Line of Duty

by V. K. Powell

  “Hey, buddy, are you up for a visitor?”

  “Hell yeah. I need a break from Xbox zombies. And bring biscuits.”

  When Finley pulled in front of Hank’s house, two marked cars were leaving. She waved and rang the doorbell, glad the guys were still dropping by, looking after Hank and his family.

  “Come in,” Becky called from inside. “It’s open.”

  Finley stopped in front of the stairs leading to the second floor where Robin was perched to dive into her arms. She handed two bags to Becky with a smile. “Go for it, champ.”

  “Superman,” he yelled and vaulted toward her.

  Becky’s welcoming grin turned to a look of panic while her son hovered between the security of the stairs and Finley’s grasp. “Jeez, you’re going to be the death of me.” She pointed toward the sunroom at the back of the house that had been converted into Hank’s bedroom. She leaned closer and whispered, “He’s pretty grouchy today. Probably too much mac and cheese, fried chicken, and being cooped up.”

  Finley nodded toward the bags Becky held. “One of those is for you and Robin.”

  “You shouldn’t have, but I love you for it.” She ripped the bag open on the counter and waved Robin over. “Chocolate-glazed donut or bear claw, kiddo?”

  “Donut.”

  Becky gave her a kiss on the cheek and handed over the biscuit bag. “As soon as we get rid of some of this food, I’ll cook a proper meal and have you over.”

  “Sounds good.” Finley waited until Becky and Robin settled at the kitchen banquette before going into the sunroom. “Hey, how’s it hanging?”

  “Fucking A, Fin. I’m going crazy here. A man can only take so much gaming, hovering by the missus, and pitying visits from the guys. Not to mention bland, homemade casseroles. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate everybody’s concern, but you know me.”

  “Yeah. You want to get back in the thick of it.”

  “Roger that.” He snatched the biscuit bag from her. “Give me those doughy, greasy gut grenades.” He bit into one while she made a coffee from the small Keurig beside his recliner.

  The scent of bacon and egg nagged at her because she hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, but her stomach was as jumbled as her feelings, and the thought of food made her queasy. “I see you have all the comforts at your fingertips.” She toasted her cup against his and dropped into a wicker chair overlooking the expansive backyard.

  “The doctor says I can walk with crutches because there was no neurological damage. I’ll be out for a while longer, then on limited duty four to six weeks. No regular patrol for three months. Becky makes sure I follow the rules. I love the hell out of her and I’m grateful to still be here, but I can’t wait to be on desk duty at the station, see some of the guys, and talk about something other than zombie hunters and menus.”

  Finley tried to imagine being so badly injured that she couldn’t work and staying in her house while she recuperated. She shifted in her chair, a sick feeling settling in her gut. Bad memories never expired. “I feel you.”

  Hank finished the first biscuit and reached for another. “So, what’s going on with you?”

  She sipped her coffee, stalling for time. They talked about all her conquests, but Dylan felt different, and Finley still hadn’t figured out why or how. “Nothing really.”

  Hank cocked his head to one side. “Seriously?” He lowered his voice. “No strange lately?” Becky would finish him off if she heard him talking about women like that.

  “Nope, nothing strange.” She glanced toward the basketball court at the far end of the yard. “I’ll come over and shoot some hoops with Robin when I’m off to keep him sharp.”

  “He’d like that. Now back to you. Who is she?” Hank just wanted her to be happy and to him that meant finding a nice girl and setting up house, but she’d never believed in the happily ever after scenario. He waited until Finley looked at him. “Somebody you finally care about? Just tell me it’s not Dylan Carlyle. I warned you about her.”

  The question shot through Finley like a surge of electricity. Did she care about Dylan? Everything seemed off today. She couldn’t concentrate or get Dylan off her mind, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Sex had just been new and different with her. Hank was waiting and she wouldn’t lie to him. “Can we move on?”

  Hank chuckled. “Sure. You obviously don’t want to talk about her. Her being Dylan.”

  “If you don’t stop, I’m leaving.” Finley sounded too defensive, but thankfully, Hank didn’t push. She wanted time to figure out what had happened to her last night and what, if anything, she needed to do about it. In the meantime, she had the shooting to think about. “Any news about your case?”

  “The sarge called this morning. CSI processed the bullet the doctor dug out of my leg, a .357, which is what Jeremy was using. They don’t think Josh Spencer fired the shotgun. CSI didn’t find any spent shotgun shells at the scene, and the shells in the weapon hadn’t been fired. I’m thinking he didn’t shoot at all.”

  “Interesting,” Finley said. “He was the one mouthing off about his daughter. So, asshole Jeremy shot at people just to support his brother?”

  “And for the fun of it. He’s a druggie and more violent than Josh. Several assaults, robberies, and one attempted murder on his record. Anything new on where Jeremy is?”

  “He slipped our net the other day. The CCTV footage from the shooting and our chase skipped a lot of time because of patchy coverage on the east side. Josh is still in a coma, but I’ll get a call when he wakes up. He might agree to help with the right incentive,” Finley said.

  “Cap let you work the case?”

  “Not officially, but you know I’m not letting this go.”

  “I counted on it, partner.” Hank nodded his appreciation.

  “Anything else you need before I go? I’m working a few extra hours this afternoon so one of the first shift guys can take off for his kid’s birthday party.”

  “I’m good, but thanks, pal.”

  She stood to leave.

  “Keep me in the loop.”

  “You know I will.” She placed her coffee cup on the table, and her cell pinged with a text. Josh Spencer is awake. Get here fast. Finley didn’t recognize the number, but the capital D at the end was all she needed. “This could be it, bro. Our suspect is awake, finally. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  She raced to the hospital, breaking more than a few traffic laws en route. When she stepped off the elevator on the ICU floor, Dylan was waiting, and the sight of her brought Finley to a full stop. “I…you…thanks for this.” She babbled like a kid with her first crush.

  “You’re welcome.” Dylan lightly touched Finley’s arm and met her gaze, the intensity of their connection reminding Finley of so many things they could’ve said last night but didn’t need to. “Remember, keep it short. He’s still groggy and not making sense. You might not get much.”

  Finley nodded, started to go, but wanted to say something else. “About last nig—”

  “Nothing to say. Go. Now.” Dylan shoved her toward Spencer’s room.

  Finley walked slowly, unsure how she felt about being dismissed so easily. Was Dylan really okay with their evening? If so, why wasn’t she? Dylan was giving her exactly what she’d asked for—no strings or expectations. She closed the door to Spencer’s room behind her and eased the privacy curtain back. “Good morning, Mr. Spencer, I’m Finley Masters.”

  Spencer rolled his head slowly toward her, his eyes droopy and unfocused. “Cop?”

  “Yes. I want to talk to you about the incident at Fairview Station.”

  He shook his head and grimaced. “Lawyer.”

  “I’m not asking about the actual shooting. Nothing incriminating or I’d be advising you of your rights.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “To find Jeremy. Where would he go in town? Who would help him?”

  Spencer smacked his mouth and nodded at the cup on his bedside table. “Wat
er.”

  Finley tamped down her revulsion at helping one of the men who’d shot her partner, threatened other friends and coworkers, and traumatized two children for life. She picked up the cup, held the straw to his lips, and waited while he drank.

  “I just wanted to see my daughter.”

  She didn’t bother telling him that shooting up a police substation was not the way to go about getting visitation. “Maybe I can help with that, if you’re willing to cooperate. The longer Jeremy is on the run, the greater chance he’ll be hurt or worse.”

  “I can’t snitch my brother out. Besides, he’s probably already back in Atlanta.”

  Finley shook her head. “He’s still here, man. Help me find him and maybe I can help you see Shea. Otherwise, she’ll forget she has a father while you rot in prison for a very long time.”

  Josh shifted in the bed and winced again. “He had a girlfriend on Clifton Road a while back. Gloria Bunker. Only place I can think of besides family.” He waved her away. “All I know. And don’t tell him I ratted.”

  Finley dialed Fairview Station as she pushed the door open and rushed toward the exit. “Finley Masters for Captain Carlyle. Hurry.”

  Dylan caught up to her at the elevator. “Did he tell you anything useful?”

  “Yeah. Thanks again. I’ve got to go.”

  “Be careful. Please,” Dylan said, “and—”

  Finley held up a finger when the boss came on the line. “Captain, I’ve got a possible location for our second shooter. I need tactical assistance with a search ASAP. I’m five minutes from the station. Thank you, ma’am.”

  Finley turned back toward Dylan, but she was gone. Probably best. She’d already said there was nothing to talk about. Just keeping it real. Exactly Finley’s style. So why did leaving without acknowledging what they’d shared feel wrong?

  * * *

  As soon as Finley’s back was turned, Dylan sprinted to the exit door on the ICU floor and bolted down the stairs. Holly’s summons to the ER couldn’t have come at a better time. She slowed as she reached the first floor, the thought of Finley in harm’s way like a cold lump of concrete weighing her down. Even walking was harder. This was why she didn’t date cops. Damn it, what had she been thinking? She opened the door and headed straight for Holly’s desk. “What’s up?”

  “Possible fractured radius of a four-year-old in three. X-rays in progress, and I’ve texted the on-call social worker to take a look.”

  Dylan pulled up the chart and studied it to keep Holly from noticing her glum expression or reading something into her touchy mood.

  “What’s wrong?”

  So much for her avoidance tactics. “Nothing. I’m good.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Dylan. You haven’t said more than a few words that weren’t work related since we came on duty. Then you disappeared for almost half an hour. Is it about your date?”

  Dylan flailed her hands in the air and immediately dropped them. She never did that. “How many times do I have to tell you—”

  “It wasn’t a date,” they said together.

  “Whatever you say. I’m here when you want to talk,” Holly said and turned her attention back to her tablet.

  “I’ll be in exam three.” Dylan parted the privacy curtain and nodded to a young woman sitting beside a child on the gurney. “Hi, I’m Dr. Carlyle.” She shook hands with the mother and grinned at the young boy. “How are you feeling, sport?” He didn’t meet her gaze, a sign she’d seen before in abused children. Most were inquisitive, asking questions and inspecting anything within arm’s reach.

  “Okay. I guess,” the boy answered.

  “I’m Dylan. What’s your name?”

  “Tommy.”

  “Okay, Tommy. We took a picture of your arm. Look. It’s pretty cool.” She slid the X-ray onto the light box and pointed. “These are the bones in your arm.” She used her pen to indicate an area on the radius. “See that?” The child nodded, and she continued. “That little line means something is wrong with your arm. I bet it hurts a little. Am I right?”

  Tommy nodded again.

  “Can you tell me how you hurt your arm?”

  He shrugged, his face a blank mask. Children often got that helpless, hopeless expression when their lives made no sense. How could they explain that to anyone?

  His mother brushed his dark hair off his forehead. “He likes to roughhouse with Ned.”

  Bells sounded in Dylan’s head as she studied the X-ray and listened to the mother’s explanation. Hair on the back of her neck bristled, and she shivered. She wasn’t buying the roughhousing story. The break was spiral shaped, more indicative of a twisting motion, not something caused by a simple fall. She checked the child’s history, and cleared her throat to keep from calling the mother a liar. “And who is Ned?” she asked.

  “My boyfriend for about nine months. They really get along. Ned babysits sometimes while I work. When I got home, Tommy was favoring his arm. Ned said they played touch football in the front yard, and Tommy must’ve fallen wrong. He’s going to be okay, right?”

  Before Dylan could answer, Emory interrupted. “Dr. Carlyle, a minute please.”

  “Sure. I’ll be right back with you,” Dylan said to the mother and then followed Emory into a consulting room across the hall. “I’m glad to see you. I’m getting a bad vibe here.”

  “You should be.” Emory opened her tablet and tapped a few times, then swiveled it so Dylan could see. “Tommy has been in two other times in the past six months.”

  “Did you talk with the mother before?”

  Emory nodded. “I don’t think she’s the problem.”

  “The new boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. I’ve broached the subject with her, but she won’t believe Ned hurt the boy. Maybe now she’ll listen. When you finish your exam, I’ll talk to her with an officer. She needs to understand this is an unsafe environment for the child and if it continues, she’ll lose custody.”

  “The police may file charges this time since we have a pattern.” Dylan started toward the door, but Emory touched her arm. “Jazz said she and Ben stopped by your place this morning.”

  “For God’s sake.” Dylan’s temper rose at her sisters’ meddling and spreading her business.

  “And I apologize. I talked to her about giving you space. I also reminded her why you wanted the carriage house in the first place.” Emory brushed a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. “They think they’re helping.”

  Dylan blew out a long breath. It wasn’t Emory’s fault the Carlyle clan involved themselves in every aspect of each other’s lives. “Sorry I jumped down your throat. They’re overbearing sometimes, but I know they love me.” She hugged Emory and felt her warmth and caring. “Maybe you can hold a session on boundaries at brunch one Sunday.”

  Emory snorted. “When Jazz and I celebrate our tenth anniversary, possibly.”

  Would Dylan ever find someone who fit her as completely as Kerstin complemented Ben and Emory suited Jazz? Maybe Finley, in time? Then she caught herself. She had a child’s welfare in her hands. No time for worrying about a one-night stand that was going nowhere. “I’ll catch up with you later. And thanks, Em.”

  By the time Dylan finished Tommy’s medical exam and turned the results over to Emory, she was starving. She’d dashed out of Finley’s place before dawn, only had coffee at home, and skipped her first break. She caught Holly’s eye and nodded toward the elevator to let her know she’d meet her in the cafeteria.

  A few minutes later, Holly settled across from her at their usual table by the windows overlooking the courtyard and twirled her baked spaghetti with a fork.

  “We had sex.” Dylan said, her voice almost a whisper.

  Holly stopped twirling and stared. “Oh.”

  “No idea what I was thinking. Well, I wasn’t thinking, not logically. You and Ben said I should open up, branch out, live a little. And Finley and I talked all the way to Durham. I mean really talked. She’s not like her reputa
tion, or what I imagined. She’s deeper. Like you said, a soft underbelly. I saw her as more than a cop for the first time.” She clamped her hands over her mouth. “I sound like a bad romance novel. The more she talked, the more I liked her. By the time we got back to her place, I was so turned on I couldn’t imagine not having sex with her.” Heat flooded Dylan’s body and she reached for her iced tea. “What have I done?”

  Holly smothered a grin. “And…”

  “Oh, Holly, it was unbelievable. It wasn’t just sex. It was sex max. I’ve never been so…but none of that matters.” She waved her hand through the air as if she could erase everything they’d enjoyed and the lingering effects. “Besides, she was probably just getting on my good side so I’d let her know when the shooting suspect woke up. She got what she wanted this morning, and he apparently gave her a lead. Now she’s off to find his accomplice. She’ll boost her career, make detective, and I’ll be a footnote.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe. We agreed to one night. Now life returns to normal.”

  Holly reached across the table and cupped Dylan’s hand. “But that’s not really you, is it?”

  Dylan didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer honestly, so she said nothing.

  “Talk to your family.”

  “About having sex with a near-stranger? Are you mad?”

  “About life with a cop. Norma, Gayle, Kerstin, and even Emory can provide perspective, soften this hard line you’ve drawn between you and Finley based on her profession.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Holly.” Discussing the challenges of life with a police officer hadn’t occurred to her because she was never going to be in that position. But what if she was already heading in that direction? Finley’s easy dismissal as she rushed toward her next chase made that seem unlikely. They’d enjoyed each other in the bubble of a magical evening, but the bubble burst at daybreak.

  Chapter Seventeen