Cover Me

by Margaret Watson

  The weight of her responsibility sat on her chest like a stone. The longer this went on, the less positive the outcome. Which was cop shorthand for 'the more likely people would die'. Her hand felt heavy as she dialed Zeke again

  "Everybody finish their pizza?" she asked.

  "Yeah. Thanks for getting it," Zeke said.

  Cilla needed to find out about the girl. "Did Mattie eat any of it?"

  "Yeah. She ate a piece." His voice sounded calmer. Cilla could hear the affection in his voice.

  "So she liked the pizza?"

  "Yeah, she's a good eater. Not picky, like Justin."

  "How about Justin? Did he like the pepperoni?"

  "No. Too spicy for him. He ate some of the cheese pizza, though."

  "Good. So now everyone's eaten, why don't you send Patty and the kids out the front door? Then we can focus on helping you."

  "I can't send them out. If they're not here, you're going to kill me."

  "I promise you, no one has to die today. Just send them out so we can talk about what you need."

  "I want a car. So I can get away from here."

  "Send them out, and we'll discuss it."

  After a long minute, the front door opened a crack. A crying woman pushed two little boys out the door, then turned and spoke to someone inside the door. Sobbed and reached out, but the door slammed in her face.

  SWAT team members had grabbed the boys and carried them down the street, away from the house. As their mother stood on the porch, trying to get back into the house, two more black-clothed men pulled her gently away.

  Cilla watched, her heart aching for the distraught mother. She took a deep breath and pushed the sympathy away. She didn't have time for emotion. After another calming breath, she called Zeke. "Why didn't you send Mattie out?"

  "She stays with me." Cilla heard his voice catch, as though he was fighting tears. "She's the only one who doesn't give me shit."

  "Do you love her?" Cilla clenched her hands so hard her nails dug into her palms.

  "Course I do. She's my kid."

  "Don't you want to do the right thing for your daughter?"

  "That's why she's staying with me. Girls need their fathers."

  "They need their mothers too," Cilla said quietly. "And it's hard to focus if you're trying to take care of a baby. Why don't you send her out so we can talk?"

  "I'm good to talk." The sounds of a child crying came through the phone, as well as Zeke's voice, trying to soothe Mattie.

  "She's crying," Cilla said gently. "Let her go, Zeke. Open the front door, put her on the porch, then shut the door again."

  "You'll shoot me if I do."

  "I promise you, no one's going to shoot you," Cilla assured him. "Just put Mattie on the front porch."

  The phone went dead, and Cilla's heart thundered. This was where the last hostage scene had gone bad. Seconds after the HT had hung up the phone gunshots had thundered in the house.

  Either Zeke was going to let Mattie go, or everything was going to hell. Right now.

  In the distance, a woman sobbed. Captain Francisco's voice soothed, and the sobs quieted.

  The front door inched open. A tall man set a small girl down, kissed her and went back inside. As soon as the door closed, a SWAT guy ran up the stairs, grabbed the girl and took off.

  Determined to press her advantage, to keep Zeke working with her, Cilla barely glanced at the reunion of mother and daughter down the street. Instead, she adjusted the headset once more. In the distance, she heard Patty's muted sobs.

  "Thank you, Zeke. Now tell me what you need and we'll figure out how to get it for you."

  "I need a job. A car, so I can get to that job. I need to make money. Those kids eat everything that isn't nailed down. I can't afford to feed them anymore."

  "Kids are expensive. I know that. What else do you need, Zeke?"

  "I need...I need to see a doctor." His voice caught. "Something is wrong in my head. But we can't afford a doctor."

  "We can help you with that. We'll get a doctor for you. We'll make sure you get the help you need." She swallowed. "You let everyone leave the house, Zeke. No one's going to hurt you now. If you come out with your hands in the air, we'll take you downtown and get you some help."

  "I know how this goes. You'll shoot me the minute I open the door."

  "No. We won't. In fact, I'll meet you myself." She glanced at her captain, who frowned and shook his head. "Open the door and come out with your hands above your head. Walk slowly. No sudden moves."

  She removed the headset and walked toward the door of the van. Her captain caught her arm. "You can't go out there, Marini. What if he comes out shooting?"

  "I'm wearing my vest. But he's not going to shoot." She shook off his hand. "He's a veteran who's been injured. You heard what he said. There's something wrong in his head. He wants help. Now I'm going to cuff him and put him in a car."

  Francisco reached for her again, but she twisted away from him and walked to the front of the house. She tugged on the straps of her vest, making sure they were tight. She swallowed as she waited. Please, God, not a head shot. Zeke could be in the house, aiming a weapon at her. But she was pretty sure he wasn't.

  Finally the front door opened and a dark-haired man with a few-days-old scruff stepped outside, hands in the air. The SWAT members behind her raised their rifles.

  "It's okay, Zeke. They're not going to shoot. Walk slowly down the stairs. Keep your hands in the air."

  He stumbled on the first step and reached for the railing. Cilla turned around and barked, "No. Wait."

  Zeke regained his balance and walked down the rest of the steps. He stopped two feet in front of her. "Can I put my hands down now?"

  "Not yet, Zeke. I need you to put your hands on the back of your head and lie down on the ground."

  "I already gave you my guns."

  "I need to double check that. You probably did a lot of double-checking in Afghanistan. I'm big on double-checking, too. I always need to be sure."

  Zeke knelt on the ground, then lowered himself to the sidewalk. Cilla stepped behind him and put the cuffs on his wrists. Then she helped him stand, put on gloves and patted him down.

  He had a knife and a gun in his pockets. A uniformed cop handed her two evidence bags, and she slid the weapons into them, one by one. Then she read Zeke his rights and led him toward a squad car.

  "I thought you were going to help me," he said, sounding hurt.

  "You'll get all the help you need, and I'll personally make sure you do. But not tonight, I'm afraid. We have a lot of paperwork to do first."

  He stared at her, confused, and Cilla felt a rush of sympathy for him. He needed to be in a psychiatric ward, but it would have to be at Cook County Jail. "I'll visit you, okay? Make sure you're getting what you need."

  "Okay." He exhaled. "That...that would be nice."

  As they drove Zeke away, Patty threw herself at Cilla. "Thank you," she sobbed. "You saved my children. I can't believe you got him to talk to you. He hasn't said much in weeks."

  "Has he been treated for PTSD?"

  Patty took a shaky breath. "The doctors tried, but Zeke said there wasn't anything wrong with him. Refused to go to counseling, refused to see a doctor, refused to take any medication."

  "We'll try to help him," Cilla assured her. She looked at the two boys. "Which of you called the police?"

  "I did." It was the older boy. Josh.

  "You did a very brave thing, Josh," Cilla said, crouching in front of him.

  "He was whaling on her again. It made me angry." His lip wobbled. "But it was worse when the police came. Maybe I shouldn't have called."

  "You did the right thing," Cilla assured him. "You saved your mother and your brother and your sister. And yourself."

  "I think you're the one who saved us," Josh said shyly.

  "We did it together, Josh."

  She squeezed the boy's shoulder, then stood up and pulled a business card out of her back pocket. Sh
e kept a stack of them in the Mustang's glove box. "This is a social worker. Emma Sloan. She's very good. She can help you. You might want to give her a call." Cilla pressed the card into Patty's hand.

  Patty clutched it tightly. "Thank you. I will."

  Several cops surrounded the small family and led them back into the house. They would take Patty's and the boys' statements, then help them get whatever they needed.

  Other than the paper work, her job was done.

  She rotated her shoulders, feeling the burn in her muscles from hunching over the desk all afternoon. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten anything. And she was exhausted. She'd gotten to bed late and gotten up far too early to catch Olivia before she headed to work.

  She stepped into the trailer and grabbed her bag, then turned to go. Captain Francisco nodded to her. "Good work, Marini." He nodded at her. "You were great with Marshall. Now go home and unwind."

  "Yes, sir. That's the plan."

  She swung out of the trailer and sucked in deep breaths of fresh air. Twilight was creeping over the trees that lined the street. Her red Mustang was a beacon in the distance. She closed her eyes, took one last deep breath, then let it out as she hurried toward her car.

  Slowed to a stop as she got closer and recognized the tall figure leaning against the fender. "Brendan? What are you doing here?"

  Chapter 15

  He uncurled his tall body from her car and stood up straight. "Figured you'd need a little help unwinding after that." He jerked his head toward the bustle of the hostage scene. "Thought I'd volunteer."

  She remembered his offer to help her 'unwind' the other night. A bitter taste filled her mouth as she unlocked her car and tossed her purse on the back seat. Had she been so wrong about Brendan?

  She stood in the open door, staring at him across the roof, her chest aching with a pain that she told herself was exhaustion from the day. "Really, Donovan?" she said when she was sure she could control her voice. "You want to help me unwind?" Her fingers slashed through the evening air in vicious air quotes.

  He shrugged. "You didn't get lunch today because of that asshat Dugger. I'm sure you didn't stop on the way here. Figured you'd be hungry. Ready for a beer and a burger."

  "Wait." The pile of bricks sitting on her chest tumbled to the ground. "You came here to take me to dinner? Not to..."

  His mouth twitched. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Marini. I was offering food. An ear, if you want to talk about it." He held her gaze steadily. "That's it."

  Her legs were cement-heavy as she slammed the back door and opened the driver's door. But everything else suddenly felt lighter. More free. "Get in, then. I'm starving."

  He opened the door, then hesitated. "Want me to drive? You look wiped out."

  She'd alternately sweated and shivered in the hot trailer. Now she felt like a dishrag left in the sink too long. Wet, cold and gross. But happier than she'd ever been at the end of a hostage negotiation. "I didn't let you drive the SUV. What makes you think I'll let you drive Betsy?"

  "'Betsy?" He swung into the passenger's seat. "Your car has a name?"

  Her face flamed as she flicked on the ignition and turned the car around. She'd spoken without thinking. That's what happened when her defenses were weakened. "My father named her," she muttered. "It kind of stuck."

  "Betsy." He half-turned in the seat to study the back seat, then let his gaze wander over the dashboard. "That's not what I'd name a hot car like this."

  "Yeah?" Her shoulders melted into the seat back as she drove east on Northwest Highway, the tension draining away. Brendan was good for her. "What would you name her?"

  "Hmmm." He glanced at her, his mouth curling into a tiny half-smile. "Priscilla?"

  "Lame, Donovan," she managed to say above the pounding of her heart. "Really lame. What are you, in high school?"

  "Just trying to be a good partner," he said. He fiddled with the window crank. Opened and closed the glove box. "Trying to protect you from jerks who might laugh about your muscle car named Betsy."

  Trying to protect you. "I think I can handle it. And so can Betsy."

  She didn't need protection. She'd always taken care of herself. But the fact that he wanted to, felt...good. Comforting. Like working on Betsy in her garage, music blaring from her iPod. Holding the worn tools she'd gotten from her father. Adjusting, aligning, until her car was perfect.

  "She's been Betsy for a long time. Too old to change."

  He glanced at her, and she felt the weight of his stare, even though she kept her gaze focused on the street. "No one's ever too old to change."

  They were veering onto shaky ground, so she said lightly, "That include you, Donovan?"

  "Change? Me?" She heard the grin in his voice. "Now why would I want to mess with perfection?"

  * * *

  Brendan watched her roll her eyes as she turned a corner, and he relaxed into the seat. It had gotten a little too heavy there for a moment. Heavy was the last thing Cilla needed after that hostage situation.

  Brendan had arrived a couple of hours before it ended. He'd stood with a few uniformed guys as he studied the scene. Tension had swirled in the warm air, fed by the black-clad SWAT team surrounding the house. The snipers on the roofs of nearby buildings. The ominous-looking black trailer.

  Even the uniformed guys keeping the crowds away stood rigidly straight. On edge. Hands too tight on their weapons. Glancing toward the house every few seconds.

  Brendan had leaned against Cilla's car and talked to them, getting the story. Cilla was a great hostage negotiator, they'd said. She was calm, in control, empathetic. Kept the HT talking. She was almost always successful.

  Except for a recent hostage situation. It had ended with three people dead, including a kid.

  No matter how this one ended up, Brendan had figured she'd be strung out afterward. She'd need someone to lean on.

  That would be a new role for him. A little scary. But Cilla was worth the uneasy flutter in his belly. Having Cilla depend on him had felt...right. He was her partner. That was his job.

  He needed to make sure she was okay.

  So he'd found out where she was and tapped one of his buddies for a ride to Edison Park.

  "You mind if we stop here?" Cilla interrupted his thoughts. She nodded at a chain restaurant that specialized in gourmet burgers.

  "Yeah, that's good. They have decent burgers."

  They pulled into the parking lot, but Cilla didn't leap out of the car. She stood slowly, as if stiff. Achy. Brendan walked around the car and hovered, unsure what to do.

  In the end, he trailed her to the restaurant door. She stumbled on the door jamb, and he grabbed her elbow to steady her.

  "Thanks," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder. Purple circles beneath her eyes looked like bruises, and her mouth was tight. Strained. She looked completely wiped out. He wanted to snatch her up and wrap her in warmth. Comfort her.

  Instead, he steadied her as she dropped into a booth in the half-empty restaurant, then slid into the other side and watched her. She leaned against the seat and took a deep, shuddering breath. When the waitress came by, she asked for an iced tea.

  "No beer to celebrate?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Sounded as if you had a happy ending there."

  A ghost of a smile flickered over her mouth. "Yeah. It was good. But I haven't eaten much all day, and I have to drive home."

  Neither of them spoke until the waitress brought his beer and Cilla's tea. Holding it with both hands, she gulped down half the glass, then pushed it away and slumped against the seat. He saw her hands shaking violently before she pressed them into the table.

  "Adrenaline burn wearing off?" he asked, nodding at them.

  "Yeah." She swallowed. "Sometimes I have to pull over, wait it out." Her gaze softened as she studied him. "Thanks for showing up. Nice to have company."

  He wanted to pump his fist in triumph. He'd been right. She'd needed him. Instead, he took another sip of beer. />
  He suspected it was hard for her to admit that. Admit that she needed a little help. "Course I showed up," he said, tilting his head to study her. "I'm your partner."

  "Only temporarily," she said quietly, closing her eyes.

  He heard regret in her soft voice. An offer to start a different kind of partnership after the case was over trembled on the tip of his tongue. He bit down on it. Not what she needed right now.

  "You want to talk about it?" he finally said.

  "No." She took another drink of iced tea, pushed the glass away, and exhaled a long, shaky breath. Crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her hands into her armpits. Like she was cold. "There were three kids. The oldest is the one who called the cops." Her mouth trembled for a moment, then firmed again. "His stepfather got out of the army six months ago. Traumatic brain injury, now has PTSD. Needed help, but wouldn't get it. Finally snapped."

  Brendan sat a little taller. She trusted him enough to talk to him about it. His brothers teased him about being a screw up, but they could go to hell. Cilla trusted him.

  "You got everyone out of the house safely," Brendan reminded her. He wanted to reach across the table and take her hand, but he didn't want to break the mood. "He'll get help now. Put his life back together. He's in jail, but he's alive. Unhurt. And so is his family." He leaned across the table. "You did a hell of a thing tonight, Cilla. You saved those kids and their mother. You saved their father, too."

  She shrugged. "Why we wanted to be cops, right? To help people."

  He knew he waited too long to answer. But he wasn't sure that's why he became a cop. "Yeah," he finally said. Too complicated to get into right now. He'd held his secrets for a long time, and wasn't ready to give them up just yet. "The glamorous side of police work, right?"

  She huffed out a laugh, and he relaxed a little. She was getting back to normal. She unwrapped her arms from her body and picked up the iced tea again. "The hostage thing will probably be on the blog," she said. "Cops and Robbers. Don't you think?" When he didn't answer immediately, she tilted her head and studied him. "I know you read it. I saw it on your computer that day at your place."