Hitz
Sherryl D. Hancock
Copyright © Sherryl D. Hancock 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Vulpine Press in the United Kingdom in 2018
ISBN 978-1-910780-57-2
Cover by Claire Wood
www.vulpine-press.com
Thanks to all the hair bands of the eighties, you helped me make it through my teen years! Rock on!
Also in the Wild Irish Silence series:
Sparks
In the Fast Lane
♫
One ♫
“POLICE! SEARCH WARRANT!”
Billy Montague snapped out of her stupor. She heard a crash as the front door was bashed in, and that was all she needed to hear. Standing unsteadily, she ran for the door to one of the bedrooms. She had remembered there was a window open, and she planned exit stage left. Billy knew if she got busted, Jerith would kill her.
She made it to the bedroom, spurred on by the shouts of the police officers as they entered the living room, but she knew they hadn’t seen her yet. Her jet black curls fanned out behind her like some wild curtain as she recklessly dove through the open window. She landed badly, smacking her shoulder on a large rock, but she got up and started to run.
Just as she’d gotten about two hundred yards away and was thinking she was home free—“Freeze! Police!” The combination of cocaine and adrenaline running through her system told her she could outrun the officer, so she ran faster.
“Freeze or I’ll release my dog!”
Billy Montague didn’t need to hear another word. She stopped dead in her tracks. She was terrified of dogs, and the thought of a police dog trained to kill on command made her shake terribly.
Officer John Reynolds walked over to the young woman as his German Shepard, Rowdy, barked. He could see she was shaking; he wasn’t sure whether it was the drugs or because she was afraid, and he called for a paramedic to check her out.
“It’s okay, miss. He won’t hurt you if you don’t resist.”
Billy looked at the man in the police uniform, her eyes full of terror, then over to the dog. She put her hands behind her back and the officer almost laughed; it was the textbook example of a suspect’s fear of animals. Many people were more afraid of police dogs than they were the police, simply because it was difficult to sue a dog for gnawing off one of your important body parts in the commission of his duty. Hence the assumption that police dogs got to be brutal when the police officers couldn’t—not necessarily true, but useful for stopping fleeing suspects and avoiding tiring foot pursuits.
Reynolds put the cuffs on her small wrists and walked her back over to the scene. He read her her rights and then questioned her briefly, asking her name and other minor questions. Afterward he put her in the back of a patrol car and went to report in.
Billy sat in the back of the car, smelling the sweat and stink of probably hundreds of other prisoners who had sat in it before her. She couldn’t believe she was actually there. Her mind swirled with the possible consequences. Jerith had been threatening for a long time to kick her out of the band and find a new lead singer; maybe this would give him the reason he’d been looking for. Maybe she’d actually go to prison for years. She didn’t know how these things worked—she’d never been arrested before. She was afraid of what would happen to her, and her teeth began to chatter.
She rested her head against the window. She felt sick, and her head was fuzzy; she knew it was the cocaine she’d snorted earlier, and that scared her too. What if she’d snorted too much this time? What if she died sitting in this stupid car, waiting for the cop to come back? She freaked out then.
Officer Reynolds had gotten halfway up to the house when he heard a pounding. He looked back at his car and saw that the woman he had just put inside it was now banging her head on the window and screaming. He ran back to the car and opened the door carefully so she wouldn’t fall out—which she managed to do anyway. He managed to keep her from colliding with the pavement. The last thing he wanted was to have to fill out paperwork on a prisoner injury while in custody.
“Hey!” he yelled over her screams. “Calm down! Damn it, calm down!” He struggled with her as she tried to stand, but she fought his assistance. She wheeled around, trying to bite him, and he took her to the ground on her stomach, kicking and struggling.
“Damn it, lady, I’m gonna have to call my dog over!” he yelled finally, trying to scare her into calming down. He really didn’t want her to hurt herself.
She stilled instantly. She craned her head around to look at him. “Please don’t, mister. I’ll be good.” Her voice was almost childlike.
“Okay,” Reynolds said as he hauled her to her feet as gently as he could. “But I don’t want you banging up my patrol car either, you got it?”
Billy nodded, wide-eyed. Reynolds could see that her pupils were dilated. He decided he’d better get the paramedics over sooner rather than later. He radioed it in and had her sit in the car, but he left the door open and stood watch over her. When the paramedics arrived, he moved toward the house again, intent on reporting in. Looking around, he saw the sergeant in charge of the warrant service and walked over to her.
Sergeant Nicolette Harris stood five foot six inches tall. She had a petite frame, balanced nicely by the nasty-looking forty-five-caliber SIG Sauer she carried on her right hip. She had straight deep-auburn hair that fell two inches past her shoulders and was cut to frame her face attractively, although on this particular day she had it up in a businesslike bun. Basically, she was beautiful, and just about every junior officer she worked with had been in love with her at one point or another, though she usually shrugged off their advances, compliments, and whatnot. As John Reynolds approached her, he wondered again what such a beautiful woman was doing being a cop. It wasn’t that he was prejudiced—he knew she could do the job well enough; she’d proven it by making sergeant—he just thought she should be a model or something.
Nicolette looked up at him as he approached, her emerald green eyes, enhanced by the simple makeup she wore, almost twinkling as she smiled at him. She liked Reynolds; he was one of the few cops that had kept his compliments and suggestions to himself, although sometimes she could see it in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. She respected a man who didn’t find it necessary to make a play every chance he got. She had long since put the kibosh on dating cops. She’d been married to one for six years, and that had been plenty for her.
“Reynolds,” she said, her voice friendly. “You and Rowdy catch our runner?”
“Yeah,” John replied. “She’s a real mess though. I think she was hyped on something, and then Rowdy basically scared her shitless.”
“Great,” Nicolette said, frowning.
“Don’t worry, I got the EMTs checking her out right now.”
“Good, okay. Did you get her name? Is she on the arrest list?” Nicolette asked, but remembered as she said it that there were no female names on the list.
“Well, she might be—her name’s Billy.”
Nicolette raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure?”
“Not really. She said her name’s Billy Montague,” Reynolds said, sounding hopeful that the woman hadn’t lied to him.
Nicolette checked the warrant list and shook her head. “Not on here, but th
at doesn’t mean she was lying. Go see how she is, and see if you can get any ID or anything. Let me know, okay?”
“You got it, boss.” Reynolds smiled as he turned to leave the house.
An hour later Nicolette was standing outside, watching the last of the search warrant team work through the house. A brand new black BMW Z4 drove up behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a man getting out of the car. She wondered idly if he was on the warrant list; it wasn’t unusual to have a suspect drive up during a raid or warrant. It was convenient sometimes. She looked the guy over. She estimated that he was six feet tall, with a lean swimmer’s build. He had long, straight blond hair that fell halfway down his back, and as he walked toward her she noticed he had blue eyes. He was fairly good-looking, but long hair wasn’t usually her thing; in her business, long hair on a non-narc usually signaled a dirtbag. Though this man didn’t look like a dirtbag; he was dressed in blue jeans and a white cotton shirt open at the neck, with expensive-looking white leather boots. Maybe he was a dealer, she thought.
Jerith Michaels looked Nicolette over as he approached, thinking if she was a cop, he’d love to get arrested by her. He’d seen the police cars when he drove up the street, and he had a sick feeling that it was some kind of narcotics bust. He noticed the gold shield clipped to her belt and knew that she was indeed a police officer.
“Hi,” he said, smiling at her.
She looked back at him pointedly, not returning the smile. “Can I help you?”
“Ah,” Jerith said, hesitating. Realizing she must think he was here looking to buy drugs or something, he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I came here to pick up a friend of mine.”
Nicolette nodded, a knowing look in her eyes. Jerith noticed distractedly that her eyes were an incredible shade of green. “No, really,” he said, almost laughing at the ridiculous situation that Billy had put him in again. “I’m looking for Billy Montague. She’s about five foot nothin’, black curly hair, blue eyes, probably a raving lunatic…” He smiled at the police officer again.
Nicolette stared back at him calmly, not visibly affected by his charm. “Yes, she’s been arrested.”
“Oh crap.” Jerith closed his eyes for a second, then opened one to look at her comically. “I have this little problem then.”
“And what is that, Mr…”
“Michaels, Jerith Michaels.” He held his hand out to her.
Nicolette extended her hand, and he grabbed it, shaking it firmly. “Do you have some identification, Mr. Michaels?” she asked.
Jerith pulled out his driver’s license and handed it to her. She looked it over and compared it to a list she held. Then she handed it back to him. “What is the problem, Mr. Michaels?” Nicolette repeated, sounding every bit the police sergeant.
“Well, I need to find out how long she’ll be up the river for, because we have a concert in about three days and an album to cut after that. If Billy’s not there, our producer will kill us, and maybe cancel our contract if the mood takes him.”
Nicolette stared back at him, trying to decide if he was trying to bullshit her. “Up the river?”
“In the big house, locked up, put away… busted?” He was grinning openly now.
Nicolette had to admit he was charming, but she knew better. “Your, ah, friend will be in custody for twenty-four hours before she is arraigned, at which time you’ll be able to bail her out.”
“In custody,” Jerith said, nodding. “I knew I missed one. Twenty-four hours, you say?”
“Yes, in custody for twenty-four hours.”
“Okay, now I have another problem.” Jerith looked embarrassed.
Nicolette sighed, looking at him wearily “What’s that, Mr. Michaels?”
“The press.”
“The press?”
“Yeah, you know—news cameras, regular cameras, CD recorders, pen and paper, whatever. The press.”
“I know what they are, Mr. Michaels. How do they relate to your problem?” Nicolette couldn’t stop herself smiling this time.
“Oh, well, you see, Billy’s, uh, well, famous—well, maybe infamous would be a better way to put it—and I would just be grateful if she didn’t end up all over the news for this little fiasco of hers.”
“I see. Well, I can make sure there are no members of the press at the arraignment, and when she’s released.” She gave him a pointed look then. “After that it will be up to you to keep her out of the papers.”
“Oh, that would be great. Could you really do that?”
“I’m heading up this warrant—I’m sure I can do that much, yes.”
“And you are?”
Nicolette pulled one of her business cards out of her jacket pocket and handed it to him. “Sergeant Nicolette Harris, Sacramento Police Department.”
Jerith took the card, looking sufficiently impressed by it. “Sergeant Harris,” he said, extending his hand to her again. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate this.”
“No problem, Mr. Michaels,” Nicolette said, shaking his hand again. She noted that he held it just a second longer than necessary, and he was looking straight into her eyes.
He turned and went back to his car. He flipped her a wave as he drove away.
****
The next morning, Jerith managed to bail Billy out and get her out of the building without incident. In fact, Sergeant Harris had arranged it so that they were escorted out a back door, to avoid any chance of meeting with the press.
Billy was sufficiently cowed. She looked awful; her hair was a mess, her face was a mess, her clothes were dirty.
“You look like shit,” Jerith said, glancing over at her as he drove toward their hotel.
“I love you too,” Billy retorted tiredly. “Look, Kid, I know you’re pissed, okay, but could we skip the lecture till I’ve had a bath, some real sleep, and a meal?”
Jerith looked at her, his eyes narrowed, as he nodded. “But don’t think I’m gonna cool off on this one, Billy. You could have really fucked us here.”
“I know, I know,” Billy said, leaning against the window.
Twenty minutes later he escorted her up to her hotel room, the one adjacent to his. “We will talk tonight,” he warned her as she pushed open the door. She nodded and gave him a nasty look as she closed it behind her.
Jerith stood looking at the door for a minute, then, shaking his head, he walked over to his own room. Inside, he kicked the door closed with a booted foot then pulled out the card the sergeant had given him the day before. Sitting down on the bed, he picked up the phone and set it on his lap. He dialed her office number.
Her voicemail picked up, telling him she was out of the office for two days. Hanging up, he looked down at the card again. It had a cell phone number, and he wondered if he should be so persistent. But a little voice in his head said, “Do it!”—and he always listened to that little voice; it was usually right. He dialed the number and left a brief message, identifying himself and asking her if she could give him a call at her convenience.
Twenty minutes later, the room phone rang. Jerith reached over and picked it up.
“Hello?” he said hopefully.
“Hi, Mr. Michaels. You called?” Nicolette’s voice was all business.
“Sergeant Harris, good morning. Yes, I called—I wanted to talk to you.”
“And why was that, Mr. Michaels?” she asked lightly.
“First of all, I wanted to thank you for your assistance.”
“No problem.”
“Secondly,” Jerith said, slightly hesitantly, “I’d like to take you to lunch.”
Nicolette was silent for a long moment, and Jerith thought his little voice had failed him this time.
“Mr. Michaels,” she began cautiously, “that’s not really necessary. I was only doing my job yesterday.”
“Well, I’d say it was more than your job.”
“Okay, even if it was, you don’t need to take me to lunch. Your thanks is plenty.”
“Well, I think it is necessary, and I want to.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea…” Nicolette trailed off, obviously hoping he’d give up.
Giving up was not one of Jerith Michaels’ strong suits. “And I do. Come on, how dangerous can I be at lunch, in public?”
Nicolette grinned. “Not too dangerous, I suppose.”
“Great! I’ll pick you up. Where do you live?” Jerith said, seizing her momentary weakness.
“Ah, how about I pick you up?” Nicolette’s tone had changed slightly.
“Why?” Jerith asked, but then understanding dawned. “You don’t trust me?”
“Mr. Michaels, I don’t trust anyone I’ve just met,” Nicolette replied calmly.
“Okay, you win. I’m at the Hyatt Regency downtown. Say… eleven?”
“A little early for lunch, isn’t it?” Nicolette said, but there was humor in her voice again.
“You caught me—I’m an early eater. An early riser too. What can I say, I had a broken childhood.” Jerith’s voice was matter-of-fact, and Nicolette laughed lightly. Jerith found he liked the sound.
“Okay, eleven. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll meet you out front… wouldn’t want you to have to come to my room, or anything.”
“Can’t have that.”
An hour and a half later, Nicolette pulled up in front of the Hyatt Regency. Jerith was sitting on one of the stone steps; he’d been talking to the doorman, laughing, as she drove up. He looked up and smiled at her. Standing, he extended his hand to the doorman. They shook hands and then he walked over to the car.
Nicolette looked much more casual than she had the day before. She was wearing a cream-colored shirt that ended just at the top of a printed skirt that reached about four inches from her knees, and black sandals. Her hair was loose, but her makeup was almost the same as it had been before.
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