First Responder on Call

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  If I were any kind of proper hero, I’d be creating a diversion right now, he thought. Paying some guy ten bucks to pretend to be me. Or changing into a more effective disguise than sunglasses and a ball cap. Maybe hunting down one of the guys who’s spying on me, knocking him out with his own gun, so I can steal his uniform, then sneak into the station.

  “And shout ‘surprise’ at the unsuspecting cops,” he added aloud as he reached the corner.

  The idea of it actually made him chuckle. With his luck, the cop he knocked out would end up being six inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter, and he’d be trying to stuff himself in a uniform five sizes too small. He just pictured how that would go. But his amusement lasted only for as long as it took to reach the crosswalk between the blocks. On the other side of the street sat a police cruiser. Its fresh-faced, uniformed driver stood outside the car, his notebook in his hand. Remo stopped abruptly, then spun back and ducked into a bus shelter.

  In the reprieve from the rain, he reasoned it was more likely that the beat cop had nothing to do with Teller. There were plenty of stand-up policemen in the city. Remo came into contact with them regularly during his shifts. He knew more than a couple by name, and he was certain there were more good cops than bad kicking around in Vancouver. The problem was, it didn’t matter whether the kid out there was corrupt or straight. That was the devious beauty of Price’s plan. Every cop in the city was looking for Remo for what they thought was a legitimate reason.

  But maybe I can use that.

  As soon as the idea came into his head, it expanded into a potential plan. He could sneak up on a nonspying cop, not knock him over the head or steal his uniform, and just announce who he was and ask to be taken in. Simple as that. Assuming the one he chose to approach wasn’t affiliated with Teller.

  He inched forward and poked his head out of the bus shelter. The young cop was still there, and he was starting to seem like the best option. If the kid was more than twenty-two years old, Remo would eat his borrowed baseball cap. That meant he was a rookie. Or close to it. The chances that his idealism had rubbed off were slim. Plus, the street was public. Plenty of passersby.

  As the policeman tucked his notepad into his pocket, Remo decided it was a now-or-never kind of situation. He stepped back into the street and strode forward. He hit the crosswalk, took a quick side-to-side look, then jogged to the opposite corner.

  “Excuse me!” he called out, careful to keep his voice friendly. “Officer?”

  The cop paused with his hand on the car door handle and swung toward Remo. “Sir? Is there a problem?”

  “No problem,” Remo replied, giving the man’s name tag a quick read. “Is it Officer Hank?”

  “Constable Hank,” the cop corrected. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  Remo reached up to drag off his sunglasses so he could meet the other man’s eyes. “I think you might be looking for me. I’m Remo DeLuca.”

  The recognition in the cop’s gaze was immediate, but to his credit, he didn’t flinch or look nervous, or reach a hand for his weapon. He just gave Remo’s face a thorough once-over, then nodded.

  “Mr. DeLuca,” he said. “Do I need to call for backup?”

  “No, sir,” Remo replied. “I’d appreciate it if you could take me right in to Neil Price. And I know I’m not in a position to ask for any favors, but I’d appreciate it more than you know if you wouldn’t call my arrest in ahead of time.”

  Constable Hank studied him for a second, then nodded. “I’d normally deny that request. But the truth is, you are in a position to ask for a favor, Mr. DeLuca. About a year ago, you attended a break-in on the Downtown East Side. You saved the life of an attending officer.”

  “I remember. Female, midfifties.”

  “Sergeant Constance Hank. My mom. First thing she said to me when she saw that news bulletin about you was that there had to be more to the story.”

  “There is,” Remo replied. “But you might not want to ask me too many questions about it.”

  The young cop put his hands up. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  He turned back to the car and reached for the door handle, leaving his back exposed. It was a purposeful move, Remo was sure. A sign of trust. And it was a relief to know that the constable felt it was deserved. It made climbing into the back seat of the car a little more tolerable. But the tolerability and relief didn’t last long. Only the amount of time it took for them to take the one-minute drive to the station, park the car, and start to make their way up the front steps. There, a voice he recognized—but wished he didn’t know at all—spoke up from behind.

  “DeLuca,” said Teller. “The source of both my physical headache and my mental one.”

  Remo turned, already gritting his teeth. The detective stood on the bottom stair with an umbrella in his hand and a smug expression on his face. But his real feelings were given away in the fact that he had his other hand resting on his hip. Constable Hank obviously had more guts than the man who outranked him. It turned Remo’s gritted teeth into an almost smile.

  “Detective,” he said in greeting. “Always a pleasure. For me, anyway.”

  Teller’s eyes narrowed, and while his gaze didn’t leave Remo, he addressed the young cop. “Constable. I appreciate that you were able to apprehend this suspect, and I’ll ensure that you get the recognition you deserve. But I can take this from here.”

  The young cop wasn’t quite that willing to step away. He angled himself between Remo and the detective, and he spoke in a clear voice. “Sir. I’ve told Mr. DeLuca that I’ll take him to Mr. Price.”

  Teller’s eyebrows went up, and his attention flicked to Hank for a moment. “That’s convenient, then. Because Mr. Price is actually waiting around back in his car.”

  Constable Hank cleared his throat, and in the split second before he added anything else, Remo realized that further argument would end badly. The kid would wind up on the wrong side of some kind of accident. Remo had zero interest in any more collateral damage.

  “Guess that would resolve the problem of drawing attention to myself.” He said it quickly, and after the briefest hesitation, Constable Hank cleared his throat once more.

  “Then I guess it works out for everybody,” he replied agreeably.

  Remo wasn’t sure if the kid meant it, or if he’d just picked up on the implicit threat. He didn’t care, either way. So long as it meant Constable Hank walked away in one piece.

  “You have a good day, Detective,” the young officer added, then spun and took the stairs, two at a time.

  “Could’ve used some cuffs, Constable,” Teller called after him.

  If the young policeman heard the statement over the splash of his feet in the shallow puddles on the concrete steps, he pretended not to. Remo waited until he’d disappeared into the building before facing the detective once more.

  He held out his wrists. “Go for it.”

  “I think we both know that your mother is better than any bit of steel,” Teller stated, then cocked his head to the side. “We could cut this short, you know. Just tell me where the ex and the kid are, and it can be over.”

  “I assume by ‘over,’ you mean my life,” Remo replied dryly.

  “Did I say that?”

  “Did you have to? Let’s just cut the crap, Teller. I’ll speak to Price, and Price alone. And I’m not even giving up a hint of what he wants until I see my mother.”

  “Suit yourself.” The detective shrugged, then turned and started down the stairs without even checking to see if Remo was following.

  Chapter 22

  Celia had asked the cabbie to drop her off at the top of the steep hill that led down to Neil’s house. But now that she was there, her feet might as well have been bricks. She was feeling light-headed, too. She regretted leaving Xavier behind, even though there was no possible consideration of bringing him along. She
wished she’d hugged him one more time. Told him she loved him. Again. But it would’ve felt an awful lot like goodbye, and that wasn’t something she was willing to recognize as a possibility.

  Xavier was the whole reason she needed to face Neil. Her son, and other people’s sons and daughters, too. She couldn’t let her money-hungry ex push through a project like Parkour Extreme. If things went wrong the way that they had with the hastily built overpass, there could be worse consequences than a solitary man being paralyzed. That by itself was bad enough. But the hundreds of children who would be at the new park...it was unacceptable in Celia’s heart and mind.

  Which is why you have to push through.

  In spite of the firm, self-directed reminder, she still had to force her feet forward. The rain had stopped momentarily, but the sky was still blotted with dark gray clouds, leaving no doubt that the storm was just taking a break. Any moment, it would start up again. Even the streetlights were on, triggered by the premature darkness. They buzzed with their yellowish light, and the sound reminded Celia a little too vividly of the car accident, and how the water had been pouring down in sheets and making the live wires zap.

  Even more reason to keep going, she told herself as she stepped closer to the hedges that lined the downward angle of the street. You don’t want to go through anything like that again.

  It was true. Now that all her memories were back in place, she was a hundred percent sure that she didn’t ever want to return to running and hiding. She’d appreciated what Rupi had offered, and would never be able to adequately express her gratitude for the fact that the other woman had saved her and Xavier’s lives. But she’d also hated feeling trapped in her own city. She hadn’t minded living in northern BC for the last five years, but she resented that it felt like a punishment, when she was innocent of any wrongdoing. And now that she knew how easy it was for Neil to find her—one wordless call was all it took, apparently—she wouldn’t ever be able to stop looking over her shoulder. So on top of the fact that she couldn’t let Parkour Extreme become a reality, she needed to do this for herself, too.

  Her renewed conviction drove away much of the worry and propelled her forward. She didn’t pause again until she was just outside the familiar fence that surrounded Neil’s palatial home. Whether or not he still lived there wasn’t a question. He’d forcibly inherited the place from his father. The terminally ill old man—whom Celia had been hired to care for, and who disliked his son intensely—had tried to will the place to a charity. But Neil had wanted the sprawling lawns and the koi ponds and the manicured garden just because he couldn’t have them. So he’d wrested it all away in court, and had told her on more than one occasion that he would never give it up. It was a point of bitter pride with him.

  “And maybe all that should’ve been a clue,” she said under her breath.

  But as she’d so often thought before, in spite of every single awful detail, she wouldn’t have undone it. Because as much as so many things about Neil were a mistake, she got Xavier out of it.

  With that truth at the front of her mind, Celia paused just long enough to give the property a quick once-over. It hadn’t changed a bit since she’d run from it the last time. Same ostentatious fountain just visible from the top of the driveway. Same manicured shrubs and same peaked roof jutting up to the sky. And even though the rain had started up again, blurring her view enough that she couldn’t quite make it out, she was a hundred percent certain that the same shingle would be missing from the space just above the oddly placed weather vane.

  It was disconcerting, to see it again. She wondered if the sight would’ve been less unnerving if it had changed even a little bit. Or maybe it just made it better. It certainly confirmed what she knew already; Neil Price was incapable of change.

  Shaking off the last bit of uncomfortable déjà vu, she stepped the rest of the way down the driveway, then walked straight up to the coded panel and tilted her face to the security camera up above. She knew from experience that her presence would’ve triggered a notification inside the house. The video would be rolling. One of the three or four regular staff—or maybe Felicity Price herself, if she was in there—would be deciding whether or not to buzz the intercom to greet her. But Celia didn’t bother to wait. She reached over and plugged in the code, sure that Neil wouldn’t have changed that, either. And just as she anticipated, the gate let out a noisy buzz, then shuddered to an automatic open.

  The moment it was wide enough, she slipped through. She made it only two steps, though, before she stopped again. Felicity Price stood at the bottom of the porch stairs with her hand on her pregnant belly. She wore no makeup, and was dressed simply in leggings and a stretch-fabric tunic. No scarf covered the angry red marks on her neck now, and those weren’t the only visible injuries, either. A partially healed bruise led from her left wrist all the way up and under her three-quarter-length sleeve. The pinkie finger on the same side had been wrapped in some stiff tape, and the tip of a shattered fingernail jutted out from under it.

  It all made Celia cringe with understanding, but it wasn’t so much the woman’s appearance or presence that made Celia pause in her approach. She’d been presuming she might see the other woman there, and she was certainly aware of the pregnancy. But what she wasn’t expecting was the invisible thread of kinship that overtook her. She’d lived Felicity’s life. Or part of it, anyway. She knew what it felt like to wake up and wonder how she’d gotten there. To question if it was somehow her fault, even when knowing full well it wasn’t. The self-doubt was agonizing. And then to bring a baby into the mix...

  Xavier’s brother or sister.

  The realization, which only came right then and there, nearly made her stumble. The little life inside this stranger was Celia’s own son’s sibling. It left her a little breathless, to think about that. Her eyes hung on Felicity’s stomach, her speech and demands forgotten. Was it a girl or a boy? Was she or he healthy? What day was the baby actually due? The questions overrode everything else for just long enough that the other woman got a chance to speak first.

  “You’re twenty minutes late for my appointment,” Felicity stated, her tone irritated, but her eyes pleading. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to keep clients waiting? Especially pregnant ones.”

  Celia didn’t even blink before she replied. “I know. I’m sorry. My car broke down, and I had to catch a cab.”

  “A call would’ve been nice.” The pretty brunette mouthed a thank-you, then gestured to the side of the house. “The massage table’s around back, but I’d prefer not to trail mud into the house, so if you could follow me?”

  “Of course.”

  She let the other woman lead her around the front porch, then to the grassy patch between the large home and an ivy-covered wall that shielded the space from view. But it was as far as Celia was willing to go without an explanation and some reassurance that Felicity Price was actually on her side. When she stopped moving and cleared her throat, Neil’s wife spun back, her expression surprised.

  “What’re you doing?” she whispered, her voice urgent and concerned. “I did a temporary override on the surveillance camera back there as soon as I saw you coming. But I think the delay only lasts for fifteen minutes before it reboots itself automatically, so you’d better hurry.”

  “Back where?” Celia asked, her voice equally low.

  “At the guesthouse. That’s where he’s keeping her.”

  “Wendy DeLuca?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Yes,” Celia admitted, and she could hear the hesitation in her own voice.

  “But you don’t trust me,” the other woman filled in. “And I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t trust me, either, if I were you. But we really don’t have that much time. I think that—ooh. Sorry. Braxton-Hicks all day today.” She blew out a breath and placed her hand on her stomach, then spoke again. “Look. I’d love to
stop and tell you everything I know and don’t know, but I think the new house manager is actually some kind of spy or bodyguard, or... God. I don’t even know what. Either way, the clock is ticking.”

  “So give me the syncopated version.”

  “The synco—okay, fine. When Neil and I first met, he was charming and handsome and ambitious, too. Sound familiar?”

  “I wish it didn’t. But yes.”

  Felicity took another breath, then went on in a rush. “He knew he needed a wife to get where he wanted to go. I was ambitious, too, so I agreed to marry him. Fast-forward a year, and I’m having all kinds of doubts. He doesn’t like that, and he starts to get aggressive. I try to leave. I fail and wind up with a black eye. I try to be clever. Make him think we were okay, while I looked for a way out. Fast-forward another three months, and I’m pregnant. Neil informs me he’s planning on running for mayor. Things are getting worse. I’m desperate to leave now. He shows me a paper trail that will implicate me in some bad things. Serious jail-time things. Does any of that sound familiar?”

  “Yes,” Celia repeated.

  “After that, he stopped covering things up. I found out about you. About your son. About things I’m afraid to say out loud. So if helping you comes even close to helping me...” She trailed off, then straightened her shoulders. “I know I have to leave. And I will. But I haven’t figured out how to do that while still keeping my daughter safe.”

  “A girl?” The revelation distracted Celia for a moment.

  Felicity smiled. “Zoey.”

  “That’s pretty.”

  “Thank you. But more importantly...does that mean you’re convinced that I’m sincere?”

  Celia nodded. “Yes.”