Rising Tomorrow (Roc de Chere Book 1) by Mariana Morgan (essential reading txt) 📕

Highly visible and important investigations, where the appropriate presence was required to put on a good show and in which the perks were tasty enough, got even a commissioner up from their spoilt and lazy ass. An investigation into the possible murders of common Leeches was miles beneath their interest, and officially the investigation into the death of Alexa Valentino was over.

Someone as senior as Wagner showing personal interest meant that Gonzalez’s nose had been right all along; those poor, dead Leeches were involved in something huge and nasty. Of course, it could have been a coincidence, or an entirely innocent reason, but Gonzalez knew better. Someone directly involved in the VR sexual slavery crimes had decided his poking around was a threat to their brutal and profitable exploitation of Leeches. And Wagner was coming to put a stop to it.

It was unlikely that Wagner had personally found the civilian that even the sneakiest of Megan’s approaches had failed to locate. Most likely, whoever had ordered him to take over the investigation at the 4th had handed him the information. Gonzalez wasn’t even aware the Central Police Inspectorate was looking for her.

So who was? And who the hell traced her while all the resources at my disposal could not? Did they know all along who she was and where to find her? Are they bringing her out now, because we got too close? Could her expertise really be a danger to them? Too many questions, not enough time,he scolded himself.

All those thoughts took a second at best to flash through Gonzalez’s mind, while he theatrically swallowed hard.

‘Understood, ma’am,’ he said, and cleared his throat in a faked sign of rising panic.

‘Good. Get your team ready.’ Brau-Hastings nodded and disconnected abruptly.

Gonzalez could literally feel the adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. It always fascinated him how people responded differently to adrenaline surges. The physical effect was meant to be the same: increased awareness, endurance and speed. But the mind changed it all. Some people perceived adrenaline as a garden-variety stress response and crumbled under the weight of what was to come. Gonzalez thrived on it. He allowed himself a brief moment to let the sensation build up, the increased oxygen permeating every cell of his body, reaching his mind, letting the mental cogs switch to a higher gear, while he let the new plan formulate in his head.

His brain raced, his hand still in mid-air, having cut the connection off at his end. He wanted to fire a quick comp call to the MIS and Lieutenant Rivas, but he was no longer sure his security blocks would hold to keep the conversation private. Oh, they were plenty good enough to keep the content of the call private, but if the chief commissioner had taken a personal interest, the fact that a comp call was made might be impossible to hide. Besides, if Rivas knew about Wagner taking over, he would have called himself. Which meant the MIS was as much outside of the loop as he was. And time was up.

‘Megan! Send Ingram here. Now!’ he barked to his wrist-comp.

The cover might not have been blown yet, but with the link to the MIS possibly compromised he needed a way out. And he needed it fast, before Commissioner Wagner’s oh-so-tender supervision made their movements impossible. Next, he needed that bloody civilian, whatever her name was, damn her, out and safely hidden away from Wagner. The idea of Wagner putting his hands on her chilled him.

His hands flew over the holo-keyboard, copying all his files, his fingers annoyingly fat on the holo-keys. He wished he could get Megan to do it. At the same time, his brain multitasked fiercely.

‘Sir?’ Sergeant Carlotta Ingram half-slurred the instant Megan let her into his office. Her slender body snapped to perfect attention and Gonzalez schooled his expression into a suitably predatory one until the door closed. And then they both relaxed- with a sigh.

Ingram was in her mid-forties and her body was almost too short for an Elite, nicely fitting into her current role as a Leech. For the mission, her olive skin with bronze undertones had been artificially dulled to an ashen, weathered-looking mix, more representative of the rough life of a Leech. Her hair, dark and wavy, was also deprived of its normal shine. But nothing could dull the spark in her green, almond-shaped eyes when she correctly read her CO’s tightly focused gaze.

Something was about to happen.

Her CO was a tall and powerfully built man. His complexion was a good few shades darker than Ingram’s—a russet, dark brown with a warm red tinge. As was expected for an Elite, he radiated health and affluence. His hair, almost black in colour, was neatly trimmed, and his smooth cheeks suggested facial hair might have been removed entirely with nano-tech. That or he shaved painstakingly every day. And then there were his eyes, the most expressive grey eyes anyone could imagine. Under the skin, the structure of his facial bones spoke of the same combination of genes one could see on Ingram’s face. Such a mix of physical features, once belonging to different ethnic groups, was natural and ubiquitous in the 28th century as a result of the World Government’s long-standing philosophy. In fact, the amalgam of features was so common that people no longer noticed it.

‘How’s your face?’ Gonzalez asked, studying her bruising carefully, and Ingram rolled her eyes.

‘You did a good job.’ She smirked, probing her swollen lip with her tongue. ‘I scrubbed the blood off myself.’

Gonzalez sighed again. The spark of life and defiance in her eyes warmed his heart despite the irrepressible self-hatred he felt. He had always known that the most challenging part of being a convincing Elite police officer would be the casual brutality towards his Leech gendarmes that everyone would expect from him, and the fact that he was supposed to enjoy it as part of a normal, balanced lifestyle. He was no stranger to fights, brawls and bruises, but