"I've got you."
"Lenny." She took a long, slow swallow from the bottle. "He found out I was working a CI in the Bluff. Said I was 'making him look soft.' Got a little hands-on to prove he wasn't."
"Lenny?" he asked.
Will’s jaw tightened. Lenny Brock was a vice detective, which meant he was just a badge with a worse drinking problem. Will’s mind, that relentless, precise machine, was already cataloging: Lenny’s shift schedule, his favorite bars, the unmarked Crown Vic he parked in a handicapped spot every day. He could solve this. He could make Lenny disappear into the system so deep he’d be filling out traffic citations in North Dakota.
Angie’s hand dropped. For a second, the mask slipped—not the tough-girl mask, but the one underneath. The one that was just a scared, broken kid from the Home who never learned how to be loved without being hurt first. will trent angie
He could have lied. A small, neat lie that would have made this easier. But Will Trent didn't do small, neat lies. He did hard truths that got stuck in his throat.
"Okay," she said, so quietly he almost missed it. "Okay." "I've got you
And for the first time in twenty years, Angie Polaski let him.