Bearly Apart (Big Paw Security Book 5)

by Becca Fanning

  “Miller, you know I'm the only friend you have left in the precinct,” Sergeant Brock Franklin muttered. He sounded exasperated. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance over at her, a flash of moonlight illuminating half his face. “Miller. Emma. Listen to what I have to say.”

  “I'm listening, Brock,” Emma replied, without looking over. She knew most other officers weren't on a first name basis with their sergeants, but with Brock, it was different. They were more than just partners. They were friends. She couldn't count the amount of times she'd been invited to join him and his family for Christmas or Thanksgiving. His wife and kids had treated her as another member of their family. For someone with no family, Emma knew she was lucky to have a person like Brock she could depend on. It's why we're such good partners, even if I don't always like what he has to say, she pondered.

  “After you reported the police corruption, and the murder, the rest have turned against you. Hell, they've turned against me for refusing to hang you out to dry. You realize how serious this is? You could bring down the whole station, from Chief Radmacher on down. They will not go down without a fight. Radmacher is only a few years away from a sweet retirement plan. He will not give it up.”

  “So what can they do? I've submitted my case to the DA. All I have to do is sit back and wait while the case is built. Besides, it's not like they will take me out to stop the case,” she said, giving a nervous laugh.

  Silence. Emma turned to Brock, shivering. They wouldn't do that, would they? They're the ones that are in the wrong. They were the ones who murdered an innocent man and tried to cover it up. Exposing them was the right thing to do.

  “I don't know. Some of the guys...” Brock paused. “I've caught whispers in the precinct. Some of the guys – Forman, Martin, Anderson – they're planning something. Just keep your head down. If things get bad around here, I know somewhere we can lay low for a while. Long enough for the prosecutors to finish up the case. It should happen any day now, but you can never be sure.”

  “Lay low? I will not go into hiding for doing the right thing! You can't just kill someone in cold blood because you're an officer! It doesn't work like that!”

  “Emma,” Brock said, resting a hand on her arm. “I know. We will bring these guys down, but to do so, we have to play it safe. Now, listen –”

  The radio squawked, cutting Brock off. “Sergeant Franklin, do you copy?”

  “10-4. This is Franklin, go ahead.”

  “We have a reported 11-6 at the corner of Rogers and 25th. Requesting backup.”

  “We're are on our way.”

  Brock turned the key over, the engine roaring to life and the lights coming on. They were roaring off before Emma even had her seat-belt buckled. Emma shook herself, trying to forget the previous conversation. A possible discharge of firearms was a lot more exciting than busting drug addicts and teenagers in these old houses.

  “Emma. I want you to listen loud and clear. You let me go in first, check out the area. If everything is okay, I'll give you the go ahead to assist me.”

  “What? Brock, you can't just make me watch the car. If there's someone out there shooting his gun, I want to help bring him in! He could be dangerous and you will need all the help you can get.”

  “I don't think there is someone, Em,” Brock said, pulling out a piece of paper from a pocket and putting it in her hand. “This is the address to where we need to lay low. If things go bad, call Tammy and have her meet you there. You'll be safe.”

  Emma looked at the paper, mouth nearly dropping over when she read the address. A thought flashed through her mind: He's crazy. But Brock had always been straight. If he was giving her this address, then the situation was much worse than she'd originally thought.

  “Brock? You're scaring me. These guys are...”

  “Shifters? Yeah, but they're the best at keeping people safe around this place. I've been talking with them these past few days.”

  “You know what we've learned about shifters. What we've seen,” Emma said. She could still remember the one time she'd had to arrest a shifter. From what she learned in her training, they mostly kept to themselves but for whatever reason, this one had committed armed robbery. When she'd arrived with the other officers, he was outside of the store shaking with rage, the gun discarded on the ground. The image of him shifting and coming straight at them was something she'd never forget. She could remember knowing she would die. Luckily, Brock had kept a tranquilizer gun in their squad car for situations like this. The bear had dropped inches from Emma. She never wanted to see another shifter again.

  “Most of what we learned about shifters is a lie. Do you really believe everything about them that you hear from Radmacher? I've met some of these guys. They're good people.”

  Emma mulled it over, but said nothing. From what she'd seen, heard, and experienced, shifters were dangerous individuals. Wasn't dangerous the perfect term for someone who could shift into a bear at will? Still… Brock had never steered her wrong before.

  The police cruiser flew down the dark streets, lights illuminating the night. Emma looked over at Brock, seeing the red and blue lights flashing over his face. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him look so shaken up. This is bad. Things are really bad.

  They reached their destination in record time. The Leary Strip Mall had been one of the most popular strip malls in the city nearly 20 years ago, way before Emma's time. It had finally gone out of a business two or three years ago and as far as she knew, no one had missed it. The parking lot was overgrown with weeds and deserted except for an empty police car parked on the back side of the building.

  Brock pulled up beside it, glancing around. There was no sign of any of the other officers or the suspect. Dark shadows roiled across the deserted loading docks, clouds still blocking the moon. Brock leaned forward, peering at the back of the other police cruiser.

  “That's Forman's and Anderson's cruiser. I need you to stay back. Don't let them see you.”

  Slowly and silently, the two officers moved away from their vehicle. Brock drew his gun immediately and Emma followed his lead. She realized she was nervous. No, nervous wasn't the right word. I'm scared, she thought, her heart hammering in her chest. They were trying to be quiet, but she was sure the other officers could hear her heart thumping.

  Without a word, Brock ushered her to stop and get down. Emma moved behind an old, burned out street light pole, mostly covered in darkness. Brock moved forward in a crouch, gun aimed high. He had gone perhaps another 40 yards when a voice echoed out from somewhere in the darkness.

  “This is Sergeant Franklin! Identify yourselves!”

  Two men strode towards Brock, guns pointed at the ground. In the darkness, it was hard to make them out, but Emma was sure it was Forman and Anderson. The two men walked close to Franklin, who lowered his gun. She could tell he was still tense.

  “Officer Forman. Officer Anderson. Any sight of the suspect?” asked Brock, loud enough for Emma to hear what he was saying. Anderson answered, but he was unnaturally quiet, a stark contrast to his loud and boisterous personality.

  “Why does that matter? Officer Miller has the night off.”

  More words, this time a little louder and angrier sounding. Emma thought she heard, “Bitch,” but she couldn't be sure. Anderson took a step towards Brock.

  “Where is she? Where is that bitch?” he bellowed, right in Brock's face. Brock held his ground, towering over the smaller man. Still, the situation wasn't good. It's almost irreversible, Emma thought. Things are about to reach a tipping point.

  And then it did. Anderson pulled a gun on Brock, yelling. Forman pulled his pistol. Brock whipped his gun up faster than she thought was possible, aiming it at Forman, who was the better target. Emma got up, aiming her gun, but then she remembered what Brock had told her. Don't let them see you. I have to help, she thought. I can't stand back and do nothing!

  With a crack that split the silence, Brock dropped to his knees. Emma
watched in horror as he fired at Forman twice. Anderson had his gun up, firing at Brock. She counted the gunshots. Crack. Crack. Crack. Despite everything, she screamed.

  Anderson looked up towards her, immediately running towards her. Forman and Brock lay on the ground, not moving. Emma raised her pistol, firing at Anderson. Emma heard him yell but wasn't sure if she hit him or just scared him. She turned and ran, tears running down her face. She felt her emotions overwhelming here: fear, sadness, and shame for not helping Brock. Not helping her friend. No. Not helping her family.

  Emma reached the cruiser and tore off out of the parking lot, tears blurring her vision. She grabbed her phone, dialing Brock's home, praying that Tammy would pick up. She grabbed the scrap of paper with the address on it, holding it up and trying to make out where she needed to go. At that moment, the cloud cover broke, illuminating the car with bright moonlight. She memorized the address, cranking the wheel hard left and running a red light. She sped the whole way there, never even bothering to turn the police sirens on.

  When she'd arrived, the lights of the building were off and it looked deserted. Emma sat in the car, waiting to see if anyone came out of the door. After nearly 15 minutes, no one did. Glancing down at the scrap of paper again, she wasn't even sure if this was the right place. In the dark, the building looked run down, and she suspected that it wouldn't look much better in the daylight.

  Emma sighed, pulling her police jacket over her body like a blanket. She leaned the seat back, pulling her legs up to her chest and trying to stay as warm as possible. It wasn't below freezing tonight, but in a few weeks it would be. Still, she would have to turn the car on a few times during the night to warm up. If she could even get to sleep, she knew it wouldn't be good.

  Curling up, she willed sleep to come. The more she wanted to slip into unconsciousness, the more it evaded her. Brock was dead. Members of her own police department were hunting her. Her life, everything she knew, was crumbling. The lines between good and bad were supposed to be clear. Her, and every other police officer, were supposed to be good. And now fellow officers were criminals, and she was going to men she'd been told were criminals for protection. There was one good thing that made her smile. Tammy had answered the phone on the second ring and was staying the night at her mother's house before coming here tomorrow morning.

  Here. An unmarked building, home of King's Security Solutions, Inc. She didn't know who King was and she realized she didn't really care. She pondered that question and drifted into an uncomfortable, cold sleep.

  Knock! Knock! Knockknockknock! Emma groggily came to, wondering what the knocking was about in her already fading dream. She slowly cracked open her eyes, sunlight bathing her shivering body. Where am I? She wondered. Everything came flooding back to her.

  “Hey!”

  Emma looked outside of her window and screamed. A man was standing outside of her window, a large man, blocking most of the sunlight. She reached for her gun before remembering what she was doing here. She willed herself to calmly move her hand away from the butt of her pistol and get out of the police cruiser.

  The wave of cold air that hit her took the breath from her lungs. The man said something, but she didn't catch it. Eyes watering, she asked, “What?”

  “Are you gonna turn that thing off?”

  “Turn what thing off?”

  “The car. It's been running for hours.”

  Emma turned back to the car, reaching in and turning the ignition off. The car was bordering on E. Just another problem. “Why didn't you come wake me up hours ago?”

  He barked a deep, rough laugh. “I try not to associate with cops, but the boss says that maybe we're expecting some.”

  They moved towards the building, Emma following and zipping her coat up. The man in front of her was large and only wearing a cut off T-shirt with dirty, oily jeans. The cold didn't seem to faze him. The wave of warm air inside of the building was a welcome relief. The man kept moving, but Emma took a few moments to take the scene in, her senses as a cop letting her analyze her surroundings quickly.

  There was a bar, complete with bar stools, running along the right wall. A hallway was immediately off to her right and a lounging area took up most of the room on the left. There was a massive set of double doors on the far wall and the man – shifter, she thought – disappeared down a hallway to the right of the doors.

  He led her down the hallway, not saying a word. She was a little bit surprised how deserted and quiet the whole building was. She shivered again despite the warmth, realizing she didn't want to be in a building completely full of criminals, no matter that Brock had vouched for them. The man opened the door at the end of the hallway and ushered her inside. Emma took a deep breath, and entered.

  An older man sat behind a desk. Despite his age, his hulking form seemed to take up most of the room. He leaned forward, shaking her hand with a hand like a grizzled paw that engulfed hers. It was rough, like sandpaper, and the handshake was firm, like she would have expected.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, cutting right to the chase. Emma nearly winced at the roughness in his voice. This was a man who'd been through a lot. Who was probably… a criminal.

  “I need protection.”

  “Well, don't they all,” he said, his short laughing barking through the room. “Let's get down to business.”

  Most of what Joe had said went in one ear and out the other. What she remembered, as she walked to the room she was given, was that she had a shifter assigned to her for protection. Jake? Jack? Jace!

  “Here's your room,” the shifter from before said, using a key to unlock it. “Make yourself at home. Jace won't be in for a few hours, so you've got some time to burn.”

  Inside of the room, Emma was surprised to find it pretty bare. She imagined these shifter bodyguards would have some personality...but the room was bland. There was a window with a dark curtain pulled over it, a small bed, and a recliner in front of an old tube TV. Emma pulled the curtain to the side, illuminating the room with thousands of tiny dust motes floating through the air. Outside, she was greeted with the perfect view of a parking lot full vehicles in varying states of disrepair.

  She opened a door, pleased to find a small bathroom. She hesitantly smelled herself, realizing she was way overdue for a shower. Plus, she had a few hours to kill. She went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. It wouldn't latch, but she'd locked the door to the room, so it hardly mattered.

  She stripped down, hopping in the shower. The water pressure sucked, and she had to use man soap, but it was glorious. She wasn't sure how long she stayed in the shower, but when she eventually got out, she heard the door open to the room.

  Emma froze, unsure of what to do. Could it be the man assigned to guard her? No, he was supposed to be gone for hours, and besides, she heard two men talking. She wasn't able to make out what they were saying, so she padded over to the door, still sopping wet. She pressed an ear to the door, trying to hear. One man, who sounded angry, kept rambling on, and the other man replied with short, one word answers.

  She still couldn't make out much, so she leaned against the door a little bit more, but the door latch gave under her weight, sending her into the room. As the door swung open, Emma's eyes wide, taking in everything: a large man with shoulder length brown hair and a thick, dark beard. His golden eyes went almost as wide as hers, his mouth open but not saying anything. In one hand, he held a phone. So, there's only one man in the room. Better than two, flashed through her mind.

  And then she hit the floor, bouncing and rolling. She let out a muffled, “Oomph!” Ending up on her back, she stared up at the man. He stood over her, his massive body blocking out the one dim light bulb in the room. Still, she noticed that even shadowed, his eyes were still piercing. She watched as his eyes slowly trailed down from her face, to her exposed breasts, then down to the place between her legs. If possible, his eyes went even wider.

  She screamed. Oh, my God! He's just seen me n
aked! Emma rolled up, covering herself the best she could with two hands. “Don't look!”