Crucible Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 5) by Alex P. Berg

remember his invigorating two word pep talks and milk-curdling scowls better than anyone.”
    Steele stood at my side, glancing at me with curiosity. She’d remained silent during our walk over. “You know, I’m starting to see where some of your less pleasant personality traits originated.”
    “Yeah, believe it or not, I wasn’t this broken when I joined the force,” I said. “Griggs and my divorce both had parts to play in that.”
    “I seem to recall you were pretty shaken up about his departure when it happened,” said Rodgers.
    I gave Quinto a nod. “Be sure to bring Rodgers with you when you get that head exam.”
    Rodgers rolled his eyes. “You know, as much as I love getting mercilessly taunted on a nice, brisk winter’s night such as this, it also might be worthwhile to, you know, head up to Griggs’ place.”
    I didn’t have a witty riposte to that. I’d been the one to hesitate at his doorstep, solemnly staring at the cinderblocks and digging up memories of the past, memories I thought I’d outgrown. Maybe I had, at that. But what about the future? What would I uncover up there in Griggs’ apartment? I felt as if I stood at the edge of a rabbit den, and I had no idea how deep the hole went.
    Despite her decided lack of psychic ability, Shay read my mind. “Look, Daggers, for all we know it’s not your ex-partner. We all trust Boatreng’s ability, but it’s impossible not to let your subconscious influence you. Chances are the man at the restaurant looked more or less like the man you used to work with, and when the waitress gave a shaky description of him to Boatreng, his mind filled in the blanks with an image of Griggs.”
    I chewed on my lip.
    “And even if it is Griggs,” said Steele, “so what? It’s entirely possible he’s an innocent bystander. I mean, what are the chances your ex-partner would be involved in something like this?”
    “It’s not his innocence I’m worried about.” I nodded toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
    I pushed through and followed the route I remembered, down a dull corridor and back out into a courtyard, one with a half-dozen evergreens, a pair of stone benches, and elevated beds that in the summer months would burst with daylilies, daisies, and black-eyed Susans. It was a small slice of paradise imprisoned within four hard walls, and if the obvious metaphor between it and Griggs had never dawned on me, it was only because I’d never noticed a glimmer of the greenery within Griggs’ own granite perimeter.
    I led the crew through to the other side, up a set of stairs, and over to apartment two thirty-five. I paused for a moment, gathering myself as I stared at the number.
    I knocked.
    I shifted my weight from foot to foot, the clock in my head ticking through the seconds. I felt Quinto’s hot breath on the back of my neck and caught a hint of something gingery—perhaps a remnant of whatever sesame chicken substitute the guy undoubtedly ate while he and Rodgers roamed the docks. The door stood there, immobile, mocking me.
    I knocked again. “Griggs? You in there? It’s Daggers. Open up, you old buzzard.”
    “Maybe he’s asleep,” offered Rodgers.
    “At dusk?” I said. “Really?”
    He shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one always joking about his age.”
    “He could be out,” said Steele.
    I snorted. “Yeah, sorry, but you really don’t know Griggs. You think I was antisocial when we first met? Well, the closest Griggs came to desiring human contact was his obsession with fishing.”
    “So?” said Steele. “Fishing is a perfectly acceptable social activity.”
    “Yes,” I said. “But Griggs’ went alone. His only contact was with the fish.”
    I startled as I heard the creak of a door, but it was a false alarm. A middle-aged woman with short curly hair and a round face stepped from her apartment, just to the right of Griggs’ place.
    I didn’t waste the opportunity. “Excuse me. Do you know the man who lives here?