by S. E. Harmon
When I slid in the driver’s side, his customized racing seat cupped my ass so familiarly, I was tempted to slap it silly. It had been awhile since I’d driven anything other than an automatic, and it wasn’t as easy as I remembered. I pretended not to notice Kevin’s glare as I ground the gears pulling out of the parking lot. And down the street in front of the precinct. I also ignored his muttered, “Maybe I could introduce you to a little something called the clutch.”
But I’d always been a quick study. By the time we got to the turnpike, I had the hang of it again. Even with noon congestion, there was enough open highway to really let her loose. I didn’t hesitate.
Kevin slid me serious side-eye as I navigated traffic breezily. “When’s the last time you drove a manual again?”
“In DC. And I didn’t so much as drive as pay outrageous garage fees to store my car. That’s why it’s still a bit of a treat.”
“That doesn’t answer my—” He took in a quick breath as I got over just in time for our exit off the turnpike and slid smoothly into a small slot in the line of cars. “That was a little fucking close, don’t you think?”
“I know what I’m doing, that’s what I think.”
His lips twitched. “I have a high deductible, you know.”
“You’re ruining Camaro day for me,” I said indignantly. “I thought you liked being chauffeured around.”
“Usually I do. I guess Danny just drives stick better than you do.”
“I think Danny would beg to differ.” I spoke without thinking, and he guffawed. My comment probably fell into the category of too much information, but Kevin didn’t seem to mind, and at least he loosened up enough to stop gripping the Oh Shit bar.
As we got closer to downtown Miami, the neighborhoods started to change. The houses grew smaller and closer together until they disappeared altogether, and apartment buildings took their place. All the buildings looked pretty much the same, tall and boxy, and were designed to house as many people as possible.
After scouring six of the restaurants—and telling Kevin we did not have time to grab a Cuban sandwich—we got lucky. Kevin spotted a white Impala pulling out of a Denny’s parking lot. I followed circumspectly as Kevin ran the tag number.
Watts seemed intent on not drawing any attention to himself, driving the speed limit—thirty-five miles an hour, no more, no less. Following him as other cars zoomed around us made him slightly suspicious. He glanced up in the rearview again for the fourth time in as many minutes.
“Yahtzee,” Kevin crowed. “We have a match. Light ’im up.”
I obeyed with a chuckle, flicking on the lights and sirens.
“Time to get busy,” he said, punching the air with his fist. “Time to crack some skulls.”
“Kevin.”
“Yippee ki yay, motherf—”
“No.” I ignored his outstretched fist as I navigated traffic with quick, concise moves. “Just no.”
Locating our suspect was as far as the good news stretched. The not so good news was that Watts wasn’t particularly happy to see us. The bad news, also known as the holy fuck news, was that he wasn’t afraid to initiate a high-speed car chase through the thick of Miami traffic.
I headed down the side of a building on a narrow road clearly marked Do Not Enter, hoping to catch up to Watts’s Impala. The road spat me out on the main highway unexpectedly, and I merged with the first lane so fast, my tires squealed. For his part, Kevin had lost his zeal for reenacting any part of Die Hard.
“Fuck my life.” He tightened his already tight seatbelt. “And fuck my insurance.”
I weaved through the cars, determined not to lose Watts. My job was a little harder than his—public safety had to be my priority. The thick Miami traffic wasn’t keen on obliging, and I gritted my teeth as Kevin continued to contemplate his insurance choices.
“A high deductible just seemed to make sense at the time. I mean, it’s not like I ever do any crazy driving in this car.”
Apparently not every driver knew what the fuck lights and sirens meant. I tried to pass a slow-moving Expedition, and instead of moving to the side, he jammed on brakes. I swerved into the turning lane to get around him.
“My wife has been trying to get me to get a more sensible car. A sports car doesn’t make sense with kids.” Kevin pitched his voice higher, presumably mimicking hers. “Fuck, you never listen.”
“Kevin—”
“I’ve never even been in an accident. It just seemed smarter to pay less insurance now rather than—”
“Kevin, will you please shut….” I groaned as the Impala swerved onto the shoulder and went supersonic. “Fuck!”
Kevin finally stopped bitching and checked on our request for backup. The dispatcher assured us it was on the way.
They couldn’t get there soon enough. I’d been part of a car chase only once before, as part of a four-car convoy chasing a fleeing suspect in a stolen Porsche. I didn’t relish being part of one again, especially since the last one ended in the suspect running a railroad crossing and getting creamed. I still couldn’t see a Porsche 911 Turbo without wincing.
I also hated chasing someone through thick traffic. There were too many variables. Too many opportunities to lose us. I swerved around another car that came to a complete fucking stop just in time to see Watts cut through a back alley. I did some quick calculations and sped around the block.
“Shit, you’re losing him,” Mason yelled from the backseat, and I jumped. “Do you even know where you’re going?”
I glanced up in the rearview, feeling a bit harried. I didn’t know when he’d joined us and I really didn’t give a damn. “Kind of winging it.” I glanced at the GPS as I weaved in and out of lanes. “If I’m right, this should put us out directly behind that alley.”
I almost missed my turn and yanked on the wheel, overcorrecting. The tires squealed in protest. Kevin’s face was pale and his jaw was set, but he just grabbed the Oh Shit bar and held on. We made the turn and I hit the gas as we sped toward the alley opening. Like magic, the white Impala barreled out of it, barely missing an old woman on the sidewalk who dived into a pile of trash bags.
The Impala fishtailed for a few seconds as Watts tried to get it under control, making the other drivers lurch into the lanes next to them. There was a dull thud as a car ran directly into the back of a smaller car, then another as a crossover hit him… then a splitting crash as another car sent them all hurtling towards an unoccupied bus stop.
“Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit.” Kevin seemed incapable of any other words as he pressed imaginary pedals on his side of the car.
I looked in the rearview to see people stumbling out of their cars from the wreck. I quickly realized we needed to make a decision—one that involved letting our fleeing suspect go and making a U-turn for the accident.
“We need to pull back,” I clipped out, hating the words even as I spoke them. “He’s getting too reckless.”
Kevin nodded in agreement, his mouth white at the corners. “He’s going to kill someone if he keeps driving like that.”
“Wait. You’re just going to let him go?” Mason’s voice was anxious. “He could be the key to everything.”
I glanced at him in the rearview mirror even as I slowed. “I don’t see how we have much of a choice.”
“I already agreed with you.” Kevin sent me a puzzled glance, followed up quickly by a look of understanding and a shiver. “Fuck, I hate it when you do that. It sends an actual chill down my spine. I don’t know how McKenna stands it. No offense.”
“None taken,” I said dryly.
“I can help you,” Mason blurted. “Let me help.”
“We’ll catch him another day.” As his expression turned mutinous, I gave him a warning look. “We have our own procedures to follow, Mase. Just let us do what we do and—”
Suddenly there was a screech and horns honking ahead. I craned my neck to see around the traffic, just in time to see a white blur careen off the road. The
car smashed through the guardrail like it was made of paper-mache, hitting the water nose first with a colossal splash.
“The fuck was that?” Kevin shouted. “He just lost control of the car.”
I hit the gas again, my jaw tight. I certainly wasn’t going to tell Kevin that even though Watts had been driving like a moron, that crash was in no way normal. I sent Mason a loaded look in the rearview mirror. He held my gaze for a second before looking away, biting his lip, hands twisted in his lap.
I screeched to a stop on the shoulder and we bailed out of the car in unison. By the time we got to the edge, Watts had already wriggled out of his open car window. He hit the water with an ungraceful plop and went under. His dark head popped up a moment later. I let out a sigh of relief, until he started to flail.
Kevin squinted. “Does he know he’s in about five feet of water?”
“Doesn’t look like he does, no.”
“Well, you’re definitely the stronger swimmer of us two.” He rocked back on his heels. “I think I’ll just stay up here and control the crowd.”
I glared. “I don’t care if you have to use fucking floaties, St. James. You’re getting in that water.”
A few Good Samaritan motorists had gotten out of their cars and were peering over the railing, pointing and chattering excitedly. One guy had his phone out and decided it would be most useful to film the whole thing. His narration seemed to mostly consist of the word “dude” and the phase “oh shit.” Another guy seemed to be taking off his shoes and socks in slow motion, probably hoping someone else would volunteer to dive in. And yes, I fully understood the badge clipped to my belt said that person had to be me. Crap.
“Help,” Watts gasped, arms flailing. “I can’t swim.”
I thought he might be selling himself a little short. From my vantage point, he was doing a damned fine version of the doggy paddle. I gave Kevin one last glance before I kicked off my shoes. Since he was clearly willing to watch our suspect die, I jumped in the filthy looking water.
I came up with a splutter. How could water smell so fucking awful? The previously faint brackish scent was now almost overwhelming, triggering my gag reflex immediately. Still standing on the side of the road, Kevin cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled helpfully, “You got it!”
I sent him a look I hoped he’d interpret correctly—eat shit and die.
Kevin’s five feet estimate was a little off, but not by much. I was able to slog through the sludge at the bottom and still keep my head above water. I approached Watts carefully, narrating what I was doing to try to calm him down.
“Watts, I’m coming up on your left. I’m going to help you get out of here,” I said loudly. “But right now, I need you to stand up.”
“I can’t swim,” he gasped.
“You don’t have to swim. I know this is scary. Try to find the bottom with your feet.”
He had his own plans for survival. The moment I was in range, he lunged for me and clung to me like a limpet, almost pulling us both down with his frantic motions. He outweighed me by a hundred plus pounds and I felt every one of them on my back.
“I’m not ready to die,” he cried.
“You’re not going to die.” Probably. I struggled with him for a few seconds, trying to speak slowly and clearly. “Jeremy, I need you to focus. You just have to—”
He leapt on me again, pushing me under. I wriggled free of his grasp underwater and came up coughing. “Just stand up, goddammit—”
He pushed me under again, and I bobbed back up after another struggle. His eyes were wide and unfocused as he clawed at me. He smacked me a couple times before I let go. I came up from behind him and caught him with both arms, locking them securely on either side of his chest.
“Jeremy Watts,” I shouted almost directly in his ear. He stilled for a moment, startled even in his panic. “Listen to me.”
His chest heaved under my restraining arms as I held him awkwardly, but I could tell he was listening. Now was my chance to say something inspirational. Something that would comfort us both.
“Calm. The fuck. Down,” I finally managed, spitting out water that was as fetid tasting as it smelled. “You got me?”
He jerked his head up and down in understanding. “Get me the hell out of here,” he croaked. “I don’t want to drown.”
“Then stand up,” I said exasperatedly.
Even though I’d instructed him to do so at least three times, I could tell he was hearing it for the first time. He cautiously put his feet down and suddenly I wasn’t holding his weight anymore. The water came up to his shoulders. I let my arms fall from his body.
“Oh,” he said sheepishly as he turned to face me. His cheeks flushed. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t mention it,” I said dryly.
No really, don’t mention it. But if you do, make the circumstances direr. You were an inch from certain death, and I was so heroic, Captain America gave me his shield.
Now that he was standing, I realized that I was looking up at him. The fucker was a lot taller than me. And wider. I realized something else rather quickly. Now that the danger of drowning had passed, he was sizing me up and liking his chances.
I narrowed my eyes even as I pulled the cuffs from my pocket. “This water probably has drop-offs, you know. You run, you’re going to have to head that way.”
I pointed out at the direction heading away from the road. All but the very top of his car was submerged, and gleamed bright-wide in the glare of the sun. “If you get into trouble, I might not reach you in time.”
His mouth set stubbornly. “I don’t need your help.”
“Coming from a man who almost drowned in a kiddie pool of sludge, that means very little.”
“Screw you,” he snapped.
I raised an imperial eyebrow. “Oh, and did I mention the alligators?”
He held out his hands without further comment. Yeah, I thought that might do it. I was playing it cool, but I was eager to get out of the water too. Or at least make a sign that read “He Tastes Juicier Than Me, Salt and Pepper Provided Upon Request,” and tape it to Watts’s back.
I secured him in cuffs and he tested them experimentally. “Ow,” he said piteously.
Shut your irritating face. “Too tight?” I inquired solicitously.
“Does it matter?” He tugged at them again.
“Do you have any weapons on you? Anything that will stick or hurt me if I go through your pockets?”
“Yes,” he snarled.
“Drugs or drug paraphernalia?”
Pause. “Yes.”
Well fuck. Might as well go for the trifecta. I searched him thoroughly, my mouth set in a grim line. Before I was done, I divested him of two knives and an intrepid little pack of pills that had survived his submersion. I didn’t know what they were, and when I queried, he didn’t seem interested in enlightening me.
I guided him with a hand on his back as we slogged through the water. Something splashed nearby, deep in the brush, and our slog morphed into something a little brisker. By the time we got back to the side, the group of bystanders had doubled in size. EMS had arrived and both paramedics reached down to haul Watts out of the water. Their voices were kind but firm as they led him to the ambulance under a deputy’s watchful eye.
I was a sodden mess. I swiped water-laden hair out of my eyes before taking the hand Kevin extended. He pulled me out, eyes shining with humor. “Nice job, partner.”
“Shut up.”
“The best part for me was when you yelled at him to ‘stand up, goddammit.’ I think some guy uploaded it to Facebook if you want to review the video.”
Fucking wonderful. I was so glad I made it back alive—I didn’t want anything left unsaid between us. “Go fuck yourself, St. James,” I said with feeling.
He laughed and smacked me on the back. “I’m going to go make sure our suspect doesn’t get froggy while they’re checking him out.”
I nodded and stuck my feet back in
my shoes. I was probably going to need a fucking tetanus shot. Wasn’t that putting the cherry on this shitty sundae?
I headed back to the car, water still dripping from my everything. I pawed through Kevin’s trunk and found a gym bag with clothes in it. A quick sniff later, I realized they were stale with dried sweat. Putting on Kevin’s used gym gear seemed like more of a lateral move, so I just worked on squeezing out as much water from my shirt as I could.
I was working on my shirt when a shadow crossed the corner of my eye. I stubbornly ignored it as I worked the buttons through the loops. I knew that Mason had made Watts wreck his car. I also knew he’d used my excess energy to do it. I wasn’t sure if that was my fault, or his. Hell, at this point there was enough blame to share. I shrugged out of the shirt, leaving me on the side of the road in a thin undershirt that had seen better days.
“I’m sorry,” Mason finally said. When I glanced over at him, his face was wreathed in guilt. “I was just trying to help.”
I wrung my shirt out with both hands, hard enough to hurt my palms. “That kind of help, I don’t need.”
Chapter 20
A few hours later, I sat across the table from Watts in one of our interrogation rooms, so freshly showered my hair was still a bit damp. I’d grabbed some BBPD sweats from surplus and borrowed a pair of sneakers from Nick’s locker that were a size too big.
Watts was dressed differently too, outfitted in an orange jumpsuit with faded BBPD letters across the front. They’d also given him a blanket, one he’d tossed the moment I came in the door. I didn’t bother to tell him about the observation window, or that I knew he’d been hugging it like a security blanket since they gave it to him.
My left ass cheek still stung a bit from the shot Danny had given me earlier. I appreciated his matter-of-fact approach to the whole process, but he had the bedside manners of an orangutan. He even managed to cop a feel as he jabbed me in the ass with a needle. He maintained he was just trying to hold my asscheek steady, but I could’ve sworn I saw a smirk. When I winced in pain, his idea of patient care was to rub my lower back comfortably while saying, “Suck it up.” I swatted him on the back of the head in return, my way of saying, “Thank you, love.”