by J. P. Bowie
“Not yet.” Riley popped the top of his water bottle and held it to the man’s cracked lips. “You’re super-dehydrated. Sip a little of this. Not too much at first—that’s good…” He opened the man’s jacket further and felt around for any other injuries. “You know what happened?”
“I was shot, then I think they must’ve thrown me over a cliff or somethin’. Jeez, I hurt all over.”
“I bet. Don’t try to move. The medics are on their way. Who’s the other guy?”
“Other guy?” He moved his head just enough to take a look. “Son-of-a-bitch. That’s one of them. What are you doing?” he asked as Riley unbuttoned his shirt.
“Checking for injuries.” He couldn’t help but notice how fit the guy was. He pressed with care on the sides of the man’s muscular torso. Wow… And that is totally inappropriate, Riley, get a grip, he berated himself with a mental slap. “Sorry,” he said when the man winced, “but fortunately it looks like just some massive bruising. I don’t feel any broken ribs.” He ran his hands over the man’s legs. “Nothing broken there, either, by the looks of it.”
“Feels like every fucking thing is broken.”
“Have some more water.” He waited until the man had sipped some more then asked, “What’s your name?”
“Brady, Joe… I’m a detective. The other guy’s Martin Boyd. Is he dead?”
“Yes. A friend of yours?”
“No way. Drug runner. I was arresting him when this happened.” He squinted up at Riley. “You’re kinda cute. All that blond hair. I thought you were an angel. What’s your name?”
Riley chuckled. “Riley Peterson. I’m a medic, and this here’s Champ. He found you.”
“Thanks, Champ.”
Joe closed his eyes. His head throbbed, every part of him feeling as if he’d been run over by a Mach truck, and had he really just told this guy he was cute and babbled on about him looking like an angel? Jesus Christ, I must be delirious. Better, though, than the dream, or hallucination maybe, he’d had about his father yelling at him, calling him useless and a disgrace.
He tried to force that memory out of his mind. “I have a dog too,” he said, gazing at the medic’s very attractive face. “Barney.”
“Nice name.”
“Yeah, but I’m worried about him not getting out.”
“Oh, is there someone I can call who can let him out?”
“Yeah…”
A pounding noise on the nearby steps had Riley jumping to his feet. “That’ll be the team. Let them help you, then we’ll get you to the hospital.”
“I have to call my super, let him know what happened.”
Riley stood aside as the medics pushed into the narrow space between the rocks and the cliffside.
“Cops are on their way,” one of them, who seemed to be in charge, said.
“He’s a cop,” Riley told the guy. “Detective Brady.”
“You check his ID?”
“No sign of any.”
“Fucker took everything after he shot me,” Joe mumbled. He shuddered as a wave of nausea overtook him. He heard one of the medics say, “He’s going into shock,” before he passed out again.
There was no room for the gurney in the narrow space so Riley assisted in lifting the detective’s body out and onto the beach, where they could get him secured and attach a morphine line to his arm. Martin Boyd’s body was left among the rocks for the coroner to examine.
“Riley, you coming with?” Brett Oakley, the team leader, called to him. “The cops will need a statement from you.”
“Oh, right. I have to take Champ home first and get a shirt. I’ll meet you at the ER.”
“Okay, but make it snappy.”
Yes, Mother…
Despite telling himself earlier that he’d been inappropriate ogling the detective’s body while he’d been lying there in pain, Riley couldn’t help but recall that Detective Joe was hot-looking. Dark brown hair, cut short, those beautiful gray eyes when he’d opened them, a full mouth…
Totally my type…and he thinks I’m cute. Of course, that could’ve been shock or slight delirium. People had a tendency to say weird things when they were going in and out of consciousness, but he’d bet not too many Orange County cops ran around telling other guys they were cute.
He gave himself a shake. “C’mon, Champ, home.” He set off toward the steps that led to the clifftop, Champ bounding at his side.
He had to go make a statement at the hospital. Maybe he’d see the detective there. In fact, he’d make a point of it. Just to say hi, of course.
Chapter Two
When Riley entered the E.R., he had no need to ask which cubicle Detective Brady was in. There were cops everywhere, it seemed, adding to the general chaos of a regular day in Emergency. Brett called him over.
“Riley, this is Sergeant Romero, Detective Brady’s supervisor. He’d like a statement from you.”
“Sure,” Riley said, shaking hands with the sergeant.
“First, I want to thank you for being the one to find Detective Brady.” The sergeant’s handshake was warm and strong. Romero was tall and wide-shouldered, his dark hair flecked with gray, his brown eyes keen and intelligent.
“Actually, it was my dog Champ that found the detective. The detective said the dead kid’s name was Martin Boyd. Have you identified him?”
Romero nodded. “Juvenile offender, served three years for selling cocaine, but it’s his more recent activity that is of interest at the moment. Anyway…” He paused and beckoned a tall African-American man over. “This is Detective Inspector Louis McKenna, from the Laguna Niguel precinct, and he’ll take your statement.”
Riley shook hands with the handsome detective then followed him into a side office. “How is Detective Brady?” he asked as McKenna closed the door.
“He’ll live, thanks to your timely arrival.”
“Does he know who shot him?”
McKenna nodded grimly. “But until it’s confirmed I can’t say who it is.” He drew a small recording device from his coat pocket and placed it on the desk between them. “Okay, let’s get started.”
* * * *
Later, on his way through the E.R., he stopped in to see how the detective was doing. A uniformed cop held up his hand to stop him entering.
“Oh, I’m the medic who found him. Just wondering if he’s doing okay.”
“Let him in, Officer.” Brady still sounded weak, but it was obvious he knew what was going on around him.
The cop shrugged and Riley pushed the curtain back and stepped inside. “How are you?”
“Feel like shit, but they tell me I’ll live.” He gave Riley a lopsided smile. “Thanks to you.”
“Hey, I was just in the right place at the right time. Me and Champ, that is.”
“I think I said something inappropriate when I was comin’ round. I apologize.”
“You said I was cute. You didn’t mean it?” Wow, am I actually flirting with a cop?
Brady’s cheeks flushed. “Well, maybe I did, but—”
“Don’t stress about it.” Riley chuckled. “I was just teasing. You have to concentrate on getting better. How’s the shoulder?”
“They have me so doped up I don’t feel it, but I guess it’ll take time to mend.”
“A few weeks for sure.” Riley smiled down at Brady. “Detective…”
“Call me Joe, and you’re Riley, right?”
“Right. Pleased to meet you, Joe.”
“Likewise.”
They gazed at each other in silence for a few moments until Riley cleared his throat. “So, a few weeks’ rest will give you time to figure out who shot you and—”
“I know who shot me,” Joe snapped, a scowl settling on his handsome features. “My fucking partner did it, though I’m having a hard time convincing my superiors of the fact. They acted all surprised when I told them what happened.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
“Because I found out he’s been squeezing money from dr
ug pushers for years, and—shit, I shouldn’t be telling you this. Guess I’m still loopy. Forget I said anything.”
Riley touched the back of the detective’s hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not with any of that, but hey…” Joe’s expression softened. “If you wouldn’t mind going to my place and letting my dog out. He’s been holed up since before this happened and I know he’s good at holding it but they told me I’d been missing for close to forty-eight hours, so…”
“Ouch, yeah, that’s too long for even the best of dogs. No doggie door?”
Joe shook his head. “Had to screw it shut to keep night critters out. Anyway, I prefer to walk him so he gets exercise. I have a friend I thought could do it—he has a key—but he and his, uh…buddy are on vacation. They won’t even know what happened to me.”
“Okay, sure, no problem. I can take care of him. Where do you live?”
“Over on Temple Hills. You know it?”
“I can find it. What’s the address?”
Joe told him then added, “The key should be in my pants, whatever they did with them.”
“They’ll be in that plastic baggie.” Riley rummaged through the bag and found the key. He hoped Joe didn’t notice he was taking his time. There was something faintly erotic about putting his hands inside Joe’s pockets while he imagined the hunky detective was still wearing them. He kicked himself mentally. Perv…
“Found it?”
“Uh, yeah. Okay, I’ll head over there right now and put poor Barney out of his misery.”
“How’d you know his name?”
“You told me earlier when I found you.”
“I did? Gee, all the important things, right?”
“Right. Rest up, Detective, and I’ll report back about the state of things tomorrow when I come on duty.”
Joe closed his eyes. “Thanks…Riley.”
* * * *
Riley found it interesting that Joe should have a house in such a great location in Laguna. Ocean view and all, he mused as he pulled up outside the ranch-style dwelling that boasted a handsome curved driveway and pristine front yard filled with bougainvillea and bird of paradise plants.
I didn’t know cops made this kind of money. Riley frowned as a nasty thought occurred to him. Could Joe be on the take too? Wait, where did that come from? Just because a guy has a nice house doesn’t make him a crook, does it? And he didn’t seem to have any qualms about letting me know where he lived…
He put those thoughts aside at the sound of a dog whining as he approached the front door. Poor guy, he must be miserable by now. The moment he opened the door he was almost knocked over by a black Labrador that rushed past him and proceeded to empty his bladder on one of the bushes, then take an almighty dump before regarding Riley with a quizzical toss of his head.
“Hey, Barney, your daddy asked me to come over and let you out. Hope that’s okay.” He crouched down and held out a hand to the big dog, who approached him warily, though he was wagging his tail. That’s a good sign. “So, not going to eat me, huh?” Barney nuzzled Riley’s hand and moved closer when Riley stroked his ears. “Good dog… Okay, let’s go see what needs to be cleaned up inside.”
He let Barney precede him into the house. No sign of a mess in the spacious living room. Riley noticed the quality furnishing, though he would’ve thought Joe’s taste wasn’t quite so old-fashioned. But what did he know?
“Uh-oh.” Barney’s tail stopped wagging when Riley walked into the kitchen. “Well, at least you did it on the tile. Good boy.” He looked around for a mop and found one in a storage cabinet along with a large bottle of Pine Sol. “No problem, Barney. I’ll have this cleaned up in a minute or two.”
As he mopped, he considered Barney’s next few days without Joe. He could drive up here and take him for walks, but it would be easier if he took the dog back to his place. He didn’t think Champ would have a problem with another dog in the apartment, and it was just until Joe got out of hospital. He was sure the dogs would get on just fine. Champ never tried to get into fights with other dogs when they went walking, and Barney seemed friendly enough.
As he rinsed out the mop, he asked, “Like to come home with me, Barney?” and Barney wagged his tail, faster this time. “Okay, that’s settled.” He found Barney’s lead and his bowl, which he filled with water while he looked around for dog food. He had a supply at the apartment, but he knew dogs could be finicky. Best to bring the stuff he was used to. “All right,” he muttered when he found a bag of a different brand from the one Champ liked. “Okay, let’s go.”
He was heartened when Barney seemed to have no problem getting into a strange car and, after sniffing around a bit, settled down on the passenger seat. Maybe he thinks I’m taking him to see Joe. Shit… I’ll ask if he can visit in a couple of days.
* * * *
Joe grumbled under his breath as he was wheeled through the corridors from E.R. to his designated room. He felt so damned vulnerable, even accompanied by two burly police officers, one on either side of the gurney.
Wonder where that s.o.b. is. Romero had said Bob hadn’t reported in for two days, wasn’t answering his phone, wasn’t at home when he’d sent detectives over to check. His wife didn’t know where he was. Was she lying? Was she waiting to hear from him once the uproar died down? Did she even know what he’d done? Joe had no way of knowing what she knew or if she was hiding him somewhere. Bob had been his partner for less than a month after Dan Cohen had retired. They hadn’t gelled from the beginning. Joe had always figured there was something shifty about Bob, no matter that he’d been on the force for twenty years. There was just something off about him in Joe’s mind. And now he’d been proven right.
Problem was, he wasn’t in a position to do anything about it…not yet anyway. By the time he got out of here, Bob could be miles away, in a different country even, if the cops or Feds didn’t find him first. He still couldn’t quite believe that Bob had actually tried to kill him. Must have even planned it, knowing that Joe was on to him. And he’d walked into that little trap with his eyes wide open and his head up his ass. That’ll larn you not to be so damned cocky. Dan had always warned him about being headstrong and thinking he could take on the world all by himself. Well, now you got a hole in your shoulder to prove you can’t.
And if it hadn’t been for that cute paramedic, for sure he’d have died there, hidden from sight among those rocks, not even able to summon the strength to move or cry out for help. Jesus. A close call and one he should never have been near. What an ass…
Once in the room, he was fussed over by two nurses who hooked him up to a bunch of stuff and gave him some water in a sippy cup. His shoulder and chest throbbed like crazy, but he’d been told he was lucky. The bullet had gone right through the mostly soft tissue of his armpit without hitting any arteries. Once the wounds front and back healed, later, with some physical therapy, he’d be ‘right as rain’, a doctor in the E.R. had told him… Whatever the fuck that meant. The aches in his joints and back from the fall would lessen as the days went by. Yeah, he was lucky all right. A lot luckier than that kid Martin, who Bob had shot in the back of the head.
The door opened and Romero peered in. “How are you?”
“Just ducky.”
Romero chuckled as he entered the room. “You’re a lucky son-of-a gun, Brady. Not many could be shot and pushed off a cliff and survive. Always knew you were tough as nails, even if your brain isn’t quite up to the same standard.”
“Hey, how was I supposed to know Bob was going to go rogue on me?”
“You knew what he was doing and if you’d shared that info with me, this might’ve been avoided. It doesn’t pay to try to bring down a criminal by yourself, Joe. You’re part of a team…”
“And look what my teammate was doing behind all our backs— for years apparently, and no one had a clue until I figured out what he was up to.” Joe scowled at his sergeant. “No offence, but the creep had been my partn
er for less than a month and it didn’t take me long to realize there was something off about him. What does it say that he’d been in the force for twenty freaking years with no one the wiser?”
Romero frowned. “He wasn’t taking kickbacks for twenty years, Joe. Like you, I didn’t know him well, but his record was pretty clean. Who knows what made him turn? Maybe his retirement looming made him worry he didn’t have enough to see him through the years ahead.”
Joe laughed then winced when his shoulder reminded him it had a hole in it. “So that’s a reason to take dirty money and shoot his partner and some junkie kid?”
“No, of course it isn’t. I’m just saying he didn’t start out bad. Something must’ve happened to make him go off the rails.”
“Somethin’ pretty radical, I’d say.” Joe closed his eyes, hoping Romero would take the hint and leave.
“I know we were skeptical of your report at first…”
Nope, he’s not leaving.
“But you have to admit, it was a shocker. Bob’s been on the force a long time and it just seems out of character, from what everybody told me about him. Guys he’s worked with for years couldn’t believe it.”
Joe snapped his eyes open. “Well, believe it. He was squeezing the kid for dough when I confronted him. He shot me, dumped me in the trunk of his car and threw me off a cliff. I didn’t imagine any of this. It happened. And how do we know he hasn’t done this before? How many other drug pushers or runners has he blown away? Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some shuteye.”
“Yeah, okay. We’ve got an APB out nationwide. We’re bound to catch up with him at some point.”
“Hey, maybe when he finds out I didn’t die, he’ll come back to finish the job. You can pick him up when he does.”
Romero sighed. “Glad you haven’t lost your sense of whimsy, Joe. Okay, I’ll come see you tomorrow. Maybe have some better news for you.”
“Yeah, bye, Sarge.”
Whimsy… All I got really… That and Barney, and the house my grandparents left me and Rachel…and maybe that cute paramedic if he’s single and could be interested in an asshole detective who gets himself shot and dumped off a cliff by an over-the-hill cop he should’ve been able to take out with no problem.
