by Anne Calhoun
“You wouldn’t kill your own father. I’d know if you had that kind of backbone, you betraying little bitch.”
She had nowhere else to go. Ian could see the shotgun was locked and loaded, shell in the chamber, safety off. “Riva, put the gun down.”
“Just so we’re clear, if I do pull the trigger, it’s because I wanted to. Not because you made me.”
Riva’s tone was matter-of-fact and bone-certain, drawing strength from deep inside her. Rory hesitated before taking the next step, but not from fear. He wanted Riva to think about it, to understand what she was going to have to do, to anticipate it, dread it. You could think through a lifetime of consequences in a single moment. Ian knew that, because the moment after it’s cancer held the life he would never have, the navy, the SEALs. He’d been living in that moment for over a decade.
No more. Not for him, and not for Riva.
“Stop. Now.”
Rory turned to see Ian aiming at him. “You going to blow my brains out in front of her?” His voice was congenial.
“I’d rather make sure you rot away in a prison cell,” Ian said, “but if you take one more step toward her, you’re a dead man.”
Rory’s knee flexed, lifting his foot off the floor. Ian’s finger was sliding to the trigger when a loud bang blew the front door open. In a matter of seconds the room filled with Chicago police officers, some in uniform, some wearing windbreakers with CPD on the back, all of them shouting as they pointed guns at Ian, at Riva, and at Rory Henneman, who’d ducked for cover when the battering ram tore the door right off its hinges.
“I’m a police officer! I’m a police officer!” Ian said loudly. Even as he spoke he raised his hands over his head. He knew it wouldn’t matter. Protocol in this situation said to get everyone disarmed and restrained, then sort things out later.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the guys behind Ian said. He heard a low moan from Micah. “Who did this to you?”
The cop by Ian took one look at his bloody knuckles, the bruises on his face and body, then his eyes went blank. Hard. “You did this?”
“I’m a lieutenant with the Lancaster Police Department. It was that or shoot him,” Ian said.
“He’s telling the truth” came weakly from Micah.
“Drop it!” an officer shouted at Riva. Gun drawn, extended, wild around the eyes in a way Ian didn’t like.
She looked frantically at Ian. “It’s okay,” he said, calm and controlled, because the last thing they needed was for the situation to escalate. It was a miracle her hand hadn’t convulsed and pulled the trigger when all hell broke loose. “Riva. It’ll be okay. Put it down.”
She flipped on the safety and bent over to set the shotgun on the floor, going straight to her knees from there. The officer shoved her forward. She barely broke her fall with her hands.
“Lighten the fuck up,” Ian snapped just as he got shoved to his knees as well. A uniformed officer cuffed him, then hauled him to his feet and walked him over to where Riva was getting cuffed.
“Sit.”
* * *
“This is different,” Riva said.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, her hands cuffed behind her back, which was as uncomfortable as she remembered. Next to her, Ian sat in a similar pose, his gaze focused on the team of EMTs around Micah.
“Not the being-cuffed part. You being cuffed with me. It’s not much fun, is it?”
“I’ve been cuffed before,” he said.
“When?”
“It’s part of the training at the academy.”
“Oh. I thought maybe you were a little kinky.”
The look on his face was priceless. “You’re joking at a time like this?”
“I must be in shock.” It was a reasonable guess. Sixty seconds earlier she’d been two steps away from shooting her father with his own Remington 870 Express. She couldn’t make sense of the chaos in the club—EMTs trotting in with bags and a gurney, a woman in a CPD windbreaker, gun and badge on her belt, pointed and directed while talking on her cell phone, looking at Riva, then Ian, then Rory and Trev. “In hindsight, you were very gentle with me seven years ago.”
Ian was watching with a much more alert gaze as they lifted Micah onto the gurney and covered him with a blanket. “Different circumstances. One of their own is going to end up in the hospital.”
“Is that going to get you in trouble?”
“I hope I’ll get a chance to explain before I disappear into a back room with the three biggest guys here,” Ian said. “How did you know to come find me?”
“Sorenson called. You know how she’s always level and laidback and a little sarcastic?”
“Yeah.”
“She was ice. Short sentences, mostly commands. I was in my truck and driving before I really understood what she’d said.”
Ian’s cover has been blown. He’s with your dad, and your dad’s going to kill him if you don’t find him. Think, Riva. Where did they go?
Sweet Science.
She’d known in her bones before her brain even caught up, steering not to the warehouse but to the gym. It had taken her two seconds. They weren’t at home. Her father wouldn’t jeopardize the business. So they were at the club.
“She called the Chicago police but had a hard time getting through to someone who would actually mobilize on the situation. So I told her about meeting Micah, and maybe he was in danger? I lied about that part, but I know cops well enough to know they’ll move heaven and earth to save one of their own. She had me on her cell and the CPD on another phone,” Riva said.
“She was probably at home. She wouldn’t want to alert our department to the situation, in case that blew our internal case.” He paused. “What made you get the gun out of your father’s truck?”
“I’m tired of this bullshit.” She surprised herself with her matter-of-fact tone, but she was done, down to the very marrow of her bones. “I am so fucking tired of this bullshit. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Maybe I would have … I don’t know. I wouldn’t have … maybe. He makes me crazy.”
“Riva,” Ian said gently. “You weren’t crazy. You were frosty.”
“I was terrified. He’s had my mom, he’s had Sugar. Now he had you. That was the final straw. All I could think about was getting to you. But I’ll take frosty. It sounds better than scared shitless. All I could think was that I was getting you away from him, and then all of us were going home. You, me, Sugar, and my mom.”
She stifled a giggle. It wasn’t easy, because the sound started deep in her belly, ricocheting around her throat on its way up. But if she started laughing, she wouldn’t stop. She’d held her father at gunpoint. She’d saved Ian. And Micah, and her mom, and Sugar. The day had reached a pitch of crazy so supersonic she was surprised it hadn’t left contrails in the atmosphere.
The urge to laugh subsided, although she suspected something would work its way out eventually. But she was safe. Her father was under arrest. She was safe. She’d done it.
“The sound of a shotgun being cocked,” Ian said.
“I hoped you’d know it was me holding the gun,” Riva replied.
“I did,” Ian said. “I didn’t even have to look. Deep down, I knew you’d have my back.”
But knowing she’d have his back didn’t mean she’d have a future with him, and they both knew it.
A tall woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and a cell phone to her ear approached Ian. “Lieutenant Morales, CPD. Who are you?”
“I’m Lieutenant Ian Hawthorn of the Lancaster Police Department,” he said patiently.
“You got any ID?”
Riva looked over at him. He was wearing the cargo pants and running shoes he’d worn all day. “My ID is tailored to my cover,” Ian said, less patiently. “Call Captain Eli Swarthmore. He’ll verify my identity.”
“I’ve got a Detective Joanna Sorenson on the phone. Any identifying marks?” she said, her gaze flicking professionally over Ian’s chest.
Jo
must have given the right answers, because the woman lifted her chin to get the attention of a nearby cop. “Uncuff him. He’s one of us. My captain will be calling your captain about this, Detective,” she said into the phone. “Hell, your chief might get a call from ours. You better have a good reason for beating the hell out of my officer.”
“It was beat him up or kill him,” Ian snapped. “I pulled my punches best I could.”
“He did,” Micah called weakly as the EMTs started wheeling him toward the door. “Lieutenant, he tried. This could have been worse.”
Morales didn’t look convinced. “What the fuck is the Lancaster Police Department doing running an undercover operation on CPD’s turf?”
“We’ve been investigating a group of corrupt cops using their influence and inside knowledge to take over the drug trade in Lancaster. My associate had a way to get the evidence we needed to indict the cops and get Rory too.”
“And you are?”
“I’m Riva Henneman.”
The woman’s gaze sharpened. “Henneman? Any relation to Rory Henneman?”
“My father.”
“What the hell was going on?”
Ian succinctly laid out the framework of the case. “I was trying to get inside,” Ian said. “Yesterday he had me fight the other guy in the ring. Trev. This was supposed to be proof of my willingness to play ball.”
“Did you get the evidence?”
“No.” Ian blew out his breath, then laced his hands behind his head. He must be glowing with adrenaline, because the movement didn’t even hurt. “Fuck. We didn’t get anything. He’s got a laptop somewhere. I’ve seen it, but it’s not on him now.”
Rory gave him a vicious smile.
“It’s got to be here,” Riva said. “It has to. It’s not at home, and it’s not in his office.”
“Fucking tear that office apart,” Ian said.
“We already are,” Morales said grimly.
A low whistle came from the office, then one of the CPD officers came out of the gym’s office with a laptop in his hand. “I found this, Lieutenant,” he called. “He had a little hidey-hole under the filing cabinet. And … there’s about twenty kilos of heroin and a couple hundred grand in the same space.”
“That’s not my laptop,” Rory said distantly. “I don’t own this building, and I don’t know anything about what goes on in the office. I just sponsor a boxer who works out here.”
They opened the lid. “Password protected,” Morales said. “Great.”
“May I?” Riva said. Her heart was pounding, trying to crawl out of her throat.
“No way, LT,” one of the other cops said. “She could erase the drive.”
“You trust her?” Morales said to Ian.
“With my life,” Ian said.
Morales unfastened Riva’s cuffs and folded them away. Riva took the laptop and set it on the boxing ring floor. Ian lifted the ropes out of her way. She looked at the password box, then at her father.
For a moment, all Riva noticed was what she wasn’t thinking or feeling. She wasn’t thinking about how easy it would be to type in the wrong password, erase the data, say she’d been wrong. She wasn’t thinking that maybe, just maybe, if she did this thing for him, her dad would love her then, choose her, say she’d done well. This wasn’t a fork in the road, a place where she made the choice that changed her life forever. She’d done that years ago, when Ian had asked her if she wanted a lawyer present, and she’d said no.
She set her fingers on the keyboard and entered icantremember.
The little icon jiggled. She blinked.
Rory laughed, the sound mean, mocking, dismissive.
She tried again, this time entering ican’tremember.
The lock screen disappeared. “It’s ‘I can’t remember’,” she said. “The first time I didn’t enter the apostrophe. He thinks it’s clever, when someone asks him what his password is, to say ‘I can’t remember’.”
“You little bitch.”
Ian moved so fast all she saw was bunched muscles and a flurry of movement, then Rory was hauled off the floor and slammed back against the wall. “You lost. You hear me? You lost the most valuable thing in the world, your daughter’s love, trust, respect, using her to set up your little satellite operation in Lancaster. She was just a kid, your own flesh and blood, and you hid behind her.”
“She was a worthless girl. Just like her mother.”
Ian fisted his hands in Rory’s shirt, yanked him forward, and slammed him into the wall. Rory’s head thudded against the bricks, then his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he slumped in Ian’s hold. None too gently, Ian let him slide down the wall to the floor. Everyone in the immediate vicinity turned to look at him.
“He slipped,” Ian said curtly.
No one said anything. They were avoiding looking at Riva, still standing in front of her father’s laptop.
“He’s got a partitioned drive,” a cop wearing black gloves said. “It’s password protected.”
“Try the same one,” Riva said. Her lips felt numb, bloodless.
“I’m in. Spreadsheets up the fucking ass … Man, I love criminals who keep detailed records,” he said after a moment. “It’s all here. Records of intake from … Jesus, there’s half the known list here. Bank accounts, offshore accounts, details about deliveries. Goddamn. This is the fucking jackpot.”
“He’s a businessman,” Riva said. “Accounts for every penny.”
Her head was clanging, her voice coming from a long way away, like outside the building, or maybe outside the state. She was watching Ian look at her, watching emotion flick over his face, almost too quick to catch. Now they had the proof. Her father was a large-scale drug distributor. There was no way he could be with her and advance the career that had meant everything to him since his diagnosis.
It was over.
He wouldn’t look at her, instead watching the EMTs wheel Micah out.
Morales yelled, “Statement time, Hawthorn. Are you going first or is Ms. Henneman?”
For the first time in her relationship with Ian, she would make things easy for him, not harder. “At least this part’s familiar,” she said, mustering a smile. “Mind if I go first? I have to go home. I need to tell my mother what’s happened.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll make arrangements for you. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to call the committee chairs and cancel the luncheon. Then I’m going to pack my mom’s suitcase and take her and Sugar back to Lancaster with me. She needs to start over from scratch.” She gave a small, humorless laugh. “She might need time in a treatment facility. I don’t know. Maybe the farm will heal her. It healed me.”
“This isn’t over, Riva.”
“I know. Interviews and depositions and trial preparation and trial, and this time the media will be all over it. But things can only get better from here, thanks to you,” she said.”Come back to Oasis anytime.”
“Thanks,” he said, his attention focused on his ringing cell phone. “That’s my captain. I have to go. I’ll see you soon.”
He wouldn’t, and they both knew it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Riva eased into the porch swing and tucked her feet underneath her, the better to watch the glorious May sunset. She’d had a long day on the farm, starting at sunrise with work in the fields and greenhouses, a hasty lunch with her mother, and was taking a short break before starting an afternoon session with the kids from the ESCC. Her mother was throwing a tiny pink cat-shaped toy for Sugar, who’d taken to farm life with a delight they both needed. Watching Sugar’s pink bow bob up and down in the long grass as she chased birds and insects made them laugh. The bow was grimy now, Sugar’s once-pristine fur matted and tangled. Her mother said she’d never seen her happier.
She checked her cell phone for missed calls, messages, and emails. It had taken a couple of days, but the Lancaster Star Trib had tracked down the connection between the arrests of nearly a dozen cro
oked cops to her father’s arrest in Chicago. After that news outlets in both cities circled her like sharks on fresh chum, trying to get in touch with her, the local press going so far as to do stories on the road outside her farm. She’d ordered them off the property to protect her mother, canceled a week’s worth of sessions with the ESCC kids, but the stories still aired. The next day a young uniformed police officer knocked on her door and introduced himself, then sat in his parked cruiser just beside the farm’s sign, keeping the reporters at bay. She suspected Ian’s hand in that.
A quick scan through her recent calls indicated another one from Kelly. She owed her a call, and not just because Kelly had called every other day for over a week. Her best friend was due an explanation.
“Hey, oh my God, how are you?” Kelly said without preamble. “Are you okay? Is your mom okay?”
“She’s through the worst of the withdrawal symptoms,” Riva said, remembering the restlessness, the tremors, the total loss of appetite. “She was pretty anxious, and we took lots of long walks. I think being on the farm really helped.”
“The farm, and being with you,” Kelly said staunchly. “It’s been a tough couple of weeks. What do you need?”
Riva blinked back tears as she watched the goats munch on their evening ration of hay. She could see Kelly’s house now, the wooden blocks and soft toys on the living room floor, Wyatt cruising the furniture, babbling the whole way. “I’m fine. We’re both fine,” she said staunchly. “But thanks for the offer. I’m just calling to give you the whole story.”
“I want to hear it,” Kelly said. “I’m just going to blow bubbles for Wyatt while you talk.”
Without thinking, she started at the beginning and went through until that terrible moment at Sweet Science. Hearing Kelly’s soft, slow puffs of air, imagining the iridescent bubbles floating to the sky and Wyatt’s little giggles made it so much easier to tell the tale.
“Ian’s a cop.”
“Yes.”
“He arrested you seven years ago.”
“Yes.”
