by Freya Barker
“Until then, I suggest we keep a lid on this investigation,” Damian suggests. “Stick to gathering supporting background information, but no interviews. Nothing that might alert the chief or either of the Lipczyks. Only way this will work is if they’re completely unaware we’re digging.”
“What about a warrant for phone records?” Luna asks. “Is there any way to get those without risking McMahan finding out?”
“I can get them,” I offer, but Damian shakes his head.
“We’re going to need to do this by the book. Let me call James in Denver, see what our options are.”
“I’d get them anyway,” Keith suggests. “We can still follow through with a warrant if we find something worthwhile.
Five minutes later, I’m outside in our parking lot that overlooks Durango, talking to Bella.
“I talked to her.”
“Joanne? You did? How is she? Where is she?”
I chuckle at the flow of questions. “She’s fine. She’s at her sister’s place. I told her you were worried and she said she’d call you tonight. Apologized for not calling you back, but she wasn’t sure what she was ready to tell you yet.”
“Ready to tell me? Why, what happened? Was it him?”
“Easy with the rapid-fire questions, Squirt. She really is fine. I can’t have you going off half-cocked when I tell you, though. Any of this comes out, we lose a great opportunity to nail this case down.”
“He attacked her,” she concludes on her own, breathing fire. “The bastard attacked her, didn’t he?”
“Bella...” I warn her. “This is exactly what I mean. He threatened her, yes, but she’s fine. She’s filing a report in the next few days, which is why you can’t go off on a tangent. Keep it to yourself so we can do our job.”
“Fine, all right, I’ll suck it up but, Jas? Get this done with. I’d like to be able to go to work without having to look over my shoulder all the time. Maybe see what it feels like get back to a normal life, with you in it.”
Fuck, I’d like that too. I never even got around to taking her on that first date. Given what we were up to this morning, perhaps a little like tying the horse behind the cart, but I still want to do this right.
I can’t believe how easily I caved. She just has be near for me to forget all my reservations. My last attempt to walk away from this, when she was plastered against me on the kitchen floor this morning, was no more than a final scuffle in what I already knew was a losing battle.
Who the hell am I kidding? I’ve sensed since the first time I met her, she would burrow deep if I let her. I knew when I first kissed her, there’d be no turning back. Just like part of me was fully conscious sitting out there in her driveway, in the middle of the night, it would only take one glimpse of her, to have me throw in the towel.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask, a smile on my face.
“Cooking you dinner.”
“I like the sound of that. Better get back to work.”
“Me too. I’ve got a drunk to deliver and puke to scrape off.”
“In the middle of the day?”
“Apparently so. Yuck.”
“SO, YOU AND MY SISTER.”
I look up to find Damian looming over my desk.
The rest of the office cleared out about half an hour ago, and I’d frankly forgotten about him locked away in his office. I’m just finishing up a few things before I was going to head over to Bella’s.
I prop my legs up and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. I was expecting this at some point. Now is as good a time as any.
“Looks that way.”
He nods slowly and sits down on the edge of my desk. “So what changed since last week?” I look at the worn toes of my boots, trying to come up with the words, but Damian forges ahead. “Let me take a wild stab at this. You prefer to keep your world small, so it’s easier to control and analyze, and even though my sister is much the same way, she comes with a whole truckload of issues, including a brother who happens to be your boss.” He holds his hand up when I start to object. “Let me finish, I’m not done yet. You’re feeling like a fish out of water and are scared you might not be the right person to give her the balance she needs in her life.”
“Pretty much,” I mumble, picking distractedly at a rip in my jeans. “I’m not worried about her, I’m worried about me. I’m the unpredictable factor in all of this. I’m the one flying by the seat of my pants. How am I supposed to know I won’t fuck this up? If I do, I run the risk of hurting the person I care about most, and losing the only thing close to family I have: my team. I’m afraid I might do both.”
“So what had you standing on her porch step at seven this morning, kissing her stupid?”
My eyes shoot up. “You were there?”
“Was gonna drop her off a coffee and Danish on my way to the diner, set her up for a good day. Came around the corner and saw you’d beaten me to it, so I turned around. But you haven’t answered my question; what changed?”
This time I don’t have to think at all.
“She trusts me, even though I don’t trust myself.”
CHAPTER 24
BELLA
I’m exhausted.
Last day of my week back at work before I can enjoy a proper weekend. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked forward to a weekend like this.
Jasper told me this morning, when he was leaving my place, to get a good night’s sleep tonight. He’s working late and won’t be over, like he has most of this week, but says he has plans for us this weekend. I couldn’t get him to tell me more than to pack an overnight bag and make sure to bring easy shoes.
This first full week back sure has taken a chunk out of me, though. I’m sure the late nights spent with Jas haven’t exactly helped either. It’s like we’ve been trying to make up for not just a week’s, but a year’s worth of lost time.
Despite the fatigue, the slightly tender state of some of my parts have me wearing a pleased little smile. I’m actually happy. Not that I have any illusions there won’t be times when that is different, but as I promised myself during my time off, I am determined to stay in the moment. And this particular moment, I’m feeling pretty damn good.
“What do we have?” the attending asks, when we wheel our patient into the ER.
“Male, forty-four, presenting with chest pains and shortness of breath. Last BP eighty-five over fifty, heart rate one thirty-five and pulse ox is at eighty-six. He’s had three hundred milligrams of aspirin en route,” I rattle off, helping the man scoot onto the bed from his sitting position on the stretcher.
I step back to let the team do their work, immediately slapping electrodes to his chest and sticking a pulse ox meter on his finger. I lean in and give his shoulder a light squeeze. “They’ll take good care of you, Mr. Viejo. You’re in good hands.”
Ryan is already standing at the counter, right next to the sliding doors of the ambulance bay, scribbling down details of this last call in a report.
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Ryan comments when I join him. “The guy is about my age, looks in good shape, says he works out every day and lives healthy, which is more than I can say. Still, he ends up having a heart attack?”
“You can only control so much to lower your risk, but there’s little you can do about a genetic predisposition. You heard the man; his father died of a heart attack at fifty-one. Out of the blue.” I clap him on the shoulder. “I’m going to grab a coffee, do you want one?”
“Sure.”
I leave Ryan to contemplate his mortality and pass by the cafeteria, where the coffee is just a tiny step up from sludge, and make for the small break room down the hall from the locker rooms. When Kerry and Damian bought me my new Keurig last Christmas, I donated my old one to the sparsely outfitted kitchenette in the small space. Nothing more than a set of couches, a kitchen table with four uncomfortable chairs, and an old TV. And as of six or so months ago, my old Keurig.
The thing take
s almost as long as an order at Starbucks to brew one cup, but the results are at least drinkable, unlike what they serve next door.
I snap lids on the carry-out cups and make for the door, just as it swings in, knocking the cups from my hand and hot coffee all over me.
“Sonofabitch!” I curse loudly, making a beeline for the small sink where I run cold water over my hands and dab some onto my uniform shirt. That hurts.
“Here, let me see.”
I don’t have to turn around to know Scott is behind me. I freeze when his arms come around to hold my hands under the water, as he pushes his front to my rear. I almost puke when I feel the distinct outline of his erection pressing against my ass, and haul back with an elbow, catching him somewhere in his midsection. I don’t wait around, but boot it out of there, down the hallway and into the locker room, locking the door behind me. With shaking hands, I pull out my phone and call Ryan, who answers on the first ring.
“Weren’t you just here?”
“Can you come down to the locker rooms?”
“Why do you sound out of breath?” he asks, suspicion in his tone.
“Ryan, please. Just come?”
“Already on my way. Where are you?”
“Women’s locker room.”
“Be right there.”
I lean my back against the door and wait to hear Ryan’s footsteps. The moment he knocks and identifies himself, I have the door open and pull him inside.
“What the hell, Gomez? What happened to you?”
“Did you see Lipczyk out there?”
“Yeah, I passed the dirtbag down the hall, why? Did he do this?”
He takes in my front, dripping with coffee that has blessedly cooled off, as I tell him what happened.
“Take off your shirt and let me see,” he orders, but my hands shake so hard, he has to undo my buttons. “Let’s get some cold water on that.” He grabs a towel from the shelf over the sink in the corner and soaks it. “Sit your ass down before you fall down.”
“I’m not gonna fall down,” I sputter, but sit down anyway.
“Woman, you’re a magnet for trouble these days.” He drapes the towel against my front, which instantly soothes the red skin of my chest and stomach, before sitting down beside me, pulling out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to call the cops—what else?”
“Hang on one second,” I plead, putting my hand over the phone in his. “I’ll give Jasper a call when I get home.”
“You are going to press charges, right?” he pushes, clearly confused.
“I will—I promise—but Jasper is in the middle of something that involves LimpDick as well. I need to talk to him first.”
“Like what?” he wants to know, but at least he’s putting his phone back in his pocket.
“Man, you’re persistent. Let’s just say I’ve already said too much. He made me promise not to breathe a word because it could hamper the investigation.”
“Fine,” Ryan gives in. “I won’t put you on the spot, but I am going to call him tonight to follow up.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes with Gomez flair, making Ryan chuckle.
He ends up walking me to my car, after checking to confirm Scott’s shift just started.
I’m tempted to stop at Walmart to pick up a few things, mainly Ben & Jerry’s, but I change my mind when I see the store. Not the right day to tackle that particular hurdle. McDonald’s is out too, which really sucks. My two favorite indulgences off the shelf. Who knows, this may be an opportunity to lose some weight, but I have a feeling a certain someone wouldn’t be happy if I got rid of my soft padding. He really seems to be fan.
Just like that, without the aid of ice cream or French fries, I’m shaking off the encounter in the break room and smiling at the prospect of a weekend with Jasper.
I knew he was good for me.
Jasper
“Please come in.”
I let Joanne go ahead into Blackfoot’s office, and follow in behind her, closing the door.
Blackfoot called mid-afternoon to let me know Joanne had come home, and asked me to pick her up and bring her in. Her husband opened the door, a baby on his arm and worry on his face. The guy is scared for his wife, I get that, so I spent a few minutes reassuring him we won’t let her out of our sight. The drive into the station is mostly quiet, but she does ask about Bella.
As agreed, I lead her right in through the main doors to the front lobby, where I ask to speak to Blackfoot. All for maximum exposure. Keith is hoping anyone walking into the station accompanied by an FBI agent, will at least pique interest. We need McMahan to see her complaint—take the bait.
“Have a seat, Mrs. Shredder.”
“Joanne, please,” she insists, sitting down.
I take the chair against the wall, so I have a decent view out of the large window that opens up to the hall. Blackfoot purposely left the blinds open halfway, slanted down just slightly. Anyone passing by would have to make an effort to see inside, but from where I’m sitting I can easily see outside.
“Before you start, let me tell you we’ve already read your report from the assault eighteen years ago. The statute of limitations has passed on that unfortunately, but it may be brought into evidence at some point. I just want you to be aware.”
Joanne nods at Blackfoot, who seems to have a better bedside manner than I would’ve given him credit for. Over the course of this case, I’ve had to amend quite a few impressions I had of the man.
“So why don’t you start from the beginning? This incident you mentioned on the phone, this was the first time since high school he’s actually put his hands on you, correct?”
“Actually, no,” she says, surprising us both. “There was one other time. I caught him pocketing medication in the ER dispensary and confronted him. He threatened my job then too.” She looks up at Blackfoot and adds, a tad defensively, “Mark had just been laid off, and I couldn’t take the risk.”
“No judgement here, Joanne. Do you remember what he took?”
“I can’t be a hundred-percent sure, but it may have been propofol. I’d just inventoried at the start of my shift and one vial was missing. As far as I know, we didn’t get any patients through that would’ve warranted the use of that type of sedative.”
My eyes find Blackfoot’s and I know at a glance he’s thinking the same thing I am.
“Do you recall when that incident took place?” It had been on my lips to ask, but he beat me to it.
“Let me see, Mark got laid off maybe a month or so before Christmas. So it would have been toward the end of 2013.”
While Blackfoot continues to get information from Joanne, I pull out my phone and start typing a message to Damian to move forward with a warrant to have Franklin Davis’ wife exhumed right away, when I see something from the corner of my eye.
Standing to the side of the window, is none other than our own Chief of Police Tom McMahan, trying hard to peek into the office.
Gotcha.
Half an hour later, I lead Joanne right out the front door again. She’s subdued when I drive her home, but when I pull into her driveway she turns to me.
“So what happens now?”
“See that car over there?” I turn in my seat and point at Dylan’s black Bronco, parked along the curb across the street. “That’s a teammate of mine, Agent Dylan Barnes. I would trust him with my life. He’s one of the people who will be keeping an eye on you. You don’t have to do anything. We’ll start talking to some of the colleagues you mentioned, see if they’d be willing to file a police report as well. Sometimes all it takes is for one person to lead the way for the rest to follow. Especially in cases like this. We want to make sure to build a solid case against Lipczyk.”
“What if I head back to my sister’s to wait this out?”
“If you feel safer there, by all means. We’ll be in touch with you as soon as we have some news.”
“I’ll see what Mark says.
”
I can’t blame the woman for being afraid. Two weeks ago this dirtbag had his hand on her throat, and on top of that—she doesn’t have much reason to trust law enforcement either—considering how things went for her the first time she filed a report on him.
I walk her inside, leave her with Dylan’s cell phone number, and walk over to check in with him before heading back to the office.
Turning into Rock Point Drive, a call comes in and I pull over to the side.
“Hey, Sweetheart.”
“Hey. Are you busy right now?”
“Just coming up to the office, why? Are you still at work?”
“No. I’m home...sitting in the car in the driveway if you want to get technical.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask, alarmed when I notice a little wobble in her voice.
“Not really. Well, I was, but now I’m freaking out.”
“Hang tight, I’ll be right there.”
I make a U-turn and head back out on the 160. Not five minutes later, I pull into the driveway beside her. I note she doesn’t open the door until I get out of my truck, and she walks straight into my arms.
“What’s going on?”
“I feel stupid now.” She shakes her head lightly.
“Tell me anyway.”
“Not here.”
She takes my hand and leads me into the house, where I do my routine walk around, thinking it might help put her at ease. When I return to the kitchen, she’s in the kitchen dropping a pod in her Keurig. I walk up behind her, wipe her hair to the side, and kiss her neck before leaning my chin on her shoulder.
“Ready to tell me yet?”
“Yes.” She turns in my arms, holding on to them. “Scott followed me into the break room at the end of my shift. He knocked hot coffee out of my hands, all over me, when he swung open the door, but then he put his hands on me. I elbowed him and took off, shut myself in the locker room, and called Ryan.” She rambles so fast, I have trouble catching all of it.
“Slow down.” I lift my hands to her shoulders and lean down so we’re almost eye level. “Why didn’t you call me right away?”
