The High Priestess - The Darkest Desires Series

XXV

M

cQueen sent Ramirez home and was well on his way to getting himself back to his B&B too. His nerves were fried; he wanted to file off just a few more pieces of paper work before he headed home. McQueen felt cold. Not just because he was tired, and it was late October; it was something deeper than that. It was the emptiness he felt inside himself and he knew exactly where it had come from.

He had watched the glee spread across Echo's face as she tore Sydney down. He'd watched as the girl cried silent tears and Echo lapped them up. It was a monstrous sight and McQueen had done nothing. He was sick with himself; with the situation, with how he had just watched. He'd been raised better than that. He had tried to defuse the situation, he knew that, but it wasn't enough. The guilt ate at him.

After watching her walk away, McQueen had tried to work until evening when he could survey outside Cardinal House. He'd had little success. The undercover agents had already been briefed about the club and were awaiting their set time to begin their approach, and yet McQueen doubted they were prepared enough. He'd seen the bowels of the beast and it scared him. He didn't think anyone could be prepared for what was in that House.

Some more paperwork and research later, he made the decision to trek upstairs and see the Chief. He'd been thinking about going for weeks now, just to introduce himself, but as the weeks passed, it kept falling further and further down his list. Now, with Hale still gone dealing with grieving families, Echo enjoying her time burning in her own personal hell, and Cassi working as fast as she could with no success, he felt the need to remind himself why he was here.

"Chief, it's Detective McQueen, I was wondering if I could have a word?" He asked, poking his head in after knocking. "I'm sorry, we haven't met before-,"

"McQueen. Course I know who you are." The chief answered. He didn't seem pleased to see him. In fact, he gave him a look over for a moment or two before sighing. He waved McQueen over and leaned back on his chair. The tight leather squeaked beneath him and the single light on in the room gave a heated glow.

The room was dark and full of knickknacks: books McQueen couldn't see the titles of, police memorabilia, awards, as well as some old oil paintings on the walls. The Chief was very unique to look at: always dressed in his dark perfectly pressed Commanding Chief's uniform, with fire red hair that grew in clumps; matching the fire in his stare. His face dripped with wrinkles and sun spots making him seem ancient. He was old and that was being polite. He was so bone thin: his uniform hanging from his frame and the shirt he wore gapped at his collar. The black trousers swung in open air whenever he turned on the chair, and his jacket gapped at his none existing stomach. McQueen thanked the Lord that he'd never, ever have to see the man naked, but he imagined a skeleton playing dress up. "What is it?"

McQueen swallowed hard. When he'd been submitted into this station, he arrived at the front door on the first day. He'd been given his locker number by the receptionist and signed out his gun and taser from the armoury. He'd asked for Detective Hale, who had promptly sneered at him and sat him at his desk. He didn't even know if the Chief had been in that day. No matter how early he arrived or late he left, he never saw the Chief out of his office. He'd told himself again and again to introduce himself. Now, as he walked into the office, he thought it was better late than never.

"I wanted to speak to you sir." McQueen sat on the chair. He felt small sat down, looking up at the Chief over the lip of his desk. He felt stupid. Especially when the man narrowed his eyes. "I'll make it quick and I know it's late coming, but I wanted to say thank you, for bringing me as part of the station."