by Freya Barker
Poor guy is in agony, and there’s little I can do other than to keep him calm while Ryan directs the fire department we had to call in for help with the stairs.
It takes four hefty guys to carry him all the way down to where the stretcher is waiting.
One of the firefighters helps me load him in the back of the ambulance.
“Bella—right? I think we met a few months ago at a house fire on the north side of town?”
“That would be me,” I answer, as I’m rechecking my patient’s vitals. I can’t for the life of me remember the guy’s name, though.
“Look, a buddy of mine is having a party next Saturday night. Would you be interested in coming with me?”
“She’s taken,” Ryan shuts him down as he walks up, catching the invitation. Poor guy, the charming smile drops from his face as he looks back and forth between Ryan and me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Not by me. I’m married,” Ryan clarifies, wiggling his fingers to show off his ring. “Her boyfriend is a badass FBI agent. Possessive son of a bitch too.”
“Ryan!” I scold him, holding back a chuckle at his teasing, but he already succeeded in chasing him off.
“Hey,” Ryan says defensively. “I like your guy. I’ve got his back. Us brothers have to look out for each other.” I just roll my eyes.
“While we’re on the topic of your boyfriend, I never got around to calling him to check, but did you tell him about—“
“The incident in the break room? Yes, I did. He’s taking me to file a report after work.”
“You’re filing charges? Good for you. I just suggest you watch your back after that.”
“I have to watch my back regardless,” I point out.
“Can we maybe get going?” the patient, in obvious discomfort, interjects.
“Of course,” I mumble, slightly embarrassed as Ryan quickly closes the doors. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Fielding.”
“Not to worry,” he waves me off, wincing. “If I weren’t old enough to be your grandfather, and strapped down to a stretcher in the back of an ambulance, I might’ve tried making a play for you too.” He tries for a self-deprecating smile that doesn’t quite reach its potential. “But by the sounds of it, you’re better off with a badass FBI boyfriend. You be careful, dear.”
“I will, Mr. Fielding,” I assure him, patting his hand. “I promise I will.”
Jasper
“You should’ve seen his face.” Blackfoot leans back in his chair, looking smug as all get out. “He couldn’t believe I refused to leave the complaint up to him to look after. He tried to convince me he’d had dealings with Mrs. Shredder before, Ms. Thompson then, and she was less than reliable. When I let it drop that hers was not necessarily the only complaint, that I heard rumors there might be more coming, he slunk out of my office.”
“He knows Scott Lipczyk is the weak link and can do some massive damage to his career,” Damian observes.
We’re in our office, laying out a plan of action. Luna is at Mercy getting some statements from ER staff, while at the same time rattling our subject’s cage. Nervous people make mistakes.
“He’s doing enough damage on his own,” I point out, pulling up a recording Damian made this weekend of a telephone call made by McMahan to Lipczyk senior. “Listen to this.”
The sound quality is not perfect, but good enough you can clearly hear the police chief talking.
“...Your damn kid is gonna fucking bring us down. Get him the hell under control or ship his ass out of here. Blackfoot is close with the SAC, he’s not gonna let up, Gene.”
“If I recall correctly you were all too eager to get Scott involved when that woman started running her mouth about her husband’s death. He was mighty convenient then, wasn’t he? Sticking out his neck to quiet her. It’s your own damn fault we’re in this predicament. Fucking fix it!”
“You’re shitting me! I’ve been wiping your boy’s ass since he was in fucking high school, and he had to force girls to suck his tiny micro dick to get any. Been cleaning up after him ever—”
I stop the feed and look over at Blackfoot, who’s grinning ear to ear.
“Did they just hang themselves?”
“Pretty much,” Damian confirms.
“Why on fucking earth would they even discuss this over the phone?”
“They’ve been untouchable so far,” I point out. “When you get away with something long enough, you start to believe it yourself. They’re arrogant.”
“Dylan also came up with some interesting intel this weekend. He talked to the two other officers, who were the first to arrive at the scene after McMahan shot Davis. One of them is still on the force and was only willing to say that he was unable to talk, but to try his former partner, who has since retired.” Damian motions to Dylan to take it from there.
“Yeah, so Ben Chapman retired early, three years ago. He says he couldn’t handle being under that sleazeball’s thumb anymore—his words—not mine. He’s been waiting for someone to do something about the shit that went down back then.”
“Anyone but him,” Damian interjects.
“Apparently,” Dylan continues. “He says he and his partner arrived at the scene and found Sergeant McMahan on his knees, leaning in the driver’s side of the pulled-over vehicle. The driver was slumped sideways, his upper body half over the center console, blood sprayed all over the inside of the window, the dash, and the passenger side. When McMahan saw them approach, he yelled at them to block traffic. Chapman recalls asking him if he already called it in and got his head chewed off. He wasn’t about to question his sergeant and did as asked, but he did notice, at some point, McMahan rummaging in the trunk of his cruiser before returning to the stopped vehicle.”
“Christ,” Blackfoot hisses, running a hand over his face. “We’ve all been complicit. I know I’m not the only one who’s had suspicions over the years, but no one ever did anything.”
“Not sure you would’ve gotten anywhere at the time,” I tell him. “McMahan may be an arrogant fuck, but don’t mistake him for stupid. Connor was a contingency he simply couldn’t have anticipated. Franklin Davis’ kid was the first major crack in his veneer. If we play it right, Scott Lipczyk will be the one to break it open.”
The plan is to see what Luna comes back with from ER staff, and add that to the report I’ll take Bella to file in a bit. Once we have the complaints on record, we’ll pick the doctor up and use the complaints as leverage to get him to spill on McMahan.
JUST LIKE I DID WITH Joanne on Friday, I pick Bella up from home, drive her to the station, and lead her in the front door, asking for Blackfoot at the desk.
I do my best not to fly off the handle when she recounts not only the incident in the hospital’s break room—where apparently that asshole did a little more than put his hands on her, he fucking rubbed his dick against her ass—but also events leading up to that last confrontation. Including an encounter in the parking lot, which landed her with that cut on her head. She never mentioned that.
I’m still fuming when we get to my truck.
“What the fucking hell was that?” I let rip when I get behind the wheel.
“Excuse me?” She comes right back, with attitude flying, which at this particular moment, is not nearly as fucking cute as it can be.
“At any point, during all this time we’ve spent together, you never once fucking mentioned him coming after you in the parking lot. That was over a fucking month ago. Given everything that’s happened during that time, you didn’t think it might be something you’d wanna share with me? What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was handling it.”
“Handling it? Really? So how was that working out for you when he was fucking dry-humping you against the counter last week? Jesus, woman! Every day you’ve gone into work you’ve played with fire. He’s been lying in wait this whole time for an opportunity to get you alone, and like a clueless idiot, I’ve been kissing you goodbye a
nd sending you off to work, right into his playground, every goddamn day in between. With all you’ve already been through, that fucking stubborn need to prove yourself could’ve really gotten you hurt.”
I’m breathing hard, grinding my teeth together, and trying to reel my temper back in. I’d expected a returning salvo from Bella, but she is suspiciously quiet beside me all the way to her place.
I pull up beside her little red Dinky Toy and turn off the engine. I stare straight ahead for a moment, willing my blood pressure down, before turning to her. She’s already looking at me, her face pale, and her body as far away from me as she can get in the confines of the truck’s cab. Fuck.
“Look,” I start, leaning over the center console.
“I’m sorry,” she interrupts with a wavering voice. “I didn’t...I just...with everything else going on, I kinda shoved it to the back of my mind. I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”
I hate it when a tear runs down her face, and reach out to wipe it away with a finger.
“Don’t cry. Please. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m mostly mad at myself.”
I slip a hand behind her neck and pull her closer, leaning my forehead against hers.
“I’m not crying,” she lies, and lifts her face for a kiss.
“ARE YOU HUNGRY?” SHE asks when we walk into the house. “I pulled some of Ma’s tamales from the freezer before I left this morning. Or are you still on the clock?”
“I have some time. We’re waiting for Blackfoot to get a warrant signed for Lipczyk’s arrest. Shouldn’t be a problem after adding your charge to Joanne’s, but it all depends on whether he can find a judge at this time of the day to sign off on it. Tamales sound good.”
I accept the beer she offers me, and during dinner we manage to talk about things other than the persistent chaos surrounding us for a change.
It’s been a bit of a learning experience for me; discovering I can have a wicked temper for one, but also that I apparently don’t feel compelled to hold anything back with her. She’s already shown me she’s not easily scared off.
I get up to carry our plates to the kitchen when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. It’s Damian.
“I’ll be there shortly,” I tell him right away.
“He’s in the wind.”
“Sorry, what?”
“The doctor. I just got a call from Blackfoot, fifteen minutes ago; he was on his way to get the warrant signed. Then five minutes after that, Luna happened to intercept a call from McMahan to the older Lipczyk saying ‘Get him gone—now,’ followed by an immediate hang-up. We checked in with Dylan at the hospital, and he said he just saw him going into X-ray with a patient. Except he never came out.”
“Fuck.”
“We lose this guy, we lose our case.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” I bite off. “I’m on my way.”
Bella’s face shows concern when I turn to face her.
“Everything okay?”
“You still have your gun in your nightstand?”
“Yes, but what—”
I grab her shoulders to get her to focus. “It’s loaded?”
“Yes, but why—”
“We lost eyes on the doctor. I have got to go, so I need you to lock the door behind me and go get the gun, Squirt. Now.”
It takes her all of the thirty or so seconds to grab the weapon from her bedroom to work up a decent head of steam.
“No need to bark at me. I’m not your dog,” she snaps, but can’t quite hide the hint of fear in her voice.
I take a deep breath, take the gun out of her hand, and put it on the counter, before folding her in my arms. Hers wrap easily around my waist.
“Be careful?”
“I will be. Didn’t mean to bark. I guess it comes with the unfamiliar territory, this macho protective instinct.”
She leans back and looks at me quizzically. “What unfamiliar territory?”
I drop a kiss on her nose and give her a smile.
“Falling in love.”
CHAPTER 27
BELLA
It takes until well after I watch Jasper’s truck disappear from the safety of my living room window for his words to sink in.
Falling in love.
He’s falling for me.
I never had a chance to respond before he was out the door, demanding I lock it behind him. Not that I would’ve known how to respond. What does one say to that?
I’m wearing a stupid grin as I turn and head to the kitchen to clear away the dinner dishes. Then I strip my bed and start the laundry. It’s when I’m on my knees in the bathroom, scrubbing the tub to keep busy while I nervously anticipate his return, that my phone rings in the living room.
“Hi, Ma.”
“Mi hija, you sound happy.”
“Because I am.”
I realize as I’m saying, how true it is. Who would’ve suspected last year, when I had my harsh judgement ready for my brother’s handsome teammate the moment I met him, I would get happy butterflies just at the thought of him.
“It’s that boy, isn’t it?”
“His name is Jasper, Ma, and he’s hardly a boy. He’s forty-one.”
“Does he want babies?” I roll my eyes, something my mother has no way of seeing, but knows all the same. “And don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady, it’s a valid question. You’re not getting any younger. If you’re going to give me grandbabies, you’re going to have to hurry.”
“I’ve known him for maybe two months. Think you may be jumping the gun?”
“Don’t get smart with me, Isabella. When you get to a certain age, you can’t afford to play around.”
“Ma, seriously, I thought you didn’t like him, and now you want me to have his babies?” I pull a bottle of wine from the fridge, I officially need a little help keeping that happy feeling going.
“You’re thirty-eight next month, did you know that? Almost forty. That’s no joke, Bella. After forty everything goes south and your chances of finding a man will—”
“Isabella?” My father’s voice is a welcome relief, even as I hear my mother’s disgruntled sounds in the background. “Don’t listen to your mother. You will be as beautiful when you’re eighty as you are right now.”
“Hi, Papa.”
My mother has a way of rubbing my nose in reality until it bleeds, in just a few minutes, but my father can still make me feel special with only one line.
“So you and the young man, you’re good?”
“Yes, Papa, we’re good.”
“I’m glad, mi hija. I like him for you.”
“I like him for me too, but it’s early yet.”
My father is quiet for a while before he reacts. “Yes, it’s new, but don’t let that be an excuse not to grab a good thing with both hands, preciosa. Don’t be afraid to believe in a future.”
I realize after I end the call, what my mother tried to tell me in her blunt way, was not all that different from what Papa said. Both want me happy, the only difference is their presentation.
The beep of the dryer prompts me into action, and I quickly pull my sheets out. I never really bother folding them, they usually go straight from the dryer back on the bed. They don’t get a chance to wrinkle that way. I’m just wrestling the last of my pillows in its pillowcase, when I hear a car door close outside. Instantly the smile is back on my face.
Jasper is back.
I quickly fluff the pillow, straighten the duvet, and hurry into the kitchen to get him a cold beer. I take the opener from the drawer and put it beside the bottle on the counter, before pouring myself a glass of wine. Then I realize he should’ve been at the door already. Maybe I misheard.
Curious, I walk over to the front window and peek outside. There’s no sign of Jasper’s familiar truck, and his spot beside my Fiat is empty, but there’s a car parked on the road. The light of my front porch doesn’t quite reach that far, and I’m straining to see if I recognize it, when a face suddenly appears right out
side the window.
Shaken, I rear back, stumbling over the coffee table and landing on my ass.
Outside my window, his finger pointed at me, is Scott Lipczyk.
Jasper
It’s been a frustrating exercise in futility.
Dylan had his eye on the target the entire time, but wasn’t able to follow the doctor into the X-ray room. What Dylan didn’t know was that there was a second door, leading straight into the waiting room of the radiology department. From there it’s an easy walk out to the parking lot from the hospital’s main entrance.
In short, Dylan was made and the doc managed to give him the slip. Dylan isn’t riled that easily but he’s pretty pissed now.
Damian had already talked to Blackfoot, who ordered roadblocks put up heading out of town when I got to the office. Police would monitor the 550 heading north, and the 160 on the south side. We’d hoped to keep him contained—there aren’t that many routes out of town— but after hours of searching, we’re coming up empty. I’m starting to wonder if he managed to slip through before the roadblocks were in place.
“Did you check his townhouse?” I ask, when Dylan walks into the office.
The only one still out there at this point is Luna, along with a small contingent of the Durango PD. The problem is, a massive manhunt is not really warranted for a couple of assault charges. There’s only so long we can keep this search active, before someone is going to want to know exactly why we have such a hard-on for this guy.
If he gets away, the entire case we’ve been building could collapse like a house of cards.
“No one there. Talked to a few of the neighbors and he hasn’t been seen since earlier today. I may have taken a peek inside. Doesn’t look like he snuck in and packed a few things. His place looks like you’d expect when someone walks out with every intention of coming back.”
“Shit. Well, Keith has a few guys on his parents’ place, in case he shows up there,” Damian says, a phone to his ear. “He also put a call in to the State Patrol, and they’ll keep an eye out for the vehicle.”
