Lethal Balance: Sons of the Survivalist: 2

by Cherise Sinclair

  Mrs. Wilner walked over to the table. “Chief MacNair, can you dust these books for prints?”

  She set down two hardbounds with glossy covers. Each had a noticeable gap where pages had been torn out.

  “Of course, Mrs. Wilner,” Gabe said politely. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Regan, standing with the other students, gave JJ a hopeful look.

  JJ smiled back in reassurance, even as her heart hurt. Damn, this needed to work.

  “Got some nice clear prints here.” After the images of the fingerprints from the book covers were enlarged and printed out, Gabe handed out copies to several groups. “Team one and team two, see if you can match this print. We’ll call the owner: Perp Number One.”

  That got a bunch of grins.

  Two more groups got a print from Perp Number Two.

  Joining JJ, Mrs. Wilner asked in a low tone, “I wasn’t thinking when you proposed this, but my fingerprints and those of the publishing company and shipping people would be on those books, too.”

  “Yes.” JJ watched Gabe explaining how to match the minutiae. “Gabe is dusting only the little prints. A child’s hand is noticeably smaller than an adult’s.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Wilner examined her own fingers and glanced at the children. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “We got one!” The little girl on Team Two waved the paper excitedly. “It matches!”

  “Good job. Let’s see if we all agree.” JJ walked over. As the students gathered around, she used a pointer to show how the various crossovers, bifurcations, ridges, and islands in the perp print and the student’s print matched up.

  After everyone agreed it was a match, she handed out tiny badges to the members of Team Two.

  When Team Four matched their print against one of the students, Gabe confirmed the finding with the class, congratulated the team, and gave them badges, too.

  There—both criminals had been identified. JJ hoped Regan felt better now.

  * * *

  Sitting at her desk, Regan tried to keep from cheering. On each side of her, Delaney and Niko weren’t even trying to hide their grins.

  Regan wanted a badge, too, but her team hadn’t won the contest.

  Uncle Gabe and JJ were so chill, like super-cops or something, and Regan’s classmates were all interested. So was Mrs. Wilner. Principal Jones had even come to watch.

  “This is one of the ways we gather evidence from a crime scene,” Uncle Gabe told everyone. “Now that we’ve done the work, if you were the police, who would you want to talk to about the damage to the books?”

  “Shelby!” Team Two shouted, all together.

  “Brayden!” Team Four joined in.

  “Yeah, Shelby and Brayden said Regan did it, and they were the ones who ripped out the pages. They’re dirty liars,” Delaney yelled, louder than Regan had ever heard her.

  Shelby’s face turned really red, and Brayden’s was too, only he was glaring around at everybody.

  Delaney was right—they were dirty liars. And bullies and mean.

  “I think we’d better have that talk.” Principal Jones motioned to Brayden and Shelby. When he led them out, all the kids who’d been picked on cheered.

  “We didn’t even have to beat them up and get suspended for fighting.” Niko high-fived Regan.

  Grinning, Regan looked around. The other kids were smiling at her like they were glad she wasn’t in trouble. She was happy she wasn’t in trouble—or suspended for fighting.

  Sometimes, maybe, there were other ways to fix stuff besides using her fists. Like how the uncles, and Papá and JJ and Audrey had sat down and talked and planned. Together.

  Cuz that’s what Mako taught them to do.

  A happy shiver ran through her. She was part of Mako’s family now, too.

  The fingerprinting “presentation” had gone better than JJ could have imagined. Not that Caz had been happy to hear the two brats had definitely set up his daughter. Hell, she and Gabe barely managed to keep him from driving to the resort to yell at the parents. Or worse. They’d been able to tell the doc that Principal Jones had already scheduled a discussion with the two children and their parents. Thankfully, the doc had a full waiting room and hadn’t been able to indulge his temper any longer.

  She had to admit Caz’s anger on behalf of his little girl was heartwarming. Even being a police officer, her father would’ve reacted the same way.

  Yet a pissed-off, knife-carrying father with a history of killing people was a bit of a concern. She grinned. She and Gabe planned to keep Caz far, far away from those parents and kids.

  After doing a batch of paperwork in the station—and fortifying herself with more coffee—JJ headed out, waving as she went past the reception desk.

  “Stay warm, Officer,” Regina called.

  As JJ hit the street, she was smiling. It was great to feel part of everything and that she was making a difference. Helping. The station was already becoming a second home.

  Walking down Main Street, she stared at the high heaps of snow pushed to one side by the snowplow. Some piles were as tall as she was. If she were a kid, she’d totally be making snow caves. Maybe Regan and her friends would like some help?

  Alaska sure was different.

  The day after the snowstorm, Gabe decreed that the Alaska newbies must learn basic maintenance. Audrey, Regan, and JJ got to help fix up the Hermitage’s half-dozen snow machines. During the lessons in the outbuilding, the three guys had regaled them with humorous—and horrifying—tales of riding disasters. Breaking through the ice, avalanches, running into trees or barbed wire fences, frostbitten hands and feet, overturning on an incline, losing control on ice. Her mental list of dangers had run right off the page…and then they’d all gone out riding.

  Dangerous or not, she loved riding snow machines.

  It appeared all the business owners—the ones still here—were open today. People she talked to had shrugged off the storm, saying it was just a taste of what was to come. Snow season didn’t really get going until December. This was only the beginning of November, God help her.

  Yet she loved everything about the Alaska winter. The snow machines. Doing snow-chores—checking windows, water lines, and roofs, clearing paths, making sure the chickens’ water hadn’t frozen. The Hermitage evenings with a roomful of people, laughter, good food, a fun movie, and of course, singing.

  Mako had made a strange and wonderful family.

  Shaking her head, she popped into Dante’s Market.

  “Yo, it’s my girl copper,” Dante called. “How’s it going out there?”

  “Good, actually.” She leaned on the front counter and smiled at the old Okie who’d been in Alaska for decades without losing his accent. “Seems like everyone who’s survived a winter or two is pretty much fine—except for an older man who started having chest pains when he was trying to shovel a path to his car. A couple of power lines went down along with a ton of tree branches.”

  He nodded. “I helped Jones rebuild his shed that collapsed under the snow. Fool principal didn’t give the roof enough of a slant. How’d our newer people do?”

  “Mostly fender-benders and cars that slid off the road. There are some newcomers who aren’t used to driving in the snow.” She shook her head. “One guy was driving on bald tires and wondering why he had no traction.”

  Dante tugged at his beard and gave her an inquiring look. “And you? Nevada isn’t known for snowstorms.”

  She grinned. “Caz coached me.” He’d driven her SUV to the roadhouse. Bull had cleared the parking lot, leaving heaping mounds of snow around the sides. “He made me drive around the roadhouse parking lot, deliberately fishtailing and skidding. My car left a lot of dents in the snow piles around the sides before I figured out how snow affects traction and how to deal with it.” On the way back, she’d driven up and down Main Street to get a feel for snow on pavement.

  Caz was an amazing teacher. Patient…and very thorough.

  “Good.” D
ante chuckled. “I put my truck into a ditch the first year I was here. Twice.”

  Thank God for Caz. Putting Rescue’s patrol car into a ditch would be totally humiliating. “Now I just have to watch out for the other drivers.”

  “True, true. But our newbies around here will learn to drive—and to stock up, too.” He waved his hand at the market shelves. “Notice how my stock of canned goods and toilet paper has gone down?”

  “Huh.” Last night when they’d started cooking at Mako’s, Caz had shown her the immense pantry. A huge—filled—freezer took the end. The shelves were filled with commercial and home-canned goods, canisters of beans and noodles, freeze-dried foods. And lots and lots of toilet paper.

  She eyed Dante’s shelves. “Are you going to run out of supplies? Should we institute rationing?”

  “Nah, it’s all good. I’m just waiting for my part-time lads who have younger backs to haul stock out of the back room.” He winked. “Like all Alaskans, I make sure I’m prepared for the long haul. Just in case.”

  “Good enough.” She headed back out into the cold. The temperature had dropped low enough to steal her breath as she checked in with the rest of the local businesses. No break-ins, no problems.

  At least in these quiet months before skiing season started, she’d have time to learn to be an effective LEO during winter.

  As she started to cross to the municipal building, a moose sauntered across Main Street and moseyed down the hill toward the lake. Damn. Okay, maybe she had more to learn than she’d thought.

  In her pocket, her cell rang out shrilly. She pulled it out. A brawl at the roadhouse with a request for help. Odd that Bull hadn’t put a stop to it. No, come to think of it, Bull and Gabe were out in the boondocks somewhere. An elderly couple, having lost power in the storm, had been using candles—and ended up with a cabin fire. Gabe had drafted Bull to help make repairs.

  No Bull at the roadhouse. No backup from Gabe. As tension tightened her belly, JJ jumped in the patrol car, headed the few blocks to the roadhouse, and strode inside.

  Three guys, obviously intoxicated, were fully engaged in a fistfight. A fourth man knelt on the floor near the corner, hunched over his stomach. Shards of glass and broken chairs littered the floor. Two waitresses stood off to one side. Near them, Felix was sporting a purpling bruise along his jaw and leaning on the bar. He’d obviously tried to intercede and failed.

  Up to her, then.

  “Rescue Police. Break it up.” At her loud shout, the three brawlers looked over, hesitated, and re-engaged.

  Assholes.

  One guy landed on a chair, shattered it, and charged back into the fight.

  “Shit,” she muttered and calculated her approach. The big bearded one was the most aggressive. The smallest guy was getting the crap beat out of him. The third was a total slugger. Okay, then.

  “One more time. Police! Stop now!” She moved forward, pepper spray in one hand. Yanking the collar of the little guy, she threw him across the room and sprayed the biggest aggressor.

  His howl of pain shouldn’t have pleased her. But it did.

  She waited a second to see if the third guy would be smart and stand down. When he swung at her, she hosed him down, too, and retreated rapidly from the pepper-filled air.

  Sorry, Bull. The restaurant would need to be aired out. Considering the mess of glass and broken furniture, the place would be closed for a bit anyway.

  “JJ, look out!” a waitress screamed.

  Before JJ could turn, someone tackled her from behind. She landed hard on her shoulder. The man punched her in the forehead. Hard. Pain burst in her face, and she went dizzy for a second.

  “Fucking bitch cop!” It was the guy who’d been sitting in the corner. He punched her again.

  Her cheek exploded with pain.

  And training took over. She slammed her fist into the side of his face, rocking him sideways, then twisted to the other side and swung her leg up sideways in front of him. Her ankle clotheslined his throat and knocked him off of her. Rolling to her feet, she yanked out her stun gun and shut him down.

  Goddamn testosterone-poisoned males. Using handcuffs and zip-ties, she secured all four men. Wrists and ankles—because she was in a seriously bad mood. And hurting.

  After sitting heavily on a chair, she turned to the wide-eyed wait staff. “Hey, Ophelia, can you get me an ice pack, please, and get Felix one, too?”

  “You bet. Coming right up,” the tiny brown-skinned waitress called and hurried into the kitchen.

  “You’re my hero, Officer JJ.” Felix cast her a smile and sat down heavily at a table.

  A sound from outside drew her attention. Gabe’s truck skidded to a halt in the snowy parking lot followed by Bull’s. The cavalry had arrived. She hadn’t called for it—but she had backup anyway, and how amazing was that.

  Useful, too. It would’ve been tricky to haul four perps to the station.

  As she rose to give her report, she realized blood was running down her face and dripping onto her jacket. With careful fingers, she touched her face. Damn, that hurt. Ow.

  When Caz saw JJ’s bloodstained face, fury filled him until it felt as if his head would explode. “What happened? Who…? Tell me. I will kill whoever did this to you.”

  “Just a bar brawl, Doc.” She was holding a blood-soaked piece of gauze to her cheek. “No big deal. It’s all part of the job.”

  “To hell with your job. You have blood all over you.” His anger grew, filling the room. She could have been badly hurt. Could have died. Like Carmen. “You will not go back to that job, a job where you have to fight.”

  “Excuse me?” Her mouth thinned into a line. “My business, not yours.”

  He moved forward, putting them face-to-face. “Being a cop isn’t safe, isn’t a place for—”

  “If you say woman, I’ll flatten you the same way I did them.”

  Them? She’d faced more than one? Every thought in his head disintegrated. He gripped her shoulders hard. “Where was Gabe? Where was your backup?”

  Her fist in his gut knocked him back a step.

  “Forget it. I’ll bandage myself up.” Turning, she walked away.

  She’d almost made to the door before he got himself under control and could speak in an even voice. “JJ, stop.”

  She stopped, but didn’t turn. Obviously trying to decide.

  Dios, he was an idiot. “Forgive me, please. I was out of line.”

  * * *

  Stepping between her and the door, he held his hands up in surrender. One side of her face was swollen and bruised. Her forehead was gashed. The cut on her cheek was even worse.

  Her opponent must have worn rings. His temper flared up so hot, he took a moment to leash it again. “What I said was wrong. Come, let me get you stitched up.”

  He’d already sutured her face once. How often would she get hurt? How badly? Control, Ramirez.

  Taking a seat on the exam table, she eyed him. “How do you manage to stay in the medical field if you get this upset at seeing an injured woman?”

  She had no idea of what she meant to him, did she?

  “It is why a medical person avoids ministering to family. Caring for family and friends clouds judgment.” Her startled expression broke his heart, and he touched her uninjured cheek with his fingertips. “Yes, I care for you, mi—Officer Jenner.”

  She stared at him and then shook her head slightly. Rejecting his words.

  As he washed his hands, gloved up and opened the sterile dressing pack, cleaned, glued, and sutured, she remained silent.

  He cupped her uninjured cheek. “Talk to me, JJ.”

  “What is there to say? All this overprotectiveness is because you’ve lost people, isn’t it? Your mom and sister. Your Carmen.”

  A momentary hope that she understood swept through him. “Sí. And I can’t protect you. Not with the job you have.”

  “You know, that’s what Nash said. That he didn’t want me to get hurt. That I wasn’t good enou
gh to protect myself. That I needed to quit being a police officer…so he’d be comfortable.”

  “I didn’t mean—” Caz stopped, seeing the snare he’d walked into.

  She shoved his hand away and hopped off the table.

  “Thanks for the repair job, Doc. As for the rest, you don’t get to go there. You won’t make me less than I am.” Her eyes were the blue-green of the Holgate Glacier—and held even less warmth.

  Turning, she walked out of the exam room.

  Before Caz could follow, he heard voices in the hallway.

  “Hey, JJ.” It was Audrey’s voice.

  “What are you two doing in here? Are you hurt?”

  “No, we were upstairs in the library. Gabe told us to come and get you. Are you all right?”

  “Some batch of vile bull-pizzles hit you, did they?” Lillian’s English accent was very sharp. “My dears, let us go to my place. I have a lovely Corsican rosé calling out for someone to drink it.”

  “My shift isn’t over yet,” JJ protested.

  “Jayden Jenner, you have been injured,” Lillian said firmly.

  “But…”

  “Gabe said to take you home. That anyone who takes on four-to-one odds gets to leave work early.” Audrey’s voice rose. “Four to one—what were you thinking?”

  “I’d say she was thinking she’s quite competent at her job,” Lillian said.

  Four to one. She’d taken on four men and won? Caz closed his eyes, pride in her skills battling the rage of worry.

  “Well, all right. I’d love a drink, actually,” JJ was saying. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “No thanks, love. We’ll have marvelous gossip to accompany our wine.”

  Caz leaned against the exam table as the clinic door closed behind the women. On their way to a drink, a retelling of the fight, and congratulating JJ on a job well done.

  Because that was what friends did.

  They didn’t lose their tempers and demand a person retreat to a safer job, a safer world. Friends didn’t do that. Family didn’t do that. Lovers didn’t do that.

  Gabe wouldn’t quit if Audrey told him to. He’d listen. He’d be extra careful. He wouldn’t quit.