Building Empires (MidKnight Blue Book 1)

by Sherryl Hancock

  The chief laughed. “Always prepared aren’t you?” he said to her, while grinning at Tom Ryan.

  “Well, you never know,” Midnight said, handing him the document.

  The chief stood, taking the report and shook her hand. “I will read this with interest Sergeant Chevalier, and I’ll let you know.”

  Midnight and Ryan left. Once outside of the building, Midnight and Tom laughed and hugged. “Well little girl,” Tom said. “You’re certainly on your way now.”

  “Sergeant,” Midnight said, trying out the title. “Holy shit!”

  Later that week Midnight received word that her plan for her Former Organized Riot Seekers, FORS, was a go. She was ecstatic.

  San Diego, California, 1987

  Joe Sinclair lay sleeping on his stomach when the sound of someone pounding on his front door woke him. He turned over with a groan and glanced at the clock on his nightstand.

  “One o’clock in the fucking morning?” he muttered to himself in his thick English accent. “Someone better be dying,” he growled as he hauled himself out of bed.

  Reaching up to rub sleep out of his light blue eyes, he walked through the house turning on lights as he went. When he reached the front door, he ran a hand through his long dirty-blond hair. He was ready to take the head off of whoever stood there.

  At the front door, he paused. “Who is it?”

  He heard a woman’s voice say, “It’s me.”

  He was fairly sure it was Midnight, his partner of just under a year, but her voice sounded strange. He opened the door and saw her leaning against one of the pillars on his front porch. At five foot five tall, she was a tiny little thing, compared to his six foot two height. She was wearing her standard uniform of jeans, a cotton button up shirt, boots, and her leather FORS jacket. Joe always thought of her as his little powerhouse of a partner. She was small in stature, but dangerous as hell in a fight. He was frequently thankful that they were on the same side.

  Joe noted that her face was devoid of all makeup, which in and of itself wasn’t surprising as Midnight didn’t use a lot of makeup. What was a surprise was that she looked like she’d been crying. Crying was not something Midnight Chevalier did. She tended to hold her emotions inside and take them out at the firing range, or, more often, on the gas pedal of her classic Corvette.

  “Midnight …” Joe began, not sure what was going on and, therefore not sure what to say, but she cut him off with an angry look.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” she asked, her gold-green eyes flashing in the dim light of the porch. “Where was your head?”

  Her voice had a slightly hysterical ring to it, but he wasn’t sure how to answer her question. He’d been involved in a shooting that day, but he knew it had been a good shoot. The kid had pointed a MAC 10 at him, with his finger on the trigger and had said, “Move and you’re dead, cop!” Joe had dropped to one knee, drawn his weapon, and fired before the kid could even blink. The department had already given him a preliminary clearance on it, so why was she freaking out?

  “Night,” Joe said, his voice calm and low, “why don’t you come inside?”

  She hesitated for a moment, obviously debating his offer, which was strange for her. In the year that they had worked together, Midnight and Joe had gotten very close. They had spent many nights working until dawn, doing their best to make Midnight’s brainchild, the gang task force, “FORS,” work.

  “Come on, Night,” Joe prompted gently.

  Finally, she walked inside, her eyes flicking up at him as she walked past. He closed the front door and turned to her. In the light of the entryway, Joe could see that her eyes had a glassy look to them. She had obviously been drinking. She was definitely not leaving in her own car tonight. Joe made a mental note to get her keys when he could.

  She stared at him with an angry look on her face. Joe was used to seeing that look turned on other members of FORS, but she had never turned it on him. He decided he’d better be really careful, she was in a real knot over something and he didn’t want to make things worse.

  “So what’s going on?” he asked, trying to sound casual as he walked back toward his bedroom to put on a shirt.

  Midnight followed him, silent for the moment. Joe wasn’t sure if she was trying to rein in her emotions or if she was gearing up to tell him something she didn’t think he’d want to hear. He went over to his bed and picked up the shirt he’d discarded earlier. Sitting down on his bed, he pulled it on without bothering to button it.

  He sat with one foot up on the side rail of the bed and one arm resting on his knee as he watched Midnight pace. She walked back and forth in front of him for a long time, without saying anything, without looking at him.

  “Midnight!” Joe yelled finally, losing his patience. “What the fuck is going on?”

  She stopped pacing at the sound of his voice and focused on him. “I just want you to tell me,” she began, her voice steely, “where your head was. What were you thinking, Joe? You blew away a kid!” On the last word her voice rose hysterically, and a chill ran through Joe’s body at the sound of it.

  “What do you mean, what was I thinking?” he asked hesitantly, trying to test out her state of mind. What was she trying to get at? He knew that kid would have blown him away without a second thought. What did Midnight think he could have done differently?

  “You know what I mean, Joe!” she exclaimed, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe that he could be so dense. “Why did you have to shoot that kid?”

  Now Joe was getting mad, was she crazy or what? He didn’t know what was going on, but he definitely didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. She strode over to him, stood directly in front of him, and stared at him accusingly.

  “Midnight,” Joe began. He was angry now, but he spoke slowly and deliberately, like he was speaking to a child. “You know bloody well why I had to shoot that kid. It was him or me!”

  “Bullshit, Joe! You didn’t have to kill him!” Her voice was ragged. She shook her head, as if she didn’t understand what he was saying. “He was just a kid, he was only sixteen! Just a kid …” Her voice trailed off as she walked over to his bedroom window and stared out into the night.

  Joe stood and walked over to her. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. She looked up at him and he could tell she was still mad, he just didn’t know why.

  “What is going on with you, Midnight? You know that I did what any other well-trained cop would have done. What even you would have done in my shoes.”

  “Like hell I would have!” she yelled. Stepping back to get away from him, she found herself against the window.

  Joe moved a step closer to her, determined to get to the heart of the matter.

  “What’s really going on, huh?” he asked, his voice gentle, but she wasn’t taken in.

  He was surprised when she slapped him. His left cheek stung. He was so shocked for a minute that he didn’t hear what she was saying.

  “And how dare you say I could kill a kid.” She was crying now. “You cold bastard! That kid was the same age as my brother when—” She drew a jagged breath.

  “Whoa!” he said as he stepped back from her. “That’s what this is all about?”

  Midnight wiped her hand across her eyes, brushing away her tears, and shook her head vehemently. He could see that she was trying desperately to hold onto her anger, and she was doing a damned good job.

  “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about Sinclair,” she said, but her voice wavered, and Joe moved in for the kill.

  “You’re thinking of your brother. That kid wasn’t like Thomas, Midnight. That kid was a killer, a born killer,” he said, trying to get through to her. “This isn’t about me, is it?”

  She went quiet and almost retracted into herself. He could see she wasn’t going to let him talk her out of this. When she looked at him, he could see that fire blazed in her eyes, she was not about to calm down that easy.

&n
bsp; “No,” she said, her voice angry and sarcastic, “it is about you!” She shoved him away from her.

  He was surprised by her strength, as many had been before him; he actually stumbled back from the force she’d used. When he saw her hand come up to slap him again, he grabbed her wrist.

  “Oh no, not again!” he said to her, his voice gravelly with anger.

  Seeing her attack thwarted, Midnight balled up her other hand in a fist. When she brought it up to strike him, he grabbed that wrist as well. She struggled with him furiously, trying to wrench free of his grasp, but he was too strong.

  “Let go of me!” she roared.

  Both of her hands were balled into fists now and Joe knew if he let her go, she’d probably do some real damage. He decided that getting the crap beaten out of him would not be productive at this time.

  “Midnight! Stop it! Calm the hell down!” he yelled, but her struggles only increased at the anger in his voice.

  In a last ditch effort he turned to lay her on the bed and moved to straddle her. He put just enough weight on her to keep her from kicking him, and increased the pressure on her wrists until she cried out. She calmed down then; she knew she couldn’t win this one. He outweighed her by about seventy-five pounds of extra muscle.

  “Now are you going to relax?” he asked, calmer now, and he smiled down at her. “Or do I have to slap you?” There was humor in his voice, but he was serious.

  “Joe,” she said her voice still harsh, but less hysterical, “get the fuck off me!”

  She stared up at him, she seemed calmer, but Joe knew better than to trust her, and he didn’t, not one bit.

  “Like hell I will,” he said to her. “Now,” he began, his voice soft and encouraging, “talk to me, Night, tell me what’s going on with you.” Her eyes welled up with fresh tears. “God, don’t do that, Midnight. Just talk to me, babe,” he said, hating the look in her eyes.

  Joe hadn’t realized until this moment how much she had come to mean to him over the past year. She’d always been the fiery sergeant that had hired him to be her second in command. The one that had told him straight out the first time they’d met that she didn’t go for any of that “chasing around the desk crap.” Midnight was the headstrong, hard-as-nails woman who, in seven short years, had gone from being a gang member to being a sergeant with San Diego Police Department with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a law degree. She took no crap from the members of her task force, hardened ex-gang members and leaders of some of the fiercest gangs in the country. She was a woman who could throw down with the most dangerous gang leaders and come out on top every time.

  Suddenly, Joe was seeing her vulnerable side. He’d never seen her with her guard down before. Her attitude was that men would trample her heart while they were making their way to her bed. Now she was hurting, and he knew that he cared about her a great deal, more than he’d thought possible. She was his friend, his confidant and his partner. It made him all the more determined to help her through whatever was hurting her. Still, she said nothing; she just stared up at him. At least the look she was giving him wasn’t accusing anymore.

  “Night, come on, talk to me,” he pleaded with her again.

  She shook her head and closed her eyes, like she was trying to block out his words.

  “Night!” he yelled then, his voice cutting through her reserves.

  Joe was frustrated, he knew that she needed to talk through this, but if he couldn’t get her to calm down long enough to do that, they weren’t going to get anywhere. He knew that whatever was bothering her would be left to fester inside her. He didn’t want that, he knew what that could do to a person.

  Without stopping to think about the consequences, Joe moved his lips to hers and kissed her softly. Shocked at himself, he pulled back, his face still only inches from hers, as his eyes stared into hers. He hadn’t really intended to kiss her and he began to wonder what she would do. The look in her eyes wasn’t angry, but surprised. He stared at her, searching her eyes for some reassurance. They had never crossed this line before, and the idea of doing so scared him.

  They were inexplicably drawn together, and Joe leaned down again to kiss her, and felt her respond to his kiss. After a few minutes he let go of her wrists and she immediately put one hand at the base of his neck, while the other grabbed a handful of his long hair. He gently cradled her face in his hands. Their passion increased and he pulled away again to look down at her.

  “Night,” he said breathlessly but with concerned eyes, “is this okay? Are you okay?” His voice conveyed his confusion at their new intimacy. Their friendship meant everything to him; he didn’t want to lose it just for the sake of sex. If she had any doubt, he was willing to stop this now.

  In response to his question she tightened her hold on his hair and pulled his head back down to hers.

  When their lips met again, Joe knew there would be no more questions, no more talking, just what had been inevitable for them from the beginning.

  His hands slid over her clothes, outlining the body that many men dreamed about. Her hands tightened in his hair, as she pressed closer to him. Encouraged, Joe tugged the tails of her shirt out of her jeans and reached down to unbutton it. She pulled his shirt off his broad shoulders, and grasped at them.

  Midnight was petite, but with just the right amount of curves to make her exceedingly attractive. With her beautiful face, that never required a lot of makeup and her long copper-blond hair, Midnight could bring just about any man to his knees with a look. Midnight was the kind of woman that had a natural, sexy beauty; it lay in her fire, in her passion for what she did.

  When their clothes lay in a pile on the floor next to his bed, Joe’s hands slid over her skin, skimming her breasts, and Midnight gasped against his neck. In response, she kissed his neck, making him groan. There had always been fire between them, usually restricted to witty banter and passionate arguments about work. Now the fire that burned between them was a different one, and they took everything it had to offer.

  By the time his body finally slid inside hers, Midnight was clinging to him in desire. Joe knew it had everything to do with the sexual tension that had been building between them since they’d met.

  Afterwards, they lay together panting and attempted to catch their breath. Midnight nuzzled his neck, feeling both drained and exhilarated. She smiled in the semi-darkness of his room, thinking that this had indeed been worth waiting for. She thanked God that Joe had turned out to be not only a great lover, but also smart enough not to make some stupid comment when they were finished making love. Well, at least he hadn’t yet, she corrected herself.

  Midnight had thought Joe was drop-dead handsome from the first time he’d walked into her office. Of course, she’d never really let on that she thought that, God knew men didn’t need their egos fed any more than necessary. He had long, dirty-blond hair that fell two inches past his shoulders, a strong, chiseled jaw, and a handsome face. On top of that he had light blue eyes that practically glowed against his tanned skin. He was tall, with broad shoulders, a tapered waist and long legs. There wasn’t a damned thing wrong with the man; he was gorgeous. Women in the department thought he was a God.

  Joe lifted his head and looked down at her, his light blue eyes searching her face.

  “So what really happened to your brother?” he asked gently.

  Midnight looked back at him for a moment, and then settled herself more comfortably in his arms. Her finger traced the muscle that stood out on his upper arm that he had wrapped around her waist. His other arm was under her neck, and he reached around to hold her shoulder, his thumb stroking her skin as he waited for an answer.

  “He was stabbed in a gang fight,” she told him, looking innocuous.

  “He was in your gang?”

  Midnight nodded, averting her eyes.

  “And you feel guilty about it,” he surmised.

  She looked at him, her eyes reflecting surprise at his statement. Finally, she nodded.r />
  “I let him in my gang,” she said, shrugging. “He should have been a football star, or some glee club member or something. Anything but a gang member, Joe, he was only sixteen.”

  “And how old were you?” Joe asked.

  “Old enough to know better,” she replied.

  “What? Maybe seventeen, eighteen?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Not exactly worldly wise, love,” he told her, his finger touching her lips.

  “I’d been in the gang since I was fourteen,” she said, shaking her head. “I knew what it was about. In my neighborhood you were either in a gang or had your ass kicked by one.”

  “And that’s why he joined your gang too,” Joe replied.

  Midnight pressed her lips together, unwilling to be excused for her actions. “I could have kept him out,” she said stubbornly.

  Joe shook his head. “Nothing would have kept him out.”

  Midnight knew he was right. Thomas had even threatened to join someone else’s gang if she wouldn’t let him join The Vettes. She’d figured he’d be safer where she could look out for him. She’d been wrong, and she had no intention of forgiving herself for that.

  “So where did you learn to fight the way you do?” Joe asked, having been curious about her abilities ever since he’d met her.

  Midnight laughed softly. “Well, now that’s a little bit of a story …”

  San Diego, California, 1974

  “Move it you stupid puta!” the short stocky Mexican girl with braids snapped.

  Midnight glanced over her shoulder, shocked at the girl’s tone. “I can’t move any faster, there’s a line,” she said, gesturing to the other kids standing in the lunch line.

  “You can get the fuck outta my way,” the girl said, brandishing a meaty fist at Midnight.

  “Dream on …” Midnight muttered, half expecting the other girl to start a fight, feeling that chill of fear run through her. The people at this school were a lot more adversarial than they had been at her last school. She guessed that was the difference between Chula Vista and San Ysidro. It was a poorer neighborhood, so there were tougher kids fighting for their share.