get in loser, we're going hunting
"Oh, I beg to differ," said Tamsin, and Bo can actually see her grinning into her phone's mouthpiece. No image was more infuriating for Bo, really. "How long have you and Dyson been partners? Five, six years? I had you the moment I started my sentence with Dyson's name."
"Fuck you, Tamsin."
"Not so fast hon," Tamsin shot back, and for the most part, Bo was still surprised she'd actually said that aloud. "Now that we have that out of the way -- are you in this or no?"
"You're ridiculous," said Bo, but then she's already digging into her drawers for her spare gun. A pity she'd surrendered her service firearm with the badge. She loved that gun. "What exactly am I signing up for?"
"Come out the door and find out." There's a snap on the other end and the line went dead. That bitch was out on the street all along? Bo thought, exasperated. When she was done strapping her gun to her waist Bo cautiously approached her door and peeked.
As if on cue, Tamsin's car rolled in closer, this blue matchbox thing from at least a decade ago. Bo sighed before approaching.
"This how you do things around here?" Bo said, leaning closer with a hand resting atop the car, talking through the open window like she were apprehending Tamsin for a speeding violation.
Tamsin only smirked, reaching over to open the passenger side door. "Get in, loser," she said. "We're going hunting."