Stark Raving Mad (Chicago's Finest Book 2)

by Vanessa Knight

  “Stop what?” Joe shoved through the spinning doors of the ER. Thank goodness no one was in his way. He didn’t have the time to apologize to anyone and he couldn’t seem to slow down. He just needed to see Brook. Make sure she was okay. Shay had said she wasn’t hurt, but he’d feel better when he saw it with his own eyes.

  “Think. Don’t go in there guns blazing,” Adam said from right behind him. “I’m fine.” Joe flashed his badge and walked past the ER reception desk. “Julie Connolly. What room?”

  “Twenty-three.” The desk-jockey hesitated but gave Joe the information. If she didn’t give the room number, he’d have shocked a lot of people as he pulled back curtain after curtain looking for Brook.

  “Thanks.”

  Joe blew past the exam rooms, scanning the numbers. Eighteen…twenty… twenty-three. The rollers rumbled as Joe slid the striped fabric back. Julie sat on the bed while a doctor cleaned the gash on her head.

  Brook’s eyes lifted to his, worry dancing around the edges. Joe could only imagine how scared she must be after coming face-to-face with that asshole. But there were no scars, no injuries. She stood next to Julie, holding her hand, not a hair out of place.

  “Are you all right?” Joe asked. “Sure, it’s just a minor cut.”

  Joe looked at Julie and smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  He turned back to Brook and mouthed, “How are you?”

  “Fine.” She wrinkled her nose as the doctor picked up what looked like a weird pen, and Joe smelled the distinctive odor of some kind of superglue.

  Joe could understand. He’d seen his share of gore, but head wounds were always worse somehow. Okay—it was only glue, not stitches. It wasn’t that intense, but it was still disgusting. There was a reason he never became a doctor.

  “What type of skin glue is that?” Julie rolled her eyes up, staring at the doctor’s hands. Her choice to attend nursing school was definitely appropriate.

  “You need to hold still, Miss Connolly,” The doctor admonished. Once he finished, he taped a bandage over the wound. “Here are the scrips for your medication. Any questions?” Julie shook her head, and the doctor peeled the plastic gloves from his hands. “You’re all set, then. Come back to the ER if you notice any swelling or any kind of allergic reaction to the glue.”

  He left the room and Julie smiled. “Thanks, everyone, for sticking around.”

  “We’re just glad you’re okay.” Allison wrapped an arm around Julie’s shoulders. “I’m going to take her to Loraine’s for tonight. Thanks for all your help today, Shay. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t been there keeping a level head.”

  Shay smiled. “Glad I could help.”

  They gathered jackets and purses and headed out of the sick factory. After good-byes and hugs, and dress talk, and more hugs, and more good-byes… Joe rolled his eyes as they stood by the cars and everyone hugged again. Could they possibly milk this any further? ”You will see each other again,” he said.

  The women ignored him.

  “I love you guys,” Julie cried as she hugged them all tighter.

  Pain meds. Julie did have a habit of crying in Joe’s presence. Granted, he was interrogating her the last time they saw each other, but this was over the top. He hoped is was the pain meds.

  “Let’s get you home.” Allison guided Julie to the car and helped her in, securing her seat belt before going around and getting behind the wheel. Julie cracked the window and hung out the car door as far as the belt would let her.

  “Bye-bye!” She brought her hand to her lips and kissed her palm before waving it and blowing kisses over and over again. “Love you!”

  The car drove away, red taillights disappearing along the ramp to the street.

  Adam walked toward Joe’s truck and the others followed.

  “So, what happened?” Joe turned on Brook and Shay as they approached his truck.

  “Nothing. Julie drank a bit too much and tripped…” Brook started to laugh.

  Why was she laughing? Joe was hanging onto his sanity by his fingernails, and she was laughing. “Not that. Stark.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Brook’s hands flew to her hips. The afternoon light bounced off her glaring eyes. “He just wanted to talk to me.”

  “Talk to you. About what?” Adam leaned against Joe’s truck.

  “He told me to call off my goons. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and he just wants to be left alone to get on with his life.” Brook straightened and somehow, even though she was shorter than him, managed to look down on him.

  “You’re not buying that shit, are you?” Joe stepped forward and angled his head down, staring straight into her eyes. Two could play that game.

  “There’s nothing to buy. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “The hell he hasn’t…”

  “This is why I can’t talk to cops—or men. And definitely not male cops. They always assume the worst. It’s always guilty until proven innocent with you. Why bother having a legal system? You can just lock up anyone who doesn’t fit into some perfect mold. And if they get locked up, screw’em. Just throw away the key. They’ll never change.”

  “I don’t think that’s what he meant…” Adam started to say, but the evil-eye daggers Brook threw his way kept him from finishing the sentence.

  Joe turned to Shay, who threw her arms up. “Don’t look at me.”

  “Not everyone’s guilty, and people change,” Joe told Brook. “But dammit, don’t be so naïve. He’s a lying sack of shit. Being a lawyer, you’d think you’d know when you’re being manipulated. You should be an expert on bullshit.”

  “Why?” Her eyes narrowed to slits, dark color burning along her cheeks. Joe shook his head. “Drop it.”

  “Let me guess. We’re all full of shit and we all manipulate. Right?” Brook moved closer.

  He didn’t speak. Nothing he could say would make this better.

  Not now. “See? Guilty until proven innocent.”

  “And you’re not the same?” This double standard was pissing him off. “All cops assume the worst. None of us believe in change. What about you? Yeah, I’m a cop, but I don’t always assume the worst—and I believe people can change. But I’m not naive enough to believe everyone is sunshine and rainbows. Where’s my innocence until proven guilty?”

  “We should finish this discussion somewhere else.” Shay walked toward her Crown Vic. “My cars over here if anyone needs a ride.”

  Brook walked to Shay’s car and opened the door. She jumped in and slammed the door.

  “Nice.” Shay threw Joe a snarl of her own and slid behind the wheel before pulling away.

  Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Joe lifted his keys above his head, but thought better of throwing them. He didn’t have a spare set on hand, and he needed to get the heck out of there. He clicked the doors open and walked to the driver’s door.

  “So, how did guns blazing work out for you?” Adam asked as he slipped into the passenger seat.

  “Screw you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You stupid son of a bitch!”

  Dennis bent down as an already cracked vase came flying at this head. “Relax!”

  “Relax? Relax?” A framed picture of his parents hit the wall and shattered. “You had one thing to do. It wasn’t that hard. Was it? Do I ask too much?” Dennis’ sister paced across the flattened black carpet, traces of the original moss green showing through the encrusted dirt.

  “You just had to pick up that bitch lawyer so we could finish this. I’m tired of this crap, Dennis. Cleaning up your mess.” She dropped to the plastic wrapped floral couch. “I got dreams you know. I got plans. I’m gonna be famous, be a star or some shit.” She started humming, and then sang something about being popular. Her tone wavered between catstrangulation and prison siren. He could practically see the half-filled glasses scattered on the tables trying to retain their shape from the shrill notes.

  He tried to hold back a cringe, but the sound o
f her singing was kryptonite to bodily control. He put a hand to his ear, checking for blood.

  Her eyes were closed, her head bobbing back and forth. She was in her own little tone-deaf-opera world. Then, miraculously, she stopped. “It’s good, right? This is award-winning shit, and I got a voice. I’m gonna try for that singing show, but I can’t do that here in this crap hole.”

  Dennis asked, “Why do we have to leave?”

  “’Cause it’s no good here. Them shows want sophisticated singers. Not some nobody from Chicago. They want California girls. LA. That’s where it’s happening.” She lifted a glass from the table and chugged back the contents. Given the clear liquid, it could have been water. Yeah, right. The only thing she drank was eighty-proof or higher.

  “I’m gonna make it. We just gotta get outta here.”

  “Then let’s go. Let’s go to LA.”

  “We can’t. We got responsibilities.” She stood up and rested a hand on his arm. “You remember what she did to us? She can’t get away with that.”

  He remembered the whole thing. The trial. The abuse. The fear. Losing his parents. All of it—he lived it every day and every night. He thought getting rid of those assholes responsible would make the pain go away. Make the anger go away. But it didn’t help.

  His blood still boiled when he thought about that cop putting his hands on him. He couldn’t breathe when he pictured Larry Bosk smirking as Dennis was carted off to prison. His chest hurt when he thought about the lies Brooklyn Southby handed him.

  She was his lawyer. Her job was to help him, and he trusted her. That hurt the most. She screwed him. She took that trust and shit on it. That was why all the packages to her house. He wanted her to squirm. He wanted her to be scared. Those others messed with his mind and body, but she…she’d done so much more.

  She’d made him look like a fool. She’d batted those pretty eyes and conned him into believing. Into believing in justice. Into believing in second chances.

  Lying bitch.

  “You’re right. I need to take care of this.” One more job. One more loose end knotted off, and then maybe he wouldn’t have the nightmares. Maybe then he’d have some peace.

  * * *

  Brook walked in the back door of Shay’s house and slammed her purse on the counter. Anger swept up and down her body. She wasn’t some idiot who couldn’t tell when she was being manipulated.

  Jerk.

  And she wasn’t full of shit. She hung the bridesmaid dresses on one of the upper cabinet knobs. No matter how pissed she might be at Joe, she wasn’t going to manhandle her blue dress or Shay’s red one. They’d already destroyed one dress today; there was no point in killing another.

  Brook wasn’t sure Shay knew Loraine had bought the dress for her. Of course, Brook figured she’d let Shay figure that one out on her own. Brook had pissed off enough cops for one day.

  Not that Joe hadn’t deserved it.

  Jerk.

  “Where’s my innocence until proven guilty?”

  Did you check your ass? Bet you didn’t check there for your innocence. Ew. Somehow, that comeback just didn’t work. Thank goodness she hadn’t said that out loud.

  He’d proven his closed-minded, Stark-hating guilt over and over again. Joe’s supposed innocence had been in question for a while now. She didn’t prejudge… much. And even if she had, there was good reason. He’d had a history of prejudging her and everyone around her.

  “Do you want something to drink?” Shay came in the back door. It was the first thing the officer had said to her since they left the hospital garage. Dammit. She should have taken it easy on Joe, but he pissed her off. Now, she had all the cops in her life angry.

  “Do we have any more beer?” Brook asked.

  Shay opened the refrigerator and the happy jingle of the bottles in the door met Brook’s ears. “There’s always beer.”

  “Thanks.” Brook stood at the counter while Shay set a bottle of beer on the counter for her before sitting at the kitchen table. Brook hated the distance her words had put between them. She was starting to think of Shay as a friend. Of course, a friend wouldn’t have said the stupid shit that had flown from her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “For?” Shay tilted back her open bottle.

  “He just makes me so crazy, and then I say ignorant things.” Brook twisted the cap off her bottle and took a drink. She blamed Joe, but it wasn’t his fault. Completely. She shouldn’t have called out the entire policing community because he was an asshole. “That’s not true. It’s not his fault. I don’t think all cops are mindless assholes.”

  Shay raised her bottle in a toast. “That’s good. I don’t think all lawyers are lying manipulators.”

  “I’m glad. You’ve been so nice to take me in and everything. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you and your family. I could never think that about you. You’ve actually made me believe in law enforcement. You’re the real deal.” Brook picked at the label on the beer.

  “Most of us on the street are the real deal. It’s a hard job. We’re constantly wondering if the next case will be our last. Wondering if we pissed off someone to the point that they will try to hurt one of us, our friends or our family. The stress can get to the best of cops.”

  “But you handle it so well.”

  “Most days. Then there are other days, like when Shawn has spent the morning telling me what a horrible sister I’ve become. Or Gran won’t stop rambling on and on, fighting with me about going to the senior center. And my toothbrush fell in the toilet or we ran out of coffee and no one told me and my car won’t start.” Shay kicked her shoes off, and rested her feet on the seat of the chair next to her.

  “It’s all normal shit people deal with, but throw the fact that we have no idea what each day will bring or whether we’ll make it home.” Shay shrugged and took a deep drink from the bottle in her hand. “It beats you to the ground. We’re all the real deal. Me, Adam, and Joe.”

  “Just when I thought we were on the same page.” Brook gurgled down another gulp of malty goodness. She had an urge to finish the bottle and keep them coming till her brain was a mushy, soggy mess. But that might lead to drunk dialing and other poor choices.

  “Are we getting drunk?” Gran walked in the kitchen. “I could use a stiff one. And I mean a drink.” She found a glass, and poured a generous three fingers of scotch before taking a bag of cheese curls out of a cabinet and sitting down at the table. “So, what are we talking about?” The bag crinkled as she tore it open.

  “Joe.” Brook sat at the table. This was a good choice. Salty cheese curls and beer. Heaven. Or maybe the lack of food from the long-ass dress fitting and hospital visit had her desperate for anything edible.

  “Oh, that’s a good discussion. Face or behind?” Gran asked.

  “Neither. Brook is pissed at him.” Shay groaned as she placed a cheese curl in her mouth. Apparently, she’d hit that desperate-for-sustenance mark, too.

  “Of course she is, he’s a man. What stupid thing did he do?” Shay’s grandma laid a hand on Brook’s.

  “He drives me crazy. He’s bossy and an asshole, telling me what to do all the time.” Dammit, she was starting to sound like a pouty teenager with anger issues.

  “They do that. But you know why?” Gran patted Brook’s arm and then took another drink.

  “No, why?”

  “They try to control the ones they love.”

  “So, what? Am I just supposed to do what he says? Stop thinking for myself? Stop doing what I believe is right?” Hell no.

  That wasn’t Brook’s style. She didn’t bow to anyone.

  Not anymore.

  “No. Never stop thinking, never back down. But, when it comes to men, all you can do is listen, do what you want, and don’t ask forgiveness. If he can live with you having free will, you can live with him having an opinion.” Gran smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye. “And that opinionated man does have one delicious behind.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

>   On Monday morning, Brook sat across from Don Ryder and fought to stay in her seat. Her muscles twitched and her palm itched to slap junior jerkwad in the face. If the conference room wasn’t one big wall of windows… Lord help her, the kid would be throwing his temper tantrum lying next to an overturned chair.

  “So, do you remember the conversation we had…?” Brook started to ask, but was interrupted for the… who knew how many times.

  “No.” Don spun the gray chair around, his blond hair swinging.

  Would it be wrong for her to stop the chair by yanking the off-white tips of that stupid mane? Just a quick yank. Her fingers curved just visualizing it. “I didn’t even specify which conversation.” Brook brought her legal pad and pen closer, hoping its proximity would encourage him to answer one of her questions satisfactorily. Just one.

  “I don’t remember any of them.”

  Seriously? “Do you remember talking to me at all, ever?” All morning. This meeting had gone like this all morning. “Vaguely.”

  Vaguely. Brook’s head throbbed. “So what happened the night you were taken into police custody?”

  “Which night?”

  “The night the cops arrested you for prostitution. Do you remember that?” “I don’t recall.”

  Brook rolled her eyes, and turned to his mother, who was sitting next to him. This was ridiculous. What was the point of sitting here dealing with this teenage bullshit?

  “Honey, you need to answer Ms. Southby’s questions.” Don’s mother laid a well-manicured hand on the demon spawn’s arm. Her perfectly-feathered blonde hair hung down her chest, bracketing her newly-acquired assets.

  “Fine.” He pulled away and feigned concentration. Although his eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

  Arrogant little…Professional. She needed to stay professional.

  “What happened the night you were arrested for prostitution?”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.” His head tilted to one side as he threw up his hands and then dropped them back down on the arms of the chair.

  “What doesn’t make sense? Arrested? Or prostitution? Which word is confusing?” Somehow she managed to keep a rein on the condescending tone she wanted to use. It was a loose rein, though, that could snap at any moment.