by Dan Alatorre
The doors opened, revealing the elevator’s only passenger—Deshawn Marshall, in a blue suit and a red Santa tie. He smiled at Carly. “Great dress, Detective.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Carly grinned, stepping into the elevator. “What’s the word on the teams? Any updates?”
He looked down and shook his head, chuckling. “You were in the locker room less than thirty minutes. There are no updates.”
“Okay. Just checking.” She tugged at the sides of her dress and shifted her hips.
“You holding up okay?” Deshawn said.
“Why? Is something showing?” She glanced down at her dress and shoes, twisting to see behind herself.
“Not there. Here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Don’t stress out. The teams will do their jobs.”
Carly groaned, massaging her hands. “How do you manage it, Deshawn? The stress at your level seems so much more . . . stressful.”
“I work out a lot. And I have a very supportive family at home that I make sure I spend a lot of time with. But . . . Sandra makes sure she keeps a bottle of emergency merlot on hand, just in case.”
Carly smiled.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get there.” The elevator stopped, opening its doors at the atrium. “Remember,” Deshawn said, “it’s still only your first couple of days.”
“Oof.” Carly carefully stepped out of the elevator—the shoe strap simply wasn’t cooperating. “Seems like it’s been a month.”
At the entrance to the atrium, Carly scanned the crowded room. She disliked parties and crowds almost as much as giving interviews and speeches, but she grudgingly did what she was obligated to do, trying her best not to let on how uncomfortable it all was to her. “Is Sandra coming tonight?”
“Yeah.” Deshawn’s phone rang. He patted his pocket. “This may be her now.” Lifting the phone to one ear, he plugged his other ear with a finger. “Hi, sugar. Where are you?”
Carly looked up at a mirror ball as it cast red and green Santas on the atrium walls. Nearby, Lieutenant Davis had cornered a print reporter for the Tribute, wagging a finger. “Bad cops are a result of bad leadership. That’s why my predecessor had to go.”
“Okay,” Deshawn said. “I’ll be right there.” He ended the call. “I’ll be right back. Sandra can’t find a parking space.”
“No worries.” Carly held her hands in front of her. “I’ll be here.”
He headed for the exit. “Stay at the party. Don’t go back upstairs to pretend to check reports for at least an hour.”
Carly winced. “Okay.”
* * * * *
“Well, I gotta run.” Officer Jacobs shook Sergio’s hand. “Me and Rafferty are working second shift until the sniper gets bagged. But like I said, you took one for the team with that Parmenter deal. Everybody knows it.”
“Thanks, Jakey,” Sergio said. “I appreciate it.”
It was one of half a dozen conversations he’d had since he met the governor, and it seemed like every cop wanted to deliver the same message.
We wish we’d have done what you did about Parmenter.
It was a good feeling, to have the support of the other cops, even if his job was hanging by a thread.
Sergio strolled to the food tables, looking over the Cuban sandwiches and potato salad.
The dinner looked tasty, but he’d eaten beforehand—per Abbie’s instructions. “It’s hard to plead your case with a mouth full of tuna salad.” He was here for an interview—to get his job back—and so far, so good. Taking his phone from his pocket, he glanced at the time. He’d leave soon, as planned, staying long enough to make a good impression but not so long that someone could get drunk and potentially misremember him doing something he hadn’t actually done. Things like that happened at office parties.
She also warned about standing off by yourself somewhere.
As in, don’t.
It was too easy for a reporter to snap a picture and give it the headline, Detective Is Outcast At Police Christmas Party. He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Time to mingle.
“Sergio.” Carly approached the food table. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I think a lot of people were surprised,” Sergio said. “Lieutenant Davis sure was.”
She nodded. “I can imagine.”
“Listen, I don’t wanna make things awkward for you.” He glanced around, pointing across the room. “I’ll head over there.”
“Oh . . . don’t go.” She clasped her hands in front of herself. “It’s . . . good to see you. It’s hard to believe we haven’t spoken in—how long has it been?”
“A while.”
“Yeah,” she said. “You okay? I heard you hooked up with Johnny Tyree’s firm.”
“Yeah. We’re tracking down parking citations.”
“I know. I did that on purpose. I knew you’d want to help, so . . .” She brushed her hands across the front of her dress. “I mean, I know it’s not much but . . .”
“Hey, it’s plenty.” He shifted on his feet, glancing around. “I’m happy to be playing a role at all. It all adds up.”
“You okay? You seem a little quiet.”
Sergio sighed. “It’s a lot to digest, all the changes that are going on.”
“I just said that to my mom. She said, ‘Give it a chance. You just might like the way things work out.’”
He inspected the tray of cookies but decided against taking one. He wanted to look anywhere but at her for some reason. The partner he’d lost, the friendship he’d ruined. “If change is inevitable, embrace it, right?”
“I don’t know about embracing it,” she said. “But if change is inevitable, you might want to understand that change is inevitable.”
“Yeah, but . . .” He shrugged. “Some changes don’t have to happen.”
Carly looked down. “Let’s not—”
“No, I’m not.” Sergio put his hands in his pockets. “I get it. I’ve been thinking a lot about things lately.”
“And?”
“Well, I don’t have to like all the changes that are happening.” He frowned, looking away. “But I’d be stupid not to face the horrible, miserable, crappy new reality, wouldn’t I?”
“That’s the spirit.”
The mirror ball changed colors, sending blue reindeer onto the walls and floor.
Sergio looked at his former partner. “I’m really glad you’re getting promoted. Whether they let me go or not, it’s going to be weird not talking to you every day. It’s already weird.”
She nodded, her gaze on the floor.
Sergio managed to smile. “You have to admit, your life was pretty dull before you met me.”
“I’ll take dull. I’d welcome it.” Her cheeks reddened. “You know, some people enjoy coming home and seeing their family. Or walking their kids to school in the morning, or helping them with their homework. They’re called—”
“Boring.”
“—adults.”
Sergio winced. He looked over at the stack of presents for Toys For Tots, then turned back to Carly. “How are your boys? They behaving for Santa?”
“Oh yeah.” She nodded again, slowly, without looking up. “Best behavior this time of year, even though they know the real deal.”
“Real deal?” He bolted upright. “Don’t—don’t you start with that ‘real deal’ stuff. Don’t try to tell me there’s no Santa. My parents did that when I was ten and I about died. I—I . . . I won’t listen.” Putting his fingers in his ears, he closed his eyes. “La la la la la la la . . .”
She laughed, pulling his hands down. “I won’t ruin it for you, then. But . . . the boys are a handful these days.” She smiled, looking at him. “A fun handful, but still a handful.”
“Yeah, they’re good kids,” Sergio said. “I like them. Isaac and . . . uh . . .”
“Ethan.”
“Well, but I mostly like Isaac.”
She laughed, smacking him on the arm. “You’re s
uch an idiot.”
“Ethan set up that booby trap last summer.” Sergio grinned, remembering. “The one that twisted my ankle.”
“Better you than the mailman,” Carly said. “That could’ve been a lawsuit.”
He bit his lip, enjoying her smile, her eyes. The way her hair framed her face. The nice way she always made him feel inside. “I miss this. I miss talking to you.”
“Yeah.” She whispered. “Me, too.”
The mirror ball switched to snowflakes. Carly’s eyes twinkled in the light.
Sergio forced the warm feelings down.
It was a nice moment, but she’s moving on. Be a friend. Change the . . . the mood. Lighten things up again.
“They’re crazy, those two kids of yours.” Sergio leaned back, stretching. “I visited your house that one time last year, in the fall. Remember? It was cold, and you were apparently out on some long, insane jog, but the boys had left all the doors open. I go and lean in the front door, and I’m like, ‘Hello? You guys home or is the house getting robbed?’ The little buggers jump out and tackle me—I was hog tied in the front yard before I knew it, and I’m spitting grass out and saying stuff like, ‘Gosh, dang, darn!’ because I couldn’t remember if we were allowed to cuss around them or not.”
“I remember.” Carly laughed. “They were learning to set booby traps.”
He grinned at Carly. “Crazy kids you got there. Wonder where they get their sense of humor from?”
“My dad, probably.” Carly peered up at him. “You know, that reminds me. About the car.” She massaged her hands. “See, the Camaro, my dad gave it to me, and it was always kind of more than transportation, because he said—”
“Hey, don’t worry about that.” Sergio stepped back, putting up his hands. “I called the credit union and they’re giving me a loan. You’ll be motoring in style again soon. Unless I get fired—then, it could take longer. But my insurance is picking up a chunk of it. Seems I have some sort of ‘You’re an idiot clause’ that kicked in.”
She reached toward him. “Sergio—”
“Hey, sailor.” Abbie slipped in between them and curled her arm around Sergio’s. “I finished making the rounds, but I guess I missed you at the punch bowl.” She looked up at him. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Sergio said. “Abbie, this is Carly Sanderson, my former partner. Carly, Abbie Wilder.”
Carly smiled weakly. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Same here.” Abbie turned around and faced Sergio. “Well, are we off? Or should we say hi to the mayor before we go?”
Sergio’s mouth hung open. “I, uh . . .”
Smiling broadly at Carly, Abbie took Sergio by the arm. “Do you mind if I steal him away for a moment?”
“Hey, no.” Carly’s cheeks turned bright red. “You two go do your thing.” She took a step backward, clearing her throat. “I . . . there are some reports upstairs. I was just going to . . . go check on them.”
Abbie pulled Sergio forward. “So, do we quit while we’re ahead? Or—” Sergio was still staring at Carly as she walked toward the food tables. “Hey,” Abbie said. “Are you paying attention?”
Sergio whipped his head around. “Yes. Sorry. Let’s . . . let’s do whatever you think is best.” He glanced over his shoulder. Carly was standing by the punch bowl, looking down. “I was just—she’s my old partner, you know?”
Abbie nodded. “Do you care more about losing your job or losing your friendship with Carly?”
Sergio looked back. “I don’t know.”
“Wow,” Abbie said. “And you’ve wanted to be a cop since you were a kid. You love it.”
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
Stop being stupid!
“I—whatever you think is best.” He gazed at Abbie. “I trust you. You’re the one saving my bacon. Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay.” Abbie beamed, patting his arm. “Well, I think we did great tonight. Tom says he’ll put in a good word for you to Mayor Mills. It doesn’t carry any official weight, but it can’t hurt.”
* * * * *
Carly stood at the punch bowl, a knot in her stomach. She picked up the long, plastic ladle and a paper cup.
“Hey, Carly.” Officer Dandridge walked up. She handed Carly a printout. “Lieutenant Davis said you’d want to see this. It’s the most recent update.”
Carly viewed the page, not really looking at it. “Yeah, I saw it before I came down.”
Dandridge swept her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Was that Sergio Martin? He’s kinda hunky—but what a shmuck, right? Putting your car in the bay like that.”
Carly scowled. “You know what, Jessica? Sergio is smart as hell and he’s fiercely loyal. He put his life on the line for me more than once.” She threw the plastic ladle back onto the table. “Sergio’s been there for me when, when . . . when nobody else was. That’s worth fighting for. He’s a good cop, just about the bravest man I ever met, and . . . and I should have said so a long time ago.” She glared at Dandridge, crumbling the paper cup and throwing it on the ground. “If you or anybody else has anything negative to say about my partner, you can just keep it to yourself.” Carly headed to the elevators.
Dandridge backed away, blushing. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
* * * * *
As the houses went past his car window, Sergio stared out at the road. “It’s been kind of a bumpy road the last few days, huh? For each of us.”
Abbie propped her elbow on the armrest and put her chin in her palm. “People say, ‘Everything happens for a reason.’ They forget to add, ‘You don’t always get to know what that reason is.’ You know?” She looked at Sergio in the light of the dashboard. “The last few days brought me to you, which ended up saving my life. So, things have been bumpy, but I’d be a fool to complain. You?”
He kept his eyes on the road, lost in thought.
“Sergio,” Abbie said. “Can I ask you a favor?”
He glanced at her. “Sure.”
“When you take me out, be out with me. Not your—”
“Job.” He nodded. “Got it.”
“—partner.”
Sergio looked at Abbie, his cheeks growing warm. “I . . . didn’t know I was taking you out like that.”
“Better make your mind up, then.”
He sighed. He liked Abbie. She was pretty and smart, and had a fun sense of humor. One he admired. She was witty, and sharp. Sarcastic, like him, but also different. Unique.
Can’t steal second base with your foot still on first. And Carly’s married. That’s not going to change.
And Abbie has those eyes.
Everything else is changing whether you like it or not. Meanwhile, here is a smart, beautiful woman who seems genuinely interested in you.
What’s the problem?
“Uh, yes,” He sat up straight. “I’d like to take you out, Abbie. Absolutely.”
She turned to him slowly, smiling. “Then you’d better call me and ask me.”
“Okay.” He grinned. “Okay, I will.”
* * * * *
“Mellish!” Lieutenant Davis hissed. “Where’s Sanderson?”
Officer Mellish set down his plate, swallowing the chunk of sandwich in his mouth. “I think she went upstairs, sir.”
“Did you see that display by Detective Martin?” Davis growled. “What Sanderson said to Officer Dandridge? Between that and Carly’s speech at the press conference, we’re losing control of this situation. That clown Sergio needs to be gone.” He frowned, stroking his chin. “Maybe the panel interview should happen as Carly suggested. She wanted it tomorrow. Maybe we’ll do just that. Inform the panel members that the interview will commence at nine a.m.”
“Nine, sir?” Mellish said. “Isn’t that a little early?”
“A little early? My people need to hit the ground running. Let’s make it eight. Sanderson’s getting too cocky. We need to take her down a peg or two. Oh, and be sure to give her some Human Resource
s manuals to read tonight so she’s prepared for a wide range of questions. The panel members could ask about anything.”
Mellish shifted on his feet. “Yes, sir.”
“I’ll go request Detective Sanderson create some detailed reports about all these ridiculous sniper teams. Our overtime is through the roof. The taxpayers will want explanations.” Davis went to the elevator, jabbing the button. “That alone should keep her busy past midnight,” he muttered.
Chapter 41
Bree checked the time. Addleson had agreed that taking separate cars to most events would be the best way to maintain a professional demeanor, but she fully expected her BMW to be parked in the garage of his Bayshore home overnight tonight.
And soon, for every night after that.
She arrived at the campaign headquarters first, walking the short distance from the rear parking lot to the front of the building to arrive in style. Smoothing her red dress, she threw open the door and stuck her head in. “Who just kicked major booty at the Tampa Police Christmas party?”
Jaylee looked up from the phone bank table. “You did?”
“That’s right. Woot, woot!” Bree sauntered across the room. The volunteers were busy making calls at several tables; the newest additions for tonight’s telethon were in the back of the room being trained on how to run a credit card—and how to ask for the names of the new donor’s friends. Bree stopped at Jaylee’s table. “We spoke with the Governor and the current Mayor. I think both may want to endorse our man Addleson.”
Jaylee gasped. “They said that?”
“No, but they will.” Bree winked. “Always think positive, Jaylee, and have a plan. Without a plan, even the best goals stay daydreams.” She clapped her hands. “Okay, gang. Here’s the incentive for tonight. The team with the highest dollar amount in pledges gets a gift card to The Wine Cellar, and the individual with the highest dollar total for the night gets seated next to Rex when we do our exclusive wine and dine next week at Bern’s steakhouse. Are we happy?”
The staff cheered as Bree disappeared into her office to start calling whales.
* * * * *
The elevators doors opened, and Jordan Mellish stepped out. The only light on the whole floor came from Detective Sanderson’s desk. The last shift had been dismissed to get some food from the party and recharge their batteries. The next shift wouldn’t come on for another hour.
