by Lacey Black
*****
We’ve been hopping from the moment we got in the car and radioed dispatch that we’re on duty. I’m driving tonight, the first time my training partner has allowed me behind the wheel, and we’re heading to an accident. The other team is onsite, but called in for help just a few moments ago.
When we arrive, we find both squads there, as well as two ambulances. We already know there are three cars involved, with injuries, and one suspected of driving under the influence. One man sits in the back of a squad car, his head hung in remorse. On the other side of the scene, a young mother cries with her son, a boy of only three or four. Brooklyn jumps from the car and makes her way toward the pair.
“Sam, what happened?” she asks as she approaches, me hot on her heels.
The woman looks up, tears staining her pretty face. “Oh, Brooklyn! It happened so fast,” she sniffles. “We were driving through the intersection when that truck came barreling through. I didn’t have time to stop. It plowed into us and sent us spinning into another car.”
I glance down at the boy, the EMT working on cleaning up his arm. Brooklyn reaches over. I think she’s going to comfort the mother further, but instead, I’m surprised when she places her hand on the EMT’s shoulder. He glances her way, giving a small smile, but then turns his attention back on the little boy. Brooklyn removes her hand and returns her attention to the mother. They talk about the accident, about the minor injuries they’ve both sustained, and the impending trip to the hospital to get check out.
“I’m going to head over and talk to the other team,” I tell her, wanting to cross that narrow line between professional and personal. We’ve been on several calls tonight, but this one has her rattled. Something in her voice has me ready to toss aside the badge and wrap my arms around her.
That’s why I have to walk away.
Or I’m liable to do just that.
I find Sargent Hall over by his squad. “What can we do?” I ask, noticing the older man’s tired eyes keep checking the back of his car.
He sighs heavily. “This is all sorts of messed up,” he says with the shake of his head. “Ethan here ran a red light and broadsided the Tomin car. Mom and Tyler, the young boy, are going to be fine, just a few bumps and bruises from the belts and airbags. I’d like you to accompany them to the hospital and get her statement, if you can. I’m taking Mr. Gage to the station and booking him on suspected DUI. Hamm is going to stay here and clear the scene.”
“The third car?” I ask when the wrecker appears on scene.
“Sixty-eight-year-old male. Seems fine from the accident itself, but on his way to the hospital for an apparent heart attack.”
“No shit?”
Hall nods and glances back at the car. “Ethan lives down the street from me. He just broke up with his girlfriend and was apparently enjoying himself at Jack’s Pub. Against his better judgment, he got behind the wheel.”
I glance at the young man, his tear-filled eyes glancing our way once more. “Never the right decision when alcohol is involved,” I reply, turning to leave Hall to do his job.
When I get back to where Brooklyn is, the EMTs are loading the young boy and his mother into the back of the ambulance. “Mostly just precaution, but they’re going to get checked out,” she says, watching as the man from earlier secures the door.
“You headed to the hospital?” he asks, turning and giving his full attention to my partner. His hair is sandy blond, with streaks of gray and wire glasses perched on his nose.
“We’ll follow you,” I answer, causing the man to look my way. He seems to take me in for the first time, assessing me for some reason, before giving a brief nod.
As the man heads around to the driver’s side of the ambulance, Brooklyn and I make our way to our car. “Busy night,” I say as I pull out, lights off, and make my way through town.
“It is. Must be a full moon or something,” she says, casually, glancing up at the night sky. The car fills with tension, probably because neither one of us have acknowledged the kiss from yesterday afternoon. Instead, we’re both in work mode, which is great, except the fact that I can feel the nervousness trailing behind.
And the fact that I’d love to kiss her again.
“Do you know the victim and her son?” I ask, trying to make small-talk and adjusting my suddenly too-tight pants. I’ve learned over the last week and a half that I love talking to her, finding out about her life. The problem is the more she talks, the more I like her.
“Samantha and I went to school together. She married her high school sweetheart and they have Tyler, who’s three.” She doesn’t elaborate anymore, which is fine, since we’re already nearing the hospital. I file that tidbit of detail about Brooklyn’s life away, and get ready to work. I pull under the awning and follow behind as she heads inside, the delectable view of her ass keeping me company as we hit the sterile hallways.
We make our way to the emergency department and find Samantha and her son immediately. The nurse is taking care of the bump on her head, while the boy watches with wide, scared eyes. I reach into my pocket and find the small, plastic badge the department keeps on hand for promotional purposes. They come in handy for situations like this.
“Hey, Champ. How are you feeling?” I ask the young boy, crouching down in front of him and getting on his level.
Tyler shrugs his shoulders. “Okay,” he whispers softly.
I glance over and find Brooklyn talking to Samantha, clearly finishing up the statement that we started at the scene. She looks my way for a second, but doesn’t say anything. I go ahead and have a seat on the floor beside the hard, plastic chair that Tyler sits in.
“Tonight must have been pretty scary, huh?”
He turns his expressive eyes to me again and nods. “My mommy cried.”
“I bet she did. But it was probably because she was glad you were safe and not hurt. I heard you were really brave tonight.”
“I wanted to cry,” he starts, keeping his gaze locked on mine.
“And that’s okay, Champ. When something like that happens, it’s okay to shed a few tears. Car accidents are scary and, sometimes, bring out all sorts of feelings in us all.”
“That’s what my mommy said,” he whispers, glancing to where to nurse finishes cleaning up Samantha’s superficial wounds.
I hop up to my knees and pull the badge from my pocket. “I have something very special for you tonight, Champ. For being brave, even when you were scared, I’m making you a deputy,” I state, holding out my hand with the plastic badge in it.
Tyler’s eyes widen in shock as he gazes down at the star. “Weally?”
I can’t help but smile. “Yes, really. Here, let me pin it on your shirt.” Tyler jumps up off the chair and stands tall and proud as I pin the little toy prop on his long-sleeved Tyrannosaurs Rex T-shirt. “There ya go,” I say, patting him on his shoulder. “Now, wearing this badge is an honor, okay? It means you have to always try to be a good boy and listen to your mom and dad. Can you do that?”
Tyler nods emphatically. “I can do it. I’m a good listener.”
Again, a wide smile spreads across my face. “I’m happy to hear that, Officer Tyler.”
Just then, a man comes barreling around the corner, a panicked look on his face. “Tyler! Sam!” he exclaims as he races toward his family.
“Daddy!” Tyler turns and is in the man’s arms a second later.
I stand and step aside, watching as the relief washes over the man’s face. Receiving those calls is never easy, even when you’re assured that your family is fine. It isn’t until they’re safe and in your arms again that you truly start to believe that it is, in fact, okay.
Movement out of the corner of my eye has me turning toward my partner. She shoulder bumps me as she stands there, watching as her friend tells her husband about the accident. “You were pretty great with Tyler,” she says.
The compliment has warmth rushing up my cheeks. Shrugging, I respond, “It was nothing.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Ramsey. Underneath that tough exterior and badass beard, I can see that soft spot you have there for kids. You’re a pretty good guy and a great officer.”
I don’t reply, not right away. The lump in my throat makes it difficult to answer anyway. When she closes her notebook and slides the paperwork in her clipboard, I finally ask, “Badass beard?”
She just grins.
“Did you get everything you need for her statement?”
Brooklyn nods. “Yeah. It was as suspected. She signed off and they’re about ready to head home.”
“Let’s head out then,” I reply, placing my hand at the base of her spine and leading her out of the small room. The moment we hit the hallway, we find the man from the ambulance earlier.
He turns our way, his eyes moving to where my hand rests on her lower back. Instantly, I drop my hand and his eyes narrow at the movement. I don’t know why I feel like I’m under a microscope, but I do, and it’s not the first time either.
“Hey,” Brooklyn says, walking up to the man and placing a kiss on his cheek. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Bean,” he whispers, pulling her small frame into his much taller one as he hugs her tight.
“I thought I asked you to stop calling me that,” she replies, rolling her eyes and narrowing them at the man.
“And I thought I told you we’d never quit,” he quips, giving her a warm smile.
Brooklyn sighs. “Uncle Will, this is my partner, Officer Ramsey. Ramsey, my uncle Will.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand his way. He waits a beat, still assessing my every move, before finally reaching out and taking it. His hand is firm, maybe a little too firm, as he shakes my hand.
“Good to meet you too,” Will says, watching me like a hawk. Finally, he turns his attention back to his niece. “You coming to Grandma and Grandpa’s on Friday?”
“Of course I am. It’s Christmas,” my partner says, throwing another eye roll that does weird things to my groin area, which I’m struggling to keep under control at the moment. Even with the watchdog’s eyes boring into me, my cock stirs every time Brooklyn gets a little defiant.
“You should bring your new partner here. I’m sure everyone would love to meet him.” There’s something in the smile he gives Brooklyn, something that screams Red Alert!
“Uhh, yeah, I don’t think so,” she replies, quickly shutting him down.
“Why not? You’re new in town, right? Do you have anywhere to go for Christmas?” Will asks me, putting me directly in the hot seat.
I almost lie, and tell him I have somewhere to go, but think better of it. “No, nowhere to go.”
“See?” he says, victoriously, to my partner. “Nowhere to go.” Then he turns his eyes back my way. “Come spend Christmas with the Stevenses. We’d love to have you.”
“Oh, uhh, thank you,” I reply, running my hand over the back of my neck.
“Well, I better let you two get back to keeping the streets of Rivers Edge safe. Have a good night,” Will says, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.
“Night,” Brooklyn mumbles, turning and heading to the parking lot.
I run to catch up with her. “What was that about?”
“Nothing.”
“It didn’t feel like nothing,” I say, almost reaching for the passenger door to help her in, but then I remember this isn’t a date and I can’t do that. Yes, Brooklyn is a female, but I must treat her like any other officer, male or female. And that means leaving my chivalry at home.
For now.
“My family can be a little…extreme,” she finally answers before getting into the car.
“Define extreme,” I state, giving her my full attention as the chill starts to sweep into my thin blood.
She glances up, as if looking for the right words. “Well, they can be…overprotective.”
I snort. “Overprotective? Like super tight grips during handshakes?” I ask, thinking back to when Will squeezed my hand.
“No, like bringing flamethrowers to scare my high school prom date,” she mumbles as she climbs into the car and shuts the door.
I’m left standing there, partly wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into on Christmas, and the other part intrigued. Sure, I should probably run the other direction from a family that thinks flamethrowers are normal, but then again, a bigger part of me is interested in spending more time with Brooklyn.
Flamethrowers be damned.
Besides, no one would bring a flamethrower to Christmas, right?
Chapter Seven
Brooklyn
Just after two in the morning, our radio calls in a 10-16, domestic disturbance. “10-4, dispatch. What’s the location?” I reply into the radio. There’s no need to write down the address, since I already know where we’re going. “Take a left up here at the Shell station. We’re headed to a place a few blocks off Main Street,” I add.
I’m already sliding out of the cab as Ramsey radios in our arrival. The argument from the house is loud in the silence of the winter night, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I hate it when they argue.
I feel Ramsey’s presence as I approach the door. I wait until he’s in position and raise my hand, rapping on the old wooden door. A quick glance to my left shows a few lights on in the house next door and someone peeking through the blinds, most likely the 911 caller.
“Who’s d’er?” a rough, raspy voice hollers through the door.
“Rivers Edge PD. Open up, Harold,” I state, my hand poised above my service weapon. We’ve never had to draw them, but you never know when a situation will go from controlled to not in a matter of seconds.
“We’re fine. Go away,” he yells, coughing. I can practically hear his long drag from the cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“We’re not fine, you big asshole!” Carol screams, followed by the sound of something falling and breaking.
Ramsey moves, but I hold up my hand. “Open the door, Harold,” I insist.
Just when I’m about to knock hard again, the door cracks open. “Everything’s fine, girl. Just a little disagreement.”
“Can Carol come out, Harold? I’d like to speak to her too.”
“She’s busy.”
“I’m right here, you big dumbass.” Carol rounds the corner and steps into view. She appears completely unharmed, though has mascara streaked down her cheek. Harold and Carol are frequent recipients of calls from the PD. Ninety percent of the time, it’s a domestic argument, with the other ten percent being drunk and disorderly.
“Evening, Carol,” I state, keeping a close watch on Harold in my peripheral vision.
“Hey, Bean. Sorry about the call. I suppose it was that nosy lady next door again, huh?” Carol asks, taking a long drag from her cigarette.
“I’m not sure who called it in. All I know is there have been complaints of yelling and arguing. It’s well after two in the morning,” I say, leaving my statement open.
“It’s that nosy bitch across the street, I’m sure. Bitch needs to mind her own business,” Harold grumbles, wiping the sweat from his brow. Considering it’s about thirty degrees outside, I find it a little weird that he’s sweating as much as he is.
“Carol, are you okay to stay here or would you like to call someone?” I ask, knowing that half the time, their arguments end with her staying at her sister’s. Of course, she goes back home the next day, and the cycle continues to spin around and around.
“I’m not staying with this asshole. I’m leaving,” she states pointedly, turning to head toward their bedroom.
“Now, wait just a minute,” Harold hollers and turns to follow.
“No, sir, please step outside with my partner and me,” I say to Harold, nodding toward the entryway.
“I’m not going with you. I’m gunna talk to my wife,” he argues, stumbling into the wall.
“Harold,” I start, but stop when he spins around and takes a wi
de swing. I anticipate the move, even though I had really hoped it would never escalate to this, and counter by grabbing his arm and spinning until he’s on his stomach on the ground, me straddling his back.
I have a strong hold on his arms, but it’s a struggle to keep him from bucking me off. “Dammit, Harold,” I spit, reaching for my handcuffs with my left hand and keeping a hold of the angry man with my right. “You have the right to remain silent,” I start, just as he thrusts his head upward and pushes back with all his might. The momentum knocks me off his back and sends me tumbling into the wall, my head rapping against the old, faded drywall.
Before I can open my eyes, I hear the briefest scuffle, followed by the reading of the Miranda Rights. Even though my head is pounding, I ignore the throb and jump up to assist my partner. The bump to the head was more of a shock than anything else, but I can already feel the headache coming on. I look over and see Ramsey cuffing Harold and helping him stand.
Carol comes back into the room, her wide eyes frantic as she takes in the scene before her. “What’d he do?”
“Took a swing at my partner,” Ramsey replies, a definite bite in his tone. “He’s under arrest for assault,” he adds as he leads him from the house.
“Oh, Harold, you big stupid idiot,” Carol cries into her hands.
“Carol, would you like to call your sister to come stay with you?” I ask, taking a step her way.
Her tear-filled eyes glance my way. “He’s not always like this, you know. When he drinks,” she starts, but stops, shaking her head. “I’ll call Vicky,” she adds, referring to her sister.
I leave her alone and head outside. Ramsey finishes relaying the details of our stop to dispatch and hops in the driver’s seat. He’s silent as we head to our small jail, the tension radiating off his body like the lights on a Christmas tree. I can practically see the glow.
“Bean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to swing at you.” Harold’s voice is small, reserved, and full of remorse.
I know he didn’t mean to do it, but unfortunately, he did. And it was witnessed by another officer. It can’t be ignored or swept under the rug. He’ll spend the night in lock-up and go before the judge tomorrow. Hopefully, the ADA will go easy on him, considering he’s never escalated to this kind of assault before, but that’s not my call.
