by something. An infection, picking of the scab, etcetera.” Bo cleared his throat. “May I ask an honest question and receive an honest answer?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Did Lieutenant Fox ask you to be police to me? To… pretend you care about any of the forensic work I do?” Bo asked. “You don’t act as though he has, since you thankfully aren’t trying to overcompensate for our lack of common ground, but I’ve been burned before.”

“I don’t know how much you trust my honesty, but I assure you Mister Fox didn’t tell me I had to be nice or polite to you. He didn’t tell me to pretend to care about anything, either. He told me not having this other analyst around is difficult for you, that not having that other cop you like is difficult for you, and that you like… patterns. That’s it.”

“And the thing about your brother also liking patterns. Was that true?”

“Yes.”

After a moment, Bo nodded. “Okay.”

“Is your ‘okay’ a good thing or a bad thing?” Dallas asked.

“That depends entirely on the situation it’s used in. In this case, I suppose you would most likely consider it a good thing. It means I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Dallas smiled. “I’ll take that as a good thing, then.”

Bo stood up and moved to the other side of the body for a new angle before snapping another picture. “Since you asked so many questions about me, may I ask another about you?”

“Go for it.”

“Only one corner of your mouth moves when you smile. Is that a choice of appearance?”

“Nerve damage.”

“My apologies.” Bo cleared his throat. “For what it’s worth, I think the half-smile works for you.”

Dallas smiled. “Me too. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How many questions haveI asked you?”

“That depends. Questions about me, or questions asked to me?”

“Questions asked to you, but not counting the ones about the crime scene.”

Bo glanced up for a moment, at the sky rather than at Dallas. “Approximately twenty-three questions, but I may have taken liberties on want counts as a question, and on if it was technically about the crime scene or not. For instance, I counted the fact that you asked if you were to follow me to the body, but I didn’t count you asking if I could really tell all of that simply by looking at the marks on his back.”

Dallas snorted. “I’m sure your taken liberties are still better than I’d be able to estimate.”

“Presumably.”

Dallas was pretty sure Bo didn’t realize how funny the subtle savagery was. Hell, he probably had no idea it was funny in the first place. Dallas gestured to the body with one hand. “Any ideas on how he died?”

“I have ideas on how he did not die.”

“Like?”

“We know the cuts didn’t kill him, though I’m assuming the cuts are the reason it was called in as a dead body rather than, say, a naked drunk man. When it comes to how he died, the options are, though limited, vast. It’s not worth guessing until we roll him over and see what the front of him looks like.”

Dallas nodded. “Any initial observations of him?”

“Some. What are your initial observations, Officer?” Bo asked.

“His head appears to be in good condition. No blood matted at the back of his skull, no appearance of a cave-in noggin.”

“Correct.”

“Aside from his back, there doesn’t appear to be much damage done to him. The backs of his legs aren’t bruised, so it’s not like someone knocked them out from under him from behind. Backs of his arms aren’t scratched up or bruised, either. If he was dragged out here, it wasn’t done on his back.”

“Also correct.” Bo squatted down across from Dallas, glancing over at him. “You’re very observant for a rookie.”

“Dear ol’ Dad liked his kids to be observant.”

“Sounds like you weren’t fond of that preference,” Bo said.

“I’m just glad the old man’s dead. I’ll leave it at that.”

Bo nodded.

Remember what it was like when we took that bat to the back of Daddy’s head? Ed asked. So much glee, Tex. So much joy. So much revenge.

Yes, Dallas did remember taking the bat to the back of the piece of shit’s head. He remembered finally listening to Ed, finally letting the fucker take control just long enough to make sure his father would never lay a hand on him or his little brother ever again.

He remembered sitting on the stairs afterward, staring at his father’s bloody corpse, at the obliterated state of his face and skull. He had been unrecognizable, and Dallas had waited almost two hours to call the cops, claiming he had found him that way when he and his brother had gotten home from the mall.

He remembered one of the cops definitely knowing the truth but still telling him that everything would be okay.

“My biological parents weren’t… great, either,” Bo said quietly.

Dallas lifted his head. “Why, Austen, are you trying to find us some common ground?”

“My apologies.”

“No, I’m sorry. That was, uh, playful. I’m not making fun of you, and I’m not angry about it. I’m surprised you want to try and connect to me, that’s all,” Dallas said.

Bo offered a smile. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a hard time distinguishing between genuine comments and sarcasm and… I have a hard time taking in someone’s expression when they speak.”

“Because you don’t make eye contact with people.”

“Yes. In the animal kingdom, eye contact often asserts dominance or challenges another’s dominance. I find that many people treat it the same way. I like to avoid it when I can.”

“I don’t blame you. People who feel the need to assert their dominance probably have none in the first place, but they sure want you to believe the lie.”

One corner of Bo’s mouth lifted. “Yes.”

If you befriend him, you won’t kill him. We both know you’re a bit too much of a princess for that.

Dallas bit back the urge to remind the asshole he had no plans to kill Bo. He had no plans to kill anyone in the station. Dallas killed criminals, and as far as he could tell, Bo’s only crime was being unreasonably awkward.

A woman squatted down beside Bo, a badge hanging from her neck. She laid a hand on the back of Bo’s neck, fingers wrapping loosely around to either side of it. His shoulders lifted slightly, but it was the only sign of uncomfortableness that managed to slip through his neutral facade.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Officer Dallas Silver, fresh meat to the department.”

“Mm.” Her eyes raked over him before settling on his face again. “What’ve we got, Bo?”

“Dead man, most likely in his early thirties.”

“Who would’ve done this to his back?”

“Many of them are old. They’re scarred over. It’s–”

Dallas watched her fingers tighten around Bo’s neck for a moment. “You know the rules. Knock off the beating around the bush bullshit and answer the question you were asked.”

“Most likely someone he knew and trusted. Most likely someone he asked to do it for him.”

“Why?”

“They appear to be satanic in nature upon first glance. Religious. Anti-religious. Ritualistic. Take your pick.”

“Great.” She lifted her eyes to Dallas’s face again. “How would you feel about getting to help us out with this case?”

“Would love to.”

“Great. Talk to us at the station when you have something. Lab dweeb will you where out desks are.”

“Geek,” Bo whispered as the woman pushed herself to her feet.

Dallas watched her walk away with a man. “Who in the hell was that bitch?”

“Burke.”

“Why the hell don’t you tell Loo she’s touching you and talking down to you like that?”

“I-I’m just the forensics guy, Silver. The detectives work upstairs, they get paid more than I do, and they get to leave the station for work and things other than crime scenes. Outside of that, the lieutenant knows, but he can’t fire her. She was hired over his head, and if he fires her, she’ll be re-hired over his head.”

“Pitman?”

“No. As far as I know, Chief Pitman isn’t aware of Burke’s… personality.”

“He’s the chief of police. Unless the mayor installed her in this department, Pitman could do something about it,” Dallas said.

Bo shifted his weight between his feet and stood up. “I try not to get involved.”

“She is involving you.”

“With all due respect, these people are more likely to bother me than you. You’re tall, you’re muscular, you appear to be outgoing, you’re charming, and you interact well with others. And, top of the mark, you have the ability to be promoted to detective. If I bring up an issue within the department, it does not take long for them to find out, and my life quickly becomes even more of a hell than it already is. This is tolerable. The way she speaks to me is tolerable. The way she touches my neck, though uncomfortable, is better than her grabbing me from behind. It is tolerable. I would like to continue to fly as under the radar as I possibly can. It makes my life in that station much easier. It makes life anywhere easier. Can we leave it at that?”

Dallas searched the man’s eyes before nodding. “Yeah, Austen. We can leave it at that. I won’t bother you about it anymore.”

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A/N: I am absolutely LOVING writing Dallas’s POV for the first time, and I hope you guys are enjoying reading it. This is just book one of the series, so you’ll have plenty of Dallas coming your way if you like it. Thanks for reading chapter three, guys! See you in the next one!

Enjoying the story? Consider dropping a comment or a like down below!!

Updates every Thursday!

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NOT EDITED

Chapter Two

After a mostly silent ride, Dallas parked his car in the lot outside the diner. “You want me to come in with you?”

“I’ll leave that up to you,” Bo said.

“Does your analyst normally go in with you?”

“Not usually, no.”

“All right. I’ll stay here. Mind grabbing me a black coffee?”

“No sugar or cream?” Bo asked, finally meeting his eyes for more than half a second. “Just… straight black coffee?”

One corner of Dallas’s mouth lifted. “Yeah, just straight black.”

“Okay. Do you have a preferred size?”

“Whatever size you normally get is cool with me. More likely to need a refill around the same time that way.” Dallas could’ve sworn that had drawn a smile from the blonde, but it was gone so quickly he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen it at all.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a moment.” Bo climbed out of the car, closed the door, and headed up to the diner.

We could poison his coffee when he gets back. I know it’s a little bit of a stray from our usual methods, but we could make it work, couldn’t we?

Dallas rolled his eyes, reaching across with his left arm to turn up the radio.

You know, it gets pretty boring when you refuse to respond. How many times do we have to go through this, Tex? I’m not going anywhere, no matter how long you give me the cold shoulder.

Dallas had half a mind to remind Ed that ‘boring’ was a pretty big part of why he was being ignored, but even that technically counted as no longer ignoring the bastard. It counted as engaging with him, and Ed would use the response to jump right back into the driver’s seat of Dallas’s control.

He let out a breath, turning to look into the diner. Bo stood at the counter, chatting up the blonde gal at the register. Dallas snorted, one corner of his mouth lifting. He hadn’t taken Bo for the ‘chatting up’ type. The woman must’ve been his usual barista, as well. She must’ve fit into his daily pattern.

Bo came back out of the diner, the coffee held in one hand. He pulled open the passenger side door of the cruiser and held one of the cups out to Dallas. “Your black coffee, no sugar or creamer.”

Dallas took it from him. “Thank you.” Bo nodded and slid into the car. “Who’s the blonde behind the counter?”

“Why?”

“You were chatting with her. More than you’d talk to a random person to order your coffee, anyway. I just figure you must know her.”

After a moment, Bo nodded. “Yes, her name’s Bridget. I’ve known her for a few years.”

“That’s cool. Is she your age?”

“Yes.”

“How… old is your age, exactly?”

“Eighteen. I’ll be nineteen in April.”

“That’s pretty impressive. You’ve accomplished a lot in a real damn short period of time,” Dallas said.

Bo cleared his throat as he clicked his seat belt into place. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Dallas took a sip of his coffee and fitted the cup into the holder in the center console. “So, Austen, where’s your usual analyst?”

“Mister A? He’s dealing with personal family issues.”

“When’s he coming back?”

“Given the condition of his brother, I have a feeling he’ll be gone longer than expected,” Bo said.

Dallas glanced over at him as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It depends on your definition of either word, I suppose.” Bo shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s a good thing. It means his brother will recover rather than die, but he’ll need help he didn’t need before. Mister A will most likely be the one providing that help.”

Dallas nodded. “People must give you a lot of shit for that, huh?”

“For what?”

“The definition thing. You looked uncomfortable, and then you gave the positive outlook other people probably expect from you, even though ‘Mister A’ being gone is clearly hell on you, which makes it not a good thing.” Bo, as expected, didn’t respond. He was very much a strong and silent type. Or, at the very least, the silent type. “You know, my little brother’s a lot like you. Very pattern-driven, likes rituals, schedules, predictability. People give him shit for it, but it’s just how he functions best. Some people need those patterns to survive. Those patterns are usually one of the only sense of control they have over their lives, but people who don’t need those patterns to survive don’t understand what it’s like for these other folks to live without it.”

After what felt like an eternity, Bo nodded.

“How do you manage in times like right now, where you’re missing large parts of your patterns?”

“I amplify certain parts to fill the void, and I do my best to lessen the parts that are only tolerable if there is no void.”

“Like?”

“I do my best to lessen interaction with station personnel. Mister A makes the… unprofessionalism less of a nuisance, and since he isn’t here right now, decreasing the likelihood of nuisance is required.”

“Not a bad idea.”

Bo nodded. “Yes. It’s why I stay in the basement.”

We could take him to OUR basement, Tex.

Dallas cleared his throat. “That’s all right, man. As someone who has spent the last couple of years upstairs for Narcotics and shit, you aren’t missing much. The basement’s probably nicer.”

“Much quieter and more organized.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Bo took a sip of his coffee. “May I ask what you did to your shoulder?”

“Totally. I got shot.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there permanent damage?”

“Nah, just a rotator cuff that needs a bit of relaxing and a bit of therapy before I can go back to punching bad guys,” Dallas said. He looked over at Bo as the shorter man’s cell phone went off. “What’s that for?”

“Crime scene.” Bo glanced up at him. “Would you like to head out to your first homicide?”

“Hell yeah.”

Bo let out the lightest chuckle Dallas had ever heard. Phone in hand, he pointed out the windshield. “You’ll want to take a right at the next intersection. We need to get my camera bag from the lab. Then I’ll direct you to the scene.”

“Works for me, Austen.”

***

Dallas pulled into the beach’s parking lot just as two other uniformed officers worked to set up barriers and crime scene tape. “Wait. Our first crime scene is on the actual beach? Not, like… in the parking lot?”

“Welcome to Los Angeles.”

Dallas snorted. “Am I supposed to help these guys? Or… what do we do?”

“As I understood it, Lieutenant Fox and Chief Pitman want you to ‘fill in’ as my Mister A. So, while you won’t be performing any forensic activities, you are allowed to follow me into the scene.” Bo cleared his throat, reaching down to unzip the camera bag on the floor of the car. “More than likely, whatever this homicide results in will be your case, anyway. I mean, if Burke is the detective they assign to it.”

“Why’s that?”

“She doesn’t enjoy doing any of her own work, so she passes the work off to a pair of officers and then takes the credit when the case is said and done.” Bo snapped the flash onto his camera, glancing over at Dallas. “I’m not one for gossip, but it isn’t gossip if it’s factual information and not a secret. Burke slept her way to her detective promotion. She’ll do the least amount of work she has to in order to remain there. Letting an officer do that work for her counts as ‘least amount’.”

Dallas took a moment to process before offering a smile. “So… good news, we’ll be working a case together. Or is that bad news for your pattern?”

“Before he was transferred to the West Bureau, I worked rather frequently with an officer here. This fits my pattern just fine.” Bo opened the door and slid out of the car, closing the door behind him. Dallas let out a breath. At least he seemed to be making progress with the analyst. That had to count for something. He climbed out of the car and followed Bo to the crime scene, ducking under the yellow tape Bo held up for him.

A naked man lay on his stomach in the sand, his back filled with cuts and scars, some much more recent than others. They appeared to be arranged in a circle of some sort, each mass of marks cut to look like symbols, cut to hold meaning. “What… the hell?”

The faintest smile crossed Bo’s face. “Welcome to Homicide, Silver.”

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