Behind the Badge

by J. D. Cunegan

  Richards stopped, barely keeping his annoyance in check. “You're skating on very thin ice, Counselor.”

  If there was one thing Richards didn't care for, it was arrogance -- which Lori Taylor apparently had in spades. He also didn't care for those who underestimated his people, or his willingness to do whatever was necessary to protect them. Hidden away in one of the drawers of his desk was plenty of evidence of just how far Richards was willing to go. He wasn't proud of what he had done to dismantle the Order two months ago, but his actions meant the end of an ordeal that threatened his best detective and the closest thing he ever had to a daughter.

  If David Gregor didn't scare Richards, then some zealot with a law degree sure wasn't going to rattle him.

  “Then I guess it's a good thing I know how to swim,” Lori said with a smirk.

  Clenching his jaw, and once again bemoaning all of the red tape he had to deal with as captain, Richards pushed his way past Lori again. Retirement was looking more and more enticing by the day. Rounding the corner into the Holding area, Richards stopped in his tracks and dropped his keys when he was greeted with the sight of two completely empty cells. The clack of heels against the floor stopped behind him, and Richards reached for his phone.

  “Where the hell are my clients?!” Lori almost shouted.

  Rolling his eyes and deciding to bite back the insult tickling the tip of his tongue, Richards whirled back around to return to his office.

  CHAPTER 30

  “What do you mean, they're gone?!”

  Jill hadn't even bothered to knock before barging into Captain Richards' office, having made record time coming back to the precinct from the hospital. She had planned to investigate what might have led to Colonel Downs' heart attack, every instinct telling her it was someone trying to finish the job their four suspects had started the previous night. But once Richards got word to Jill that the four cops in question were no longer in custody, she did a complete about-face.

  “What about our security cameras?” she demanded before her captain could respond, ignoring the woman sitting on the couch across from Richards' desk. “I mean, honestly, how can four people behind bars just... disappear?!”

  “Detective,” Richards cautioned.

  “No!” Jill whirled around to glare at the woman sitting in her captain's office, opening her mouth to ask who she was, but the emotion of the moment was so raw at this point that there wasn't much else on the detective's mind. “You cannot tell me they're just... not there! People don't just disappear from Holding!”

  The woman Jill had just glared at stood. “I understand your frustration, Detective --”

  “You don't understand jack shit!” Jill bit back, sizing up the other woman. Whoever she was, she didn't look like a cop. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

  “Lori Taylor.” The other woman straightened her spine, keeping her hands clasped together in front of her body. “Your department has hired me to provide legal advice.”

  Jill arched a brow. If nothing else, the timing was fishy. Where was legal representation for those four cops when this whole thing started? “A lawyer.”

  The captain removed his glasses and tossed them onto his desk. “Ms. Taylor was here to break our suspects out of Holding, but it appears someone beat her to it.”

  “I was not breaking them out,” Lori shot back in a clipped tone. “I am merely protecting their legally-guaranteed rights.”

  “We are talking about four murderers and a money launderer,” Jill argued, stepping forward until she and the lawyer were face-to-face. Jill's hands had curled into fists on their own accord, and Jill had to force herself to relax her fingers. She saw her captain now standing next to her, catching his presence out of the corner of her eye.

  “Alleged murderers,” Lori almost whispered. “Feel free to prove it... if you can.”

  “That a challenge, Counselor?” Jill narrowed her gaze.

  “Take it easy, Detective,” Richards warned.

  Jill didn't often have to deal with lawyers -- which was surprising, considering how much of her job was spent interrogating suspects and other persons of interest. For the most part, those she questioned either waived their rights or weren't well-versed enough to realize what their rights were. Even the rare instance in which Jill had to deal with an attorney had, by and large, gone smoothly. She understood lawyers had a job to do, just as she asked they understand she had a job to do. Nine times out of ten, there were no issues.

  But something told Jill this woman would be different. Even the way she carried herself sent up dozens of red flags.

  “There is a 17-year-old boy dead in our morgue,” Jill said through clenched teeth. “His family is convinced we won't do anything about that, and I will do my best to make sure I prove her wrong. I don't care how many Georgetown law interns the Bishop sends down here, none of you are going to keep me from doing my job and showing the Buckners that sometimes, the system really does work.”

  “And you'll do it by going through me.” Lori didn't miss a beat, folding her arms over her chest and closing what little distance remained between the two women.

  “How are you supposed to represent your clients if you don't even know where they are?” Richards asked.

  Lori's navy blue eyes never left Jill's. “Then I guess this is the part where you find them.”

  “And what's to say you're not behind their disappearance?” The words were out of Jill's mouth before she could stop herself.

  Grabbing her leather satchel from the couch, Lori hoisted it over her shoulder before regarding the detective again. “For the sake of your career, let's pretend you never said that.” Lori approached Jill again, peering down her nose at the detective. “You are not your father. The sooner you accept that, the better off we'll all be.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Fifteen years ago...

  “Your weapon,” the masked man ordered. “Kick it to the other side of the street.”

  Every instinct told Paul Andersen not to do what was asked of him, his police mind working through different scenarios in which he could disarm the man standing behind him. It was a move Paul had already pulled off a couple times in his years as a detective, but if the man pointing a gun at the base of his skull was a cop like the man lying face-down on the pavement, he would likely see any move Paul could make coming. Paul sucked in a deep breath and cursed at himself before kicking both his gun and his badge away with his right foot.

  “Good.” The man slowly circled around to face Paul, handgun cradled in both of his hands. He was covered from head to toe in black, and all Paul could see under the street lights were dark, wide eyes. They looked less like the eyes of a cop and more like the eyes of someone deranged, someone broken to the point where doing harm to others seemed like a good idea.

  Paul placed his hands on the back of his head, fingers interlocking. There was a dull throb from the blow to his temple. “Friend of yours?”

  “No concern of yours,” the masked man countered, deliberately dropping to a knee to check Officer Brady for a pulse. Satisfied the other man was still alive, the masked man stood upright again and took a step toward the detective, the barrel of his gun now pointed at Paul's forehead. His hands were steady on the weapon, his arms perfectly still even as he took methodical, purposeful steps.

  “He assaulted a cop,” Paul said, “so it actually is a concern of mine.”

  “A cop who can't keep his nose out of things.”

  Paul rolled his eyes, consequence be damned. Because that was something he had heard far too many times over the course of his career. Most of the time, it came from suspects or their attorneys, people desperate to get out of the situation they had found themselves in and willing to do whatever necessary to escape the moment. But to hear it from someone who Paul suspected to also be a badge, to hear it from someone whose job it was to dig into the truth, no matter what? He couldn't abide by that.

  Never mind the fact that being nosy was part of a cop’
s job description. They were always sticking their noses where people didn’t want them; the only difference was, that was usually the criminal element. The less cops knew, the less likely they were to get into trouble. But for the cops themselves to be the ones to put up the proverbial roadblocks…

  Paul's arm swiped at the masked man's wrist before he could react, the force of the blow knocking the weapon out of his hand. Paul closed the distance as the man doubled over, his fist colliding with the masked man's neck. He fell back with a choke, both hands wrapping around his neck as the masked man dropped to the ground. Paul kicked the weapon aside, ignoring the violent coughs coming from the masked man before dropping to a knee and yanking off the mask.

  He didn't recognize the man, but at least Paul had a face to go off of. Reaching through the driver's side window of his car, blinking back the stars in his eyes from the sudden movement of bending at the waist, Paul grabbed the handpiece from his dispatch radio. “This is Detective Andersen, badge number 32938. I have two suspects in custody on the corner of Lombard and Commerce. One suspect is unconscious. Requesting assistance in getting suspects back to the station.”

  The garbled approval coming from Dispatch barely reached Paul's ears as he tossed the handpiece back onto the seat and collapsed onto his backside. His back was resting against the side of his unmarked car, and the stars in Paul's eyes had grown brighter. The dull throb in the side of Paul's head had grown more intense since his brief fight with the masked man, and a wave of nausea overcame the detective. But before the discomfort could truly register, Paul fell to his side and passed out.

  CHAPTER 32

  Present day...

  Before meeting Lori Taylor, Jill couldn't remember the last time a public official had angered her so much. Not that Lori was actually a public official; she was a lawyer, one who often gave her services to whoever could afford her, regardless of other merits. But her appearance didn't strike Jill as a coincidence, especially since it came almost simultaneously with the disappearance of their four suspects. If Jill's hunch was right and those two occurrences were connected in some way, she probably wouldn't find the four cops through official means.

  Even if Lori's appearance didn't have anything to do with where the four suspects in Holding wound up, Jill was still of the mindset that someone affiliated with the department has sprung them free. The “blue wall” she had long considered an urban legend was in fact reality, and for the first time in her career, Jill was staring right at it. It was one thing to know there were corrupt cops in her department; actually having to deal with some of them in the process of trying to do her job was another matter entirely. The fact that she and David Gregor were actually on the same side on this issue only vexed her further.

  So as it always seemed to be these days, the black leather was a respite for Jill. Her bodysuit literally covered her from her neck to her feet, and there was enough give in the suit that she could wear a layer of silver mesh armor underneath and still maintain her agility and maneuverability. Her black elbow-length gloves matched the rest of the bodysuit, and Jill was glad to still have her combat boots from her Army days. Two cans of black spray paint later, and Jill had her costume.

  The silver utility belt was for show more than anything, and Jill had her katana strapped to her back. The weapon was a family heirloom; her grandfather Wyatt had received in recognition for his valor during World War II, and Wyatt had willed it to Paul. Jill was always supposed to take the blade as her own upon her father's passing, but the heartbreaks of life led her to have the weapon in her possession far sooner than she had wanted. Still, the katana was a constant reminder for Jill of who she was and what she was fighting for. To this point, she had yet to slice human flesh with it. She hoped to keep it that way.

  But since there was virtually no chance of Jill finding the officers in question through official means, another jaunt as the vigilante was her only option. Not that she minded; being Bounty was worth the adrenaline rush at times, and even Jill had to admit there were occasions where she did more good in the black leather than she did when brandishing city-appointed identification and weaponry. To this point, her rooftop inspection of downtown had bore no fruit; even with her infrared sight and enhanced senses, she hadn't yet found the suspects.

  Were they harmed? Were they roaming free like any regular citizen? The mysterious reality behind their collective Houdini act made both possibilities equally plausible. Hell, for all Jill knew, they were sinking to the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay.

  Then again, the area of downtown surrounded by Baltimore and Water Streets was packed with tourists and locals alike, the Power Plant Live! section of town drawing everyone to it like proverbial moths to the flame. The sheer volume of people made it hard to spot the four she actually needed -- and even if they were here, chasing after them would attract a far larger audience than Jill wanted.

  She had tried to keep a lower profile in the two months since her father's execution and the fall of the Order. Considering how many people had discovered her secret during that ordeal, there was no telling just how many people knew. The fewer people who had a chance to catch sight of her and eventually put two and two together, the better. Public opinion appeared to be equally split on Bounty's presence, and Jill knew a mass reveal would mean not just the end of her career, but also the end of her life as a free woman.

  Janice would kill her if she could see Jill now.

  Boisterous, drunken laughter caught Jill's attention, and from her perch atop one of the buildings on the other side of Frederick Street, she could see three men and a woman emerge from Mex Tequila Bar. Other than stumbling from all the alcohol they seemed to have consumed, the four were none the worse for wear -- and they were the four cops who had been locked up in Holding until several hours ago. Nolan Carter, the apparent leader of this cabal, was at the head of the pack, his left arm flung around Kayla Stevenson's shoulders as she cackled at something he said. She didn’t appear to notice her arm that was still in a sling. They stopped walking as Carter planted a sloppy kiss to her, a display that caused McPhee and Harper to holler and whoop like 12-year-olds.

  Once Carter and Stevenson were done sucking face, they staggered along the sidewalk before turning the corner onto Frederick. A small alley ran between the steakhouse and one of the other buildings across the street from Jill, and she hoped the quartet would duck into that alley. If she was going to take them down as only the vigilante could, she needed as small an audience as possible.

  The fact that these four appeared to be shitfaced was a potential advantage for Jill, but she needed them to turn into that alley.

  Fortunately for her, they did just that.

  As soon as she saw the four turn into the alley, Jill leapt from her rooftop perch and landed on the sidewalk. Letting her momentum drop her into a roll, Jill took a moment to catch her breath before sprinting across the street and slipping into the alley behind the cops. Her infrared sight helped her, considering how dark the alley was, and she unsheathed her sword. Just because she was hoping not to use it, that didn't mean Jill wouldn't make them think she would.

  “Officer Carter,” she called out from behind, twirling the weapon in her hand.

  The laughter stopped, and when the four cops turned to the source of the voice, they each appeared to sober up. Carter pushed through the other three, his hands clenched into fists as he cocked his head to the side. “Well, look who's back for more...”

  “I was hoping you'd been kidnapped,” Jill admitted. “Maybe even tortured a little.”

  Carter shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  Jill matched his shrug with one of her own, her infrared eye pulsating. “S'ok. Kinda jonesing for another fight.”

  She had expected a quip. If nothing else, Carter was a big talker. But he lunged at her instead, swinging his right fist at her temple. Jill leaned back to duck the blow, turning the sword in her hands so the butt of the hilt smacked Carter in the chin. He bit his lip and fell to
the pavement, spitting blood. By the time Jill straightened her posture again, Stevenson rushed at her. The redhead tackled Jill to the ground, leading with her good shoulder. Jill smacked the back of her head against the ground, grunting out in pain, but before Stevenson could get the leverage necessary to start swinging away, Jill tossed the redhead off of her.

  By the time Jill got upright again, McPhee and Harper were on either side of her. McPhee, the burly man who had put the bullet in Devin's head, drew his handgun and cocked it. Jill fought the urge to roll her eyes before Harper's movement caught her eye. He lunged for her, and Jill spun on the balls of her feet, the sole of her right boot catching Harper right in the sternum. A gunshot rang out as Jill executed the roundhouse kick, but the bullet ricocheted off her blade.

  By the time Harper hit the ground, writhing in pain, she heard another howl. Turning around, she saw Carter rolling back and forth on the pavement, clutching a hand over his right shoulder. Both his hand and shirt were soaked in blood.

  “Really hope that gun's not police-issued,” Jill teased before punching McPhee in the face.

  As big as McPhee was, the blow only sent him staggering back a couple steps. He gathered himself almost instantly, ignoring his fallen comrade and bum-rushing Jill. But his size and his inebriated state came with a disadvantage, one Jill used with ease. She side-stepped with the seeming lack of effort most often demonstrated by a trained bullfighter, smacking McPhee in the base of his skull with the butt of her weapon. He fell face-first with a grunt.

  Jill heard a gun cocking from over her shoulder. Even without looking, she knew it was Stevenson... because the three men were all on the ground in a heap in front of her. Jill kept motionless, even as she listened to Stevenson's footsteps. She could also hear the officer's labored, clipped breaths. If Jill had to guess, Stevenson's hand was shaking as it gripped the gun.