Logan Howlett was not a patient man. As he sat in his black '67 Dodge Charger with the windows rolled down; he lit up a cigar. Taking a long draw on it, he banged his fingers in a quick rhythmic pattern against the steering wheel. Good God, he hated traffic. At this rate, he'd never make to the office on time-he'd been late enough already trying to get his eleven-year-old daughter, Laura, to wake up and get going to school. Kids could be a real pain most days. Sometimes he wondered if he had made the right decision taking custody of her-surely she would have been happier living with her grandfather, Charles. Logan involuntarily chuckled at that-happier yes, but not disciplined. There was no way a nearly 90-year-old man could keep up with her. She was energetic but more than that she was mischievous. She loved to make trouble. Logan felt a smile come to his face, then again, Charles had done an excellent job with him. And he had been no angel himself in his younger days. Hell, he still liked getting trouble. Is that what his superiors all said in their reports?
Logan felt his mood souring again and so turned on some classic rock to distract himself. It wasn't working. All he could think about was how close he was to getting pulled off yet another case.
"One more temper tantrum like the one I saw today, and that's it, you'll be turning in your badge." Scott scooted back from the desk, a smug look on his face. Logan fought the urge to snarl. It was just like Summers to enjoy ragging on a subordinate. He got a sick kick out of being in charge.
"Yessir, you've made yourself very clear on that point." Logan fought the urge to smoke the cigar in his pocket. Summers wasn't the only one who could be cavalier about regulation.
Scott's jaw worked back and forth. "I don't like that tone, Howlett. I could put you on paid leave for the shit you pulled today. You should be thanking me!"
Logan stiffened in the chair. Had Summers pulled strings? Was Summers lenient? Before he could catch himself he, the words tumbled out. "What's the favor you need from me?"
Scott stood defensively. He placed his hands on the desk and set his jaw. "I don't need anything from you…" He pulled up and shrugged his shoulders, averting his eyes. "Yet."
Logan didn't like being in Summers' pocket. Didn't enjoy feeling like he might owe that man anything-but facts were facts. Summers had done a favor for him, and Logan did owe him. He couldn't back out of that now. Even if Summers had a tendency to get blinded by the rule book, Logan had to admit a particular begrudging respect for the man. He was one of the youngest chiefs of the force. The man had a work ethic.
As Logan's cigar began to die, the traffic started moving. The music picked up tempo-but Logan's mood stayed dark. The latest case had been getting under his skin. It was some sick bastard murdering kids. A serial murderer of kids. Logan felt his lips turn down into a disgusted frown. Twenty years on the force hadn't prepared him for the sick shit this guy was into. The guy seemed preoccupied with stopping the children from going through pueberty. Something about wanting to perserve their innocence forever. Really twisted stuff. It made Logan's stomach turn. He was determined to bring this guy down. And it was so hard to do it while being on best behavior. But Summers seemed more determined than ever to take Logan off the case. He wasn't sure why, but he was already invested. Come hell or highwater, the bastard had to pay.