by Vanessa Skye
Berg smiled and looked at the ring. It was beautiful. The square, faceted diamond was set with four white gold prongs and surrounded by many small, glittering white diamonds. The smaller diamonds also ran around the fine, white gold band.
Jay slipped it onto her finger.
“It’s perfect,” Berg whispered as she admired it. It was the most stunning piece of jewelry she had ever seen.
Jay was smiling so big she could see every tooth in his head. “We’ll have to figure out what we’re going to do now, in terms of the CPD. I don’t want to keep us a secret from anyone anymore,” he said.
Berg nodded.
“So what changed your mind?” he asked, pulling her in for a kiss.
For a moment, as they kissed, Berg considered telling him what Maroney was doing, but as the words bubbled up, she shut them down.
Is it even possible? Can he love the real me?
She pulled away and shrugged. “For the first time in my life I feel normal. Happy. I’ve put my past to bed. And it’s because of you.” She rested her forehead against his. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He kissed her again.
Chapter Eight
“I just heard the happy news. Congratulations,” the thirty-year veteran of the station, Detective Pete Smith, said from behind Berg that afternoon.
Berg quickly looked around, checking they were alone. “Jesus. Did Jay take out an ad in the Trib? This is meant to be on the down low,” she whispered.
Smith had spent the past year coming to terms with the loss of his CPD partner, and he was riding out his time until retirement manning the tip line and pushing reports around.
“He only told me. He was practically busting at the seams to tell someone. No one else knows,” Smith replied with a smile. “I think it’s great.”
Berg beamed. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure you’d approve, it being an office romance and all that.”
He shrugged, keeping his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his immaculately pressed pants.
While all the other detectives wore jeans pretty much every day unless they had to go to court, Smith still looked like a dapper 1940s detective, with his pleated taupe pants, collared shirts, and plaid sports jackets. All that was missing was a fedora with a feather in it.
“Ordinarily I’m all by the book. You know that.” He shrugged again and scuffed the toe of his well-polished shoe against the floor. “But Jay, well, he’s been good for you. I know you don’t like to talk about personal stuff, and you’re always very professional here, but this is the first time I’ve seen you happy, like, really truly happy. You deserve it.”
Berg felt tears forming, touched by Smith’s observation. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Smith smiled and walked back to his battered old desk in the corner as Berg fingered the ring Jay had given her, admiring it and watching it glitter in the artificial light of the precinct. She sighed and slipped Maroney’s file out of her desk drawer.
After reviewing the contents carefully, making a few notes as she went, she made up her mind. It was a typical dorm-room-dealer case, and she knew from experience it was notoriously difficult to prosecute white, middle- or upper-class college students dealing illegal or prescription drugs to fellow students. Not only did the mommies’ and daddies’ wealth mean better lawyers for their precious babies, but the dealers didn’t fit the societal norm associated with drug dealers, which confused juries. In the case of Maroney’s particular dealer, Toby Diggs, the archetypal paradox was amplified. Looking like poster boy for the all-American college student, Mr. Diggs was on the dean’s list, and his college had its head stuck firmly in the sands of denial, refusing to even admit it had a campus-wide drug problem much less an honor roll drug dealer.
Jay’s voice interrupted her concentration. “What are you working on?”
Berg quickly shut the file and smiled. “One of my numerous cases.”
“You getting anywhere with Maggie Robertson’s rape case?”
She shook her head. “Nowhere. It’s frustrating because there was so much DNA evidence left behind, but we’re getting nothing on CODIS. Now the victim is being uncooperative, and we have no idea where to even start looking for the suspects. I’ve tried several times to talk to her, but she keeps shutting me down.”
Jay nodded. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Berg frowned. “Actually, I might hit the university campus now and canvass some students again about that night,” she said as she stood and grabbed her bag.
Jay gave her a discreet wink. “Hurry back. We’ve got dinner tonight with my mom so we can tell her about our engagement.” He walked back into his office.
***
It was the end of the day at the college campus on East Jackson Street, and scores of college students filed out of classes into the parking lots and dorm buildings. The liberal arts campus was near Lincoln Park but wasn’t part of the same one Maggie Robertson attended. It was just as nice, however, with acres of campus buildings, a traditional paved quad, green lawns, and in the distance, a misty view of the twin antennae of one of Chicago’s most recognizable buildings, Big John.
Berg leaned against a huge tree outside the large concrete, circular quad adjacent to Diggs’ five-story, redbrick fraternity house and fiddled with her phone, pretending to text while watching the dorms for her dealer. She didn’t have a plan. She just wanted to get a feel for the suspect.
One of the first to file out of the psych building, Berg tracked him from behind her sunglasses as the handsome young man walked toward his frat house with a large group of young men and women. He was over six foot tall with short, dark hair and the muscled appearance of a guy who hit the gym pretty regularly. He had his arm slung around the shoulder of a very pretty blonde full of smiles and giggles as she tried to get his full attention. All the girl’s efforts didn’t stop his roving eye from resting on Berg for a moment. He took in her casual jeans and tee look and licked his lips.
Diggs had been released on bail but was set to face court the following week. He had been arrested following the total mental breakdown of a fellow student two months prior—a twenty-one-year-old journalism student who, in an effort to cram for finals, had taken a prescription stimulant supposedly supplied by Diggs. After not sleeping for five days straight, the young man had completely lost it and tried to slit his own throat in his dorm room. Fortunately, he had passed out before he did a thorough job of it, and his roommate had called 911.
The overdose victim had fingered Diggs as his supplier but, after fully recovering, had recanted his statement. Searches of Diggs’ dorm room had only yielded a personal supply of the medication, for which he had a prescription. He also had a prescription for pain pills, supposedly for a shoulder injury, but no other pills were found. Despite extensive efforts by detectives from the 5th, Carla’s case was mostly made up of the worthless statement, a few tablets, and much hearsay.
Hate to say it, but Maroney’s right—she’s going to lose this one.
Berg noticed she wasn’t the only woman watching Diggs. A pretty brunette stood off to one side of the quad, her books hugged hard to her chest, her shoulders hunched, and her eyes firmly fixed on the handsome young man.
Diggs’ blond companion also noticed the brunette. Her face fell, and she dug her elbow into his ribs and pointed.
Berg could hear the little shit snort from where she stood.
“What the fuck are you, loser? A fucking stalker?” he called to the brunette.
Like a deer in headlights, the girl froze near one of the many empty picnic tables.
“You want some of this again?” Diggs yelled, gesturing lewdly to his genitalia. “Get in fucking line! I fuck the girls good. They always want more!” He looked at Berg again and leered.
Berg couldn’t stop herself from giving the asshole the finger and mouthing douche.
The group all laughed and moved off, Diggs’ arm once again slung over the shoulder of the blonde.
> Berg felt a surge of anger as she watched the brunette hunch even further over the books she clutched so closely and scurry in the opposite direction.
Maroney and I are on the same page for once.
“Sure sign the world’s coming to an end,” she muttered, glancing back and forth between the offensive dealer and the young woman.
Instead of following Diggs, she decided to follow the brunette, using her long stride to catch up with the smaller girl as she headed into a nearby student café. “Excuse me!” Berg called, causing the girl to wipe her face and look around.
“Me?” she asked, sniffling.
“Hi,” Berg said with a smile. “I’m so sorry to bug you, but I just transferred here. Can you tell me where the Student Center is?”
The girl surreptitiously wiped her eyes once more, and up close, Berg noticed their startling green shade and enviable upward tilt. She was amazingly pretty, very petite and delicate.
She pointed west with a shaky hand. “It’s on the other side of campus, but I think it’s closed this late in the day,” she said with a shrug. “Sorry.”
“Bummer,” Berg said, making a show of studying the woman and then frowning. “Hey, are you okay?”
The kindness ensured even more tears made their way down the girl’s pretty face. “I’m . . . I’m okay.
Berg fished a clean tissue from out of her bag and offered it to the girl. “I’m Alicia.”
“B-B-Bettina,” she said, taking the tissue. “Thanks.” She dabbed at her eyes and took a few shuddering breaths.
“Guys like that always get what’s coming to them.” Berg leaned down and placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder lightly. “He’s not worth your tears. You’re too pretty for him anyway.”
Bettina managed a small, embarrassed smile. “You saw that, huh?”
Berg nodded. “Can I buy you a bad cup of coffee?”
Bettina nodded. “I guess, but only if you want to.”
“It’d be my pleasure. Us brunettes should stick together,” she said, steering the girl through the door and to a table.
Soon enough, they were both nursing hot brews at the counter.
Bettina sipped slowly, her face still red and mottled from crying. “I’m so embarrassed.”
Berg shrugged and brushed her hair behind an ear. “Don’t worry about it. Sooner or later life catches up with jackasses, trust me. What is he, an ex?”
Bettina frowned. “I don’t even think I was important enough to him to even qualify as an ex. I was one night of—”
Berg nodded sympathetically and snorted. “Been there.”
Bettina looked surprised. “Really? But you’re so gorgeous. No way a guy would use you and throw you away like you were worth nothing more than this,” she said, gesturing to the now used tissue Berg had given her.
If you only knew.
“You’re beautiful, Bettina, and worth more than that guy,” Berg said with a smile. And she meant it. “Save yourself years of pain, and start picking guys that treat you right.” Berg looked down at her ring. She wished she’d taken that advice herself ten years ago.
Bettina shook her head. “He told me that he loved me. That I was special. I’m such a fucking idiot. Not even a week after he slept with me, and he’s back with that bitch, Stacey, acting like I’m the one with the problem.”
Berg leaned forward. “Chalk it up to experience. Besides, I hear he’s no prize. Isn’t he going to jail next week?”
Bettina raised an eyebrow and grimaced. “Not according to him. He was boasting to me about the fact that the cops don’t have anything on him. He claims his father is going to sue the police department for wrongful prosecution. He’ll probably win, too. Guys like that always do.”
“And what do you think about that?”
Bettina scowled as she studied her empty cup. “I think . . . I think they should’ve searched his car again,” she muttered.
“Oh?” Berg took a slow sip of her coffee, not wanting to freak the girl out with enthusiasm. “Why?” She carefully put her cup down.
“It’s a custom build. He told me he had some removable panels inserted into the door trim. They look like normal doors, but if the police had removed the panels behind the speakers and looked inside . . . he thinks he’s so fucking clever,” she said, clenching her fists and crossing her arms.
“Well, maybe his luck’s about to run out.” Berg shrugged. “Which car is his, out of curiosity?”
“The black Porsche Cayenne. Brand new, of course. His father just gave it to him after he made the dean’s list. So which classes are you taking?”
Berg smiled and looked at her watch. “Psych, and I’m about to miss a night session. Are you okay now?”
Bettina nodded. “Thanks for the coffee and the talk.”
“My pleasure. I hope you’re feeling better. Just remember, you’re worth more than a thousand douchebags like that. Do yourself a favor and skip the dating fuckwits thing. Something tells me there will be a ton of nice guys lining up to ask you out.”
Bettina beamed.
Berg walked out of the warm café and headed toward the parking lot by Diggs’ fraternity house. Once again using her cell as a prop, she pretended to be texting and walking as she checked out the lot. She watched a few students climb into their cars and head out as she approached the black SUV.
Feigning a trip, she stumbled and dropped her bag near one of the rear tires of the expensive vehicle. She crouched down and scanned the area.
It was almost dark, and the lot was only half-full since most of the students who were going to leave for the day already had, so no one was paying her any mind.
She glanced up and saw no surveillance cameras in the typical locations. She pulled her knife out of her boot and, using the strong blade, pried off one of the rear lamp covers smoothly. She crushed the break’s lightbulb with the knife’s handle and then quickly replaced the cover, being careful not to jostle the car and set off the alarm.
Slipping the blade back in her boot and picking up her bag, she stood, dusted off her knee to complete her Oscar-winning fall, and dialed a number on her cell. “Maroney? Raymond. If a friend of yours in patrol were to follow Diggs’ car, they might find he has a broken taillight. If they were to pull him over and search his car more thoroughly, they might find hidden panels in the door hollows behind the speakers that are concealing what you need to put the little asshole away.” She hung up.
As she walked back to her car, she checked the time and decided to drive to the nearby Lincoln Park address and try interviewing Maggie Robertson again.
Chapter Nine
Three weeks later, Berg watched, her fists clenched, as Judge Oliver let off yet another drug-dealing scumbag with a suspended sentence.
When he flicked his dark, intense gaze in her direction for what felt like the nine hundredth time in the hour-long sentencing hearing, Berg resisted the urge to give him the finger—not because he didn’t deserve it, but because he’d use it as an excuse to drag her into his chambers again.
The calls are annoying enough without the face-to-face bullshit.
Every time her phone rang nowadays, she felt as though she was having a panic attack. If it wasn’t the judge calling, it was Maroney. She would have gotten a new number if she’d thought it would stop them.
Berg pushed her hair out of her face with a shaky hand and sighed. Nothing seemed to be going her way lately. Maroney had Berg so busy investigating cases to up her win rate that she had barely seen Jay the past few weeks.
Maybe that was her plan all along.
On top of that, her rape victim, Maggie Robertson, no longer came to the door when Berg visited. Instead, her smug asshole of a father would send her off in his annoyingly pious way and usually with some quote from the Bible about the inherent weakness of women.
The only reason she had joined Oliver’s sentencing session had been out of interest in the Toby Diggs case. Her involvement remained only between her and Maroney.
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Maroney had been elated when, after Berg’s tip, a search of the little fuck’s car had yielded thousands of pharmaceutical-grade pills nicely bundled into saleable quantities. No prescription on earth was going to excuse the sheer quantity found in the custom-built hollow doors of his SUV a few days before his trial.
Diggs’ lawyer had completely folded after the discovery, recommending his client enter a guilty plea.
But despite it all, Diggs smirked at his lawyer, about to walk out of the courtroom a free man thanks to some kind of bullshit non-sentence.
Berg watched as Carla pressed her lips into a thin line but didn’t object to the ridiculously lenient sentence. Berg figured since Diggs had pled guilty, it was still a win.
That’s all she cares about anyway.
Berg grabbed the ASA’s arm as she walked past the gallery. “This is bullshit,” she whispered without taking her eyes off the judge. “Why the fuck even bother putting him on trial?”
Carla jerked her arm out of Berg’s grasp and flicked a glance at Oliver as he headed toward his chambers, his gaze resting on Berg once more. “I can’t do anything about sentencing. I got my guilty plea. That’s all I need.”
Berg scoffed and looked at Carla. “Can’t you object or something? Complain to your boss? Oliver has gone completely soft! Aren’t you pissed off?”
Carla looked at the floor and flicked another glance at Oliver.
Something crossed the attorney’s face, causing Berg to look in his direction as well.
He was watching their exchange with avid interest. When Berg’s eyes met his, he winked just before stepping inside his chambers and closing the door behind him.
“There’s nothing I can do.” Finally alone in the empty courtroom, the ASA put down her chic leather briefcase on the floor and folded her arms, glaring at Berg. “You did great on the Diggs case, but what about the other case I gave you last week?”
