In the Line of Fire

by Beverly Bird

  Danny thought Bobby worked for someone powerful and evil. The mob. Danny thought that Bobby had taken his words to heart yesterday and had recklessly and abruptly tried to sever his connection to that same entity. And they’d damned near killed him because of it. The mob.

  It had to be the mob, she decided, the same mob that had blown up the country club and who had hastened Bancroft’s death, the same mob who had framed Danny—obviously with some help from within the department. Someone was calling the shots to deter her from the task force, throwing her to the IAD wolves—that part wasn’t coming directly from within the department, she didn’t think. The order would have been given from higher up. But when they’d used Danny to do that, they’d overplayed their hand. Because if she could prove that he hadn’t robbed that convenience store, that they’d framed him, then he wasn’t an ex-con. And if he wasn’t an ex-con, then she could roll around naked with him in the middle of Main Street and all she’d be risking was an ethics violation.

  All they’d done was make her want to try harder.

  She jogged into roll call. “Here!” she gasped just as her sergeant called out her name.

  “Flu all better, Molly?” Harry Roscoe asked.

  She glared at him. “Must have been a twenty-four-hour bug.”

  Beau Maguire sneered. “I hear there’s a longer one going around.”

  The gaze she sent his way was lethal, too.

  “Officer French, your car has been changed for this shift,” her sergeant interrupted. “You’ve got unit eleven tonight.”

  Molly opened her mouth again in outrage, then she swallowed the words. That car hadn’t been out of the garage in six months since it had been involved in a major fender bender. “Did they finally fix the alignment on that?” she asked sweetly.

  “I’m told that it’s fine and dandy and ready to go.”

  “Too bad. A worker’s comp claim might fix all my problems right about now.” She left them to chew on that and veered out of the room.

  She wasn’t all that surprised when she got to the garage and the attendant handed her the keys to her usual vehicle—unit nine. “Thought better of it, did you?” she muttered aloud, then she skidded to a stop on her way to the car.

  Someone at roll call had called off the dogs on the car issue.

  It was the only way that the switch back to her regular vehicle could have happened so quickly. Someone had heard her words and had reconnoitered, realizing what they were risking. She was working the task force on her own time. A worker’s comp claim would take her off shift for a while…and leave her with a lot of down time on her hands, time during which she could poke into their shenanigans all she wanted. Why risk it for what was essentially nothing more than just another taunt thrown her way?

  Suddenly she knew, too, that that was why she hadn’t been suspended pending the outcome of the IAD charge. They wanted her working steadily without enough time off to even breathe.

  Who was it? Who on her shift was the pipeline to the powers pulling the strings? Her sergeant? Maguire? Roscoe? It could be any one of them, she realized, or more than one. Unfortunately, Molly thought as she drove out of the garage, the full scoop on all the officers on her shift was also with Evie in personnel. She couldn’t get to that, either.

  Until she found a way to lift Evie’s keys. She hadn’t had time to stop there before her shift after all.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, reaching for her radio handset. Well, she was rolling in her rightful car now, Molly thought, and there was a teenage boy lying in the Mission Creek Memorial emergency ward who needed her. Before Danny’s mouth had finally touched hers, before she’d found out that he kissed a woman as though he cherished her, he’d said she could do more for Bobby on shift than she could by his hospital bed. And he was right.

  Molly clicked on the radio handset and got the dispatcher. “This is Officer French, unit nine. I need you to put me through to 911 dispatch.”

  “Right away, Officer.”

  There was a click, a buzz, then a male voice came through the radio. “This is 911 terminal.”

  “It’s Officer Molly French. I’m inquiring about a 911 call that came through to you guys at about 2:30 this afternoon. A young male Caucasian, beaten pretty badly. He was taken to Mission Creek Memorial.”

  “One moment, Officer.”

  There weren’t that many 911 calls in Mission Creek per hour so it wouldn’t take him long, Molly thought, and she was right.

  “I have the call in question on screen, Officer,” he said after a short pause. “What did you need to know?”

  “Anything and everything you can tell me.”

  “A nine-year-old girl by the name of Beatty Jansen called in at 2:38 p.m. This call was not placed from the Jansen residence as the child explained that her family has no telephone service. She stated that the boy—her brother—was being hurt by ‘two bad men.’ That last is a direct quote, Officer.”

  “I figured that.” Her heart started picking up its rate—more anger, she thought. More fury. Oh, how she wanted to hurt the people who had done this.

  “As the girl declared that there was a great deal of blood on the sidewalk, an ambulance was dispatched along with a patrol unit,” the 911 operator continued.

  “What unit caught the call?”

  “Twenty-two. Officers Kevin Neely and Bryce Evans. That’s all I know, Officer French. After we dispatched, our file closes.”

  “Right. Thanks. I’ll contact the officers involved directly.” Molly disconnected.

  Neely. Evans. She couldn’t quite place them. Mental images came to mind, but she wasn’t at all sure how accurate they were. They’d never worked the same shift with her in the two years she’d been with Mission Creek. They would be top-of-the-line, day-shift guys.

  “Where I’d be if I’d had an ounce of sense in my head and had just stayed in Laredo,” she said to herself. But she’d left after her mother had died and had no longer needed her, because Mickey’s ghost had never stopped walking the streets of that city.

  And now, here in Mission Creek, she’d found Danny. Danny. Her stomach fluttered oddly, and she pulled her mind off him. She glanced at her watch.

  It was nearly a quarter to five. The day shift guys should be home by now unless they’d stopped for a beer or something on the way. She dug her cell phone out of her pocket and called information. Some innate caution had her avoiding the police department’s main switchboard and routing the call through her radio.

  She didn’t expect much from information. Kevin Neely’s phone number did turn out to be unlisted, but then she actually got one for Bryce Evans.

  “Brave man,” she thought aloud, tapping in the number with her thumb. She didn’t know of many cops who’d let the public have access to their personal lives. Maybe Evans thought he was above retribution.

  A man with a gruff, deep voice answered the line on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Could I speak with Bryce Evans, please? This is Officer Molly French with the M.C.P.D.”

  “You got him.”

  Molly took a breath. She wondered if Evans was one of those who considered her to be the enemy. She couldn’t help it—everyone was suspect these days. “Hi,” she said, trying to sound chipper and friendly. “I’m not sure we’ve ever met. I work the swing shift. I have some questions about a 911 call you took this afternoon and the corresponding investigation.”

  “Only 911 call I took today was that delinquent who’d already been in the detention system, anyway,” Evans replied. “That’s one off the street who won’t be causing us trouble for a while, huh?”

  He paused. Molly waited, not knowing what to say.

  Evans kept talking. “We sent him over to the hospital—that city ambulance bill isn’t ever going to be paid, we know that, right? Damned low life kid.”

  Something in her head was thumping. Hard. But Molly decided to ignore his slurs in favor of not ticking him off and getting more information. “Do you have any s
uspects?”

  “Suspects?”

  “As to who did this to him?”

  “It was probably one of his hoodlum friends. Who did you say you were, anyway?”

  Molly didn’t answer. “His sister said it was two men.”

  “Did she? I didn’t hear that.”

  “It’s on the 911 record.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks for letting me know. But the case is not priority, if you get my drift.” He chuckled.

  She set her teeth. “No, I’m not sure I do.”

  There was a long pause. “Listen, Officer, what did you say your name was?”

  “Talbot.” And where the hell that came from, Molly had no idea. It was just a knee-jerk, half-baked effort to protect herself from more trouble…as if she could. Two or three phone calls and questions would turn up that there was no Officer Talbot with the M.C.P.D. and this inquiry would be pinned on their resident troublemaker—her. Like Joe Gannon had said, there were only a couple of women with the department.

  “Take care of your own shift, Officer Talbot,” Evans said, his tone darkening, “and leave me to mine.”

  “Will do.” Molly disconnected. Her hands were trembling.

  Okay, so Evans was one more cop who didn’t think that the worst of the city’s juvenile delinquents were worth saving. She’d met her share of them over the years, and she despised them. If any of them had thought of reaching out to Mickey before it was too late, he might be alive today.

  Don’t go there. Molly caught her thoughts up fast and ruthlessly. Danny was right. Bobby wasn’t Mickey. But they were alike in so many ways. Mickey had been shot while trying to back out of something ugly, too. And she might very well be in the process of losing Bobby, as well.

  “Okay,” she said aloud. So maybe she was emotionally involved here. Maybe her past was crossing with her present. Danny had grabbed her back from the abyss at the hospital and he had shoved her to safety, but she was teetering on the brink again. What Evans had said was…outrageous. But was she over-reacting?

  One man would know, and one man would have no qualm whatsoever about getting in her face to tell her. Molly turned around the block and headed back to the hospital. It was time to check in with Danny and Bobby J.

  Chapter 9

  Her uniform made all the difference, Molly discovered ten minutes later. The same nurse was moving around behind the Plexiglas window, looking harried and miserable, but when she caught sight of a police officer, she hustled her way to the counter right away. She doesn’t recognize me from earlier, Molly thought. In all fairness, the nurse had spoken mostly to Danny when they’d been here earlier.

  “Yes, Officer. How can I help you?”

  Molly decided that there was no sense in enlightening her. “I’m here to see Bobby Jansen.”

  “Let me check his status.” The woman began tapping a computer keyboard, flipping through screens. “He’s still here in emergency.”

  “Still?” Molly was flabbergasted. “He was badly hurt! And he was brought in hours ago!”

  “I’m sorry. Apparently, they’re waiting for a pediatric surgeon. He’s been paged.”

  A surgeon? Molly’s heart stalled and her mouth went dry. She cleared her throat. “Is he still unconscious?”

  “He’s been in and out of consciousness,” the nurse reported. “You’ll find him in the last room down that hall there.”

  “Still?” Molly pushed through the swinging doors into the corridor.

  Nothing had changed since she had left, she discovered, entering Bobby’s room. He lay in almost the same position as when she had left him. His arm was redder, more swollen. His face was swollen badly now, too. Before his eyes had merely been closed as though he’d been sleeping. Now they seemed pressed shut by bruised and hurting flesh.

  Danny had pulled a chair up to the gurney. His arms were crossed on the edge of the makeshift bed and he rested his forehead against them. At the sound of her footsteps, he spoke without looking up. “To tell you the truth, I was really hoping you’d come back here first chance you got.”

  Molly was startled. “How did you know it was me?”

  “Cop boots on linoleum flooring make a very specific sound.” He finally lifted his head.

  Molly decided to forego a retort this time. He sounded too beaten, too tired. She went to stand beside him.

  “Plus,” he said, “there’s that perfume you wear.”

  “It’s called Caribbean.”

  “Hot, spicy sunsets? Yeah, that works.”

  She grinned a little, bemused. “Ah…okay.”

  “That was a compliment in case you didn’t realize it.”

  “You’re making my knees weak.”

  “Then say thank you and sit down here with Bobby. I need to go crack some heads together.”

  Something about the way he said it rolled through her from her head to her toes. His tone was raw, and now she understood his exhaustion. He had been restraining himself for hours. He hadn’t knocked heads yet, and he wanted to, desperately, but he wouldn’t leave Bobby until she came back.

  “Danny, no…”

  “Just sit with him a minute, okay?” He finally stood and pulled the chair back for her.

  “Cracking heads isn’t the answer.”

  “Don’t be a cop on me now, Molly. They’ve left him here this way because he has no health insurance. And my stash of cash is damned near depleted. I don’t have enough left to help him. And that makes me mad—really mad.”

  “I have money.”

  He finally looked at her. His eyes were ravaged. She saw in them the teenage boy who had gone to work for Ricky Mercado’s uncle because there had been no other way out. She saw in them a man who had gone to prison for something he hadn’t done because he’d always known there would be penance to pay for his earlier choices. She saw a man stubborn and strong enough to stay away from the lure of that money now that he was an adult, even if it meant he would suffer…and who berated himself anyway because he could not help a poor kid pay his hospital bill.

  She saw all that, and in that instant Molly knew she had fallen in love with him. Her knees nearly gave out with the realization.

  Something must have shown on her face because Danny’s eyes sharpened on her. “Are you going to weird out on me again?”

  “No, I—I’m fine.”

  “Right, and I’m the King of England. Will you please sit down?” He finally caught her hand, then he pushed her unceremoniously into the chair he’d vacated.

  Molly felt something hysterical try to press up into her throat. “You’re a regular Sir Galahad.” With tarnished armor and a record, she thought. Except she was going to fix the matter of his record. Still, he was everything she shouldn’t want. She loved him.

  She gathered her thoughts back fiercely. “Nurse Evil-Eye out at the front desk says they have a call into a pediatric surgeon. They’re just waiting for him to call back.”

  “He won’t rush it because he knows he isn’t going to get paid.” Danny fisted his hands.

  “No decent man would do that. Besides, I told you. I have money. I’ve been saving to buy a house. That’s why I drive a ten-year-old car.”

  He looked at her in a way that made something in her chest hurt. “You should have a house, Molly. You really should. You’re that kind of woman.”

  She sat up straighter at his tone. “What does that mean?”

  In that moment, Danny lost hope again.

  It flooded out of him, that fierce, ecstatic feeling that had filled him earlier when he had convinced himself that if he could just bring down the mob, he could keep on kissing her, wanting her, could let himself love her. But bringing down Carmine and his guys was a simple order compared to ever being a man who deserved her. He had a record. He was always going to make $8.00 an hour. He wasn’t ever going to buy her a house.

  The choices he’d made six years ago began strangling him again.

  “I’m going to go find a nurse.” He turned for the door
.

  “I just told you why they’re waiting—”

  “I want a better explanation than the one Godzilla offered.” He left the room.

  Molly watched him go, frowning, then she turned back to Bobby. The hairs on her nape lifted.

  She pressed a startled hand to her chest. His eyes were open. He was staring at her.

  Either that or he was dead. Her blood rushed cold.

  “Bobby?” She reached quickly for his pulse. It was there. Oh, thank God, it was there.

  “Maaa.”

  Did he think she was his mother? Or was he trying to say Molly? His mouth was so swollen. She leaned closer. “Don’t talk. You’re not alone.”

  “Head hurs.”

  His head hurt. That made sense. “Danny’s gone to get some help for you.”

  “Tuped.”

  Tuped? What did tuped mean? she wondered frantically.

  “Stup,” he tried again.

  Now she got it. Stupid.

  But…did he think Danny was stupid for going to get help? Or that he had done something stupid to deserve this? She couldn’t ask him, couldn’t make him try to talk, and frustration burned in her blood. “Not now, Bobby. We’ll straighten it all out later. But nobody’s stupid. Not one of us. We’re all smarter than anyone gives us credit for.” She realized then that she was talking about all of them—Bobby and Mickey, Danny and herself, all the kids at the center, all of them who had come out of nothing with every strike against them and had turned into special people anyway. She reached across him to hold his uninjured hand. “We’re going to pull you out of this.”

  “Lines,” he said.

  Lines? Molly shook her head helplessly.

  “Du…this.”

  “Lines did this to you?”

  “Coss.”

  “Damn it,” she whispered in frustration, scrubbing her hands over her face. Then she looked at him again. “You crossed lines? Is that what you’re trying to say?” Her eyes filled with tears. “I know that whatever it is, it’s important, or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to tell me. But you’ve got to be quiet. You’ve got to rest now. We’ll talk about it later.”