“I know about Alex’s father, how he died.” Jamie looked down at her hands. “My first husband was a firefighter. He died in the Twin Towers also.”
“I’m sorry.” Some of the confusion left the young woman’s expression. She looked out the window for several seconds, her eyes distant. “It was awful, what Alex went through. He wouldn’t let me in, wouldn’t let anyone in.” Her eyes found Jamie again. “I don’t think Alex ever got over it.”
“He hasn’t, at least not from what we can see.” Jamie continued, telling Holly about her time as a volunteer at St. Paul’s Chapel. “I look at Alex, how he’s going through life broken and hurting, dedicating every heartbeat to getting the bad guys, and my heart breaks for him.” She shrugged. “I have to help. To me, Alex’s name should be right up there next to the other names on a 9/11 victims’ list. Because it seems like the terrorists took his life when they took his dad’s.” She leaned closer to Holly. “But there is a way for him to live again. I guess … I don’t know, somehow because of my experience, I feel like I can help.” She paused. “But I need to understand Alex better, the way he was before.”
Holly lowered her brow, and for a moment she seemed to struggle with what to say next. But even with no words her face told the story, how much she still felt for the young deputy. Finally, her face darkened with a pain that bordered on anger. “You think I’m part of the solution for Alex?”
“I talked to his mom and …” Jamie scrambled for the right words, “… she said the two of you were very close at one time. I figured maybe if — “
“I can only tell you that the person he used to be no longer exists.” Her voice was shaky, marked by sorrow. “Nothing I could say would help you now.”
Suddenly Jamie felt ridiculous coming here, making this attempt. She exhaled and moved to the edge of her seat. “I’m sorry, Holly. I can leave.”
Unshed tears shone in Holly’s eyes. She opened her mouth, but before she could find the words, she shook her head once and released a sound that was part cry, part exasperation. She stood and walked to the window, her back to Jamie. A long moment passed, and Holly made a quiet sniffling sound.
Jamie felt horrible. She stood and collected her purse. “I’ll go. I didn’t mean — “
“No.” Slowly, she faced Jamie again. “I’m glad you came. It’s just … I can’t help you.”
“Holly …” Jamie considered whether she should voice her boldest thoughts. She wouldn’t have this chance again. She took a quick breath and plunged ahead. “Sometimes … when he’s with us, I have the feeling Alex is thinking about the past, about someone he left behind. Several people, maybe.”
“He isn’t thinking about me, Ms. Michaels. I can tell you that. It’s too late for Alex, for either of us. After he left for LA, I did everything I could.” She tossed her hands. “I’m here, right? I went to him and practically begged him to take me back. Of course, I wanted it to work.” A tear rolled down her cheek and dropped to the floor. Then the anger left her in a rush. “He doesn’t love me. He told me he didn’t want anything to do with me. That was years ago.”
If Jamie could’ve disappeared, if she could’ve undone the entire visit, she would have. What right did she have stirring up old heartache for this young woman? “I’m so sorry.” The heat in Jamie’s cheeks must’ve made her guilt obvious. She took a step closer to Holly. “My husband told me something once, something that maybe applies here.”
Fresh tears filled Holly’s eyes. She gave a light shrug.
“He told me the opposite of love isn’t hate. It’s indifference.” She put her hand on Holly’s shoulder and tried to see past her defenses. “And I can only tell you that Alex isn’t indifferent.”
She angled her head. “So in some small way his resistance to me,” she uttered a bitter laugh, “toward every attempt I’ve made … is all because deep down he still loves me? That’s what you think?”
Jamie needed to leave before she made the situation worse. But she had to be honest too. “I think it’s possible, Holly.” She took a step back. “I came here looking for information, but maybe God wanted us to meet for a different reason. For you and Alex.”
Holly exhaled and dragged her hand through her hair, allowing her emotions to ease up. “Thank you, Jamie.” She dabbed at the tears caught in her lower eyelashes, and once more her smile lifted the corners of her lips. “I appreciate your effort, but it’s just too late.” She walked Jamie to the front door. “It was too late a long time ago.”
They said good-bye, and Jamie managed to make it to her car before her own sorrow welled up inside her. She slipped on her sunglasses, and by the time she was halfway down the dirt road, her tears came in earnest. So many hurting people, so many broken hearts. Somehow when God let her play a part in bringing healing to a person hurt by the terrorist attacks, the act validated Jake’s death, made her feel like some good had come from it.
But stories like Alex and Holly’s were proof that the losses of 9/11 were still playing out, that the cost would never fully be realized. Truly, she had believed if she could talk to Holly, she could figure out what had kept Alex so closed off, and that by finding that piece of his past, she could talk to Alex about what he’d left behind. Then, finally, he might let the walls down and realize the one thing Jamie felt sure God was trying to teach him — that he couldn’t trade his life for the task of eliminating evil in the world. Because if he gave his life before he truly found it, Alex wouldn’t be eliminating the waste the terrorists had created on 9/11.
He’d be adding to it, placing himself forever on the victims’ list of those who died on September 11.
TWENTY
The call for backup came just after ten o’clock that night, as Alex was about to circle back west on the Ventura Freeway and park at the base of the road leading up to the Oak Canyon Estates. The Santa Ana winds were back now, and Alex had no doubt the REA would hit that area if Owl and the others had a chance.
“Get ready, Bo,” he reached back and patted his dog. “You’re helping on this one.”
Bo barked a single time, alert and anxious. He could sense the change in the car’s speed, the hint of adrenaline already coursing through Alex.
“I know, buddy … we’re almost there.” Alex exited at Thousand Oaks Boulevard and forced himself to think about the call at hand. A routine traffic stop by a deputy named Waller, a veteran with the force. The stop took place at the last light at the top of the hill and netted an open container and a drunk guy with an attitude. Waller had told the guy to stay put while he returned to his squad car. An arrest was needed, but Waller needed backup before he would take on the guy by himself.
Alex pressed his foot on the gas and flipped on his siren. The wind whipped through the trees overhead, and a chill ran down his spine. The REA was probably plotting their next fire right now, the same way the terrorists had plotted their horrific deeds in the days before 9/11. He glanced out the passenger window and saw a haze of light-colored smoke in the far distance. It had been a week since the fires at the other developments, and still no arrests had been made. Detectives had questioned Owl and several others, but they’d denied involvement and there wasn’t enough evidence to bring anyone in. It wasn’t like they carried cards declaring their membership to the REA.
Frustration welled up inside Alex. The guys had to be caught in the act, there was no other way. And he was convinced Oak Canyon Estates was still on the REA’s hit list, probably up next. Alex would’ve liked nothing more than to camp out on the dirt road and catch the cowards in the act.
Waller came over the radio. “Suspect is acting shady, a little too full of motion. He might run.”
Not on my shift, Alex thought. He patted Bo again. “He runs and he’s yours, Bo. All yours.”
This time Bo responded with two barks. He paced across the backseat, ready for whatever was asked of him. Alex reached back and patted Bo, and as he did he caught a glimpse of Bo in the rearview mirror, at his earnest, brave
eyes. Such a good dog, such a dedicated partner. Since Alex took the job, that was all he ever wanted — to be a deputy with the same heart and loyalty, the same single-mindedness as Bo, ready at any minute to lay his life down if it meant getting one more thug off the streets of Los Angeles.
Up ahead Alex could see Waller’s car, and ahead of it, the dark sedan where the suspect was still sitting. Just as Alex turned off his siren and pulled up behind the squad car, the suspect flung his door open, sprang from his vehicle, and sprinted across the street into a thicket of brush and trees.
Waller’s urgent call came over the radio. “Suspect is fleeing on foot, repeat, suspect is fleeing on foot.”
Alex barely had time to radio in that he’d arrived and was in pursuit before he leashed Bo, drew his gun, and ran to Waller, who was already out of his car, his gun in his hand. “We’ll lead.” He started toward the trees. “Cover me.”
With even a minute lead, the situation was suddenly dangerous. The guy could be anywhere in the wooded area, hiding behind a tree near the spot where he entered or headed for the other side of the thicket. Alex gave Bo plenty of lead, and immediately the dog picked up the suspect’s trail. Bo stopped and barked, his head locked in position, waiting for the command.
“Get ‘em, boy!” Alex shouted. “Go get ‘em!”
Bo strained against the leash, running as fast as he could with Alex holding the end. Alex tore into the wooded area behind his dog, the ground uneven beneath his feet. Behind him, Waller clicked on a flashlight which helped a little, but the speed of the chase was still such that they were running blind into the darkness. If not for Bo leading them, they could never have taken the suspect’s trail at this pace.
All at once, there was a blur of motion in a clearing ahead and to the left, but as the suspect jumped out and raised his gun to fire at Alex and the other deputy, Bo ran straight for him. The suspect fired once and Alex felt the bullet blow past him. Before the man could fire a second bullet at the deputies, he seemed to notice the dog running straight at him. He turned his gun on Bo and started to pull the trigger.
“Get him, Bo!” Alex shouted, his sides heaving. Not Bo. Don’t let him get Bo …
The suspect tried to finish the shot, but it was too late. Bo leaped at him, leveling the man backward with such a force he flew into a mass of scrub brush. A groan came from him as he hit the brittle bushes, and at the same time he fired his gun again. This time the bullet sailed harmlessly to the side, and before he could raise his weapon another time, Bo quickly identified the suspect’s gun-wielding hand and bit hard into that arm, pinning him down and containing him.
Bo was in a frenzy, biting the man’s arm and growling at him.
“Hey!” The suspect screamed in pain. “Call him off! Help me! Call off the dog!”
“Throw your gun where we can see it,” Alex belted out the command.
The man hesitated, and Bo clearly understood that the fight wasn’t over yet. He deepened his growl and bit harder into the man’s arm, shaking it like he would a chew toy. The suspect screamed again. “Okay! Here!” He threw his gun onto the ground near where the deputies were standing. “Call him off!”
Alex was still breathing hard. Waller crept up alongside him, his flashlight aimed at the gun on the ground. He picked it up, slid it into his back pocket, and retreated to the spot next to Alex.
“Call him off!” The man’s cry was shrill now, desperate.
Next to him, Waller was calling in details of the detainment, instructing backup where to find them.
Alex took a few steps closer to the suspect. “Bo … release.”
Additional deputies were running up behind them, and in the next few minutes the suspect was bandaged, cuffed, and led away. Alex patted Bo’s side as he walked next to him back to the street. “Good boy, Bo … good job.” It was one more time when Bo had saved his life. If the suspect hadn’t been distracted by the sight of a German shepherd tearing through the brush and coming for him, he would’ve fired a round of shots before Alex and Waller had a chance to respond.
The wind bent and bowed the trees around them, and as they entered the open street again, Alex thought he could smell smoke. Either the old fires had shifted, sparked to life again by the wind, or something new was burning. He took Bo to the squad car, pulled out the gallon water bottle, and poured some in the dog’s blue bowl. Bo lapped it up, stopping just once to cast grateful eyes on Alex.
“‘Atta boy, Bo … good dog.” Alex crouched down beside him and rubbed the soft spot by his ear — Bo’s favorite.
Waller came up to them. He was still breathing hard, still coming down off the adrenaline rush. He leaned on Alex’s car. “First bullet nearly got you.”
“Second one would’ve.” Alex kept his eyes on his dog. “Bo knew where he was before the guy stepped out.”
He held out his hand and shook Alex’s. “Great backup, Brady.” He left them alone to go work on the reports.
Alex bent back down and rubbed Bo’s ear. “You hungry, boy?” He kept a bag of food in the car for times like this — midway through a shift with a couple of active calls behind them. He scooped a cup of kibble into a second blue bowl and gave it to the dog. Again, Bo lifted grateful eyes his direction. The dog would’ve died for him, no question about it.
Alex added his comments to the report, dumped out the rest of Bo’s water, and opened the door for the dog. “Come on, Bo … back to headquarters.” He stacked the two bowls on the floorboard and climbed into the driver’s seat. He needed to file his own report before he could go out on patrol again.
He could feel the wind hard against his car as he pulled onto the freeway. He made a quick call to the Lost Hills station. “You have someone checking out the Oak Canyon Estates?” He didn’t want to pry, but he couldn’t stand the thought of driving the opposite direction from the place where the next ecoterrorist attack could take place.
“Got it. The developer called a few hours ago and asked for extra support.”
“Good. Arsonists love nights like this.” Alex pictured Owl and the other two clowns trying to make it up the hill and coming face-to-face with a sheriff’s deputy.
Halfway to the station, grim thoughts hit him. What if he hadn’t had Bo with him tonight? What if the gunman had killed him with that second shot? Alex settled back into his seat. Like a tidal wave, a wall of futility washed over him. If he’d been killed in a thicket by a drunk gunman, then what would his life have mattered? Sure, he’d gotten a number of bad guys, but for every arrest, there were ten that didn’t take place, another batch of crooks growing up and taking part in the street war all around them.
He thought about Jamie Bryan, the fact that she’d found a journal entry written by his father, an entry that Alex hadn’t let her share with him. In some ways, it might’ve served as his father’s last words for him, but he’d shut them out, refused them. If he had died up there on the brush-covered hill, he never would’ve had the chance to hear them.
And what about Holly? He’d refused her too, but he still wondered. Was she in New York? Had she fallen in love and married, like he suspected? Had she learned to forgive him, to forget him the way he wanted her to? If the gunman’s bullet had hit its mark, Alex would never have those answers, either.
The futility filled him and surrounded him, suffocating him and drawing him into a whirlpool of waste. Wasted time and years and days and effort. He could get a dozen bad guys every day, but would the problem of evil in the city be reduced any, really? He straightened and summoned in himself the courage and determination, the sheer will and sense of justice that lived where his heart had once resided. He might never rid the city of everything bad and dangerous, but with every one, with every chase and every arrest, one more family was spared, one more high school senior didn’t have to come home to find his life torn apart.
Gradually, the despair dissipated and he could breathe again. The wind howled overhead as he reached headquarters and went inside with Bo. In the
break room, he found Clay and Joe huddled over cups of coffee, their faces lined with concern.
Clay spotted him first. He frowned and motioned for Alex to join them. “We heard about your chase. Good work, Brady.”
“Thank you.” Alex looked from Clay to Joe and back again. “What’s up?”
“A deputy went down.” Joe’s voice was thick with discouragement. “East LA. Responded to a disturbing the peace and took a bullet in the neck. Suspect was a guy you arrested a few months ago.”
Alex’s stomach dropped, and he clenched his fists. Gut-wrenching pain took hold of him, the same pain he’d felt when he walked into the house that Tuesday morning and saw his mother watching the television screen, saw the Twin Towers in a heap of rubble with his father somewhere inside them. A pain that consumed him. Alex put his foot on the seat of the nearest chair, dug his elbow into his knee, and hung his head.
“He’s been in surgery the last four hours. Critical condition.” Clay rarely sounded beaten, but this was one of those times. “If he lives, they don’t think he’ll walk again. The bullet hit his spine.”
A stifled moan built in Alex’s chest and came out as an angry cry. He slammed his fist on the table and then stormed to the corner where the coffee was set up. He felt Bo beside him, heard the dog whimper softly. Alex exhaled hard through his nose and leaned down enough to touch his fingers to Bo’s head. “It’s okay, Bo. Down, boy.” His dog kept his eyes locked on Alex as he took a few tentative steps back and then settled down on the cool floor. Alex felt weary, physically beaten. He looked over his shoulder. “The suspect?”
Clay was on his feet coming toward him. “Shot and killed at the scene. Two others were arrested.”
The bad guy wouldn’t kill again, but still he represented another death, more heartache on the streets. Somewhere tonight the criminal’s mother and father, his siblings, maybe even his children would be changed forever because he was gone. He’d arrested the guy a few months ago, but the effort wasn’t enough. The guy hadn’t changed, hadn’t gone home and become an upstanding citizen. So how had Alex’s arrest mattered at all? The evil on the streets was still winning if a deputy could make a routine house call and be shot in the process. He hung his head again and gripped the edge of the table where the coffeemaker sat.
Remember Tuesday Morning Page 18
