by Kathryn Shay
Nick again. “Who knows how police protocol changed after Columbine?”
Ty did. “It was one of the first massacres. When the cops arrived, they formed a perimeter around the building and waited for SWAT. But while the team was still on their way, kids got gunned down.”
“That’s right, Ty.” He gestured to the slide. “On screen are guidelines implemented after the Columbine tragedy.”
The students all read the slides to themselves.
1. Deputies may enter the area and/or structure to preserve life. A supervisor’s approval is not required for this decision.
2. They should isolate and distract the shooter.
3. Contact should continue until the shooter has either been forced to surrender, forced into a barricaded situation, been stopped, or the SWAT team takes over.
A female officer shook her head. Ty had met her once. She was a captain. “We’ll have mass slaughter of cops that way because more than likely the perpetrator will have a semi-automatic.”
“And there’s the rub,” Nick admitted. “So, fear enters into our decisions.”
“The hell it does.” Gray again.
“Not me.” Metcalf.
“Let’s have a show of hands,” Ty offered. “Who’d be afraid that they’d lose their lives if they rushed a shooter?”
Huh. In addition to him, only females admitted to the fear, Frankie included.
“See, it’s all the ladies.” Gray practically spat the words. “This equality stuff is bullshit.”
“Or women are more honest.” Francesca’s voice was tinged with anger.
Gabe stepped in. “Let’s take a twenty-minute break. When you come back, we’ll talk about practical solutions.”
Ty noticed that as people left, the female captain crossed to Gray. Their conversation didn’t seem friendly.
Good. What an ass to make that comment about women. And like hell he wouldn’t be afraid!
* * *
Still disturbed by the very vivid flashback she’d had of Lou last night, Frankie took to the track at the Fitness Course on the first break. Today she’d worn a peach tank top with a matching long-sleeved shirt tied around her neck, and shorts so she could run. As she hit the pavement, she thought about the mistake she’d made by getting involved with Lou—a coworker who was above her in rank. Even if he wasn’t working in her district, but in Vice, he’d frequently been housed at her precinct. And she’d broken a cardinal rule of women in the workplace.
Think of something else. The morning meeting. She had to admit Tyrell stood his ground in the face of his macho contemporaries. Maybe she’d misjudged him as a spoiled member of the elite. Ha! Her conscience railed at that one. She was a member of the highest elite in Casarina. For the first time, she wondered why she hadn’t seen the irony of her judgment of him before. She should probably be nicer to him. He had spent time with her at the driving course, after all. She’d been at a real disadvantage because she rarely drove, and never a standard, previous to coming to the United States. But Papá had made sure the girls had the basics at least. Since then, she’d become competent driving on patrol and had a few car chases, but that was all of her experience.
A pang of regret shot through her at thoughts of Papá. He’d been a good father in many ways, and she’d distanced him when she decided to remain in the U.S. Lou once wondered aloud if she was searching for a father figure in him. She’d kicked him in the shin.
And she was back right where she started, thinking about the Major Lou Bacardi.
Disgusted with herself, she tried to enjoy the rays of the sun on her face, the smell of flowers in the air and the sounds of birds in the trees. It worked as she came around the perimeter. Tyrell stood at the beginning of the track. He wore light gray exercise shorts and a matching top. Was he waiting for her?
Be nice.
So she said, “Hey. Wanna join me?”
His jaw dropped. Why not? This was the first invitation she’d ever made him. He recovered quickly. “Love to.” He fell into step with her. “I already warmed up.”
After a bit, he asked, “So what did you think of the class this morning?”
When he turned his head to say something, she noticed his face was troubled. “Truthfully, I’m stymied. What’s the solution to cops’ behavior at a school shooting except running right in a situation where we’d most likely get gunned down in seconds?”
“Maybe Gabe and Nick have some ideas.” But she wasn’t sure about that. What could they be?
“I suppose. They elude me.”
“Me, too.” Silence for a while after they started moving again. “So, how’d you sleep?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not well. I can’t relax unless I’m in my own bed.” Or one of her sisters’ but she didn’t say that. “You?”
“Slept like a baby.”
“Lucky you.”
“If you can’t sleep again, knock on my door and I’ll go to the bar with you for a drink.”
“I can...” But she stopped herself. She was going to say, I can go to the bar by myself, but his offer had been genuine. “Maybe.”
“We’re scheduled for more driving time today and tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I think I’m ready to practice now. Thanks again for helping me.”
“You’re very welcome.”
He smiled. She smiled.
Well, that wasn’t too bad.
* * *
When Francesca went back to the hotel before the night session, she checked her cell phone—none were allowed on campus—and saw her mother had called. That filled her with joy. She punched Call back. Then she hung up, remembering it was two a.m. in Casarina.
Had something happened? She punched in another number.
“Hello, Frankie.”
“Hey, Calla. Before we chat, is anything wrong?”
“Nothing that I know of.”
“Mamá called me. She knew where I was, and that I’d be out of touch during the day.”
“Hmm. Mamá doesn’t do time changes well. Maybe she thought it was later here. I do have some gossip.”
“Yeah?”
“Lexy’s moving in with Ryder.”
“Seriously? I saw her last week. She was wrestling with the idea.”
“He must have won. Do you think it’s okay?”
“She’s madly in love. But he did betray her.”
“I betrayed Connor for Papá.” A pause. “You know, Ryder did the same thing. He gave Richard her background so the old man would have heart surgery.”
“You’re right. It may be fine, then.”
A knock.
“Just a sec.” She crossed to the adjoining door. Pulled it open. “Hey, Tyrell.”
“Ty. My name is Ty.”
Freshly showered, he smelled like soap and man, and the dampness made his hair seem darker.
“What do you want?” she asked, irritated by her thoughts.
“Grab some dinner with me downstairs?”
“I planned to get room service.”
“Come on.” His eyes twinkled. “It’ll be calm, I promise.”
“Um, no, I don’t think so. I’ve got to go.” She held up her phone. “I’m talking to my sister.”
“Hello, Francesca’s sister.”
“Hello, there.” They could both hear Calla call out.
“Goodbye.” Frankie closed the door and leaned against it. Into the phone she said, “I’m back.”
“Who was that?”
“The guy from my district that came with me.”
“He wanted you to go to dinner with him. Why didn’t you accept?”
“We don’t hit it off.” She thought of the run this morning. “Though things between us are better here. But I don’t want to get too chummy with him.”
“Frankie, why isn’t there a guy in your life?”
“Now that’s a topic for another day.” She smiled into the phone. “I gotta go now. Dinner.”
“Room service. Yuck.”
&nbs
p; “Goodbye, Calla.”
After the call, Frankie ordered a salad and a piece of fish. When it came, she picked at it, sitting by the window, staring out at the parking lot, and thought, I should have gone with Ty.
* * *
Their session the night before was lively, but in reality, no one had any answers for police behavior in school shootings but to seek out the perpetrator and gun him down. Both Gabe and Nick admitted that the best they could do was make sure EMS was on sight, lobby for better weaponry and body armor for cops, then go in even before SWAT arrived.
When they were settled in the classroom the next morning, Nick asked, “Ready for a test?”
“Hell.”
“Oh, great.”
“This wasn’t on the agenda.”
“Surveying what you already know is a teaching tool. There’s paper and pencils on your desk.”
Ty grinned.
Francesca had sat down next to him and gave him a sideways glance. “I suppose you like tests.”
“Always ace them.”
She shook her head. “Hot shot!”
Nick asked for attention. “You’ll often be called to help with crowd situations. We don’t mean riots. Rallies, maybe. Concerts. Speeches by politicians. In those large gatherings, there might be a shooter. Today, we’ll work on assessing a crowd.
“I’m going to show you five videos. In each, someone in the masses has the tell-tale signs for carrying a gun. Then we’ll go into how to spot a potential bomb, like at the Boston Marathon.” He put up a video. “We’ll do the first together, then I want you to work with the people you came with, from your precinct or district.”
That brightened Ty’s day.
On the large screen up front, the first situation played out. A group of about fifty people listened to a politician at a campaign rally. The camera stayed on the listeners.
Gabe continued, “At first glance, all attendees appear ordinary. But look closer.”
Ty concentrated. Then he said, “There’s a guy dressed in jeans and military coat, which is loose on him. And everyone else is in summer clothing.”
“Yeah, but he’s clean-cut,” someone else put in.
Another person commented, “Or he might be an actual soldier.”
Francesca got up and walked to the front. She examined his clothing, then returned to her seat and announced to the class, “Firearms have weight. I got close so I could see there was an uneven dip in the bottom of his coat.”
Ty nodded. “And gravity would pull the weight of a gun down.”
Nick confirmed that guy as the gun carrier. “Here’s number two for you to assess with your partner.”
The scene was a protest rally against abortion; the audience consisted of mostly of women. “Sometimes, people at rallies aren’t there to support the cause.” Nick’s voice was grave. “They come to do harm. Try to spot her.”
Francesca studied the film. Ty noticed how her dark eyes narrowed and how perfectly sculpted her brows were. Her face was alight with excitement. She liked a challenge. “I know who it is,” she said quietly to Ty. “See that woman who got out of the Honda? She looked from side to side, then checked her pocket. She’s making sure her gun didn’t get dislodged and it’s still in place.”
“Very good, Francesca. Let me try the next.”
Video three showed two guys walking toward an outdoor concert. Ty scrutinized them. After a bit, he whispered, “See how stiff the taller one is walking, and he has short arm swing. He’s hiding a gun in his sleeve.”
“I didn’t notice that.” Her eyes sparkled with approval and amusement.
They also found the gun wielders in the last two.
Nick held a clipboard and fiddled with the video machine. “I’m going to call on you for input this time.”
Nick picked other participants for videos three, four and five. The group gave their insights and in the end, they both got a perfect score.
When they finished up with a few more indicators, Gabe cut them loose. Ty and Francesca stood and high-fived. He grasped her hand before she could pull away. Held on to it. Then linked their fingers. “We make good partners.”
She watched him. “Today we did.” But she didn’t let go right away.
Chapter 7
When Gabe and Nick asked Frankie to have lunch on Wednesday, this time she invited Tyrell along. They would talk about family again, as she’d asked them to bring in pictures of their kids. Also, Whitney was stopping by. But Frankie didn’t feel as if she could ignore Tyrell now. Before getting food, they sat at a table and Nick pulled out his stash.
In one photo, two tow-headed, five-month old girls cuddled into each other, asleep. “They’re beautiful little angels,” Frankie said.
“If you ever want to babysit, give me a call. You’ll see how unangelic they are.”
Her eyes widened. “I’d love to babysit.”
Tyrell pretended to scowl. “Who is this woman and what have you done with Frankie the cop?”
“Hush,” she told him. “Don’t you know women have different sides to them?”
Next up were pictures of Nick’s boys. These twins were light-haired, and freckles dotted their faces. Another kid stood next to them. “Who’s the other one?”
“My son, Simon.” Gabe beamed.
“That’s the son I saw at the christening? Man, he’s so much taller.”
“Sprouted right up this spring.”
After the oohing and ahhing over children, they went through the line and filled their trays with gourmet hamburgers and pasta salad. When they sat back down, she took a bite of the latter, and sighed with appreciation at pasta mixed with celery, onion, boiled eggs and green olives.
Relaxed, Nick joked, “Don’t they have pasta salad in Italy?”
Her face blanched.
“What did I say?”
She shot a glance at Tyrell. He said, “Francesca is very stingy about her background. I didn’t know she came from Italy.”
Nick hit his head. “Man. She asked us not to say....”
Gabe poked him in the side. “Geez, buddy. You’re making things worse.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tyrell said kindly. “I won’t tell anybody.”
Embarrassed as hell, she blew out a heavy breath. “I’m not trying to cut anybody out. I just want to keep my background concealed. Besides, other people are involved in the decision.”
“So,” Ty asked. “Since you’re from another country, how can you be a cop? Are you a citizen of the U.S.?”
“Yes, my whole family has dual citizenship.”
“That’s intriguing.”
“Let’s—”
“Hey, guys.”
Frankie looked up into one of the most beautiful faces she’d ever seen. It had perfect symmetry and blue, blue eyes, framed by mounds of black hair—Whitney Dwyer. Frankie’s gaze dropped to the infant. The little tyke was dressed in a Baltimore Lions baseball uniform, partly covered by the sling. His face rested close to Whitney’s breast. “Lord, he’s beautiful.”
Tyrell stared at the baby. “He is. How old?”
“Six weeks.”
“Is he good?” Frankie asked.
“He’s a delight. He slept through the night after five days.”
“Lucky you.”
Whitney peered down at her son. “I see Calla and Razim sometimes, since we both have infants.”
Frankie ignored Tyrell. He was being exposed to all her secrets, but she’d deal with that later. “Yeah, she told me.”
Ty stood. “Hello, I’m Ty Collingsworth.”
“Whitney. These guys’ cousin.”
“She’s like a sister to us.” Gabe, who had stood when Whitney arrived, ruffled her hair.
Ty smiled. “I have a cousin like that.”
Liam started to fuss. Whitney freed him from the sling. “Since you’re next to my bag, Francesca, could you get his bottle out?” The bag still hung from her shoulder.
“Can I feed him?” she ask
ed after she fished out the milk.
She saw Tyrell’s brows arch.
“Gladly. One thing about sleeping through the night is that he eats every two hours all day long. Mostly, I nurse him, but Mama said we should give him one bottle every day.”
“Calla does that, too.” After she took an awake Liam from Whitney’s arms, Frankie stared down at the tiny child. The scent of powder and lemon shampoo wafted up to her.
Frankie pushed back her chair, put the baby in the crook of her arm and slid the bottle into his mouth. He sucked greedily. Whitney got food and sat down, and the four of them talked while Liam ate, but Frankie was mesmerized by the cooing, the down-soft black hair and the tiny fingers that rested on her breast. That one little motion tugged at something inside of her. Filled her with joy. Made the world right for a little while.
Vaguely, she heard Whitney tell them about addressing the new recruit class, heard them ask Tyrell if he had any kids or nieces or nephews, but mostly she basked in the glow of a new life and her opportunity to have physical contact with him.
* * *
On the golf-cart trip to the driving range, Ty smiled over at Francesca who was in the driver’s seat. “I do declare, Francesca, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
She rolled her eyes. “I knew this was coming.”
“You have a mushy side. Don’t that beat all.”
Angling her chin, she said proudly, “I do. And I’m not ashamed of it. I love babies.”
“So do I. I’d have a basketball team if I could convince some woman to go with five, maybe six—one for the bench.”
She chuckled. “I don’t think you’d have a problem with that.”
From the corner of her eyes, she saw his mouth drop open. “Oh, my God, was that a compliment?”
“It slipped out. I won’t do it again.”
“Don’t. My heart can’t take your flattery.” They were quiet. “So you want kids of your own?”
“I do, but I don’t know if it’s fair to have a cop as a mom or dad. Think of the worry.”
