Gaz raises his brows but does as told. “Am I in trouble, sir?” he asks, going for humour but landing somewhere in wary and careful.
“No,” Price says and leans forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “And you can drop the ‘sir’ for now. I want to have a chat.”
“No,” Price says and leans forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “And you can drop the ‘sir’ for now. I want to have a chat.”
Comments
Price huffs. “No, you’re not. Or a little. Not in too much trouble.”
“I see.” Gaz shifts in place uncomfortably. “So what have I done?”
“You’re exhausted,” Price says. “Overworking yourself.”
“I know that you’re overdoing it. I know you.” Price gives him a significant look. “It’s for Soap’s sake, isn’t it?”
Gaz’s expression shuts off instantly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
Nonsense. There’s more to this.
Price tilts his head, tries to peruse his sergeant, figure out what it is that’s lurking underneath.
Gaz barely conceals the flinch. Price just knows him too well.
“No,” Gaz says slowly. “It’s not like I shot him myself.”