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Summary
V, drowning in despair, was ready to accept any help she could get to rip that relic out of her brain—even if it meant taking a job for the politicians of Night City. She just hadn’t expected her path to cross with the good cop, Detective Ward, and to have no choice but to accept his help.
Working with a cop wasn’t in her plans, just like dying hadn’t been. So why not just roll with what fate handed her?
“—By the end of the day,” he agreed, extending his hand to seal the deal.
“—Deal,” V concluded, shaking River’s hand.
His hand was large, his grip firm, and for a brief moment, the mercenary wondered how that roughness would feel elsewhere—purely to provoke the engram. Partly, the truth was that the detective was definitely her type, and if it weren’t for the situation and the badge, she would undoubtedly be much less reserved after three shots of whiskey."