Partners, Remember?

Partners, Remember?
Rachael

The precinct smelled like burnt coffee, same as always. Roman walked beside me like he owned the place, our arms brushing every few steps. I take a sip of the coffee he bought me on our way in this morning.
“Careful,” he said, grinning like the cat who got into the cream. “I didn’t spit in it. Yet.”
I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in my chest was immediate, embarrassing. “If you did, you’re drinking it, not me.”
“Bold of you to assume I don’t like my own cooking.”
Jake, with the permanent sneer, looked up from Marty’s desk when we walked in. His bruised eye was still swollen, the purple fading into a sickly yellow. He glared straight at Roman.

Roman just smiled, charming as sin, like punching him had been a friendly game of tag. He didn’t even glance twice before steering me toward our office.
The man was impossible. Infuriating. Too smooth.
And yet, when I set my coffee down and pulled the lab reports out of the case folder, it was his steady presence beside me that made the chaos of the murders feel almost manageable.
I tapped the paper with my finger. “Midazolam.”
Roman set his cup down on the corner of my desk, close enough that his sleeve brushed mine when he leaned in. He glanced at the open file, then at me, his expression steady.
“All right,” he said, voice even. “We know the sedative. That part’s done. Now comes the chain...where it came from, who touched it, who could’ve diverted it. That’s the next link.”

I nodded, but my throat felt tight. This was the part I’d never trained for. Car wrecks, bar fights, noise complaints, I could handle those. Hunting pharmaceutical shipments across state lines? Not in my wheelhouse.
Roman must’ve seen the hesitation because his smile flickered, soft and reassuring. “Hey. You don’t have to carry this part. This is on me. But I want you to understand what we’re doing, so nothing blindsides you later. Okay?”
I hated that it helped, but it did. “Okay.”
He pulled a file from his bag and set it in front of me, tapping a finger against the typed line listing Helena Distribution Services. “This company handles most of the Midazolam that comes into Montana. They’re our starting point. I’ll call their compliance officer, one Janet Anders. The ask is simple: voluntary cooperation. We want shipment summaries for the last ninety days. Lot numbers, receiving facilities, delivery dates.”

I frown, wondering to myself if he ever sleeps. “And if she tells you to go through legal?”
His grin tilted, not mocking....confident. “Then I pivot. I ask for her official channel for law enforcement administrative inquiries. That usually means a direct email and a name in their legal department. “Then you get the County Attorney’s office to draft a preservation letter. That freezes the records so nothing gets ‘lost’ while we move for subpoenas.”
The way he said lost made me think of shredded paper and files disappearing into desk drawers. I shivered and wrote it down. “So you call Helena. I call Lisa about drafting a preservation letter in case Anders hides behind counsel.”
“Exactly.” He shifted closer, lowering his voice like it was just ours in the room. “You don’t open with subpoenas unless you want to wait weeks. We give them a chance to feel helpful first. Half the time, compliance officers like showing they know the rules better than the lawyers do.”
I huffed out a laugh. “You make it sound like a game.”
His eyes caught mine, serious under the smile. “It’s not a game. But if I make it feel like one, people talk faster. That’s the trick.”

Something in my chest loosened. He wasn’t belittling me, wasn’t talking down. He was letting me in on how he played it, like a partner instead of the outsider I sometimes felt like.
I tapped my pen against the margin. “Okay. What exactly do you want me to tell Lisa when I call?”
Roman recited it slow, crisp: “‘Lisa, we need a preservation letter addressed to Helena Distribution Services, Midazolam shipments for the last six months, pending administrative inquiry into possible diversion. Copy any compliance counsel they provide. This is a preservation only, not a subpoena request yet.’”
I wrote every word. “Got it.”

“Good.” His voice warmed. “That’s your role. My role is Helena. I’ll be polite, curious, and just official enough to make them forget they can hang up. I’ll ask Anders for manifest summaries and the names of receiving facilities. If she pushes back, I get the escalation path. If she refuses outright, we let the preservation letter do the heavy lifting.”
I chewed the end of my pen. “What if she stonewalls? Doesn’t give you anything?”
Roman leaned forward, that half-smile back. “Then we escalate. You notify the State Board of Pharmacy and DEA diversion office. I keep Helena warm with follow-up calls. We don’t lose momentum. We make sure someone always feels like they’re on the hook.”
“And if they give you names?”
“Then we start calling pharmacy directors. Hospital inventories, requisition forms, who signed what. You’d be surprised how sloppy some places are about signatures. A missing name on a form can crack a whole case open.”

I scribbled notes, but what stuck wasn’t the words; it was the certainty in his voice. He’d walked this road a dozen times, and all I had to do was keep pace.
He reached out, tapped my notebook with his pen. “Once I’m off the line, we compare notes. If I’ve got manifests, we chase them. If not, we trigger the preservation letter. Either way, we’re moving.”
I forced myself to meet his eyes. “You really think they’ll talk to you?”
Roman’s grin widened, cocky but not cruel. “Sheriff, I’ve talked my way past worse gatekeepers than a compliance officer in Helena. Trust me.”

The way he said trust me made my pulse jump, and I hated that I didn’t hate it.
“Fine,” I said, snapping my notebook shut. “I trust you. Don’t get cute.”
“Cute?” He stood, sliding his jacket back on. “We both know I’m devastatingly handsome.”
I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my mouth anyway. “Go make your call, devastating. I’ll get Lisa.”

Roman winked once, and I hate the flip I felt in my stomach.
I need to shut this shit down.
I hate that I want to shut it down, and I hate that I don’t.

I reach into my bag and pop a few xanax, swallowing them dry. I furrow my brows in confusion, realizing I am using less of my anxiety meds.
Picking up the phone, I dial the County Attorney. She answered on the second ring, sounding like she’d already downed three coffees. “Lisa Speaking.”
“This is Officer Sinclair. I need a preservation letter drafted for Helena Distribution Services. Midazolam shipments, the last six months. Pending administrative inquiry into possible diversion. Nothing about homicides.”
Lisa grunted, the sound of typing filtering through the receiver. “I can put that together in an hour. You’ll need a name over there to address it to.”
“FBI is working on that now,” I said. “I’ll circle back with you as soon as he’s off the line.”
“You want me to prep DEA in case?”
“Yes. Quietly.”
She hung up before I could thank her. Lisa never wasted words.

I set the receiver down and let out a breath. My gaze drifted across the room to where Roman leaned against the filing cabinet now, phone to his ear, posture relaxed, but his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
I couldn’t hear the person on the other end, but I caught his side clearly. “Yes, ma’am. Special Agent Roman Hanshaw, FBI. I’m calling in reference to Midazolam shipments into Montana over the last six months.” A pause. His smile flickered, wolfish. “No, not an audit. Preliminary administrative review. We’re simply asking for manifest summaries....lot numbers, receiving facilities, shipment dates.”
Another pause. His eyes flicked toward me, locking on mine for a second. He winked.
My chest tightened. Damn him.

He shifted his weight, smooth as glass. “I understand counsel prefers formal process. I’m not requesting patient records, ma’am, only shipment summaries. If you’d prefer, I’ll take your compliance officer’s direct line and legal counsel’s email for official preservation notice.”
He jotted something fast in his notebook, handwriting quick and neat. Then he laughed softly, easy, charming. “I appreciate that, Ms. Anders. Truly. You’ve been more helpful than you realize. Yes, I’ll have a letter drafted today. Please expect it by the close of business. Thank you for your time.”
Click.

Roman set the phone down and turned, notebook in hand. “Well,” he said, crossing back to my desk, “looks like we’ve got a live one.”
I raised a brow. “She talked?”
“She talked.” He slid into the chair across from me. “Didn’t hand over the manifests, of course, but she confirmed Helena handled every Midazolam shipment in-state for the last quarter. Three major receiving hospitals....Billings, Helena, Great Falls. She gave me her direct line and legal counsel’s email for preservation letters.”
I reached for the notebook. “Names?”
“Spelled them for me herself.” He turned it so I could see. Janet Anders, Compliance Officer. Douglas Pike, General Counsel. Phone numbers. Direct emails.
For a second, I just stared at the page. It was so simple, the kind of progress that felt like cheating.
Roman leaned back, smirking. “Told you people like to be useful.”
I shook my head, fighting the smile tugging at my mouth. “You’re insufferable.”
“Effective,” he corrected.

I copied the names into my notes, my hand steadier than it had been all week. “Lisa will have the preservation letter drafted within the hour. Once that’s served, Anders has to hold the records. After that, we can subpoena if needed.”
“Exactly.” He steepled his fingers like he was teaching a class. “Meanwhile, I’ll prep the questions for the hospital pharmacies. We’ll want to know if the lot numbers logged on their end match the manifests Helena provides. If they don’t...”
“We’ve got diversion,” I finished.

Roman’s grin was sharp. “And diversion means a source. Which means we close the gap between whoever ordered the drug and whoever’s using it to put women in the ground.”
“Sounds like a lot of work to sort through.”
“It always is.”
The words landed heavy. For a moment, everything vanished, replaced by the chill outside and the faces of the victims I’d seen laid out on steel tables. Blonde hair, hollow eyes, carved flesh.

I looked down, gripping my pen so tight my knuckles ached.
Roman’s hand slid across the desk, resting just close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. “Hey,” he said softly. “You did good today.”
I swallowed hard. “You did the work.”
“We,” he corrected. “We did the work. Partners, remember?”