Protect and Serve: Soldiers, SEALs and Cops: Contemporary Heroes from NY Times and USA Today and other bestselling authors

by J. M. Madden

  “I’m sorry,” Charger apologized, waving his hands in a truce. “You’re right. I’m taking all of this out of context. Let’s just put our heads together and make sure we aren’t overlooking anything.”

  Before Demi could accept his apology her phone began to vibrate. “It’s my landlord,” she announced, looking curiously down at the screen. “Hello?”

  “Miss Demi,” Ralph, her landlord with the thick Middle Eastern accent said. “You need to come home. There has been a break-in. Someone kicked your door in. I call the police now. That not a cheap thing, a new door. That will cost money.”

  “What do you mean someone broke in? They were in my apartment? I’ll be right there,” she answered, hopping to her feet and disconnecting the call.

  “I’ll come with you,” Charger assured her as he led her through the precinct and out to the parking lot.

  “My car is still at the hospital. I told Tori I’d catch a cab back there later.” Demi spun around and lifted her hands to her temples as she tried to make a plan.

  “No problem. My car’s right here,” Charger said as he gestured for her to get in. “We’ll get a timeline of when this happened and if it was when Roark was with us or when he was being tailed at least we can rule him out.”

  “I’m starting to not care who it is as long as you can catch them,” Demi admitted as she bit down on her nails nervously.

  “This is escalating quickly. It’s a good thing you weren’t home.” Charger slipped his phone out of his shirt pocket and began to cue up a number.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be making me feel better?” Demi asked, reading the profile of his face as he focused on the road.

  “Most of the victims I deal with every day are dead. It’s sad but that’s partly why I picked homicide. If it weren’t for Roark I’m not sure I would have made it a week on the job.” Charger tossed his phone down, clearly deciding to hold off on the call.

  “You talk about him like he’s your friend or like a brother, but you stopped taking his calls. What was so bad that drove you this far apart?”

  Charger let out a grunt like laugh. “So you do have a secret. You’re a closet shrink who tries to diagnose everyone.”

  “I’m much closer to being a patient at this point. The idea that someone has been in my place, that they want to hurt me, is freaking me out,” Demi admitted as she wrung her hands nervously.

  “You’re safe,” Charger assured her. “For what it’s worth I really don’t believe its Roark. Just because I stopped taking his calls doesn’t mean I want to see him screwing up his life or yours. Even if he said he doesn’t want anything to do with you, I know him well enough. He won’t walk away from this case. So if he’s in your corner, you’re safe.”

  SEVEN

  Demi peered into the doorway of her apartment and took stock of the splintered wood that remained where her deadbolt lock used to be. Her living room was in shambles. Two lamps were smashed to the ground, and the laundry basket of clean folded clothes she intended to put away tonight had been tossed everywhere. Her glass end table was flipped on its side but thankfully hadn’t smashed.

  “Is this different than your place usually looks?” Charger asked as he glanced around the room and nodded at the officers bustling around doing their jobs.

  “Whose apartment looks like this?” Demi asked as a tremble moved up her body.

  “Mine does,” Charger shrugged. “I mean, my table is not always knocked over but the rest of this looks about right to me. Why don’t you walk around and look to see what’s missing. Don’t move or touch anything though. I’m going to talk with the officers here and get up to speed on what they’re finding.”

  Demi moved slowly around her living room, wrapping herself tightly with her arms around her waist. The idea that anyone was in her apartment touching all of her things was enough to make her want to throw up. Just as Charger had asked, she did her best to take inventory of anything that might be missing. So far she was either doing a terrible job or nothing had been taken.

  “Demi,” Charger called, gesturing for her to join him and the tall lanky uniformed officer he was standing with.

  Before the gangly cop could begin his recap of what they’d found so far a familiar and unwelcomed voice chimed in. Olivera was snapping on a pair of blue rubber gloves and snarling out his annoyance. “I guess I don’t even get a courtesy call on a case I’m working.”

  “Since when do we need two Homicide detectives working a B&E?” the uniformed cop asked, eyeing them skeptically.

  “The precinct was overloaded today and this was a walk in. Olivera and I caught the case and we’re just seeing it through.” Charger shot a sideways glance at Olivera. There was no love lost between these two men.

  The uniformed officer rolled his eyes and gave up. “We’ve got one witness who lives upstairs. He came home from work to grab his gym bag and when he walked by this apartment he heard some banging and a couple of male voices. He says he didn’t notice the door being broken, that he wasn’t paying attention to it. He didn’t think much of it but ten minutes later when he came downstairs the door was ajar and splintered wood was hanging off. He knocked and called out but when no one answered he peeked his head in, saw the mess and called us.” Reading the details off his small notebook, he flipped it shut and waited for instructions.

  “What time was that?” Charger asked, and Demi could see he was holding his breath, waiting for an answer that would clear Roark.

  “Six thirty-five the call came in.”

  “Well, that rules Roark out then. He was still at the precinct at that time. There’s no way he could have done this,” Charger announced, looking victorious.

  “Right, it’s not like he could have hired someone to do this in the event that he got picked up in order to take the heat off of him. Don’t be so quick to rule him out,” Olivera interjected as he pushed passed them and started looking around the room.

  “There is no way Roark would hire someone. You know damn well he doesn’t play well with others. More than that, he doesn’t trust anyone. Plus, nothing looks like it’s missing so far. There is no motive here.” Charger’s patience seemed to be growing thin and Demi took note of how passionately he was willing to defend Roark. It was hard to decide which detective she should support when one had an axe to grind and the other was blinded by admiration.

  “I’ve given you the motive already, you just don’t want to believe it. She was banging him for protection and he was the one making sure she needed it,” Olivera argued.

  “That’s your theory?” Demi managed, feeling sheer rage and indignation flow through her. “See, there is just one problem with that. I didn’t sleep with Roark for protection or to feel safe. I wouldn’t do that. Do you know how I know?”

  “How?” Olivera asked, rolling his eyes dismissively.

  “Because if we take Roark out of the equation and plug you in, for example, I can prove my point. If you came up and asked me out I’d obviously say no. You repulse me on nearly every level. Not just limited to your morbid obesity but run that feeling right through your rude and brash personality. So if you asked me out, and later that day my house burned to the ground, my car blew up, and everyone I’ve ever met was hacked to bits by a mob of machete wielding zombies, I still wouldn’t dial the first digit of your phone number. I don’t sleep with men for the sake of protection. Roark is compelling, funny, and attractive. I’m a trauma nurse in one of the most crime-laden cities in America. I have tackled drug dealers to the ground to keep them from breaking into our med closet. I’ve put myself between gang members who come in to finish the job they started on a drive by shooting. I’ve held the hands of little kids with burns all over their bodies because their junkie parents blew up their kitchen cooking meth. You have drastically misjudged me. Fine detective work,” Demi finished as she flicked at the badge that hung on a chain around his neck.

  Olivera stood there for a moment with his eyes and mouth stretched wide. He b
egan to speak and then stopped again, clearly not finding the words. Finally he cleared his throat. “I’m not letting this go. Roark belongs in prison, either for this or the other hundred things he’s done over the years. I’m staying on this case.” He turned and headed toward the kitchen, flagging down one of the officers dusting for prints.

  “Holy shit,” Charger said, looking down at her.

  “He’s a jerk. I don’t believe Roark had anything to do with it anymore but that just means we’re even further from knowing who it is. Maybe bitching out one of the cops who’s going to protect me wasn’t a smart move.” She folded her arms and looked around her destroyed room again.

  “I’m impressed either way. I’ve been working with that jackass for almost six years and I’ve never seen anyone beside Roark shut him down like that. Now what I really want to know is if there is any truth to what Roark said. He believes there is something in your past that is the source of the stalking. If there is, now is you’re chance.”

  “Charger, I already told you,” she stuttered.

  A voice from across the room cut her off. Another uniformed cop, this one short and stocky, called them over. “Detective, you’ll want to see this.”

  They crossed the room and stepped over the threshold of her bedroom where the shock of the sight immediately had her blood running ice cold. Smeared on the wall above her bed was what looked like blood. In the center of the blood was a photo of her. Straight through it was a butcher knife “There’s a note here, too,” the officer continued. With his bright blue rubber gloves he unfolded the paper and Demi read it.

  No cops. You know better.

  “Thanks.” Charger nodded at the officer who took that as a directive to leave the room. He tipped his head and left without another word.

  “Demi, this is your shot to tell me what you think is going on. Look at that wall. That’s not a random message. That’s directed to you from someone and it obviously has meaning. If you want me to help you then you’ll need to trust me.” His wide, rigid shoulders relaxed as he turned to face her head on. Charger was sweet looking, a pretty boy who was trying to be anything but. It didn’t work though. That boy next-door look crept passed the stubble on his cheek and the way he tried to glare at everyone. She could tell he’d picked that up from Roark, the difference was when Roark did it he was far more convincing.

  “I don’t know anything,” Demi insisted, dropping her face into her hand as the tears started to come. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ll go talk to Roark. If he knows something you don’t then I’ll get it out of him. No one is going to get to you. I promise.” Charger patted her back awkwardly and looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but here. That made two of them.

  EIGHT

  ROARK

  The demanding thump on his door made lightning bolts of annoyance charge through his body. Roark was always quick to frustration, it was in his blood, but after today he was even closer to throttling someone than usual. He stomped his feet to the door and checked through the peephole. Charger. That kid had been like a puppy to him for years, completely at his beck and call. Then all at once he was done. Until today Roark wasn’t sure if the kid gave a shit about him, but the look on his face earlier had been very telling.

  He swung the door open and glared at Charger. “Come back to arrest me for a robbery in California today?”

  “Demi’s apartment got tossed. It was bad.” Charger had that look he always got when he was depending on Roark. He liked to pretend it didn’t get to him, that it didn’t impact his decision-making. But it did. Charger was more than a partner; he was like a little brother to him.

  “You think I did it?” Roark asked, knowing full well Charger wasn’t there to arrest him.

  “It happened while you were still at the precinct.” Charger didn’t wait for an invitation. He just shoved his way past Roark and made his way toward the fridge. He was the only person Roark ever allowed in his place. Obviously the time they’d spent apart from each other hadn’t made Charger feel any less welcome. He came back from the kitchen a moment later and spun the top off a beer.

  “I thought I made it pretty clear today. Until you guys pull your heads out of your asses and realize I have nothing to do with this I’m done. So why are you here?”

  “They smeared blood all over her bedroom wall. There was a picture of her tacked to the wall with a knife, and they left a note. She’s shook up,” Charger explained, and Roark knew what he was trying to pull.

  “So?” Roark shrugged. It took years of practice to portray complete indifference when inside you were being ripped to shreds. He could look like he didn’t give a shit no matter how much he really cared.

  “So, I think you can help. You obviously care about this girl regardless of what you said at the precinct today. I can see why, too, she’s pretty great.”

  “Oh boy, you’re making a move on her?” Roark laughed, but inside he was ready to lunge at Charger for even considering it.

  “I’m just saying she’s one hell of a girl and she’s in trouble. If you know something about her past then I want you to tell me. I can arrest you for obstruction of justice otherwise.” Charger stiffened his back but it did nothing to scare Roark.

  “You won’t,” Roark scoffed, flopping down onto his leather couch.

  “You don’t think I have the balls to take you in right now? I’m sure Olivera would be tickled pink to see you back there twice in one day.” Charger took a long swig of his beer but never took his eyes off Roark.

  “You’re not stupid enough to do that,” Roark said. “You know that if you do that you won’t get a damn thing out of me. I’d sit in a damn jail cell and never say a word if you arrest me. You’re too smart to do that.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re going to tell me anything anyway so at least I can get the satisfaction of seeing you in an orange jumpsuit.”

  “Would that be satisfying to you?” Roark asked, kicking the attitude right back at Charger even though the kid didn’t deserve it.

  “I’m not going round and round with you tonight, Roark. I’m not Olivera. I’m not going to arrest you. If you want to leave this girl out in the lurch, that’s on your shoulders. Add that to the Everest size pile of shit you’ve done to screw people over.” Charger drank back the rest of his beer quickly and slammed the bottle down on the table next to him.

  “I’ve burned a lot of bridges, kid, I get it. None of those bother me more than the way I screwed things up between you and me. Nobody was better to me than you and I blew it. I’m sorry.” Roark hadn’t intended to sound profound or sensitive but the sentiment was long overdue.

  Charger coughed as though he were choking on the shock that was overtaking him. “Did you really just apologize? I didn’t think your brain knew how to form those words.”

  “Don’t get all mushy on me, kid. I’m just saying, you always had my back and I took advantage of that. I’ll help you out with what I know. I owe you at least that.”

  “Bullshit,” Charger cut back at him. “You’ve owed me for years and that hasn’t ever made a difference. If you’re going to help me out there’s another reason. You want something in return.”

  “Fine,” Roark said, dropping his head in defeat. “I want full visibility to everything. I want in. Every lead, every break in the case, I want to be there. You involve me in every move.”

  “I knew there had to be something, but why? Tell me that before I even consider the idea.” Charger folded his arms across his chest as though he wouldn’t move until he heard the truth.

  “You’re a good detective, you already have the answer. I care about her. She’s running from something, she’s scared, and I want to make sure it doesn’t get botched. You know I’m the best man for the job, so let me be a part of it.” Roark leaned back casually as though he hadn’t just dropped what, for him, was the equivalent of an emotional atom bomb. To admit he had feelings for this girl was something he’d never do in the pa
st. Not even to Charger. He could tell by the kid’s wide eyes the enormity of the moment wasn’t lost on him. In the span of two minutes Roark had apologized and admitted he cared for someone. Surely there were icicles forming in hell.

  “She likes you, too,” Charger said, as though this conversation was going to spiral into some gossip session you’d overhear at recess in middle school. But Roark cut it short.

  “Of course she does, look at me.” Roark stood and grabbed two more beers from the fridge. “The question is, why isn’t she telling you about her past? Why is she acting like it never happened, even now as the situation escalates?”

  “She told you?” Charger asked, reaching into his bag and pulling out the file he’d brought with him. He handed it over as Roark gave him a second beer.

  “No, I gave her a hundred opportunities but I didn’t want to push. Before I knew she was in danger I didn’t think it was necessary to put her on the spot and ruin what she’d built. But that was why I walked away today. I know all of Olivera’s tricks. Of course he’d have her sitting in and listening while he questioned me. I wanted her to feel like I was walking away and she had no options but to tell you the truth. I was trying to make it a safer environment for her to open up. But she still didn’t.” Roark scratched at his head, trying to figure out why she was holding so steadfast to this life she’d created.

  “Here is the picture that was found on her bedroom wall. She said she wasn’t sure when it was taken exactly. The blood came back as pig’s blood. And here is the note. Tell me what you know and help me piece this together. I’ll keep you in the loop on all of it.” Charger locked eyes with Roark in that way that told him he was giving his word.