Heat (Tortured Heroes Book 2)

by Jayne Blue

  “Haven’t gotten around to that yet.”

  I found myself wishing for that proctology exam again. I fucking hated this shit. I didn’t need some stranger, former cop or not, telling me how to live my life. I didn’t drink too much. I didn’t take shit out on the women I dated. The rest of it was none of his business. I didn’t say any of that, but if Ken Bardwell was half the detective I was, he already knew all of that.

  “You came up with Brian Macavoy,” he said. My heart lurched. Shit. That was fast. If he had a record of my brief stint with mandated grief counseling, that was probably also written in my file.

  “You were Brian Macavoy’s family liaison.” A statement, not a question. I rubbed at a spot on my shoe.

  Family liaison. It was something we all had to choose. In the event any of us was seriously injured or killed in the line of duty, we had to designate someone to stick with their family. Explain what was happening. Talk to the department for them. It meant I had to go with the crew to Brian’s dad’s house and break the news. Drive him to the hospital. Hold his hand when the doctors finally had to pull the plug.

  “You know,” I finally said, “that proctology exam is looking better and better right about now.”

  Ken tapped his fingers on the file. “I know. Believe me. I know.”

  You don’t know. God, I wanted to scream it in his face.

  “Look.” Bardwell changed his posture and tossed the file on the desk. “Why don’t we start with you telling me about the incident that pretty much landed you here?”

  “Incident? It was a conversation.”

  “In which you threatened a judge.”

  I squeezed my fist against my thigh and stared at a point on the wall.

  “God,” Bardwell said; he looked toward the ceiling and bit his bottom lip. “Tell me you scared the shit out of that bastard.”

  I blinked hard and looked at him. He leaned forward, hands clasped, resting his wrists on his knees. “I hope he shit himself either during or afterward. I followed the Melissa Sweeney case. I’ve got a fourteen-year-old daughter myself. If it had been me, I probably would have done a hell of a lot worse.”

  Laughing, I shook my head. “You’re really good at this or really bad. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Some days I can’t decide either. But it’s a start. I’m not your enemy, Mitch. I swear it. And I know how much guys like you hate coming to guys like me. Especially when it’s forced on you. But I also know what this job is and what it does to your insides. We can help each other if you let me. You need it. You know you need it. As much as I love the fact you got in Judge Pierce’s face, we both know you crossed a line. Now, you can hate my guts and tell me to fuck off. But you can’t bullshit me. It won’t work. If you treat this as more than just a chore you have to check off so the brass will leave you alone for a while. If you trust me a little bit. And I also know how fucking hard that is for guys like us to give. Trust.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “Oh, I know I’m not. I’m smart. I’ve got a PhD and everything.” His wide smile put me at ease a little. He was the kind of guy if we’d met in a bar or at a union picnic I probably would have enjoyed hanging out with. But he wasn’t and this wasn’t. He could joke all he wanted but that wouldn’t stop being true.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve left word no calls unless it’s an emergency. I gotta at least see who this is.”

  Bardwell frowned, but he waved his hand. I stood up and checked the caller ID. It was my contact at the State Police. We’d been playing phone tag about Stella for two days.

  “I need to take this,” I said. Bardwell nodded but he clearly wasn’t happy.

  I stepped into the hall and put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Dave. What did you find out for me?”

  Dave Jarvis let out a loud sigh into my ear. That was never a good sign. It also pissed me off. On the favor scale, he owed me a hell of a lot more.

  “Hey, Mitch. Sorry it took me so long to get back with you. I wanted to be one hundred percent on this because I know this girl’s a personal friend of yours.”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t like his tone one fucking bit. Whatever he had to say I could already tell I wouldn’t like it.

  “Stella Terry. Terry with one ‘e’ and two ‘r’s: you sure that’s right?”

  “Yeah, Dave, it’s right.”

  “Mitch, she’s got a rap sheet a mile long. Felony embezzlement. Some drug charges that didn’t stick. One that did.”

  I’d just crossed over into bizarro world. Honestly, if he’d told me it turned out she was a mass murderer, I might have been less shocked.

  “Shit. Dave, it’s a mistake. She had her ID popped, I’m thinking. You get that right? Somebody fucked up somewhere. For now, you’re going to have to take my word for it. How do I help her unfuck this? Can I bring her down to have her reprinted?”

  “Mitch, you’re not hearing me. This is no mistake. She had her prints taken already. I’m looking at the database right now. She’s in the system.”

  My blood boiled and I did my best to keep my breath even. Ken Bardwell was watching me through a small window in his office door. I didn’t figure swearing and throwing my phone against the wall would do me much good in his notes.

  “Dave, I’m telling you, this is fucked up. Stella Terry is about as straight as they come. I’ve known her since college. She was Macavoy’s fiancé. This is not some side piece. She’s one of ours, Dave.”

  Silence on the other end of the phone. Then Dave blew out a breath. “Okay. I don’t know what that’s about. But it’s not just the record, man. This girl has outstanding warrants in Nevada and New Mexico including one here in Michigan. Drug trafficking. Hard shit.”

  I laughed out loud. Jesus. What a colossal cluster fuck.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Can you send me what you have? I’ll work it from my end with her and get back to you. Sounds like she may need to get a lawyer.”

  “I would say sooner rather than later on that, Gates. She’s been picked up already.”

  My heart turned to stone. “What the fuck do you mean she’s been picked up already?”

  “Got pulled over on a traffic stop in Royal Oak this morning. Arresting officer is a friend of mine. Graham Fuller.”

  Jesus Christ. This was a straight-up nightmare. I clenched my jaw so hard I saw stars. “Dave, where is she now?”

  “Look, I’ve already stuck my neck out about as far …”

  “Dave! I swear to God, I’m not playing. Where the fuck is Stella now?”

  “County jail,” he said. “They booked her a couple of hours ago.”

  The stars went away. Now I saw pure white. I clicked the phone off and turned to Ken Bardwell.

  “I can’t be here,” I said, surprised I could still form sentences. My heart hammered in my throat. Stella. Booked. County jail. She had to be scared out of her mind. I had to get to her.

  “Mitch.”

  “I fucking mean it. There’s a friend of mine in trouble. The really bad kind. I can’t do this right now. Have ’em dock my pay. I don’t give a shit. I need to get out of here. Write whatever you want.”

  “Mitch. Fine. But why don’t we call someone to take you where you need to go? You look like you’re about to murder somebody. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go flying off to …”

  “And I don’t care what you think right now, Dr. Bardwell.” I knew in that rational corner of my brain I’d done nothing to help my case with the department right about now. But I gave zero fucks about that.

  Stella. Alone. Scared. Needing me. And more than an hour drive away.

  Chapter Six

  Stella

  The last few hours of my life seemed to play out like some kind of bad movie I never wanted to star in. I felt numb, drunk almost. Only bits and pieces stuck out. The fluorescent lights buzzed, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The room was cold, bright, bleak. It smelled of bleach and body odor.
The booking officer took down my information. P. Gianetti, her nameplate read. She was short, stout, solid. Over and over I told her and anyone within earshot this was a mistake. But they’d heard all of this before. Of course, everyone said that. P. Gianetti rolled my fingers in sticky ink and took my fingerprints. She handed me a rough paper towel to wash off the dye but the stain wouldn’t quite come out. She led me to an X taped to the floor and told me to look straight ahead. A quick camera flash that blinded me and she told me to turn to the left, then to the right as she completed my mug shots.

  Mug shots. What the hell was happening?

  “What are they charging me with? I’m not sure I understand.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. Plus, I knew better. It wasn’t the type of advice you ever think you’re going to have to use, but the less I said the better. These people were just doing their jobs. I knew that. But right now, no one here was on my side. I was just another probable criminal to be processed into the system. These were thankless jobs. Not glamorous. Dangerous, even. And right now, I was nobody.

  When they took me to a holding cell the muscles in my legs stopped working. God. Chipped yellow paint. Cold metal benches along the wall.

  “You’re lucky,” Officer Gianetti said. She had her brown hair pulled back into a severe bun. She had deep lines on her face and a strong grip as she pulled open the cell door. “Quiet night. That’s Bernice. She probably won’t wake up for a few hours.”

  Bernice slept on her back on one of the benches. Her forearm rested across her face, shielding her eyes from the harsh glare of the overhead lights. I took the bench on the opposite side of the wall. As Officer Gianetti slid the cell door shut I gave her a pleading look.

  “You’ll be able to make a call soon, honey,” she said. Honey. Just that one word turned my insides to gelatin. I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting back tears. They’d give way to hysteria if I wasn't careful.

  I drew my knees up under my chin and hugged myself. Bernice snored and stirred, but she didn’t wake up. Part of me wished she would. The distraction of a conversation might do me good. Right about then, I needed something to ground me. Some lifeline to yank myself away from the madness of this situation. I had to sort out my next step. Who would I call? A lawyer. You’re supposed to call a lawyer. Except the only one I knew just did wills and estate planning. Well, at least it was a start.

  I don’t know how long they kept me there. Hours had passed since the officer pulled me over just past Tyler Smith’s house. It had to be five o’clock. God, even if I was able to get a hold of the one lawyer I knew, she probably wasn’t in her office anymore. My parents in Florida wouldn’t be able to do much for me there and I saw no point in scaring them until I had a better handle on what the hell was happening. God, what was happening? Would I have to spend the night in here?

  I heard a commotion down the hall. I guessed an unruly inmate had been brought in. Bernice stirred again, shifting to her side, facing away from me. I sort of envied her ability to tune completely out at the same time I felt bad for her. What had gone wrong in her life that she felt comfortable enough to sleep so deeply in a county jail holding cell? I just prayed that whoever they brought through wouldn’t become my new cellmate. I didn’t think my luck could hold out that she’d be as complacent as Bernice. Bernice let out a grunting snore as if to punctuate my thought.

  “Where? Down here?” A male voice. Commanding. Authoritative. Loud footsteps across the marble floor. My heart seemed to jump start all over again. I almost couldn’t breathe. I let my legs fall to the floor and sat with my back against the wall, my hands beneath my knees. His silhouette seemed to fill the space on the other side of those bars.

  Mitch.

  My spine turned to water. I shielded my eyes with my hand. God, he looked so tall. So strong. Officer Gianetti stood beside him, glaring up at him with a scowl on her face.

  “Interview room three is open,” she said. “For now, anyway. You can talk in there.”

  Jangling her keys, she motioned for me to come forward. “You’ll need to put your back against the bars and slide your wrists through this opening.” She pointed to a small rectangular cutout in the bars. I knew what she meant to do. Again, that rational corner of my brain told me it was for her safety. She couldn’t risk letting inmates just walk around without being cuffed. But God. She was going to cuff me in front of Mitch. The second I thought it, I caught sight of the pain reflected in his own eyes. He remained perfectly still but his whole body seemed coiled with kinetic energy. Like a tiger just before it made its deadly leap and caught its prey. This might actually be causing him more distress than it was me. Knowing that freed me a little bit. Gave me something to do. I had to manage Mitch. It would be okay.

  “Hey,” I said, jerking my chin at him. “We’ll get this figured out, okay?”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw and his eyes flashed. I did what Officer Gianetti told me and slid my hands through the bars. She cuffed me again, then opened the door to let me out. She kept a hand on my upper arm and led me down the hall with Mitch. He stood beside me, tall, strong, like a moving mountain. We stopped at a gray metal door with a small window cut out.

  When she opened it, it looked like every interview room you see on television. A long metal table and chairs. Blazing overhead lights. Two metal loops at the center of the table. Gianetti pointed to one of the chairs and told me to sit. She had a chain in her hand and meant to thread the cuffs through the loops.

  “Pam, take those off her, for God’s sake. I’m going to be in here with her.”

  “Look, Gates, I get that this isn’t to your liking. But I’ve bent about sixteen rules for you as it is. Don’t push your luck. You might not give a shit about your job, but I care about mine. Now, you can stay in here as long as you like, but the cuffs stay on. And don’t make me out to be the asshole in this scenario because in your right mind, you know I’m not. We good?”

  Mitch let out a grumble that sounded part grizzly bear, but he gave Gianetti a quick nod and let her thread the chain through the loops. Once I sat, I was more or less comfortable, even able to scratch my nose if I needed. I gave Mitch a weak smile as he turned a chair and sat on it backward next to me. A look passed between him and the officer, and she shrugged and walked out the door.

  Then he touched me.

  His hands were broad, strong, and warm and he gently placed them over mine and the cold, hard metal of the handcuffs.

  “Jesus, Stella,” he said, his voice breaking. “You didn’t have to try so hard to get my attention.”

  A beat passed. Then another. Then I couldn’t help it, I dropped my head and laughed. I laughed so hard my sides started to ache. Mitch laughed with me and pressed his forehead against mine. He smelled good. Crisp and clean with that hint of male musk and spice. He rubbed my wrists beneath the metal and it felt like heaven.

  “Are you okay?” he finally asked.

  I looked toward the ceiling and shook my head. “I don’t even know what I am. Is this a joke?”

  “Has anyone been in here to interview you? Have you talked to anyone?”

  “You mean other than you? No. Are you here to coerce a confession out of me, Detective Gates?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me then shot me a devastating smirk. “Not funny.”

  “No. Actually everyone’s been relatively nice to me considering they all think I’m some sort of drug kingpin or whatever the hell it is they think I did.”

  Mitch cast a glance toward the mirror on one wall. He pointed toward it and then looked back at me. Of course, we weren’t alone. Or maybe we were, but this room wasn’t private by any means. A small stab of fear went through me at the thought that maybe Mitch really was here on someone else’s behalf. Then he looked at me again, lowered his chin, and warmth flooded through me. I realized I wasn’t alone. No matter what happened over the next few hours, he wouldn’t let me face it by myself. That made all the difference. My shoulders sagged and I rested my head on the table and
over Mitch’s hands. He leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he said and it nearly broke me. I hadn’t realized until just that moment how badly I wanted someone to tell me that. “We’re going to figure this out.”

  Lifting my head, I nodded. The beginnings of a tear started at the corner of my left eye and I quickly smoothed it away with the back of my hand. The chains rattled and Mitch moved his chair closer to mine.

  “What happens next? Can you get me out of here?”

  He let out a hard breath and my heart sank. “I’ve gotten hold of a criminal defense lawyer I trust. He’s working on getting you a bail hearing as quick as possible. But it’s after six and we probably won’t be able to get you in front of a judge until morning. And it’s further complicated by the fact the warrants that popped for you are out of state. Have they told you anything about it?”

  I shook my head. “You know, I’m not an idiot. I’m educated. Capable. But the last few hours have just kind of been a blur. I feel about eleven years old.”

  He rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you through this. It’s drug charges mostly. Felony possession with intent to sell. There’s a Nevada and New Mexico warrant. The judge here is going to have to decide whether or not to extradite you over there to face those charges or let you go on bail.”

  “Oh God, Mitch! Do I have to spend the night in this place?”

  “Stella, look at me. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m going to stay right here with you. You’re not going back to that holding cell. We’re going to hang out right here. I’ll have dinner brought in and it’s going to be fine. A little uncomfortable maybe, but fine. It’ll be you and me. That’s all.”

  I nodded. He held my hands in his and I gripped him hard. He ran a thumb along the pad of my right hand, sending a shiver down my spine. He was strong, solid, and here.

  “Do they understand that this is a mistake? Those warrants, the criminal background. They know it’s not me, right?”