The police cruiser flew down the dark streets, lights illuminating the night. Emma looked over at Brock, seeing the red and blue lights flashing over his face. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him look so shaken up. This is bad. Things are really bad.
They reached their destination in record time. The Leary Strip Mall had been one of the most popular strip malls in the city nearly 20 years ago, way before Emma's time. It had finally gone out of a business two or three years ago and as far as she knew, no one had missed it. The parking lot was overgrown with weeds and deserted except for an empty police car parked on the back side of the building.
Brock pulled up beside it, glancing around. There was no sign of any of the other officers or the suspect. Dark shadows roiled across the deserted loading docks, clouds still blocking the moon. Brock leaned forward, peering at the back of the other police cruiser.
“That's Forman's and Anderson's cruiser. I need you to stay back. Don't let them see you.”
Slowly and silently, the two officers moved away from their vehicle. Brock drew his gun immediately and Emma followed his lead. She realized she was nervous. No, nervous wasn't the right word. I'm scared, she thought, her heart hammering in her chest. They were trying to be quiet, but she was sure the other officers could hear her heart thumping.
Without a word, Brock ushered her to stop and get down. Emma moved behind an old, burned out street light pole, mostly covered in darkness. Brock moved forward in a crouch, gun aimed high. He had gone perhaps another 40 yards when a voice echoed out from somewhere in the darkness.
“This is Sergeant Franklin! Identify yourselves!”
Two men strode towards Brock, guns pointed at the ground. In the darkness, it was hard to make them out, but Emma was sure it was Forman and Anderson. The two men walked close to Franklin, who lowered his gun. She could tell he was still tense.
“Officer Forman. Officer Anderson. Any sight of the suspect?” asked Brock, loud enough for Emma to hear what he was saying. Anderson answered, but he was unnaturally quiet, a stark contrast to his loud and boisterous personality.
“Why does that matter? Officer Miller has the night off.”
More words, this time a little louder and angrier sounding. Emma thought she heard, “Bitch,” but she couldn't be sure. Anderson took a step towards Brock.
“Where is she? Where is that bitch?” he bellowed, right in Brock's face. Brock held his ground, towering over the smaller man. Still, the situation wasn't good. It's almost irreversible, Emma thought. Things are about to reach a tipping point.
And then it did. Anderson pulled a gun on Brock, yelling. Forman pulled his pistol. Brock whipped his gun up faster than she thought was possible, aiming it at Forman, who was the better target. Emma got up, aiming her gun, but then she remembered what Brock had told her. Don't let them see you. I have to help, she thought. I can't stand back and do nothing!
With a crack that split the silence, Brock dropped to his knees. Emma watched in horror as he fired at Forman twice. Anderson had his gun up, firing at Brock. She counted the gunshots. Crack. Crack. Crack. Despite everything, she screamed.
Anderson looked up towards her, immediately running towards her. Forman and Brock lay on the ground, not moving. Emma raised her pistol, firing at Anderson. Emma heard him yell but wasn't sure if she hit him or just scared him. She turned and ran, tears running down her face. She felt her emotions overwhelming here: fear, sadness, and shame for not helping Brock. Not helping her friend. No. Not helping her family.
Emma reached the cruiser and tore off out of the parking lot, tears blurring her vision. She grabbed her phone, dialing Brock's home, praying that Tammy would pick up. She grabbed the scrap of paper with the address on it, holding it up and trying to make out where she needed to go. At that moment, the cloud cover broke, illuminating the car with bright moonlight. She memorized the address, cranking the wheel hard left and running a red light. She sped the whole way there, never even bothering to turn the police sirens on.
When she'd arrived, the lights of the building were off and it looked deserted. Emma sat in the car, waiting to see if anyone came out of the door. After nearly 15 minutes, no one did. Glancing down at the scrap of paper again, she wasn't even sure if this was the right place. In the dark, the building looked run down, and she suspected that it wouldn't look much better in the daylight.
Emma sighed, pulling her police jacket over her body like a blanket. She leaned the seat back, pulling her legs up to her chest and trying to stay as warm as possible. It wasn't below freezing tonight, but in a few weeks it would be. Still, she would have to turn the car on a few times during the night to warm up. If she could even get to sleep, she knew it wouldn't be good.
Curling up, she willed sleep to come. The more she wanted to slip into unconsciousness, the more it evaded her. Brock was dead. Members of her own police department were hunting her. Her life, everything she knew, was crumbling. The lines between good and bad were supposed to be clear. Her, and every other police officer, were supposed to be good. And now fellow officers were criminals, and she was going to men she'd been told were criminals for protection. There was one good thing that made her smile. Tammy had answered the phone on the second ring and was staying the night at her mother's house before coming here tomorrow morning.
Here. An unmarked building, home of King's Security Solutions, Inc. She didn't know who King was and she realized she didn't really care. She pondered that question and drifted into an uncomfortable, cold sleep.
Knock! Knock! Knockknockknock! Emma groggily came to, wondering what the knocking was about in her already fading dream. She slowly cracked open her eyes, sunlight bathing her shivering body. Where am I? She wondered. Everything came flooding back to her.
“Hey!”
Emma looked outside of her window and screamed. A man was standing outside of her window, a large man, blocking most of the sunlight. She reached for her gun before remembering what she was doing here. She willed herself to calmly move her hand away from the butt of her pistol and get out of the police cruiser.
The wave of cold air that hit her took the breath from her lungs. The man said something, but she didn't catch it. Eyes watering, she asked, “What?”
“Are you gonna turn that thing off?”
“Turn what thing off?”
“The car. It's been running for hours.”
Emma turned back to the car, reaching in and turning the ignition off. The car was bordering on E. Just another problem. “Why didn't you come wake me up hours ago?”
He barked a deep, rough laugh. “I try not to associate with cops, but the boss says that maybe we're expecting some.”
They moved towards the building, Emma following and zipping her coat up. The man in front of her was large and only wearing a cut off T-shirt with dirty, oily jeans. The cold didn't seem to faze him. The wave of warm air inside of the building was a welcome relief. The man kept moving, but Emma took a few moments to take the scene in, her senses as a cop letting her analyze her surroundings quickly.
There was a bar, complete with bar stools, running along the right wall. A hallway was immediately off to her right and a lounging area took up most of the room on the left. There was a massive set of double doors on the far wall and the man – shifter, she thought – disappeared down a hallway to the right of the doors.
He led her down the hallway, not saying a word. She was a little bit surprised how deserted and quiet the whole building was. She shivered again despite the warmth, realizing she didn't want to be in a building completely full of criminals, no matter that Brock had vouched for them. The man opened the door at the end of the hallway and ushered her inside. Emma took a deep breath, and entered.
An older man sat behind a desk. Despite his age, his hulking form seemed to take up most of the room. He leaned forward, shaking her hand with a hand like a grizzled paw that engulfed hers. It was rough, like sandpaper, and the handshake was firm, like she would have expected.
/>
“What can I do for you?” he asked, cutting right to the chase. Emma nearly winced at the roughness in his voice. This was a man who'd been through a lot. Who was probably… a criminal.
“I need protection.”
“Well, don't they all,” he said, his short laughing barking through the room. “Let's get down to business.”
Most of what Joe had said went in one ear and out the other. What she remembered, as she walked to the room she was given, was that she had a shifter assigned to her for protection. Jake? Jack? Jace!
“Here's your room,” the shifter from before said, using a key to unlock it. “Make yourself at home. Jace won't be in for a few hours, so you've got some time to burn.”
Inside of the room, Emma was surprised to find it pretty bare. She imagined these shifter bodyguards would have some personality...but the room was bland. There was a window with a dark curtain pulled over it, a small bed, and a recliner in front of an old tube TV. Emma pulled the curtain to the side, illuminating the room with thousands of tiny dust motes floating through the air. Outside, she was greeted with the perfect view of a parking lot full vehicles in varying states of disrepair.
She opened a door, pleased to find a small bathroom. She hesitantly smelled herself, realizing she was way overdue for a shower. Plus, she had a few hours to kill. She went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. It wouldn't latch, but she'd locked the door to the room, so it hardly mattered.
She stripped down, hopping in the shower. The water pressure sucked, and she had to use man soap, but it was glorious. She wasn't sure how long she stayed in the shower, but when she eventually got out, she heard the door open to the room.
Emma froze, unsure of what to do. Could it be the man assigned to guard her? No, he was supposed to be gone for hours, and besides, she heard two men talking. She wasn't able to make out what they were saying, so she padded over to the door, still sopping wet. She pressed an ear to the door, trying to hear. One man, who sounded angry, kept rambling on, and the other man replied with short, one word answers.
She still couldn't make out much, so she leaned against the door a little bit more, but the door latch gave under her weight, sending her into the room. As the door swung open, Emma's eyes wide, taking in everything: a large man with shoulder length brown hair and a thick, dark beard. His golden eyes went almost as wide as hers, his mouth open but not saying anything. In one hand, he held a phone. So, there's only one man in the room. Better than two, flashed through her mind.
And then she hit the floor, bouncing and rolling. She let out a muffled, “Oomph!” Ending up on her back, she stared up at the man. He stood over her, his massive body blocking out the one dim light bulb in the room. Still, she noticed that even shadowed, his eyes were still piercing. She watched as his eyes slowly trailed down from her face, to her exposed breasts, then down to the place between her legs. If possible, his eyes went even wider.
She screamed. Oh, my God! He's just seen me naked! Emma rolled up, covering herself the best she could with two hands. “Don't look!”
The man tossed the phone onto the chair, turning around and grabbing the corner of one of his sheets, ripping it off of his bed in a flourish. He handed it to her, attempting to keep his eyes diverted. Face blazing red, Emma took the sheet and covered herself. It was sheer, but still gave a little bit of privacy. Not that he hasn't already seen everything he needs to see, she thought.
“What are you doing in here?' Emma asked.
“This is my room,” the man growled, but he didn't say more.
“Jace?”
The man nodded.
“They said you wouldn't be back for hours.”
A shrug. Well, I didn't want to talk to any shifters anyway, Emma thought. No one told me they would be this attractive…
“I'm going to go get dressed. Don't look,” she said, going back into the bathroom. The door wouldn't completely shut, but it would have to do. She found a towel and dried herself off before pulling on her old clothes.
She came out of the bathroom, still embarrassed, when a knock came at the door. Jace answered, ushering another man inside. This man wore nicer clothes than the others she'd seen, though he was still large and had golden eyes.
“Jace,” he said, as way of introduction, then looked at Emma. “You must be Officer Miller.”
Jace raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Emma nodded at him.
“I'm Russell,” he said, extending a soft hand. He couldn't be more different than Joe, she thought. “I've got good news. Your partner's wife and kids arrived a couple of minutes ago. They're being put into protection. There's something else you should know. Your partner, Officer Franklin, is alive.”
“What?” Emma exclaimed. She'd seen him get shot. “That's impossible! They killed him!”
“One of my contacts at the hospital just called me. He's been shot four times and has lost a lot of blood. Another officer was killed. I don't know the specifics yet, but it sounds like he's going to need some protection once the rest of those corrupt cops find out he's still alive.”
“I need to go see him!”
“No,” Jace uttered, short and final.
“Yes!” Emma moved in front of him, getting in my face. “You might not know what it's like to have a partner, to rely on someone with your life on a daily basis, but that man is the only reason I'm alive! I have to see him!”
Jace stood silent for a few seconds, before nodding.
“Derrick and Judge are free,” Russell offered.
“Derrick? Clive won't be happy,” Jace said. It was the most Emma had heard him say since she'd met him.
“Joe said he's ready,” Russell said, shrugging. “I don't make the rules. If you want him to help protect Officer Franklin, then he's available. If you don't, it'll just have to be Judge.”
“He needs all of the help he can get,” Emma said, sternly.
To her surprise, Jace said, “You're right. Let's go. Thanks, Russ.”
Emma hadn't seen Tammy or the kids before they'd left. It had only taken a few minutes to find Derrick and Judge before the four of them had piled into a brown SUV. Derrick was young – dark hair a stark contrast to his golden eyes, yet still huge. Watching him walk, taking everything in, she knew he would have made a good cop. If he hadn't chose this shifter life, she ruminated.
Judge was lean, dark skinned shifter with a bald head. Still, he was huge. His eyes were cold and calculated. If any of these shifters were killers, then she sure he was guilty. Even the name scared her. Judge. She considered asking him how he got the nickname, but decided against it.
“You must forgive Jace,” Judge said, turning around from the passenger seat. “He's not much of a talker.”
“That's okay with me,” Emma said, shooting Jace a glare. “I wish he could keep his eyes to himself as well as he keeps his mouth shut.”
The men up in the front seat burst into laughter. “Got something you want to tell us, Jace?”
He spoke up. “Yeah. She's a cop. She hates shifters.”
The laughter died. She rolled her shoulders, watching Derrick's eyes narrow in the rear-view mirror. Once again, silence descended on Emma. She didn't know what to say. The last thing she wanted to do was anger three shifters in an enclosed space. She remembered what the last one had done.
“Is that true, Officer Miller. Or can I call you Emma?” Judge asked, all hints of friendship gone. His voice was icy. When she didn't answer, he repeated, “Is that true?”
“I had a bad experience a couple months back with one,” was all she said.
“So you hate all shifters, is that it?” Derrick asked.
“No, that's not it.”
“Then what is it?”
“Shifters aren't looked upon fondly in law enforcement. A lot of shifters are criminals.”
Judge let out a loud laugh. “Indeed! A lot of humans are too! Do you believe everything you're told? Do you believe everything your corrupt coworkers say?”
Emma put her head down, embarrassed. Judge was right, at least for the time being. They were risking their lives to protect her, Brock, and countless others, even if some of them were cops. And because she'd had a bad run in with one shifter, and had heard bad things from her superiors, she'd believed they were all bad. The realization hit her like a truck full of bricks. In seconds, she was sobbing, hands in her face.
“I'm...sorry...” she managed between sobs. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Jace looking at her, concern on his face. For once, she realized she wanted him to say something. Say that everything was alright. That everyone makes mistakes.
Matthew (BBW Country Music Bear Shifter Romance) (Bearly Saints Book 1) Page 16
