“Should we check the rest of the house?” I asked.
Laurel nodded. She took my hand and led me to the kitchen. There was a variety of booze, but no Garrett Benson. From there we checked all the bedrooms in the hallway. More skin and awkward teenage fumbling than I needed to see, but also no Benson. We looped back to the living room.
“There.” Laurel’s grip on my hand tightened.
“Where?” I had to lean close to hear her. She smelled crisp and fresh, per the usual.
“Across the room. He’s wearing overalls and a bright blue beanie.”
I searched the area she was staring at and found two dudes wearing overalls. Only one with a bright blue beanie though. “Oh, wow. That’s a choice.” It was definitely Benson.
“Come on.” She tugged me forward.
We wove through the warm, dancing bodies until we got to the other side of the room. Laurel dropped my hand and stepped up to Benson.
“Garrett Benson.”
“Yeah?” He glared at her.
“You’re under arrest.”
He laughed. “No, I’m not.”
“Hands on your head. Turn around and face the wall.”
“Fuck that.” He shoulder checked her and tried to walk away.
Laurel grabbed the back of his overalls and spun him around. He slammed face-first into the wall.
That escalated quickly.
“Fucking cunt.” Not the smartest thing to say to a cop.
Laurel shoved him against the wall. She kicked his feet out. Her palm was wide across his back to keep him stationary. When she reached for her cuffs, he pushed hard off the wall to break her grip, then sprinted down the hallway. She took off after him. I took off after her. This was not turning out fun. Not that arresting rapists was fun, but any interaction that went south so quickly was distinctly unfun.
Benson went for the backyard. As I was sprinting out the back door, I saw his overalls disappear over the fence. Laurel ran straight at the fence, leapt up, and hauled herself to the top. It would have been hot if I didn’t know I was going to have to do the same thing. I managed to get over the fence and found myself in someone else’s backyard. The sound of the gate flying open let me know which way to go.
I ended up on the street parallel to the one where we’d parked. Benson was booking it up the street and Laurel was gaining on him. They turned a corner. I could hear the pounding of their feet against the pavement.
“Fuck.” I kept running.
As I turned the corner, Laurel tackled Benson in someone’s front yard. They both went down. She landed on top of him. He struggled to shove her off and wriggle out. When that didn’t work, he slugged her. All the police training in the world was no match for a drunk, testosterone-filled twenty-year-old dude. Laurel went sprawling.
Benson rolled on top of her. He punched her in the face a few times. She returned the blows. He was winning. Suddenly, Benson raised up and went stiff. Laurel had clearly kneed him in the balls. He angled his shin over her thighs so she couldn’t do it again. They grappled as he tried to grab her hands.
I stopped running at the edge of the manicured lawn. I didn’t know if I should intervene. I didn’t know how to intervene. But then Benson caught both Laurel’s wrists in one hand and shoved her hands down above her head. I ran and tackled him. We rolled off Laurel. Benson kept us rolling until he was on top of me. He was fucking heavy. I punched his jaw hard enough to make my hand throb. He appeared mildly inconvenienced. I hit him again. He punched me twice, which was enough to make my head spin. Sharp pain radiated through my cheek and nose.
Laurel was shouting at us, but it was difficult to understand her. I saw her standing behind him. My vision was blurry. She swung her elbow hard into the side of his head. He dropped. Onto me.
“Fuck.” Laurel grabbed fistfuls of his clothing and hauled him off me.
“Thanks.” I took a few deep breaths to calm down. The blood dripping down the back of my throat inspired me to sit up. I coughed and sent a spray of blood over the immaculate lawn.
“Motherfucker.” Laurel stood over him, but instead of reaching for her cuffs or her phone, she kicked him solidly in the ribs. Fully fucking kicked him. Her second kick—in the exact same spot—must have broken something.
“Oh, fuck.” I forced myself to my feet so I could face her.
She leaned over Benson and hit him a few more times.
“Laurel,” I shouted. Nothing. “Laurel, stop.” I grabbed her and tried to pull her off him.
“No. I have to—” She fought against my grip until I let go and she fell on him again.
“Laurel, you got him. Stop.” I grabbed her biceps and hauled her back. My grip was high enough on her arms that she couldn’t break it easily.
“Let me go. He raped Lane. I’m going to kill him.”
I yanked her farther away from him, forcing her to turn and look at me. “It’s okay.” I eased my grip and rubbed my hand over her shoulders instead. “Try to calm down. You just lost it. It’s okay.”
She took a long, shaky breath. “I didn’t lose it.”
“You kind of did. But it’s all right.” I was lying, but this felt like the appropriate moment to lie.
“No.” She took a step away from me. “I meant to.”
I put my hand on her arm to ground her and restrain her, if necessary. “Why?”
“I told you. He raped Lane.”
“Why would you think he assaulted Lane?”
She turned back to me. “Lane texted. She looked through the photos we left. When we got here, I got a message from her that it was Benson.”
“How? The odds are seriously low that it was actually him.”
“That’s what she told me.” Laurel wrestled her phone out of her pocket. Her hand was starting to swell. “Look.”
I looked at the screen. There were three unread messages from Lane.
Never mind. I think it’s Brenden Santos.
Or Jonathan Ferguson.
I don’t know. I’m sorry. They all are kind of blending together.
“Fuck,” I said.
“What?”
I glanced at Benson. Thankfully, he was still passed out. I handed Laurel the phone. My hand was throbbing just from gripping it.
“Oh God.” The phone slid out of her grasp and bounced on the grass. She swayed on her feet. When her eyes met mine, she burst into tears and fell into me. “Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I took her hands and squeezed until she looked at me. “It’s all right. You just need to cool down.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “I have to call Reyes. Give him our location.”
“Yeah. Good idea.” I picked up her phone and gave it to her.
She took a final look at Benson, then stepped away from me, from him. She put the phone to her ear. “I need backup now.” She looked around until she found a street sign to read to him. “Yeah, I got Benson, but he resisted arrest. We need an ambulance. Benson is unconscious, and Braddock and I took a couple of hits.”
When she said it, I realized my nose had stopped bleeding. That was nice. It still pulsed with each heartbeat, but the pain had dulled. I inhaled slowly. My eyes started to water again. I decided to stick with being a mouth-breather.
After hanging up, Laurel checked Benson’s pulse. He stirred at her touch so she cuffed him. The trees around the corner lit up red and blue a moment before Hawkins pulled up. He jumped out of the car and sprinted to Laurel’s side.
“Reyes has an ambulance en route,” Hawkins said.
“Good. Pulse is strong. He’ll probably wake up soon. That’s why I cuffed him.”
“I’ll babysit him if you and Braddock need first aid.”
“Thanks.” Laurel came back to my side as another cop car arrived, followed by an ambulance.
Hawkins waved the EMTs over. The uniform driving the second cruiser checked in with Laurel. I watched them speak without bothering to listen. Laurel’s hands were trembling. She ke
pt glancing at Benson.
The uniform went back to his car and pulled out a first aid kit. He handed me a pack of baby wipes. After one swipe, my nose started bleeding again so I just stopped. As the EMTs loaded Benson up, Hawkins and the new uniform had a whispered conversation about accompanying him to the hospital.
“I assume one of them can take us to your truck before we head back to the station?” I asked Laurel.
She looked at me strangely. “What do you mean?”
“Like you’re not going to leave your truck here, right?”
“No. But why would we go back to the station?” She seemed genuinely confused.
“Because we clearly need to pack it in for the evening.” I was also confused.
“Why?”
“Because we’re both on edge and no longer impartial.” I included myself in the statement to make it seem less accusatory, but I was pretty sure we both knew I was talking about her ability to remain impartial. Behind her, the ambulance pulled away as did one of the cruisers.
“I’m not calling it early just because one arrest didn’t go as planned. There are still guys out there.”
“But you’re not operating at full capacity.” I kept my voice low.
“I’m fine. I’ll ice my hand on the way to the next location.”
“I’m not talking about your hand. You’re looking for a fight.”
Laurel looked pissed, but she kept it together. “I know I behaved badly. But I also know myself and I’m fine.”
I trusted her to be honest about herself, which meant she had no concept of how far she’d gone over the line. “Okay. I’m not going with you then.”
“What?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. If you want to go out, that’s your choice, but I can’t participate.”
“Are you trying to punish me?”
“Not at all. I just think you need to cool down. Until you do, you’re not safe.”
“Whatever.” She was pissed. “So you’re fine with the remaining rapists just walking?”
“I didn’t say that. There are still four teams out there. They will get them.”
“But you’re not going to help? Seems like you’re fine increasing the odds they will walk.”
“I’ll just go back to the station and help Reyes. Still contributing, but in a more appropriate manner.”
“Kallen, Withers said you needed this.” Hawkins came up behind Laurel with an ice pack. He cracked it and manipulated the bag before handing it to her.
“Thanks.” Laurel took the pack and draped it over her knuckles. “I need a ride back to my truck. After that, do you mind taking Ms. Braddock back to the station?” She carefully didn’t look at me.
Hawkins glanced at me. “Sure.”
“Thanks.”
We climbed into his cruiser. I could see Laurel’s face in the rearview mirror. I scooted over until I could see Hawkins instead. “So you’re done being in the field tonight?” Hawkins asked.
“It’s good to know your limits,” I said sagely as blood dripped off my chin. Laurel didn’t respond.
Chapter Twenty-six
We drove in heavy silence to the station. Hawkins seemed nervous, but I couldn’t tell if that was because I was a hardened criminal or because he just wanted to get back out there, arresting rapists with his buddies. He stopped in front of the station and I waved as I went inside.
Reyes came out of the conference room where he was monitoring the operation. He grimaced when he saw me. “Christ, Braddock, what the fuck?”
“We had an altercation.”
“Are you okay?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. My nose keeps bleeding at random, but it doesn’t feel broken.”
“Is Kallen all right?”
“She said she was fine.”
He didn’t seem concerned by my evasive answer. “You hurt anywhere else?”
I held out my hand. “I could use some ice. I’m not used to hitting people.”
He whistled. “That doesn’t look great.”
“You think I’ll ever be a hand model again?”
He chuckled. “Go clean up and I’ll grab a first aid kit.” He pointed at the bathroom. “When you’ve washed up, meet me in the conference room. I’ll take a look at your hand.”
I did as he said. I was obviously relieved about not having to answer questions, but also the blood had dried and there was a funky blood crust on my face, which tended to shift one’s priorities. I cupped my hands to fill them with water and submerged my chin and nose. The sensation of warm water seeping up my nose was not great. I dropped the handful of water and watched pink splash over the white sink. I folded a rough, sharp paper towel and scrubbed at the line of dried blood running from my nose to my chin. The blood flecked away. The smell of water and copper and cheap paper filled my nose. My T-shirt and flannel both had spots of blood, but I couldn’t do much about that. My hands were still shaking. I stared at the drips of water as they trembled off my fingertips.
Laurel had crossed a line. I felt reasonably confident that she would realize it and do something stupid like tell Ionescu. There was a small part of me, however, that wondered if she wouldn’t admit it, even to herself. Maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did.
I found Reyes in the conference room. He had a digital map projected on the wall with a list of locations.
“How many have we caught?” I asked.
He looked at me and shook his head. “Eleven. Blackford got a triple. It seems a fair number of these guys know each other.”
“Not surprising. Osborn and Darby’s business plan must have relied heavily on word of mouth.” I sat next to him.
“How’s your hand?”
“Hurts like a motherfucker.”
“Let me see it.”
I held out my hand. Reyes walked his fingers over the bones in my hand. When he did the same to my fingers, I jerked. “Ow. Fuck.”
“That hurt?” He pressed the knuckle at the base of my ring finger.
“Yes. Stop doing that.” I tried to pull my hand away.
“Can you fully extend it?”
I slowly stretched out my hand. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Make a fist.” He held up a closed fist to show me. Very helpful.
I tried to close my fist, but stopped about halfway there. “Nope. Can’t do that.”
“It just looks like a sprain to me. I don’t think it’s fractured.” He extended my finger.
“How the fuck did I sprain my finger?”
Reyes opened the first aid kit. “Did you punch someone?”
“Yes, but how do you sprain a finger by punching someone?”
“It would appear you’re bad at punching.”
I was going to dispute his opinion, but I didn’t have any evidence to the contrary. “You’re not wrong.”
Reyes opened the first aid kit and pulled out some medical tape. It was flesh colored. Flesh colored was bullshit. Mostly because of racism, but also it was boring. Reyes wrapped my middle and ring fingers together. Then he cracked an ice pack, wrapped it, and set it over my hand.
“Keep it elevated.” He dragged a massive stack of files over from the end of the table and set my hand on them. “You want an ice pack for your eye?”
“What’s wrong with my eye?”
“It’s turning color.”
“Oh.” I lifted the hand without an ice pack and prodded around my eye. Yep, quite tender. “It’s fine. Do you have some ibuprofen?”
“Yeah.” He dug through the kit until he found a small bottle.
I shook out a couple and Reyes handed me a bottle of water. I tried to open it, but couldn’t get a good grip on the lid. I groaned.
“Can you open this?”
He shook his head and took the water back. The seal cracked. He set it on the table.
“So why did you come back here?”
“I did as much as I could out there.” I shrugged. “Plus, I’m a wimp.”
He chuckled. “For the
rest of tonight, you can play CI here and answer any questions that come up. Laurel is with Duarte and Xiao so we only have four teams out there.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Reyes’s phone rang. He answered it. “Reyes.” He clicked and typed on his laptop. The projected screen shifted from the digital map to a spreadsheet. He selected the row for Jake Ramsey. “Okay, secondary location is the Alpha Pi Omicron house if his dorm room is empty. Fenton had a team at the frat house earlier. They didn’t make any arrests, but we still don’t want to tip the brothers off.” Reyes disconnected the call and typed in a few updates on the spreadsheet.
“What happens if you guys don’t get all of them tonight?” I asked.
“We will put out an APB and have uniforms posted at their residences. That will likely be enough to catch the stragglers unless they run.”
“What are the chances they will run?”
He smiled wryly. “Pretty high. Ionescu has a meeting with the press tomorrow. He hasn’t decided if we’re going to release the rapists’ names, but we probably will.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Well, we can only charge eleven of them with sexual assault. The remaining guys we are using a bunch of inflated charges around the online transactions just so we can hold them. We still need to find their victims and convince them to press charges.”
“How does that affect the releasing of names?”
“It can compromise the privacy of the victim. It gives the perpetrator an opportunity to threaten his victim so she won’t press charges. It just complicates things.”
“Ergo, attempting to arrest all the perpetrators in one night.”
“Nice use of ergo, and, yes.”
“Remember when you offered me an ice pack for my eye?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it too late to take you up on it?”
“No. I can arrange that.” He stood. “Keep an eye on my phone.”
“Will do.”
He returned a couple of minutes later with a baggie of ice wrapped in a threadbare hand towel.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And I promise the towel is clean.”
“It didn’t occur to me that it might not be, but that’s great nonetheless,” I said.
Cash and the Sorority Girl Page 22