Deception

I always wanted to be a police officer. Even as a kid, I knew it was the right path for me. I’d scribble parking fines on scraps of paper and stick them under wind-shields of cars parked illegally. I’d chase joggers down the street, convinced they were criminals fleeing the scene, and try to hand them over to the police, just like I saw on TV. Back then, I didn’t realize those people were just out for their morning run. I was just a kid, but I was already obsessed with justice.

I thought it might just be a phase. Turns out, it wasn’t. I grew up to be exactly what I always wanted to be.

The truth is, I hated it when people broke the rules. Back then, I couldn’t do anything about it. Now? I’m the law, and people have to play by my rules.

My name is Nancy Hunter. Born and bred in London. Graduated from Oxford University in ’92 with a double first in Psychology and Criminology. Quite the mouthful, I know but I aimed to be the best, and I was. That work ethic landed me the title of Detective Inspector at the Whitechapel branch of the Metropolitan Police Service.

I didn’t care about anyone but myself. Success was all that mattered. I was the kid who always had her head in a book, the one everyone mocked until they needed my notes. Funny how those same kids who laughed behind my back suddenly became my best friends around exam season.

I gave in a few times. Let them copy my answers. Until I snapped. Tired of being used, I decided to teach them a lesson. Petty? Maybe. But effective. I gave them the answers from the previous year’s exam. They failed. Couldn’t graduate. The look on their faces? Worth it. Cruel? Sure. But some people need to learn the hard way. After that, no one bothered me again. Instead, I got a new nickname: Stone-Cold Bitch. It stuck until my twenties but at least I wasn’t getting slammed into lockers anymore.

People see me now and think I’m just another middle-aged woman. They have no idea. I’m tougher than I look. I work out five days a week, running, yoga, whatever clears my head. I avoid the gym. I don’t do small talk. Don’t want to be seen. Don’t want to be liked. In this town, everyone thinks I’m a stuck-up bitch anyway.

They’re not wrong.

Everyone’s hiding something. No matter how innocent they look. And if they mess up?

They deal with me.

“Did you really have to kick him in the nuts?” Walter asked, joining me under the shelter out back.

Walter Hayes. My partner for seven years. A pain in the ass, but the only one who can tolerate me for longer than five minutes. He’s the yin to my chaos.

“Nance?”

I acknowledged him with a glance and a scoff. “Do I need a reason to kick a criminal in the nuts?”

He shook his head with a grimace. “You’re such a savage.”

He’s not wrong. Walter hates how rough I am with suspects. Thinks I’m too harsh. It’s rare anyone walks into our station without a bruise when I bring them in. But I get results.

I shrugged and took a drag from my cigarette. “He kept cutting me off.”

Walter chuckled. “You can’t be serious.”

“Every time I read him his Miranda Rights, he squealed like a fucking pig.”

“That’s because you broke his wrist beforehand,” he said, handing me a cup of shitty station coffee. “How do you expect him to talk if he’s in pain?”

I grimaced but took it anyway. “Thought he was reaching for a gun.”

Walter scoffed. “Boss won’t like that you’ve hurt another suspect.”

“He can kiss my ass. He should be thanking me for catching the bastard who’s been raping girls in this town.”

“He should thank you?”

I drained the coffee, crushed the cup, and tossed it into the bin. “Well, what did you do, huh? I caught him. You were too busy pissing in a bush.”

“Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go. But that doesn’t mean you get all the credit.”

“All you did was drive us. That’s hardly heroic.”

“But—”

“No buts.” I dropped the cigarette and crushed it under my boot. “Next time you want credit, piss yourself.”

His jaw dropped.

Yeah, I’m a proud woman. I know I’m good at my job. I catch the bad guys and put them behind bars.

Nobody does it better.

“No hard feelings,” I said, extending a hand. “Just admit I’m better than you.”

He slapped it away. “Fuck you, Malfoy.”

I smirked and slicked back my bleached hair as I shoulder-passed him. Arrogant? Sure. But I’m keeping these streets clean. Without all that hard work, I’d be stuck in some dead-end supermarket job, knee-deep in debt and depression.

Not exactly the life I was aiming for.

***

Inside the station, our little team was already assembled.

There’s five of us in total. Walter and me included.

Let’s start with the one I like least.

Sasha Ryan. Twenty-nine. Divorced, twice. Three kids. Three different dads. I don’t dislike her for that. I dislike her because she’s lazy and dumb. Ask her to do something and you’ll be waiting an hour. And she won’t even apologize. She didn’t earn her position. She’s here because she’s the mayor’s daughter, and I’d bet my badge it was money, not merit, that landed her the job.

Then there’s Spencer Banks. Thirty-two. Married with four kids. Quiet as a mouse unless spoken to. Loves his job and crime documentaries even more. Nice guy, sure, but boring as hell.

Finally, Henry Lowe. Twenty-four. Single. Grade-A ass-kisser. Sucks up to me constantly. I want to believe it’s because I’m his superior. But judging by the way he stares at my chest, I’m not convinced.

I limped past Nick, our chief, who looked ready to murder me, and dropped into my chair, wincing as I threw my boots onto the desk. That rapist had a hell of a right hook. Should’ve done my homework and read that he was a kickboxing champion. But hey, when time is tight, instincts kick in.

Nick stormed over, eyes blazing. “How many times have I told you not to hurt the suspects, Hunter!?”

He kicked my boots off the desk. I muttered a curse.

“Why did you break his wrist this time?” he barked. “Well?”

I sighed. “Because I felt like it.”

“Hunter!”

I stood up, nose to nose with him. “That rapist is lucky I didn’t rip his dick off. If I’d been on my period, it’d be a different story.”

“This is a joke to you?”

Across the room, Sasha piped up. “Pissing off a woman on her period is no joke.”

“No one asked you!” I snapped. She shut up quick and went back to her online shopping.

Nick turned back to me, exasperated. “Look, Nancy, I know you think you can do whatever the hell you want because you’re a D.I., but you can’t. Yes, they’re criminals—but they still have rights!”

I leaned in. “How would you feel if it was your daughter that bastard attacked? We wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Quiet,” he growled, but I wasn’t done.

“Instead, you’d be thanking me. Giving me a raise, maybe. But since it wasn’t your kid, you don’t give a damn. You care more about his wrist than the girls he raped. That’s messed up.”

Nick’s jaw clenched. “You still didn’t need to break it. That behaviour won’t be tolerated. I could have your badge for this.”

“You don’t like how I operate?” I asked.

He said nothing.

I leaned in closer. “Well, I don’t like how you cheat on your wife with half the station, but do you hear me complaining?”

He looked like he wanted to hit me. I’ve seen that look a lot.

“Stay out of my business,” I said, grabbing my coat, “and I’ll stay out of yours.”

He didn’t respond. Because he couldn’t. Not if he wanted his secrets kept.

As I slung on my coat and grabbed my things, he tried one last shot. “You’re not going anywhere. I want that report on my desk in an hour and—”

“Boss.” Walter cut in.

Nick spun around. “What?”

“Nancy’s needed elsewhere.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I am?”

Walter nodded. “Teenager’s body. Found at the high school. Possible suicide.”