The car settled upside down, Eve held in place by her seat belt, seawater sweeping through the open windows and across the dented ceiling, then receding again with the surf, washing away the pebbled glass. Deflated airbags dangled from everywhere. It felt like she had a spike in her chest, pounded in with a heavy slab of iron that was still pressed against her. But there was no spike or slab, just the seat belt, and as far as she could tell, she had no major injuries.
That could change if the deputies who’d boxed her in on the freeway and rammed her car were coming down to finish what they’d started.
She had no doubt that her attackers were Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputies. Who else would want her dead? Who else would know that she would be here, on this stretch of road? Who else would choose decommissioned cop cars and have the training to execute a PIT maneuver?
She raised one hand to break her fall, unbuckled her seat belt, and hit the wet roof. Every breath felt like she was being stabbed, her neck ached, and the saltwater stung the cuts on her face and arms. She figured the Kia had clipped the guardrail and tumbled down the seawall of boulders to the water below . . . and that the deputies could be up on the freeway, guns out, waiting for a good shot at her if she emerged.
Eve rolled with the tide out of the open passenger window, drew her gun, and rose to her feet slowly, peering around one of the wheels of her overturned car, ready to battle for her life with fellow deputies.
The traitor bitch is here. Come and get me, you cowards.
But she didn’t see anybody on the freeway shoulder and no sign of the three Crown Vics.
It was an enormous relief.
She holstered her gun and squatted down, the surf crashing against her, and looked for her phone, which was still wedged in the cup holder, the screen glowing. She reached inside the car and grabbed the phone, the action causing another sharp pain in her chest.
Before she could call 911, she heard sirens approaching and could see their flashing lights. That was incredibly fast, she thought, as she staggered over to the boulders, intending to climb up to the shoulder to meet the first responders. But the pain and pressure in her chest, and a surge of dizziness when she raised her head, changed her mind. She’d let them carry her up on a stretcher.
Eve sat down on a boulder, facing the water and the rental car. The Kia was totaled. She definitely wouldn’t be getting a Christmas card from her insurance agent this year.
This is what it has come to, she thought. I’m so hated by my fellow cops that they want me dead.
It was a painful realization, and not just physically. Eve was human, she wanted to be liked by the people that she worked with. She wanted them to be her friends. However, if being hated was the price of doing the right thing, then she could live with that.
If they’d let her.
A motorist on the northbound 101 had seen her Kia flip over the guardrail into the ocean and called 911. Ventura County Fire Station 25 was only a mile south, on the east side of the freeway, which was why fire engines and paramedics were able to get to Eve less than five minutes after the crash.
She identified herself to the firefighters as a detective with the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and informed them that the car, and the stretch of freeway where the ramming occurred, were crime scenes and needed to be secured.
Officers from the California Highway Patrol responded to the scene, since the crash occurred on the freeway, and so did deputies from the Ventura County Sheriff’s Department, since the car landed in an unincorporated area of the county. Eve gave her statement to a deputy and a CHP officer while she was being carried up to the freeway on a stretcher by firefighters and examined on the shoulder by paramedics. The deputy and officer assured her that the attack would be thoroughly investigated and that they’d start looking for the three decommissioned police patrol cars.
The paramedics secured her neck and head with braces, ran an IV of saline solution into her left arm, and insisted that she be rushed by ambulance to Community Memorial Hospital in Ventura. The deputies took her gun, gave her the pink property record receipt, and she was loaded into the ambulance.
Eve called Duncan on the way to the hospital.
“You made good time,” he said.
“I’m in an ambulance on my way to Community Memorial in Ventura. I was boxed in and run off the freeway by drivers in three used patrol cars. It had to be three pissed-off deputies from LA.”
“Are you okay?”
She was shaking and she knew it wasn’t just from being wet and cold.
“I’ve taken a beating, but I think I’ll be fine. I gave my weapon to a Ventura County deputy who is probably still arguing with CHP about who is going to handle the investigation.”
“I will,” Duncan said. “I’ll be up there in forty minutes.”
At the ER, her blood was drawn to determine if she was under the influence of drugs or alcohol and she authorized the hospital to share the results with law enforcement. The doctor, an earnest Scotsman who immediately reminded her of Scotty on Star Trek, sent her for X-rays and an MRI, which revealed that Eve had a broken sternum but no other internal injuries.
“There isn’t really anything we can do about the broken sternum, except give you something for the pain and urge you to take it easy for a few weeks,” Scotty said. “Your neck is strained, not sprained, which is good news. We’ll give you some ice packs to reduce swelling and a neck brace to wear.”
Otherwise, she had numerous cuts, none that required stitches, and a nasty bruise on her chest where she was hit by both the belt and the airbag. The real injury was emotional.
Her own people did this to her. People with badges.
Scotty insisted that Eve stay overnight for observation as a precaution and she didn’t argue with him.
“There’s a reporter outside from the Ventura County Star,” Scotty said. “Do you want to talk with him?”
“I don’t want to talk to any reporters,” she said.
“I’ll pass the word along.”
“Thank you. How are the dilithium crystals holding up?”
He looked at her with a bewildered expression on his face. He’d obviously never seen an episode of the original Star Trek. “Excuse me?”
“Never mind.”
He went off to treat another patient.
She was still on a gurney in the ER thirty minutes later, waiting to be taken to her room and lying with ice packs on her neck, when Duncan ambled in. He wasn’t bruised and didn’t have any broken bones, but she thought he looked worse than her. Worn out and feeling every one of his sixty years.
“I’ve only known you a few months,” he said. “But in that time, I’ve visited you twice in the ER after car crashes. You keep this up, you’re not going to make it to retirement in this job. You might not even make it to next year.”
“I didn’t cause this crash.”
“Not directly. The three old Crown Vics that ambushed you were found abandoned in a vacant lot at the Sea Cliff exit—that’s the first off-ramp from where you crashed, about a mile or so south, where the fire station is. They must’ve had a vehicle waiting for them there.”
“I was set up. They knew I was coming.”
Duncan nodded. “Looks like it. The three cars were stolen last night from a wholesaler in Oxnard that sells used state, county, and local government and law enforcement vehicles. The question is whether Jimmy Frankel was in on it or not.”
“It would explain why he asked for me to come up alone.”
“I don’t know how else they could’ve known last night where you’d be today. I’m checking his calls from prison, but I doubt he was stupid enough to call a deputy directly,” Duncan said. “How bad are you hurt?”
“Broken sternum, a sore neck, a few cuts, nothing serious.”
“The CHP is handling the accident investigation, which was obviously no accident, and the Ventura County sheriff is investigating the attempted murder,” Duncan said. “I’ve got to ad
mit that now I’m afraid to answer your calls at night. It’s never good news.”
“In 108 days or so, you won’t have to worry about that.” And when that day came, Eve knew she’d truly be all alone at the sheriff’s department with nobody she could trust, nobody she could call a friend. That realization hurt her more than her broken sternum or any of her bruises.
“You’ve still got plenty of time to total a few more cars or run into another wildfire before I go.”
“That’s true,” she said. “I’ll have to keep my eye open for opportunities.”
“I’ve got your Glock, by the way. I picked it up from the Ventura deputy. You want to keep it under your pillow?”
“You can hold on to it. I think I’m safe here.”
Duncan looked at the IV bag, then at her from head to toe. “It makes me sick to think that deputies did this to you.”
“Don’t be sick,” she said. “Be angry.”
That was what she was telling herself, too.
“The doctor says that if you do well tonight, and nothing comes up in your next exam, he will let you go at noon. I’ll be back tomorrow to give you a ride home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Eve said. “I can get a rental car.”
“Who is going to rent you a car after this?”
Injured cops often get preferential treatment in hospitals, and it was no different for Eve. She was given a private room and her bed had an iPad-like touch screen device mounted on an adjustable arm that she could use to watch television, order food, or access the internet.
The painkillers had kicked in, and her neck was immobilized in a foam brace, so she wasn’t hurting so bad anymore. But she felt a strange crackling sensation, like her sternum was separating into sharp pieces, every time she took a breath. Even so, she was feeling comfortable enough now to notice that she was hungry.
Eve was sitting up in bed, scrolling through the cafeteria menu on the touch screen and trying to decide what to order for dinner, when her mom came in, carrying a grocery bag. It was an unexpected, and unwelcomed, surprise.
“Mom, what are you doing here?”
“You’re in the ICU, fighting for your life. I’m your mother. Of course I’m going to be by your side.”
“I’m not in the ICU and I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine to me.” Jen set the grocery bag on the nightstand and began unpacking items onto Eve’s tray table, which was also on an adjustable arm beside the bed. “I brought you sushi from Bristol Farms. I don’t trust the sushi at Ralphs. It’s cheaper there, but the gal who makes it is white. They have a real Japanese guy at Bristol Farms.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“A reporter from the Ventura County Star called me,” Jen said. “I had no idea you were in Ventura. God forbid you should call your mother, even when you’re lying naked and bleeding in a ditch a few miles from her house.”
“I wasn’t lying naked and bleeding in a ditch.”
“It’s a figure of speech.”
“No it’s not.” Eve felt her shoulder muscles tightening up, which made her neck tighten up, which sent a stab of pain straight into her skull. “What did you tell the reporter?”
“The truth, that I haven’t heard from you since your press conference. What kind of daughter doesn’t call her mother after a lunatic blows his brains out in her living room?”
“You didn’t say that to him, did you?”
“I also told him that you demonstrated the relentless dedication to justice that I’ve instilled in you since birth.” Jen unwrapped the sushi and set it on the tray table. “I think the crab is krab with a k, the fake stuff, but it’s still fish. Did you have a plastic surgeon look at your face?”
“No I didn’t.”
“You really should. You don’t want to be disfigured for life.”
“Disfigured? Is it that bad?” Eve realized she hadn’t looked at herself since she’d brushed her teeth at Daniel’s apartment that morning. “Give me a mirror.”
Jen dug around in her purse for her compact mirror. “You never asked me for a mirror before. That’s a good sign. You’ve turned a corner in your recovery already. You want to live.”
“I’m not dying, Mom. Stop being so dramatic.”
Jen handed her the mirror and Eve studied her reflection. There were tiny cuts on her face, most no worse than the nicks a man might get shaving with a lousy disposable razor, and she had a black eye. She’d also cut her lower lip, so it was slightly swollen. Overall, it wasn’t so bad, considering the severity of her crash.
“I’ve looked worse.” Eve gave the mirror back to her mom and had a piece of the California roll. It was tasty and she couldn’t tell if it was crab or krab.
“Tell me about your accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident, but I can’t talk about it. Police business.” Eve gobbled down another piece of sushi.
Her mom took a piece of the rainbow roll and popped it in her mouth. “Okay, is it true what that crazy woman is saying on TV about you harassing her husband into killing himself? Because I know what you can be like.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Eve wished she had a morphine drip, because she would be urgently pressing the button for a dose right now. Her shoulders were like rebar and her neck was an iron spike being driven into her brain with each word her mother spoke. She had another piece of sushi instead.
“You can be intensely judgmental. Not everyone can take it. Not everyone is as strong and as understanding as I am. I know the real person that you’re judging is yourself.”
“No, it’s you. It has always been you. You made me who I am.”
Jen kissed Eve on the cheek. “That is so sweet. Why do you have to be on the edge of death before you’ll say nice things to me?”
She was about to argue that she wasn’t on the edge of death, but she realized she soon might be if her mother stayed any longer.
“With injuries this severe, Mom, the doctor says it’s crucial that I get my rest. This has been nice, but I really need some sleep. You should leave the sushi and go.”
“Okay, dear, but where are your valuables?”
“What valuables?” It seemed like everyone was interested in them lately. First the crime scene cleaner, now her mother.
“Your keys, wallet, phone, badge, and gun?”
“My partner has my gun, the nurse is charging my phone for me, and I don’t have any jewelry. Everything else is in a bag in the nightstand drawer.”
“All women have jewelry, honey. The badge is yours. You love wearing it. You probably wear it to bed,” Jen said. “Maybe you should give everything to me until you leave.”
She wasn’t going to give her mom her badge or anything else. “Why would I ever do that?”
“Because I know from my experience working in the health care industry that there’s an underground network of nurses and orderlies who steal valuables from patients, particularly those who are near death.”
“First off, I am not near death and the only working you’ve done in health care was as a background extra on General Hospital.”
“There was a head nurse while I was there who used stolen valuables to finance her sexual reassignment surgery so she could seduce and marry the straight woman she was in love with.” Jen leaned close to Eve and whispered, “Have you taken a good look at the nurse out there? She looks more masculine than feminine to me.”
“Goodbye, Mom,” Eve said.
Jen kissed her on the cheek. “Sleep with one eye open.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
But Eve didn’t sleep, with one eye open or otherwise. She didn’t know whether it was the shock to her system from the accident, the pain, the discomfort, the side effects of her medications, the stressful conversation with her mom, or all of the above that were preventing her slumber.
Around 3:00 a.m., Eve got out of bed, grabbed hold of her rolling IV stand, and wheeled it with her into the bathroom to pee. It was not a ple
asant experience and retying her hospital gown, which cinched behind her back, afterward turned out to be a difficult and painful ordeal.
She shuffled out of the bathroom, wheeling her IV stand beside her, and decided to take a little stroll through the hospital instead of getting back into bed. Perhaps stretching her legs, and getting the blood flowing, would loosen up all the tight muscles in her body and allow her to get some sleep.
Eve stepped into the corridor and was startled to see a man sitting in a chair outside of her door. She recognized him. He was a Lost Hills deputy named Tom Ross, an ex-marine. He was in jeans and a T-shirt, a badge and a holstered gun clipped to his belt. Her heart began to race.
“Come to finish what you started?” Eve said, looking around and seeing no one at the nurse’s station. Where the hell is everyone? She was in no shape to defend herself. The most she could do was scream, and was considering it, when he spoke.
“You can stand down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Are you a Great White?”
“Uh-huh.” Ross leaned down, lifted up his pant leg, and showed her the tattoo.
“So you’re here to deliver a message.”
“I suppose you could say that. I’m proud of this tattoo and what it represents. This one, too.”
Ross straightened up and pulled off his T-shirt. He had six-pack abs and stone-hard pecs. But what drew Eve’s attention was the vivid tattoo on the cap of his right shoulder. It was a skull with three bullet holes in the forehead, set against crossbones comprised of a sniper rifle, a knife, and an oar.
“It’s scary if you don’t know what it means,” he said. “It’s a death head with three bullets through the skull. The bullet holes symbolize the three shots we take before the enemy even knows we’re there. The bullet holes also represent the three words of our Marine Corps recon unit motto: swift, silent, deadly.”
“It still doesn’t look like Hello Kitty to me.”
“It means you’re willing to kill for your country and probably have. It means you have a code of honor, courage, and commitment you will live, kill, and die by. I wear the tattoo with pride. Same as the one on my leg, which represents my dedication to the badge, to my fellow deputies, and to our community.”
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