The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 530

One for illegal distribution, one for illegal possession and abuse. The former involved the unauthorized transfer of controlled substances, the latter involved narcotics abuse.

Reel in both lines, and they'd both be locked up.

Rhys's voice was low and steady. "Have Narcotics dig up all of Margot's prescription records and medical surveillance footage."

"Copy that! I'm on it, I'll make sure he rots in a cell!"

The rookie turned to sprint out the door.

Rhys raised his eyes, shooting him a look.

The rookie had barely lifted an inch off his chair before he immediately sat back down.

"...Yes, sir?"

"You're SWAT. This falls completely outside your jurisdiction. Hand this lead over as preliminary intel, and let the local precinct and Narcotics take over the actual investigation. Keep the process spotless. Every single step needs a paper trail, signatures, and formal approval. No cutting corners, no skipping protocol."

Rhys paused, his fingers subconsciously twisting the ring on his left hand.

"I'm not on the team anymore. You have to maintain your own boundaries in the field. If you mess up a procedural step and they bite back with a technicality, I can't protect you anymore. And you won't survive the fallout."

The rookie felt a sudden tightness in his chest, a lump forming in his throat.

He had known his mentor was transferring, but hearing it straight from the man himself—especially the words "I can't protect you anymore"—stung far worse than hearing it from anyone else.

But it was for the best. His boss's health was failing, and Clara had brought their son back specifically to make sure he got his treatment. That was a good thing.

The whole team had heard the news, and they were all privately counting their blessings.

He lowered his head, not correcting his title this time.

"Understood, Boss."

Once a mentor, always a father figure. To hell with titles. To him, Rhys would always be his boss.

Rhys didn't bother correcting him either.

"Also, watch your six in the field. Don't get careless again."

The rookie rubbed his nose.

When he looked up, he flashed a bright grin. "Don't worry, Boss. I'm not a greenhorn anymore. I'm rock solid."

Rhys just looked at him.

When the kid had first been assigned to him, he was as reckless as they came. Every time he got chewed out for a mistake, he'd swear, "I'll never make such a rookie mistake again!"

Then he'd go out and make it again.

And the time after that, he'd find a brand new way to mess up.

He thought it looked pretty good.

After sending it, he patiently waited for a reply.

This was what they called providing emotional value—displaying their bond.

He was practically an expert now.

The screen displayed "typing..." for a long time.

A moment later, Clara's reply popped up.

[Nice hand? Why take a picture of your hand? Just take the pills.]

It seemed providing emotional value to a rather temperamental Mrs. Huntington wasn't very effective.

Obediently, he tipped the pills into his hand, swallowed them, and dutifully sent another photo of the pillbox, now missing a dose.

Clara replied instantly: [Good boy.]

Rhys turned to look at the sunlight streaming through the window, suddenly feeling like this high-ranking executive position was incredibly dull.

He still had to wait until five-thirty.

He kind of wanted to clock out early, go home, and hug his wife.