Fatally Yours

Chapter 2

•INDIANA•

I followed Brock into the station along with his crew, Ricky limping ahead of us with both hands cuffed behind his back, looking like he'd been run over by a car. Which would have been true if he had run in another direction, and I had been tempted to stop him with my car.

Brock immediately opened the cell and pushed him inside. They'll be questioning him later, or maybe tomorrow, since everyone's shift has ended. I shrugged off my jacket and started making my way towards my office.

Suddenly, a five-foot-four brunette with bangs and green eyes appeared in my way, causing me to stop. Melody glared at me while tilting her head to the side and glancing to the back where Brock and the others were still huddled together near the front desk.

"You went after Ricky, didn't you?" she questioned, a trace of disappointment detectable in her tone.

"Someone has to," I replied.

Mel's eyes snapped back to mine, and she sighed loudly.

"After we strictly told you not to."

"Ricky's still a suspect in my case too!" I argued defensively, and she frowned.

"Not anymore. Indie, we already went over this. It's the homicide department's case now, so why wouldn't you let them do their job?"

I rolled my eyes and placed my hand on my right hip.

"I figured out his location first. I had to make sure he  confessed before they got to him and he started changing his story for the millionth time."

Mel's eyes started to soften, and she tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Even though she might not be on board with my decisions sometimes, she knew I would always go ahead and do what I thought was right.

Mel is also a cop like me, but she's in the patrol department. We've known each other since our rookie days and have been close friends since then. Mel has that calm yet fierce personality that I once thought was more suitable for becoming a detective.

But she prefers to be out on the streets rather than in the office. I preferred both, which is why I go out and do these morons' work for them, because they simply can't do it themselves.

"Chief wants to speak to you," she informed me.

An automatic sigh escaped my lips as I rolled my eyes. I said goodbye to Mel, then turned to walk in the opposite direction and head upstairs to where my uncle's office is located.

Michael Reece sat behind his desk, looking like the tough old man he is, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he read the documents in his hands. Even at almost 50 years old, the man never looks a day over 30.

My uncle got divorced about two years ago, and so he's been married to his work ever since. He never goes out or attends any family Thanksgiving, and the only person from the family he'd rather talk to is me.

Apart from the fact that we're the only cops in the family, the reason I stick around so much is because I'm his favorite niece.

I knocked on the side of the glass door, and he lazily looked up. I walked in while he pulled his glasses off and set his papers aside before shifting his attention to me.