Strike (Tortured Heroes Book 4)

by Jayne Blue

  “Yes, sir,” Officer Davis said, but his eyes stayed squarely on me. His mouth was set in a slight smirk and my blood ran cold. Though I didn’t remember him from last night, I felt sure he must have been at the bar with Ben. God. His too-familiar stare hollowed me out. I only hoped Ben was as good as his word and could put a lid on any rumors threatening to fly about us.

  This was bad. Hell, it could be catastrophic. It wasn’t my reputation I worried about. But gossip about the new chief’s daughter could undercut the impression Dad wanted to make on these men and women. I’d been way too careless last night. I just hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite my father on the ass.

  But Officer Davis shook my father’s hand again and gave me a quick nod. For now, I had no choice but to trust Ben’s word that he’d put out any fires I’d inadvertently managed to start.

  Numbers gave me solace. They’re concrete. They follow the same set of rules over and over with comforting predictability. I could create massive accounting spreadsheets and bury myself in data that never lied. For the rest of that week and well into the next, that’s exactly what I did.

  My father’ swearing-in made front-page news in the Lincolnshire Gazette and his shining, handsome face gazed out under a headline that read “Mayor’s New Hope Could Be City’s Ultimate Price.”

  The article talked about my father in relatively neutral terms, but emphasized some of his more colorful events with the Chicago Police Department. Frank Marek was the best of cops, and part of that was due to his no-nonsense approach to dealing with upper command. He said what he thought and it landed him in hot water plenty of times. For now though, Mayor Jordan proclaimed that was exactly what this city needed. My father called me three times to assure me the newspaper coverage came with the territory and that he didn’t go into this hoping to win any popularity contests. His tone was even, breezy almost. For now, I’d take his word at face value. But if I started to see any of the ominous clues that he was falling back on old stress-relieving habits, we’d need to have a greater conversation. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one paying attention.

  My phone rang at six o’clock in the morning on the following Tuesday. My mother’s smiling face popped up on my caller ID and I took a steeling breath before answering. Of all the ducks I had to force into a row when I moved to Lincolnshire, hers quacked the loudest. She started into her tirade before I even got the second syllable of “hello” out of my mouth.

  “He’s a fool! He’s a damn fool. I told you when you left this was going to end up ruining that man more than Chicago did.” Apparently Mom had been following the online version of the Lincolnshire Gazette all the way from Tallahassee.

  “Hey, Mom! Good to hear from you. How’s the sunshine?”

  My mother let out a sigh. I could almost feel her fluttering eyelids through the phone. The woman was my fiercest protector, but her form of maternal concern often took on guerilla-like tactics. She let out a long breath that reminded me of the air draining from a balloon. I took it as a good sign.

  “I’m just worried about you,” she said.

  “I know, but I’m fine. And Dad’s fine so far too. He’s gained some weight back and we found a really good cardiologist out here for him. His numbers are good and he’s tolerating his meds well.”

  “Hmm. Well, that’s all well and good, but you don’t belong out there. You belong back here. With me. With Craig. You know he’s called me three times in the last couple of months asking after you. You broke his heart.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and bit the inside of my mouth. I’d told my mother very few of the details about what really went on between Craig Northcutt and me. I never told her he cheated. I just said we’d drifted apart.

  “Mom,” I said. “Please, let’s not start. I don’t have a lot of time before I need to start getting ready for work. It’s good to hear your voice. How are you? How’s Randy? How’s the remodel coming along?”

  My mother married Randy Matheson five years after divorcing my father. He managed a wholesale grocery store and made about five times what my dad ever did. He was good to her, and she loved him. Still, I knew she didn’t have the same spark with Randy as in her first marriage. For my part, I’d been your typical nightmare of a teenage stepdaughter to him. Our relationship had finally warmed over the years, but it was still hard not to view him as an interloper. Come to think of it, that’s exactly how Randy likely viewed me, at least some of the time.

  “Oh, I’ve got to send you the latest pictures! We just got finished laying the wood floor in the back room. We knocked the wall down to your old bedroom. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I laughed. “Mom, I haven’t lived in that house for almost eight years. It’s fine.”

  “Well, I mean. I just want you to know you always have the option. Any time you ever want to come back home. Even Randy wanted me to make sure and tell you that. You’re always welcome.”

  It was sweet of her to say it, but also vastly depressing. God, if I couldn’t stand on my own two feet after leaving Tallahassee and the nightmare of Craig behind, I didn’t know what I’d do.

  “Well, Ohio is starting to grow on me,” I said and it was the truth. “I’d forgotten what it was like to have seasons. It’s March. It can be thirty degrees one day and seventy the next.”

  “Mother of God, I don’t miss that, honey. Send me a picture of some snow this Christmas if you’re still bound and determined to stay out there for it.”

  “Promise. But really, you’d be proud of Dad. He seems to really like the people he’s working with. Salt of the earth, he says.”

  My mother tapped something on her end of the phone. She got her nails done every other week and liked them long and red. She had a habit of drumming them on the counter when she was irritated. “Well, I’m not going to pretend I don’t blame him for practically kidnapping you, Charlotte. It’s unforgivable.”

  I took a breath to calm my nerves. We’d had this same conversation maybe a dozen times. She’d tried every tactic in her playbook to try to get me to stay or come back. “Mom, can we not do this now? I really do have to get ready for work. Just relax. Be happy. I promise if I have any major life change, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Are you dating?” Her tone was clipped and blunt. I suppressed a laugh, knowing that was probably the one main thing she wanted to know from me.

  I looked out the window. The sun had just started to peek over the trees and a light frost made the front lawn sparkle. I couldn’t exactly tell her the closest I’d come to an actual date was a wild night with Officer Ben Killian where he rocked my world and made me see stars. No, I couldn’t tell her that at all.

  “No, Mom. Still single. And I’d like to keep it that way for a good long while.”

  “It’s silly. You’ll be twenty-six years old in a couple of weeks.”

  I laughed. My mother was only fifty-five years old. But she grew up in a strict, Protestant household raised by Depression-era parents who had her when they were in their forties. Sometimes it gave her a time-warped world view.

  “I love you, Mommy. But I’ve got to hop in the shower.”

  “You’re blowing me off. I know when you’re blowing me off.”

  “I’m not. Promise.”

  She sighed. “Okay. But why don’t you come out here this weekend, at least for a visit? I miss you. Randy said he’ll pay for the plane tickets.”

  I pressed the phone to my forehead and did a mental three-count. “I’ll come next month, just like I promised. This weekend’s no good.”

  I hoped she didn’t hear the waver in my voice. Going back to Florida would be the easy thing. I made a promise to myself I’d stay here in Lincolnshire for at least three solid months before I made a trip back. The pull to stay might be too strong.

  A knock at my door drew my attention away. “Okay, I’ve really got to go now, Mom. Someone’s at the door.”

  “I’ll wait while you check,” she said, and her voice took an odd lilt. “
It could be a murderer. Who shows up this early?”

  I laughed. This was my mother.

  When I got to the door, a delivery truck drove past the house. I looked down and saw a basket of flowers with the card sticking out on a plastic clip. Reaching for it, my heart fluttered as I read it.

  “You’re still all I can think about. Signed, C.”

  Suddenly, my mother’s early morning call seemed to take on a more nefarious purpose.

  “Mom.” I straightened. “How much have you been talking to Craig?”

  “Aren’t they beautiful? I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. I helped him pick them out. I saw the tracking info and figured they’d get there this morning. Don’t be mad.”

  I chewed the side of my mouth and did another three-count. “I’m. Not. Mad.” I knew how this went. If I gave her any emotion, she’d go martyr on me and I’d never get off the phone.

  “Good. Oh, I’m so glad.”

  There were a thousand things I wanted to scream into the phone. Not the least of which was the fact that my mother had just given Craig my new address. It was just one more complication I didn’t need in my life and now it seemed he had a co-conspirator. I made another quick excuse, hung up the phone, and promptly threw Craig’s flowers into the trash.

  Chapter Six

  Ben

  Monday morning roll call couldn’t end quickly enough. Brett and Ed Rackham sat on either side of me. Captain Coates’s voice droned on. He had that nasal thing going on and a habit of emphasizing every fourth word whether it made sense to or not. I drank my shitty coffee and kept my head up. Rackham was already asleep. I kicked him under the table and he snorted loud enough to draw attention himself.

  “Anyway,” Coates continued. “We’re still canvassing Bacon Street and the surrounding area for any leads on the dealer-on -ealer shooting last night. You got a rash of vandalism at the docks. Looks like ATMs, mostly. Security footage isn’t particularly helpful on this one. Lastly, there’s been a report of a third home invasion fitting last month’s profile. This one was on Mulaney Drive so they’re going more upscale.”

  “These still happening in broad daylight?” Davis shouted out.

  Coates nodded. “Yeah. Luckily nobody was home for this one. A neighbor’s dog went nuts and scared them off. But I want some extra cars going through that end of town. Let’s say from the edge of LC’s campus on Brooks Avenue all the way to Willard. Three to four blocks in between. That’s parts of Old Orchard and College Town. I want something to tell Chief before the end of the week. Strike Team, you’re all set for recon in the North Grove?”

  I cleared my throat and nodded. “Yeah. Who’s got this one?”

  Coates rifled through his paperwork. “Uh, Chaney’s Drug Task Force, it looks like. They’re telling me a week tops before they get the warrants they need. Just sit on 3942 Fletcher. But don’t look like you’re sitting on it.”

  I kicked Brett under the table this time. I saw his bottom lip jut out as he was about to make a politically incorrect impression of Coates. I had to bite my own lip past the urge to say something smartass back to him myself. Instead, I just smiled and said, “You got it, Cap.”

  “Any other questions?” Coates narrowed his eyes. He looked straight at Brett, expecting him to crack up like he always did. Brett coughed into his fist and Coates shifted the stack of papers on his podium and gave the group a nod.

  Chairs screeched backward as we all got up to get to work.

  “Uh, duh … I was thinkin’ maybe we could go to Fletcher all conspicuous like,” Brett said. He scratched his head and let his eyes bug out. I slugged him in the arm.

  “Leave off, wise ass. The idiot’s not even out of the room yet. You looking for a write-up this early in the day?”

  Brett shook with laughter. He had a point. Coates had postured a lot more than usual lately. Rumor was, he was looking to make Deputy Chief under Marek. To a certain extent, I wouldn’t mind if that happened. At least it would get him out of my direct day-to-day. Rick Coates wasn’t a half-bad guy. He just liked to take credit for shit he didn’t earn and didn’t know when to shut up. But I’d worked under a hell of a lot worse.

  All in all though, we were in for a bore of a day. Unless some crisis happened, we’d be setting up surveillance in the north end all afternoon. The Drug Task Force had a lead on another drug hotspot and planned a raid later in the week. Our job was to get a feel for the place and anticipate any problems we might have securing it so their guys could go in and serve their warrant. We’d go in light. It was a small neighborhood and any more than two cars might draw suspicion.

  It would be Brett and Ed in one vehicle, and me in the other. They beat me to the lot and took the Escape which left the Taurus for me. The thing had a transmission problem, but if I didn’t have to take any steep hills, it would be fine. Still, I felt the need to flip both of them off as I climbed into the driver’s seat. I’d head out first and find a spot at the end of the street near the target house. Brett and Ed would follow about ten minutes later and set up across the street. We needed to establish comings and goings at the house, see the features of the neighborhood, and look for anything that might cause a problem for our people when we raided the place later on.

  After nursing the Taurus for a minute, I took off and managed to find a good spot under a tall oak five houses down from the target. I already didn’t like the looks of this place. Fletcher Street was a narrow road that dead-ended with a guardrail where the expressway came through. The people in most of these houses had lived here since WWII. They were the unlucky ones who didn’t get in on the eminent domain transfers when the government built Lincolnshire’s portion of I-475 back in the sixties.

  Ed and Brett pulled up and found a spot as close to the target house as they could. That was the other thing I didn’t like: too many damn cars parked in the street. It would make it hard to get in and out when the time came.

  I sank low in my seat and settled in. We were going to be here for a while. In a few minutes, Brett would head out on foot and try not to get noticed.

  My phone rang and Ed’s number popped up. “Well, shit,” I said to myself, “that didn’t take long.”

  “This is going to be an epic cluster fuck,” Ed shouted into my ear. “If we’ve got cars parked in here like this we’re going to have big problems.”

  “I know,” I answered. “Let’s just wait and see. It’s early. We’ll just figure out if there’s any time of day that clears out more than others.”

  Ed answered by grumbling. We switched our radios to an open, secure channel and I clicked off the phone. Two seconds later, I regretted it. Brett started singing along to Waylon Jennings on the classic country station he always listened to. I could see Ed throw his head back against the seat and laugh. Yeah, sitting in the shitty Taurus might have been the long straw after all.

  We switched positions a little while later and cased the street on the other side of the house. This neighborhood was filled with box-shaped brick houses built in the middle of the Depression. They were packed in so tight, I figured neighbors could hand shit over to each other through their open windows. That alone could be a problem during go-time. The good news was, most of the houses, including our target, had cyclone fencing all around. If anything went bad, it would stay confined to the house. It would be damn difficult for anyone to run off on foot unless they were world-class hurdlers.

  The other problem that popped up almost immediately were the two old-timers sitting on their porch at the end of the street. Those women had probably been friends since girlhood. They noticed when we drove up, crossing their doughy arms in front of themselves, wearing almost identical green, sleeveless housecoats.

  After a pass through the neighborhood, I pulled up alongside Brett and Ed. “I think we’d better light out. Did you see the eyes at the end of the street?”

  Brett laughed. “Hell, we could save ourselves a shit ton of time and just ask them what’s what.”

  “You
’re probably right,” I said. “But my luck one of them’s our scumbag’s grandma or something.”

  Ed nodded. “Wouldn’t be the first time. You ready to cut out for lunch?”

  “Joey’s?” Brett suggested. Joey’s was the sub shop near the college. I swore they used crack or some shit in their bread. I saw Ed lick his lips.

  “Meet you there in twenty,” I said. “I’m going to switch out this beast for something that runs right. I don’t feel like getting stuck in first gear out in the hood today.” Brett gave me a thumbs up and hit the gas.

  I shouldn’t have jinxed myself. I made it two miles and the car stalled out at the red light at the corner of Kingston and Arcadia.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  When I turned the ignition, the damn thing sputtered and died for good. I heard the quick chirp of a patrol car. I waved, recognizing Sheila Runyon from day shift. She sat parked at an angle on the opposite corner of the intersection pointing a radar gun. Kingston and Arcadia was one of our prime speed traps and had the dubious honor of being the most run red light in the city. I clicked the hazards on, got out of the car, and walked over to her.

  “You still trying to drive that piece of shit?” Sheila asked, rolling down the window. Her bright smile lit up her face.

  “Apparently not,” I said.

  “Get in,” she said. I gave her a wave and smiled. “Let me pull up behind you and call in a city tow.”

  “Thanks. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to switch cars with me and wait it out?” I hated asking, but I had court at 2:30. It was noon now and the city tow truck was notoriously slow. Let’s just say we had a lot of city vehicles breaking down on a daily basis.

  Sheila pursed her lips and waved me in. It wasn’t an answer, but at least it wasn’t a flat-out no. No sooner had I slid into the passenger seat when Sheila’s radar gun bleeped as a driver took the intersection going fifteen miles over.

  “Hot shit!” she said. “I needed one more for my quota. You mind sitting tight for a second? Then I’ll get you back to the barn. That clunker can just sit. Neither one of us needs to wait on it.”