“Put the ball on the table,” Marc commanded firmly but slowly. He needed to keep Fred calm. Freaking out wouldn’t help any situation like that. Last thing he wanted was to get Fred all keyed up and angry again. The man seemed to be losing steam. Probably because his blood alcohol level was rising the longer they stood there.
With a last half-assed, “pig” Fred let the ball slide out of his fingers and roll onto the green felt of the pool table. Pete was going to have to redo the table, since it now had a streak of blood running down the center.
Marc’s muscles loosen a fraction, but this still wasn’t over and wouldn’t be until Fred was in custody and being transported to central booking in Williamsport. “Now, Fred. We’re doing good here. I need you to step away from the table.” And the cue sticks, as well as the rest of the pool balls.
“Fuck you.”
Marc turned his head slightly, but kept his eyes on the man in front of him. He kept his voice low and soft, hoping only Leah would hear him. “Go around the right side of the table and I’ll go left. Keep your ASP ready and watch for any sudden movements. I’m going to try to distract him, so you can go in and take him into custody.”
As soon as he heard Leah move, he stepped to the left of the table, walking slowly, his gaze still trained on the torso of the man they were about to take down. He kept an eye on the subject’s hands and watched for any body movement, however slight.
“Fred, how’s your wife been?”
Keep him talking, keep him distracted. Let Leah do her job. Right. He was having a hard time not watching her every move. The urge to keep her safe overwhelmed him, but he had to push it aside. He was supposed to keep the perpetrator preoccupied, not himself.
“The bitch is lazy. Sits around all day on the damn couch watchin’ those damn soap operas.”
“What’s her favorite?”
“I don’t fucking know. They’re all the same goddamn garbage to me.”
When Leah came into Marc’s line of sight, he shifted more to the left. She was coming up from behind and Marc didn’t think Fred was aware of it. She walked silently, which was to her advantage, not to mention Marc’s relief. Some cops are so big, they had no chance of surprising anyone.
Marc hoped Fred would show signs of swaying, so she would have no problem getting him off balance, but Fred’s liver was so pickled he was one of those functioning nasty drunks.
Marc sucked in a breath and yelled “Fred!” to get his attention before moving in. Leah put a leg in front of Fred, grabbed his hand, twisting it, and slammed him to the floor. Marc tossed his expandable baton onto the pool table, jumped in, and dug a knee into the back of Fred’s arm, who howled in pain.
With smoothness and skill that impressed Marc, Leah took his handcuffs out of the holder and snapped one end onto to the wrist she controlled. When she reached for the arm Marc had pinned down, he released it, and helped her secure the cuff on that wrist too.
“Fucking dirty bitch,” Fred spat, his face smashed into the grimy tile floor.
“That’s right, I’m a dirty bitch,” Leah said through gritted teeth.
Marc struggled to keep a straight face as he helped Leah haul Fred’s drunk ass to his feet. He keyed his mic to let dispatch know the subject was in custody and to send in the waiting EMS unit.
She steered Fred away from the victim by his elbow, making sure to pull up just enough to make him feel the pressure in his shoulder. “Chest against the wall, feet spread,” Leah commanded as she assisted him to comply. She kicked his feet wider and farther away from the wall so he couldn’t turn the tide and try to attack one of them.
Marc was getting a chubby at the authority she was exhibiting. He cursed himself. Now was not the time, bonehead.
Pig snout.
The Emergency Medical Techs rushed in, heading immediately to the man crumpled in the corner. The victim was now in good hands, allowing him to fully concentrate on Leah as she patted down the man in custody. She had donned her leather gloves and asked him if he had any weapons or anything sharp on his person.
Instead of answering her question, Fred yelled, “You need to get back in the kitchen where you belong, bitch.”
Marc smirked, knowing how badly Leah would want to give Fred a good shot in the balls at that moment. But Leah ignored him and carefully patted the outside of his pockets, ran her hands down his legs, felt around his ankles, and back up, grabbing his crotch to check to make sure he wasn’t carrying anything dangerous there either.
She checked his waistband and lifted his shirt, checking Fred front and back before feeling for anything suspicious around his torso.
“You juss need a good fuck,” Fred spat at her. “You one of them women who wants to be a man? Daddy didn’t give you enough attention?”
Leah tensed for a split moment before she straightened him up and pulled him away from the wall. None too gently. She read him his Miranda warnings and then spun him around, clearly ready to throw him in jail and slam the cage shut. She had a restrained look on her face, the initial excitement long gone.
Marc grabbed his other arm and helped her walk him outside. Dunn was already outside talking to some witnesses, and one of the midnight guys, Bobby Duncan, had just pulled up in another patrol car.
“Everything under control?” Bobby asked Marc.
He nodded. “Now it is. Can you get inside and start getting witness statements? Make sure you talk to Pete. I’m sure he saw the whole thing.”
“Will do, Corp.”
“Did the chief call you two out?”
“Yeah, he said he’d meet you guys at station.”
“Thanks.”
They perp-walked Fred to the cruiser. “I’ll drive and you sit in the back seat with old Freddy-boy here and make sure he behaves.”
Once they got Fred belted in behind the passenger seat, Leah got in behind the driver’s. Marc climbed into the patrol car. He hated not having cages in the back of their patrol cars. It put them both at risk, which was one reason he wanted Leah back there. Last thing he wanted was a knife to his throat or a gun at his temple from someone pissed off and drunk, and, not to mention, with nothing to lose.
After he pulled away from the curb, he tilted the rearview mirror toward Fred. “Be on your best behavior, Fred.”
Fred mouthed, “fuck you” and Marc could chuckle now that it was over and the man in custody.
But did Fred listen? Obviously not. Drunk and stupid as he was, he began to insult Leah some more. “Bet you got some sweet snatch.” He stuck his tongue out in the gap where his two front teeth should be and wiggled it at her. “I’d like to stick my dick in your ass and show you whatta real man is.”
Sorry, Freddy-boy, she already had a real man.
“You wanna suck my elephant dick?”
I could answer that for you, dude.
“C’mon, you know you want to suck it.”
Marc stopped at the red light at the center of town and carefully observed the pickled asshole through the mirror.
Fred suddenly leaned forward.
“Sit up, Fred,” Marc yelled. “Sit up where I can see you. Grant, make him sit up.”
Leah grabbed his shoulders and then it happened… In what felt like slow motion, Fred popped up jamming his shoulder under Leah’s jaw so hard, her head snapped back. She made a sound that made Marc’s stomach heave.
He slammed the car in park, and turned around, starting to reach over the seat. But instead of grabbing the bastard and showing him a world of hurt, he held his hands up.
Somehow, Fred had managed to get his cuffed hands in front and in one of them was a knife with a three inch blade. Small? Yes. Deadly? Absolutely. Big enough to splay her neck open or jab into her carotid artery. And that’s where Fred held the knife, to Leah’s throat.
Oh God, don’t panic, he willed her. Don’t even move.
Fred pressed the tip of the knife into her skin, drawing a drop of blood.
“Now how big do ya feel, bitch? Ya th
Leah kept her gaze pinned on Fred’s face and said nothing. Blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth, and her lower lip was coated red.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Max’s voice came over the radio. “Manning Grove six from station.”
Marc wanted to collapse in relief. The radio would be a good distraction. “I need to answer that Fred, or they’ll come looking for us.”
“Not if I kill you bitches first.”
“Station to Manning Grove six. Do you copy? What’s your ETA?”
Complete silence filled the car while Max waited for an answer.
“Manning Grove six. Do you copy?”
Marc could hear the concern in Max’s voice. Concern and a little anxiety, because Marc knew his brother well. “Let me answer him so he doesn’t worry,” he pleaded with Fred.
“Answer him, dickhead, but don’t say anything stupid.”
Marc’s eyes never left the knife held against Leah’s skin, so close to the life line that ran through her neck.
She remained calm and he was proud of her for doing so. Other than her nostrils flaring with each breath, her body was frozen.
Marc reached blindly for the mic and he lifted it to his mouth slowly, keying it up. “Manning Grove six to station.”
The relief was apparent in Max’s voice when he answered, “Manning Grove six, go ahead.”
With composure that was forced, Marc said three important words. “Signal thirty-three.” He hit the panic button which kept the mic open, then he tossed it onto the seat.
“What the hell does that mean?” Fred screamed in Leah’s face.
Her words only shook slightly when she whispered, “It means everything is okay. We’re headed back to station.”
Good girl.
Marc could reach for his gun and put a bullet between the bastard’s eyes, but if the asshole jerked he could cut her badly. And if soon-to-be-dead Fred—if Marc got his wish—suspected Marc trying anything…
That asshole had done enough time Marc was sure Fred didn’t want to get locked up again. He may be that desperate. Marc weighed the risks.
He didn’t know how many light cycles they sat through at the square, and though it wasn’t normally a busy intersection at this time of the evening, a vehicle finally came up behind them, the driver laying on the horn impatiently.
When Fred’s attention moved to out of the back window, Leah head butted the fucker’s nose, breaking it. Blood gushed and Fred screamed. Within seconds Fred lifted the knife back up and Leah cracked his wrist with both her fists, screaming uncontrollably, her face a mask of fury.
Marc kicked the driver’s door open and hauled ass to the back passenger side door, flung it open, and pulled the dead motherfucker to the pavement by his throat.
Leah climbed out the same side and fell to her knees onto the ground, about as angry as a feral cat getting a bath.
“You try anything and you’re dead,” Marc warned Fred with a growl. He unlocked one side of the handcuffs, holding on tightly, so he could re-cuff Fred with his hands behind his back.
“Get the restraint from out of the trunk so I can hogtie this asshole up.”
Without hesitation, Leah pushed herself to her feet, wiping her bloody mouth on the sleeve of her uniform, and within seconds returned with the ankle/hogtie restraints. With her help, he had Fred on his belly, his handcuffs chained to the ankle restraints.
“He’s not getting out of that any time soon.”
Not even thirty seconds later, a small army of lights and sirens squealed to a stop, surrounding them. Max jumped out, looking frazzled, and in wrinkled civvies.
“What the hell happened?”
Before Marc could answer, Leah spoke up. “I missed a knife in his shoe.” She went face to face with her boss and admitted, “I messed up.”
Max looked to Marc for confirmation, and he could only give a sharp nod to his older brother.
She messed up for sure. And it could’ve been a permanent mess up.
She was lucky this time.
Marc was proud of her. But he was also pissed as hell.
Chapter 7
Midnight. Tired didn’t even begin to describe her. Mentally and physically exhausted was more like it. Hours of paperwork and questioning had deepened the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. She was ready for the day—or night to be more exact—to be over.
After changing into her civvies, she hightailed it out of the station. Once out in the lot, though, she hesitated in the shadows created by the parking lot lights to stare back at the building. She wondered if she was going to lose her job. She had fucked up. Plain and simple. Someone could have gotten injured or killed, and it would have been from her negligence.
She perused the night sky and released a long, ragged breath.
Digging her keys out of her pocket, she headed for the car. She kept her eyes on the ground instead of scanning the parking area as she should’ve. But she felt overwhelmingly defeated and sad, and sometimes it was hard to hold your head up. Today was one of those days.
As she approached her vehicle she sensed someone watching her. A chill went down her spine and her head shot up.
The corporal leaned against her car. Arms crossed, ankles crossed. His face a blank mask. “Rough day?” His deep-timbre voice was smooth, soothing her frazzled nerves like warm honey.
Her first instinct was to melt into his arms and have him hold her tight. But instead, Leah nodded and stepped up to the driver’s side door. But he blocked her.
“I’m taking you home.” He wasn’t asking.
But still… “I can drive myself—”
“I’m taking you home,” he told her more firmly. And she didn’t think he’d take no for an answer. “You can get your car tomorrow.”
Originally, they had been scheduled for another double-back; they were supposed to return in the morning for another daylight shift. She looked at her watch. Or today was more like it. But the chief had told them both to take the day off. And being it was the end of their short stretch, they would have two regular days off after that. Leah looked forward to three days of quiet to get her shit together. If she still had a job.
Too weary to argue, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to anyway. At this moment, any decision taken out of her hands was a good one. Thinking would take too much energy right now. So she got into his truck without a fuss and he drove carefully out of the lot, unlike earlier in the day when he was driving like a mad man. A lifetime had transpired since the beginning of their shift.
The tangy metallic taste of blood still filled her mouth. When Fred had shouldered her, she had not only bit her tongue, but the inside of her lower lip as well. It didn’t hurt as badly now, but it was going to make eating fun for a while. Fun as in totally sucking.
But the taste reminded her of how tragic things may have turned out.
“Do you think he’s going to fire me?”
“I don’t know.” He reached out for her hand in the darkness of the pickup’s cab and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “We all fuck up.”
Her gaze rested on their entwined fingers. “Like that?”
“Yeah. Sometimes just like that.” Marc lifted her fingers to brush his lips across her knuckles. “Tell me about your father.”
It was the last question she expected from him tonight, especially after everything that had happened. She didn’t even think she wanted to talk about it until the words started to roll off her tongue.
“My father was a decorated detective for the Philly P.D. A thirty-two year veteran. His whole career he’d gone from unit to unit, expanding his knowledge. From patrol to vice, car theft to drug law. Gangs to…hell, homicide. That’s where he landed. Homicide division. And he stuck there. He loved it, he lived for it. He didn’t want to rise up through the ranks; he wanted to stay down in the trenches doing the footwork, the interviews, the investigations. He was good at what he did. He was proud of his clearance rate.”
Leah’s father had spent a lot of time away from home. But both she and her mother understood. He was married to the job. And her mother married him knowing that. A lot of people counted on him. He’d always been a hero in Leah’s eyes. He helped bring closure to a lot of victims’ families.
But when he was home, he gave them all the attention in the world. He loved his family, but he loved his career too.
“He got a call in the middle of the night, around three. He never complained. He’d get up, get dressed, and go do his thing. Mom would go down and make him a Thermos full of coffee, shove some protein bars in his pocket, and give him a kiss goodbye before crawling back in bed. Sometimes I’d get up and sit at the top of the stairs listening to them in the kitchen, before watching him walk out the door. He always wore a suit. His gun and badge on his hip, coffee in his hand, cell phone in his pocket.” She paused, remembering that last night.
He had hastily pulled on a brown suit and a pale-yellow dress shirt. His tie hung loose around his neck. Her mom smoothed down his unruly hair as he walked out the door.
The house phone rang not even a half an hour later. With an unreal wail her mother fell to her knees, dropping the receiver. Leah rushed into their bedroom to pick up it up. Her mother, curled on the carpet in the fetal position, sobbed silently.
“Hello?” she said, pressing the phone to her ear.
“Leah? Leah, this is Captain Owens. Remember me?”
“Y…Yes.”
Something was so very wrong.
“I’m sending a car over to pick up you and your mother.”
“She’s laying on the floor broken.”
“I know, honey. Can you tell her that someone will be there shortly? You need to get dressed, okay?”
“Okay.”
She had been only eleven when her father was hit head-on by a drunk driver while en route to a double homicide. Geoffrey Grant, who had dedicated his whole career—the majority of his life—to helping victims, became one himself. DOA at the crash, his body ended up at the local morgue for identification. The drunk driver walked away with only a cut over his eyebrow and a broken ankle. It was his fifth time getting caught behind the wheel with a blood alcohol level over the legal limit.
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