by Anna Sugden
She’d never told anyone. She’d never even been tempted to. And yet this reluctant hero, who just might have been moonlighting as an accomplice to a ring of drug dealers, tempted her to hammer through the brick and mortar and let her secrets pour out. Of all the things that scared her about helping Ben Peterson, that one terrified her most.
That truth, and the fact that they’d run out of things to say, had Delia buttoning her coat and slipping her gloves back on. She moved past him toward the door. “I’ll get back to you when I know something.”
At his nod, she opened the door and stepped through it.
As she took a few steps toward her car, he called after her, “Are you gonna tell me why you’re going to all of this trouble?”
The many reasons rushed into her thoughts at once. This was Ben, who’d made an effort to help her. And he was alone right now. If only someone could have helped her when she was alone. Anyone.
But as she turned back to him, she chose only one of the reasons. “It’s the right thing to do.”
He nodded as if accepting her words this time. “But then we both know how seldom people do the right thing.”
Delia just stared at him. He was probably just talking about how in their career they often saw people at their worst. But it seemed like more than that. Did he know about her? How could he? Did she want him to know?
CHAPTER SIX
DELIA’S HANDS TREMBLED as she watched the face staring back at her from the women’s locker room mirror only a few hours after her conversation with Ben. Fisting and unfisting her hands, she tried again, finally managing to button her uniform shirt over a Kevlar vest.
Attention to detail was critical in her career, and she usually checked the items on her duty belt a couple of times before heading out into the squad room. Weapon, expandable baton, extra rounds, flashlight, pepper spray, Taser. But she usually didn’t come to work with the express intention of deceiving her coworkers and defying a direct order from her commander. So today she’d checked each item three times, and as she buckled the belt over her uniform, she couldn’t resist doing another inventory.
She’d pinned her badge in place, but she still found herself patting that spot above her heart to make sure it was there. Two more times.
How was she supposed to pull this off with her coworkers when she couldn’t even fool the woman looking back at her in the mirror? These officers were trained to recognize when someone was lying or hiding something. There was no way they wouldn’t figure out that she was trying to pull one over on them.
She shook her head hard enough that she had to resecure a section of hair that fell loose from her bun. She was so nervous that anyone watching her would swear this was her first day on the job. A chill shimmied up her spine at the possibility that someone could be watching. Her gaze slid to the side, just to be sure. Maybe Ben was right. It was too risky. He recognized it, even if he really needed her help.
She could lose everything.
But then so could he.
Why had she gone to so much trouble to convince him that he should let her help? Sure, it was the right thing to do, but could the fact that her pulse raced every time he came within a twenty-foot radius of her have something to do with it, as well?
Whatever her reasons for offering, she’d given her word, and she would honor it. But in order to be Ben’s eyes and ears on the inside, figuring out which of their coworkers might have set him up, she needed to move under the radar. As fidgety as she was at present, she might as well have been carrying a sign that said “I’m investigating the rest of you.”
At least Trooper Kelly Roberts, the only other female officer on second shift, was running late so Delia was alone in the locker room. That would give her a few minutes to pull herself together.
Delia straightened, smoothed her hair in the mirror and adjusted her hairpins. Deciding she looked better after the slight adjustment, she nodded at her reflection.
But just as she reached for her hat, called a “cover,” her cell phone started clanging with its obnoxious ring. Figuring it was a telemarketer, she sent the call to voice mail. The icon that appeared on her screen surprised her though. A message? She never received those. Curious, she clicked into her voice mail.
“Sweetheart? It’s Mom and Lloyd.”
With just five words, Delia’s past overwhelmed her present like a gorilla attack from behind. The cover she’d tucked under her arm slipped out and thudded to the floor. They had her cell number now?
“You’re one hard lady to get ahold of,” her mother’s voice droned on, just as she would have done if they’d been face-to-face. Marian would never have noticed that her daughter was suffocating, her lungs having forgotten how to expand. Delia needed to hang up. Just one click, and these sounds, these awful, crippling sounds would quiet again. A least for a while.
“Your answering machine at home must not be working. I’ve left so many messages. Thank goodness one of the other stylists at Helen’s old shop had your cell number. Well, maybe you’ve heard by now that we’ve moved back to the area.”
As a matter of fact, she hadn’t. She’d deleted several messages in the past few weeks without listening to them, her finger automatically hitting the delete button the moment she heard the squeal of her mother’s voice. She’d hoped they would get her message that she didn’t want to talk to them. They hadn’t, and now were not only close by, but they also had two numbers for her. They would never leave her alone.
“...and we’re dying to see our successful lady cop—”
“They know?” The words whooshed from her lungs. She didn’t hear the rest of her mother’s message as she madly pressed the buttons on her cell, searching for Delete. Whether she hit the right one or not, she wasn’t sure, but at least the sounds stopped.
She set the phone back on the bench and stared at it as if it could reach out and bite her the way her past had. How could she be of help to Ben when her own problems were creeping ever closer no matter how hard she’d worked to chain them to the past? How could she chase his demons when hers were touching her with filthy hands?
She jerked at the sound of approaching footsteps, caught in the act of remembering. Kelly Roberts swished through the doorway, black peacoat open, silver scarf and all of that blond hair fluttering as she moved. She stopped and glanced from the phone on the bench to the hat Delia was scrambling to collect from the floor.
“Glad to see I’m not the only one running late today. That construction on US 23 is killing me.”
Stripping off her sweater, Kelly pulled on a base layer over a too-lacy-for-work bra and slipped her padded vest over her head. She turned to Delia expectantly, as if to ask, What’s your excuse?
Delia rested her cover back on the bench and gestured toward the phone. “I had a call.” It was a half-truth, but closer to reality than the stories her suspects told her.
Kelly nodded as she pulled her hair into a ponytail and deftly twisted it into a barely neat knot.
“Not bad news, I hope.” But she didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “My mom’s always calling me when she knows I’m at work. ‘Kelly, you have to hear what your crazy cousin did this time’ or ‘Could you drop by with a gallon of milk on your way home?’”
She pointed to her own phone on the bench, the one with the hard floral case. “That thing feels like a tether sometimes.”
“Don’t I know it.” As if Delia knew anything about being hounded by calls. At least until lately. Now tether wasn’t a strong enough word. It felt more like a pocketful of rocks, threatening to pull her under if she let it.
But she couldn’t let it. Perverts like Lloyd Jackson deserved every bit of the misery they endured in prison, and she intended to be one of the people sending such people there by the boatload.
Laughter from the squad room filtered through the locker room door, interrupting them.
“Guess at least one of us had better get out there,” Delia said.
“I’ll be r
ight out.” Kelly was checking the contents of her own duty belt. “Have to make a pit stop.”
Delia nodded, despite the clash of thoughts in her mind. Kelly was the only other officer on this shift who could relate to the slight differences female officers worked with every day. Simple things like restroom breaks, which meant a trip back to the post since the procedure required them to remove their duty belts. They couldn’t exactly hang those things on restroom stall doors, given that they weighed about twenty pounds and had a gun in them and all.
She and Kelly might have shared those little inconveniences, but they sure as hell never mentioned them to anyone, including each other. That would have been like admitting that there were differences between male and female officers, and Delia wasn’t about to do that.
Kelly might have felt the same way, but they’d both kept those thoughts to themselves. In fact, this conversation was the longest one they’d ever had. That would need to change now, with Kelly and with the other troopers, if Delia planned to discover information that would help Ben. Just listening to others’ conversations wouldn’t be enough. She would have to really become a part of the team if she hoped to find the answers she needed.
Pushing open the door, Delia stepped out into the squad room, trying not to freeze as the others turned to face her. She could handle this.
“Glad at least one of you could join us,” Sergeant Leonetti called out. “Some kind of party going on in there?”
“Something like that.” She waited for the dig about women always going to the restroom together, but it didn’t come. “But the party’s over, so let’s get started already.”
Kelly, who had slipped in next to her, winked at Delia.
Lieutenant Campbell stepped in front of them, appearing oddly alone without Ben next to him. It just didn’t feel right.
“Hello, everyone,” he said with a nod. “I realize that things are in an uproar around here. But we all need to stay calm. The best thing we can do for this investigation and for Lieutenant Peterson is to continue doing our jobs. Captain Polaski wanted me to remind you all that no one is to have contact with Lieutenant Peterson for the duration of the investigation. We have to stay out of this one for all of our sakes.”
Murmurs of disagreement spread through the room, but Lieutenant Campbell ignored them.
“As you’re probably aware, we will be under extra scrutiny now. Media attention is on us. Reporters are smelling an even bigger story. Let’s not give them more fodder by offering special treatment to one of our own.”
“But we can’t just leave him hanging there,” Trooper Donovan insisted.
The room quieted as everyone waited for Lieutenant Campbell’s reaction. As a newer recruit, Donovan was taking a risk by sticking his neck out that way. Delia could relate.
The lieutenant turned his way. “We’ll do what we need to, and what we need to do is follow orders.” He sighed, holding his hands wide. “Lieutenant Peterson would tell you the same thing and then say something about the team.”
“Then let’s do this for Ben...and the team,” Trooper Maxwell called out.
“For Ben and the team,” the rest of them said in unison.
Although she repeated the comment with them, the words grated on Delia. One of those officers announcing solidarity with Ben might have been the reason that the lieutenant was at home now, waiting to be charged with a crime he didn’t—Well, a crime he might not have committed. Though if he was guilty, she intended to prove that, too.
Lieutenant Campbell hadn’t joined in with the others to chant, but he hadn’t stopped them, either, though his gaze slid toward Captain Polaski’s office a few times. Ben had said that Campbell was the other officer who’d offered to defy orders and help him. The only other one. And as the only officer on their shift with a spouse and kids, he also had the most to lose if caught. Ben had been right when he’d said that doing the right thing was the exception, not the rule.
And this didn’t seem right.
Ben deserved to be there with Lieutenant Campbell, leading the troopers and reminding them about the importance of teamwork. She still didn’t know if she agreed with him on that front, especially when a member of this team might have failed them all.
Delia glanced surreptitiously at the officers one by one as they put on their coats and checked their radios. Which one of them had something to hide? Was it Trooper Warner? Had he needed anabolic steroids to build that physique that mattered so much to him? Had he made an agreement with drug dealers to secure his own supply? And what about Lieutenant Campbell? Sure, he’d volunteered to help, but was that just a cover? Did he have financial problems at home with all of those mouths to feed, something that would make him susceptible to businessmen with deep pockets?
What about Trooper Maxwell or Trooper Roberts or Sergeant Leonetti? They all looked like decent people, but how much did she know about them? They definitely didn’t know her, though they probably thought they did. They all seemed to have the same commitment to public safety and the citizens of southeast Michigan, but one of them had fooled them all. She intended to figure out who the liar was. Even if it was Ben.
Her gaze shifted again, this time to Trooper Cole, who’d been standing near one of the desktop computers. But she didn’t have the chance to consider him a possible suspect. Because when she peeked back at Trevor Cole, ready to study him without being noticed, she found him staring right back at her.
* * *
BEN AWOKE WITH a start, his heart thumping in his chest, his T-shirt as soaked as a marathon runner’s though the house wasn’t any warmer than usual. He didn’t need to turn on the lamp to know that his blankets and sheets would be caught around his ankles as if he’d been trying to race away from a pursuer only to be trapped in a tangle of cotton and wool. This nightmare had invaded his sleep too often lately, and each time he hadn’t been able to run away fast enough.
Craving light, he flipped on the lamp and sat up in bed, reaching for the water bottle stationed next to the clock. The digital display read 1:43 a.m. He took several deep swallows from the bottle before putting it aside. If only he could push away the images that lingered in his thoughts as easily. But the faces of terrified bank customers and employees continued to flit through his mind in a high-speed slide show. The shrieks. The pleas. The fear in the customers’ eyes. Probably in his own.
Get on the ground! Now.
Do you want to die today?
The words were clearer now than even when the two suspects had shouted them, their voices muffled behind latex horror masks with hollowed-out eye sockets and blood-smeared gashes that promised death. His moment of panic was as familiar as the words, a visceral ache that started at his center and fanned out in all directions.
He had to make it stop.
Ben shoved both hands through his hair. He could have missed the narrow window of opportunity to take down those two suspects. But he hadn’t. He could’ve forgotten his training and allowed his fear to paralyze him. He hadn’t let it. He could have failed the people he’d been assigned to protect the way he’d always expected he would and could have ended up surrounded by victims as innocent as his mother was.
Those things hadn’t happened, either.
Somehow the two suspects had ended up handcuffed and in the backseats of separate patrol cars, and no shots were fired though one of the suspects had been armed.
“Man, we were lucky,” he breathed to the empty room, his shiver having nothing to do with the cold.
So darn lucky that his chest still ached from the weight of the what-ifs he’d dodged. So why did he keep returning to this memory? Especially when he had other things to worry about now that his reputation had taken the trip from that alleged “hero” to a more fitting zero.
With a wistful glance at his pillow, he threw back the covers, sat up and shifted his legs over the side of the bed. Since he was as likely to go back to sleep as he was to discover that the suspicion swirling around him had been just a bad dre
am, he decided to get to work.
Tugging on a pair of heavy socks, he slid on his hiking boots. But as he yanked a T-shirt in place, he recalled Delia’s gaze yesterday when she’d noticed that he hadn’t been wearing a shirt under his robe. As if she was offended or something. If she hadn’t been already, she definitely would have been if she’d known what he’d been thinking. She’d come to offer her help, and all he could do was wish she were the topless one wearing that robe. Then he could have unwrapped her like a birthday present. The favorite present.
What was wrong with him? Lust was about the last thing he had time for right now. He blinked to exorcise the image of all that perfection, but the painfully hard result of his peep show lingered, darkening his mood. Where was his sense of self-preservation? His career and his freedom were on the line. Worse yet, he’d allowed Delia to risk her career, as well, something he never should have agreed to no matter how convincing she’d been or how much he needed her help.
He shook his head. This was a bad idea. How was he supposed to work with Delia, asking her to put on her uniform and lie for him, when all he wanted to do was peel her out of it, layer by layer? But it was a little late for his crisis of conscience when she’d already started her part of the investigation during her shift last night. She’d gone out on a limb for him, so he’d better hope that the branch was strong enough to hold them both.
Frustrated in more ways than one, Ben clomped down the stairs toward much-needed coffee. He had to get his thoughts back on the investigation. Only the investigation. That would be all he could allow himself to think about when he met her later that night to discuss their progress. He wouldn’t sit back and wait for her to solve the mystery by herself, either. He might not have access to databases or the opportunity to interview potential witnesses, but he had high-speed internet and the motivation to find some answers.
