'Don't be nervous.'

'I'm not.'

'Adam, you may have been a cop but you were hardly more than a rookie when you got the untimely boot.' Beckett looked at him with seasoned eyes as they walked into the Civilian Liaison Bureau. 'You're about to interview a hardened criminal hiding behind a badge. You'd be stupid if you weren't a little nervous.'

'In here.'

Adam directed them towards the boardroom where they'd met only the day before; hell it felt like that had been last week. He felt the waffles, fruit and cheese he'd gleefully scarfed down rise slightly in his gorge as he reviewed his questions. He could hear his father's voice in his head as clearly as if Jarrad Brennan was standing beside him.

Adi, you know how to handle bullies. You've done that your whole life. This man is no different than Billy Hofstedt turning you ball-side up to shake your lunch money out of you. Get him back the way you always have, with your wits and brains.

God he missed his father, Adam thought with a small ache. He'd died on a morning like this, too, frozen like the sixth circle of hell and the wind wailing outside the windows like a banshee. Adam had called him up to check if they were still on for basketball, and when there was no answer at ten in the morning, Adam figured his dad was at yoga like he'd always done on Thursday mornings.

When he'd called again at two-thirty there was still no answer but Adam knew his father did his groceries on Thursday so he was probably at the Martindale's near his apartment and had switched his cellphone off like he always did when he went grocery shopping. Jarrad was dyslexic, thus reading labels had always been an extra task for him and he didn't like distractions like his cellphone going off. Finally, Adam had gotten off shift and decided enough was enough, he was going to roust his pops out.

Then he'd unlocked the door to Jarrad's flat and the stench of it had hit him. Fresh death, no more than a few hours old, and Adam had raced through the small space like a maniac trying to find him and had his world shatter around his feet when he'd ripped back the shower curtain of the microscopic bathroom and seen his father's choked-out lifeless body hanging there by a noose of his own bedsheets.

'Adam. Hey, come on back here.'

He glanced over, saw Beckett looking at him with worried eyes. He wondered if she knew she looked at him like his mother had when he'd first become a cop, as if she was trying to make sure he could handle it.

'Thanks, I'm good.'

'I made coffee. You'll be fine, and I'm here to back you up if you need it. Only,' she amended, 'if you think you need it.'

'I was thinking about my dad, how I found him dead and everything he's given us after he died for this case. I will not screw this up.'

As the determination in his quiet, husky voice was strong enough to move mountains, she nodded, glanced over when the door opened by Gibson and they got a look at Frank Cowlan, retired narcotics captain of the Seventy-Second Precinct.

He was huge, a bull of a man and dark as strong coffee. He looked more like a wrestler than a cop, until the eyes staring out from thick dark eyebrows, the only hair he had on his head, leveled his opponent with a single glare.

'Detective Kate Beckett.' Cowlan's voice rumbled like thunder. 'Or may I call you Nikki Heat?'

'Nikki Heat is my husband's creation, I'm all me.' Beckett said it in a tone that told Cowlan in no uncertain terms she was the bad cop. 'And this isn't my show to run today.'

'Right, right, it's for the ex-cop.'

Adam wanted to bare his teeth and snarl at Cowlan for that extra-long beat he gave 'ex' but instead gestured to one of the conference room chairs by the table. 'Please, have a seat.'

'So, you're after a little snapshot of a big bad cop for the kiddies, huh?' Cowlan gave a little laugh. 'Every other teenager these days wants to be a cop or a CSU thanks to those friggin TV shows. You came from that generation didn't you?'

'My father was a cop, just like his father and his father before him.'

'First washout though, huh?'

'All due respect, Captain,' Beckett stepped in, leaning forward in her spot from beside Adam, 'this isn't the reason you were asked here. If you can't respect the job Civilian Liaison Brennan is doing today, then it is better for you to leave.'

It was a gamble but Beckett knew cops like Cowlan weren't the kind to walk away or back down, not when they had to prove whose dick swung lowest to the ground. She watched him adjust the perfect knot of his tie, and fold his hands.

'What can I tell you?'

'Let's start with your early years on the force. How did you decide the narcotics bureau was where you wanted to make your career?'

'I grew up in the projects, boy, and watched my friends and their families get torn apart by drugs. My daddy said to me, son if you want to do something useful with your life, you find a way to get that trash off the streets.'

'Did you have university or college training before you went into the police academy?'

'I went to a community college, did courses on criminal justice and psychology. No way can you stop criminals if you can get inside their heads and mess with them.'

'Agreed, sir, first thing I learned in my crim-psych at the academy,' Beckett agreed placidly even as her gut churned.

'I'm sure you've also lost friends on the job, which has to be one of the hardest things in the Narc bureau. The temptations that you're surrounded with could make a lesser man very indulgent.'

I'll be damned, Beckett thought with pride, impressed with the size of Adam's brass balls. An ex-uniform going for the jugular like that of a decorated retired captain had to ride some serious boulders if he wasn't breaking into cold sweats.

Across the table, Cowlan returned Adam's smoothly asked question with just as smooth an answer. 'Every department of a police precinct has its own reputation to fight against, whether it's homicide or IA or the narcotics bureau. Yes, I've seen many cops fall victim to the very sins we swear to stamp out but part of our job is to offer outreach to those who need to get clean. Many cops have come back from the brink and become highly respected ranked officers.'

'Being a cop, you see your share of grief with victims as well. What advice would you offer to new cops who are facing the loss of a colleague?'

'That it's part of the job, but there are counselors and therapists who work with the department for a reason. This job takes a toll on the mind as well as the body and you need both to be a great police officer.'

'If I could, just interject here, I was terribly sorry to hear about the loss of your friend Mike Doran,' Beckett interrupted, and for the first time since he'd sat down, she saw a flicker in Cowlan's uncrackable exterior.

'Yes, such an untenable situation for his wife to be in. First her daughter dies then her husband goes to prison, then he's killed in prison.'

'Funny, how he's shanked in prison and on his way there your other old friend John Raglan gets picked off by a sniper.'

'Detective, I didn't come here to be interrogated.' Cowlan shifted in his seat, looked at Adam. 'If that's all you have to ask me about the newsletter, I'll take my leave.'

'Just one more quick question, sir.' All polite graciousness, Adam poise his pencil over his notepad full of quotes and comments. 'Any last advice you can offer the up and coming rookies already on the force?'

'Don't disrespect the chain of command or you will get eaten alive.' The cold edge of his voice was only discernible to a trained ear, and both Adam and Beckett heard it. 'There is structure and order for a reason.'

'Right. Thank you for your time, sir, I appreciate you coming in. I might have one or two more follow-ups to ask later in the week or maybe next Monday or Tuesday. I'm not on deadline until the twentyieth so I have time to go over the final draft with you for polishing.' Adam folded his notepad closed and stood up, ushered the man back towards Gibson's office. When he was back, he looked at Beckett who grinned like a fool.

'That was quite the interrogation you performed, Adam.'

'I didn't-'

'You gained his trust, you got him speaking freely about his opinions and more importantly, we got some excellent intel on Mike and John's deaths.'

'I don't follow you, Detective.'

'Trust me, you will.'