Chapter Text
Tierney’s POV
Walking into the Ottawa station with Eric at his side and the plea deal finally approved should have felt like coming home victorious.
It didn’t.
Tierney felt eyes on him the moment he crossed the threshold.
Too many of them.
Too aware.
He kept his face neutral, stride steady, but inside something tightened.
Something’s wrong, he thought.
He and Eric were halfway down the hall toward the interview rooms when a voice cut through the air and he understood at once, just how wrong.
“Tierney.”
Chief Crowell.
Tierney stopped at once.
Eric did too.
Crowell stood in the doorway of his office, expression unreadable, posture stiff.
“You’re done here,” Crowell said, looking at Eric. “You have been barred from the investigation. Leave.”
Eric opened his mouth and closed it again.
He moved to go but his eyes shot to Tierney.
Disbelief and hurt reflecting there.
Something like I can’t believe you actually filed the motion.
Tierney felt something cold slide down his spine.
He hadn’t.
He’d never put it in writing.
He’d only mentioned it to Rachel…
On the phone…
In the station…
Where anyone could have been listening.
“Eric,” Tierney said quietly. “Wait outside.”
Eric hesitated, jaw tight, but nodded and finally walked away.
Then Crowell stepped to the side.
A silent order.
Tierney followed Crowell into the office.
He already knew where this was going.
He refused to let it show on his face.
Refuse to let him see how angry he was.
How sure of his involvement in whatever the fuck was going on.
And he’d always known Crowell was dirty.
But this…
This was beyond even him.
Crowell shut the door.
“Sit,” he said.
Tierney didn’t.
Just because he was acquiescing did not mean he had to pretend to be happy about it.
Or be a good sport.
Fuck that.
Fuck Crowell.
And fuck whoever was behind all this shit.
The next words out of Crowell’s mouth were, “You’re officially off the case.”
And while Tierney had known this was coming, it still made his hands turn to fists, anger flooding him so sharply that when he asked, “On what grounds?” it came out as a growl.
Crowell just shrugged, as if it was obvious. “You removed a subject from an active investigation without secondary approval.”
“Kip was an informant,” Tierney said. “He had a plea deal—'”
“Don’t insult me!” Crowell cut him off his hand slapping his hand on a yellow case file on the table. “I’m being generous here.”
Tierney’s jaw tightened as he saw the name Hollander, Shane on it. A case file he’d probably never get to be in such close proximity of again.
Crowell leaned back against his desk, arms crossed.
“I know Kip had no plea deal at the time you took him,” he said. “The approval came later. Much later.”
Tierney’s stomach dropped.
Crowell continued, voice flat. “You’re suspended. Effective immediately. Turn in your badge and—”
“My badge is here,” Tierney said, pulling it from his coat and setting it on the desk. “My service weapon was lost during… a stakeout. Someone ambushed me.”
Crowell closed his eyes for a long moment.
When he opened them, he looked almost resigned.
Like he’d been waiting years for this conversation.
“You’ve always been a conspiracy theorist,” Crowell said quietly. “And I’ve never said anything because somehow you kept closing cases. But this—”
He gestured vaguely, as if the entire situation were too tangled to name. “This has gone too far.”
“Why do you think that?”
Crowell frowned. “What?”
“You said this has gone too far but all I said was that I lost my gun which is a perfectly normal thing that happens when someone ambushes you when you’re not expecting,” Tierney said. “So then why? What made you say that? What triggered this?”
Crowell’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes flickered.
Tierney pressed. “Because I haven’t even pulled out the red string yet. So, what exactly made you think I had?”
Crowell didn’t answer.
“Unless… there’s more to this case than what’s on paper? Unless you know how I really lost it, and you’re just playing dumb.”
Crowell watched him for a long, tense moment.
Then, he exhaled slowly and said, “Take this as a good thing, Tierney. A much‑needed vacation.”
Tierney stared at him.
“Who’s taking over the case,” he asked.
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Bullshit,” Tierney exploded. “Why won’t you tell me?”
Crowell stepped around the desk, opening the door.
“From this point forward,” he said, “you are barred from speaking to anyone about this case or digging into this investigation. And if I catch even a whiff that you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong…” He paused, letting the silence fill the space. “I won’t stop at suspension.”
Crowell nodded toward the hallway.
“You’re dismissed.”
Tierney walked out without a word.
And knew that whatever was happening wasn’t just bigger than him.
It wasn’t some lurking shadow outside on the streets.
It was already here.
Already inside the walls.
Tierney walked out of the station moments later, the doors shutting behind them with a heavy thud that felt too final.
The sharp winter air hitting him like a misted cold plunge for his nerves which we’re uncharacteristically shot to shit.
And at once, Eric was on him.
“What did he say?”
Tierney let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in his chest for hours.
“Suspended.”
“Fuck out of here,” Eric cursed. “On what fucking grounds?”
“Protocol,” Tierney said. “Releasing Kip without secondary approval.”
“He was an informant,” Eric argued just as he had. “He had a plea deal.”
Tierney stopped walking.
“He didn’t,” he said quietly. “Not then. The approval came later.”
Eric’s expression morphed, confusion, then realization, then something darker.
Tierney continued, voice low. “Crowell knew that. He knew the exact timestamp. And he knew I’d taken Kip before it.”
Eric stared at him. “How would he know that unless—”
“Unless he has someone on the inside. Yeah, figured that much out,” Tierney finished. “Same thing with your motion, I didn’t file it. Never put it in writing, just mentioned it to Rachel at the station, so this goes far beyond Canada. This is…”
They reached the parking lot.
Tierney stopped beside his car and let his back hit the door with a dull thud.
The exhaustion of the last few days finally catching up to him. He let out a long sigh, and there was a slump in his posture as he dragged a hand over his face like he was trying to wipe the whole day off his skin.
Eric watched him for a moment, then asked quietly, “Where do we go from here?”
Tierney huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Technically? Nowhere. I’m barred from the investigation.”
Eric blinked. “You’re not being serious.”
Tierney shook his head immediately, jaw tight. “I’m supposed to be. I’m supposed to walk away, hand it off, pretend I’m not already too far in.” He pushed off the car, pacing a short, frustrated line. “But I can’t. There are too many moving parts. Too many things that don’t add up. I need to get to the bottom of it.”
“There he is,” Eric said.
Tierney shot him a look that was half warning, half weary resignation.
Eric’s mouth curled in that maddeningly slow and smugly triumphant way of his that made a curse spring to the tip of Tierney’s tongue like a bullet into the chamber of a gun.
“Knew you weren’t just going to bent over and take it.”
“Fuck you, Bennet.”
Eric only smirked harder. “No thanks. Once was more than enough for me.”
Tierney flicked him off, and his mind, traitorous as ever, jumped back to that night years ago.
The night after they’d wrapped the case.
After they’d shoved the bastards responsible straight into a cell.
They’d gone out for drinks.
Months of tension had finally broken.
One thing led to another…
And.
Well.
That was a chapter neither of them ever opened again.
One Tierney had never thought they would ever revisit out loud either.
And yet—
Eric stepped closer, snapping Tierney’s attention back into him like a live wire.
“So,” he said, hands sliding into his pockets, “what are we looking into next?”
Tierney exhaled, long and heavy, like he was accepting something he’d been fighting all day.
Then he said, “Sasha.”
Eric nodded. “I agree. We need to find out who he is. What he is. How does he fit into this.”
Tierney shook his head. “No. I need to find out. And you need to stop now while you’re ahead.”
Eric turned towards him, eyes sharp. “The hell I will—”
“This is dangerous,” Tierney pushed. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Eric stepped closer, voice low and steady. “I’m not walking away. And I’m not scared.”
“It’s a loss cause anyway,” Tierney groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Without my badge, I don’t have reach. I don’t have access. I don’t have—”
“You have me,” Eric cut in. “I’m not a cop. I’m not bound by the same rules. And I’ve got connections. People who can—”
Tierney stopped him with a raised hand. “The less I know, the better.”
Eric’s jaw flexed, mouth breaking into a crooked smile. “Fair point.”
Tierney met his eyes.
Suspended or not, barred or not, he was going to keep digging.
He was going to follow the investigation.
He was going to find out who Sasha was.
And how he was connected to Rozanov.
And why Kip had been targeted.
Eric watched him, reading the decision on his face.
“So,” Eric said quietly. “How do we get to Sasha?”
Tierney exhaled, long and slow.
“Rozanov,” he said. “He wants me to focus my efforts on him so there has to be something there. Some connection. Once we know the motive, the pieces fall into place.”
Eric didn’t react at first.
He stood there in the parking lot, hands in his coat pockets, staring at nothing.
Then he said, quietly, “There’s something you should know.”
Tierney felt something cold settle in his chest.
He didn’t like the sound of that.
Then Eric said, “Rozanov isn’t just a name. It’s a network.”
Tierney felt his training kick in.
The instinctive tightening in his chest.
The mental shift into threat‑assessment mode.
Eric looked down at the pavement.
“Ilya… he comes from people who don’t exist on paper. People who live in the margins of power. People who can change the course of things with a single call.”
A curse burned the back of Tierney’s throat.
He’d known.
Not the details, not the scope.
But the shape of something bigger lurking under the surface.
Still…
This…
God damn it all to hell.
What the fuck had he gotten himself into this time?
Eric shook his head, almost gently, saddened by the repercussion of words he hadn’t yet voiced.
“Ilya’s not part of that world, though. He’s just a hockey player who inherited a history he never asked for. I don’t know the full story. What I do know, I learned by accident — cases, clients, the kind of circles you and I wish we didn’t have to move in.”
He looked at Tierney, eyes tight.
“Ilya is a good man. He’s not involved. I don’t think he even knows how deep it goes. How much weight his name carries in some circles. Hell I’d bet my entire career that he doesn’t know there are even circles at all.”
Eric closed his eyes, an exhale fogging up the cold air.
“But ignorance doesn’t erase lineage. And his lineage? It reaches into places you don’t want to imagine. Old money. Older alliances. Grudges older than both of us combined.”
Tierney swallowed hard. “So this Sasha? You think he be an enemy of the Rozanov’s? Is this some sort of vendetta, a revenge plot?”
Eric shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s possible.”
“What else?” Tierney asked.
And Eric shot a look over his shoulder before he shook his head. “Not here.”
Tierney nodded.
And then, Eric stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Jacob. I can get answers. I can talk to people who owe me favors. People who know things. People who don’t talk to cops.”
Tierney cut him off again. “You do what you must. But the less I know, the better.”
“Then let me handle the part you don’t want to know,” Eric said. “You stay on Kip. On the pieces you can actually see. I’ll take the ones you can’t.”
Tierney hated that it made sense.
Hated that it gave him direction.
Hated that it felt like the first step onto a road he already knew was going to cost him.
He still didn’t trust Eric.
Not even remotely.
But he was a loose end he couldn’t afford to have running wild.
“Fine,” Tierney said. “My place. Thirty minutes.”
That said, he hit the unlock button on his key fob, the car chirping once in the dim lot.
He moved to open the driver’s door, already half‑bent to slide in when Eric’s voice floated over his shoulder.
“You know,” Eric said, smirk audible, “we did come here in the same car. Usually that implies we leave together too.”
Tierney paused, one hand on the door, the other braced on the roof. He didn’t even bother looking at Eric at first, just exhaled through his nose like he was counting to ten.
Then he straightened, turned, and leveled him with a flat stare.
“Put your black card to work and get a cab.”
Eric blinked. “Seriously?”
“I have something to do first,” Tierney said, already angling back toward the driver’s seat. “You’ll survive the hardship of being chauffeured around in a luxury vehicle someone else drives.”
Eric rolled his eyes so dramatically it was practically a full‑body motion. “Unbe-fucking-lievable.”
But he stepped back from the car anyway, muttering under his breath as he dug into his coat pocket.
He pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Tapping one free with the practiced flick of someone who’d been doing this far too long.
Tierney watched him for a beat.
The lighter flare.
The first drag.
The way Eric’s shoulders dropped like the nicotine was the only thing keeping him sane.
Then Tierney lowered his window.
“Thirty minutes,” he reminded.
Eric exhaled smoke, smirk returning like a reflex. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
And Tierney didn’t trust him.
Not even a little.
But he needed him.
And that was the problem.
Eric’s POV
Tierney pulled out of the lot, taillights disappearing into the dark.
Eric watched the car go, jaw tight, cigarette burning between his fingers.
Then, without ceremony, he flicked it to the pavement and walked away without bothering to put it out.
He headed straight back toward the station.
They let him in without a word.
Everyone knew better.
Or at the very least had been paid to.
Crowell was already waiting at his office door, arms crossed, eyes locked on Eric like he’d been tracking his movements the entire time.
Eric didn’t greet him.
Didn’t slow.
Just slipped past him into the office.
Crowell followed, and the door clicked shut behind them.
Inside, Eric didn’t sit.
He leaned back against the door.
Arms crossed.
Posture coiled and deliberate.
Crowell sat, settling into his chair with a smirk that was all teeth.
“Happy?” he drawled.
Instead of answering, Eric pulled out his wallet, took out the paper check, and tossed it onto the desk.
Crowell’s smirk sharpened into something snide as he watched the check float for a beat before landing soundlessly on the mahogany.
“My, my,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Tierney is not going to be happy with you when he finds out what you did.”
“He won’t find out,” Eric said, voice flat, eyes hard.
Crowell lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Yeah, no, obviously not.”
Eric exhaled, jaw tightening.
“What do you want? Was this not enough fucking money?”
Crowell’s smirk returned, oily and pleased with itself. “This payment satisfies the request to remove Tierney from the case. Any expectation of silence incurs an additional cost.”
Eric scoffed, shaking his head once, slow and incredulous.
Then he stepped forward, just enough to make Crowell’s posture stiffen.
“Silence can be bought,” Eric said quietly. “But not always with money.”
Crowell’s eyes narrowed.
Eric continued, voice lethal in its calm. “And you’re not the only one with knowledge that would benefit from never leaving this room.”
Crowell’s smirk faltered. It was only a flicker, but enough to show he’d heard the threat beneath the words.
“You think you’re the only one holding cards, Crowell?” he asked, stepping closer. “You think you’re the only one who knows things?”
He shook his head once.
“I know more than you want me to,” he said. “Much more. The kind of things that don’t just ruin careers — they erase them. The kind that tears families apart. The kind that burns legacies to the ground.”
For a moment, Crowell didn’t move.
Eric’s words hung in the air like the sword of Damocles suspended over his head.
Then his eyes narrowed, calculating, smile faltering.
He leaned back in his chair, slow, and accessing as if giving himself space to think. His fingers drummed once against the armrest. A slip, a crack, a nervous tell he absolutely hadn’t intended to show.
But to Eric, who read body language for a living, it was a neon sign flashing ‘in the process of shitting my pants.’
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Crowell said, but the words lacked their usual weight.
They sounded… thinner.
Less certain, even as he continued with, “And you’re choosing the wrong opponent.”
Eric’s eyes flicked up, exhausted and furious all at once.
“The only wrong choice here,” he said, “was the cosmic accident that let the man I love be the by‑product of whatever decomposing sludge you keep in your left nut.”
And just as he’d aimed for, there it was.
The crack.
The shock.
The only fracture Eric had ever seen in Crowell’s armor.
Crowell’s eyes widened just a fraction, but enough to confirm it.
Eric’s smile was cold. “Bet you didn’t think I’d know that did you?”
Crowell didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
The silence was the tell.
And Eric had just bought himself leverage far more valuable than the check on the desk.
“You know what’s funny?” Eric said. “When I first met Kyle, I thought he was a plant sent to work me. That he was part of some long con. And when I figured out who he belonged to, I thought—of course. Of course this is a setup. This is strategy.
“But then I paid attention,” Eric said. “And suddenly everything clicked. Why you could tell no one. Why you kept him hidden. Because how would they react if they knew…”
Eric let the silence stretch.
“…you had a weakness.”
Crowell growled, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” voice low, dangerous.
Eric just stared at him.
Then Eric let out a soft, humorless breath, almost pitying. The kind that said please, spare us both.
“It’s done, Crowell. Your plan failed,” Eric said quietly. “Whatever you thought you were orchestrating? It’s done.”
Crowell’s eyes narrowed, but Eric kept going.
“You thought you could use Kyle,” he said. “Thought you could point him like a weapon. Thought he was yours to deploy.”
Eric stepped forward, so his hips were hitting the edge of the desk.
“But now?” Eric’s voice dropped, soft and lethal. “Now he’s under my thumb. Now he listens to me. Now I’m the one pulling the strings.”
Crowell’s fingers twitched on the armrest again.
“So here’s how this works,” Eric said. “You’re not the puppet master anymore. I am. And if you want to keep this quiet — if you want to keep him safe — you’re going to play ball.”
Crowell’s nostrils flared. “You’re threatening me.”
“No,” Eric said, shaking his head again, almost disappointed. “I’m stating the new reality of things.”
Crowell’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t speak.
Eric smiled, slow and cold.
“So go on,” he murmured. “Pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Pretend you’re still in charge. But we both know the truth.”
Crowell stared at him for a long, brittle moment. Then he exhaled through his nose in the way a man does when he realizes the room has tilted and he’s no longer standing on the high ground.
“Name your price.”
“I want it all,” Eric said. “Files. Names. And I want Laurent.”
Crowell’s eyes flicked up sharply, but Eric kept going.
“I also want access to the case. Full. Unfiltered. And when something new breaks, you call me. Immediately.”
“And in return?” Crowell asked, voice tight.
Eric’s answer was calm, almost gentle. “I keep Kyle safe. I keep him oblivious. And I keep the rest of the world oblivious with him.”
Crowell’s jaw clenched. “You think you’re doing me a favor.”
“I know I am.”
“You really believe the reason I stayed out of his life was fear they’d use him against me? That I was hiding some tender little weakness?” He scoffed. “You have no clue what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I know the Rozanov’s are involved. Is that who’s been filling your pockets all these years?”
“Who?” Crowell asked, and Eric frowned.
Because Crowell looked genuinely confused.
And that didn’t make any sense.
Didn’t fit the neat little theory he’d been clinging to that the Rozanov’s were behind it.
They had to be. It was textbook.
Ilya falls for Shane, a man, and suddenly the dynasty is threatened.
So the family sends the bitter ex to take Shane out.
Clean motive.
Clean weapon.
Clean narrative.
Case closed before it even opens.
Guilty as charged, your honor. Bang the gavel onto the next.
And Kip slotted into that theory perfectly
If it went to trial, Kip would be the star witness.
He’d confirm the stabbing, the fight, the emotional baggage, all of it. Painting a picture of a jealous ex snapping.
Kip, who’d been with Laurent for years.
Kip, who magically got a job at the hotel a week before the attack.
Kip, who was working the spa but somehow ended up in the gym at the exact right moment.
And while it foiled his theory it also made sense that maybe Crowell was telling the truth about his shock.
Which with everything at stake for Crowell right now if Eric decided to tell people about Kyle, he suspected he was being genuine. As much of a shock as any coming from someone who lied first and lied better second.
But yeah it made sense because Ilya was being set up that much was clear.
Which lead Eric to believe more than one thing could be true.
The Rozanov’s set off Laurent and the motives were there.
But then another players smells the blood in the water, sees the opportunity and strikes.
Using this to tear down Ilya and bring the Rozanov’s down.
Ilya becoming a pawn in a game of chess neither him nor Shane were even aware they were a part of.
And then there was Crowell.
Who was still looking at him with obvious confusion in his eyes, and then he leaned forward, voice dropping into something dark and sharp.
“You have no clue what the fuck is going on here. You can pretend you know but you’re just a child with a toy gun facing off against a bazooka. And the target?” Crowell scoffed. “It’s already been aimed and it’s a kill shot.”
Eric shrugged. “I’m not afraid of getting hit.”
Crowell laughed loud, sharp, cruel. “Stupid boy,” he said, shaking his head. “So naïve to think the hit that kills is the one aimed at you.”
Crowell’s laugh was still echoing when Eric’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
He didn’t break eye contact as he answered.
“You got Bennet.”
Tierney’s voice came through, clipped, strained.
“Where are you?”
“Stopping by the hospital to visit an old friend,” Eric lied smoothly. “I forgot I had told her I would, and it’s on the way so—
“Yeah, don’t come over.”
Eric straightened so fast it was painful.
“Why not? What’s wrong?”
He looked around sharply, eyes darting to the doorway, the hallway, the glass reflection in the framed commendation on the wall.
If Tierney walked in now….
If he saw Eric her…
If he realized Eric had been doing this behind his back….
It would all be for nothing.
Eric’s pulse spiked, cold and sharp.
He could already imagine it: Tierney standing there, betrayed, furious, done with him.
His anxiety spiked like a blade between his ribs.
His breath stuttered.
Tierney wasn’t here.
He hadn’t walked in.
He hadn’t seen anything.
But it was enough to remind him what was at stake.
Because he shouldn’t have been here.
He shouldn’t have been talking to Crowell.
He shouldn’t have been doing any of this behind Tierney’s back.
But he just needed a little more time.
A little more room to maneuver.
A little more information before Tierney found out.
He needed control of the investigation.
He needed to keep Ilya and Shane safe.
He needed to make sure no one, especially Crowell, could twist the case out of his hands.
He needed it like oxygen.
And right now, he was asphyxiating.
So, he’d burn bridges.
He’d make enemies.
He’d put targets on his back he knew would come collecting soon.
All of it to make sure they were out of harm’s way.
His internal spiral was broken by Tierney exhaling over the line, sharp and wrong.
“They took Chrisopher.”
The words hit like a blow, but Eric didn’t let it show.
“I’ll be there soon.”
“No,” Tierney snapped. “Stay away. I mean it.”
And he hung up.
Eric lowered the phone slowly, the click of the call ending still ringing in the air.
Then he turned back to Crowell.
The warmth was gone.
The mask was gone.
His eyes were cold enough to frost glass.
“Time to pay up,” Eric said. “I want to speak to Laurent. Now!”