Doc

by Dahlia West, Caleb

  She sped past the warehouse, turned onto the cross street and headed back to the relative safety of the motel. Thankfully, no one had seen her car. She kept to the speed limit the rest of the way and made it back to the Rainbow motel with little traffic. She pulled into the spot directly in front of her room, pulled her laptop out from under the seat, and stalked to the door. A grungy-looking man in a stained wife beater and cut-off jean shorts lounged in the doorway of the neighboring room.

  “Hey, there gir—”

  “Fuck off,” Izzy snapped and gave him the finger.

  “Bitch,” he groused.

  She ignored him and unlocked the door. Slamming it closed behind her, she settled into the chair in the corner of the room and set her computer on the table. It took more than a few deep breaths to calm down, though. Izzy was good under pressure, but she wasn’t made of steel. Things could have gone very, very badly tonight. She only hoped the payoff was worth all the trouble.

  She lifted the lid on the laptop and turned it on. Opening one of the programs, she calibrated the reception until it was optimal. She listened intently for a few moments, cycling through the feeds. Jason’s room was silent, the party was still in full swing with what sounded like a gang bang in the main room, and the piss-drunk prez was snoring away in his back bedroom. Izzy set all three transmitters to record and rose from the chair. She hadn’t touched the man’s cock, but she felt like she needed to shower anyway.

  Chapter 12

  Caleb sat outside the chief’s office, waiting for the hammer to fall. Officer-Involved Shootings were not taken lightly, even if the suspect was only hit in the leg. Moira had come out alright. The cut on her neck had bled a lot, making it look worse than it was. Caleb had hovered around the ambulance that had arrived on-scene and waited for them to clean up the cut. The slice was probably the least of her injuries. Her swollen eye was troubling and there was the fact that she couldn’t raise her left arm. Caleb assumed that was from a rotator cuff tear, which is pretty common when you grabbed someone by the arm and twisted it behind their back as far as it would go.

  Technically, he’d saved the woman’s life and maybe the boy’s, too. He only hoped the top brass would come to the same conclusion. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had all gone terribly, terribly wrong. He knew explaining himself wouldn’t do any good, though. He’d taken a huge risk, violated procedure, and now he was waiting to accept the consequences. He didn’t relish the idea of having to see the department shrink, but he was confident that he knew what to say and how to say it. It would be a pain in the ass, but he could get through it.

  When the chief’s door finally opened, Caleb rose from his chair and squared his shoulders. He knew that even though things had gone pear-shaped tonight, it wasn’t really his fault. He stepped into the room, prepared to ride a desk for a week or two while he jumped through enough hoops to prove he was mentally stable. He paused, though, when he noticed that there were two chairs positioned in front of the chief’s desk. And the rookie was perched in one of them. Caleb glanced at him darkly, then sat down slowly in the remaining seat.

  Obviously the kid knew nothing about honor, duty, or brotherhood. It was apparent from the look on the younger man’s face that he was here to throw Caleb under the bus.

  The chief cleared his throat and sat down behind his desk. “Officer Perkins has some…interesting things to say,” he declared.

  Caleb resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Really? Anything about the bastard being a serial abuser and deserving to be behind bars instead of home terrorizing his wife and kid? How did he get out?” Caleb demanded. “He assaulted a cop. He shouldn’t be—”

  The chief raised a hand. “That’s not how Perkins sees it.”

  “I don’t give a shit how Perkins sees it! He just learned how to wipe his own ass last week!”

  “Hey!” Perkins protested.

  Caleb didn’t even bother to look at him. “He assaulted me,” Caleb told the chief. “While he was high and drunk off his ass. He had a stash—”

  “About that search,” the older man grumbled.

  Caleb was rankled. “That was a good search!”

  “Only by the hair on your nuts,” argued his boss. “Perkins says you practically forced your way into the house, intimidated the wife into agreeing, and then provoked the husband until he took a swing at you.”

  “Intimidated her?!” Caleb said. His stomach lurched and he clenched his fist. “I intimidated her? Me? The guy who didn’t lay a fucking hand on her? Are you sure she wasn’t intimidated by the guy who’s using her as a punching bag every night? Jesus fucking Christ!”

  “Perkins says—”

  “I don’t care what Perkins says! I’ve got two more years on him and—”

  Now it was the chief’s turn to get fired up. He slammed his palms down on his desk. “You should care! You should absolutely fucking care!” he shouted. “Because it’s not so much what Perkins has to say but who he’s fucking saying it to!”

  Caleb whipped his head around to look at the younger man, who no longer looked as smug and self-satisfied as he did. He shrank back just a little in his chair. Caleb felt as though the little shit might be better served just getting the fuck out of the room entirely. An icy silence hung between them until Caleb finally said, “What did you do?”

  “Me?!” the rookie squeaked back. “I didn’t do anything! You’re the one not following procedure! You’re the one using excessive force!”

  “Excessive force?” Caleb snorted. “He had a knife to her throat! Or did you think you could just read from the Holy Book of Police Procedure and talk your way out of that one?”

  “Not tonight!” the kid protested. “The first time.”

  Caleb was genuinely surprised at that. “I barely touched him!”

  “You threw him down the stairs!”

  Caleb couldn’t believe this shit. Not that he maybe didn’t lay it on a little thick on some nights when it came to takedowns, but he absolutely had not pushed the asshole down the steps. “This,” he said in a gravely tone, “is complete and utter bullshit. And what the fuck did you do, diddlydick? You’re the reason he was out in the first fucking place. Am I right?”

  The kid started to open his mouth, then pressed his lips together. Caleb looked at the chief, who sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead with a meaty hand. “The kid told the public defender,” he declared.

  Caleb felt heat surge through his veins. The desire to beat the kid senseless rose up from the pit of his stomach.

  “Who took his statement and ran with it to the DA?”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Caleb groaned. He glared at the kid seated next to him. “What do you think?” Caleb asked quietly. “You think you can bypass years of slugging it out in the trenches? You think if you make inroads with the DA and Internal Affairs you’ll sail right into a detective’s shield and a big fat promotion?” Caleb leaned in and the kid leaned back. “There are no shortcuts, kid,” Caleb seethed. “They’re not going to give you a corner office with a view for turning on the rest of us.”

  “This is not my fault!” the kid repeated. “This is all on you!”

  “He shouldn’t have been out!” Caleb all but shouted.

  “He should never have been in!” the rookie argued just as loudly, clearly defensive now that his motives had been called into question.

  Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose, grateful to have something to do with his hands besides punching the little bastard. The kid would never get it. This was always going to happen. She was always going to end up at the edge of the asshole’s knife, or at the point of his gun, or at the brunt of his fists. In fact, the asshole might have done it the night Caleb arrested him, if Caleb and the rookie had just waved their fingers at him and left the scene.

  “Out the door, Perkins,” the chief ordered. “We’ll talk later.” The older man’s tone suggested that talk would not involve patting the kid on the back and handing him a cigar
.

  The kid huffed out the door and shut it behind him, not quite slamming it.

  Caleb leaned back in his chair. His adrenaline was finally wearing off and he was fucking exhausted.

  “You’re suspended. Pending an investigation,” the chief said quietly.

  Caleb gripped the arms of the chair, but didn’t reply. He thought back to the dozens of Domestics he’d responded to over the years. He’d mostly been on-scene with grizzled patrolmen, ones who weren’t quite smart enough to get promoted to a desk. They were just riding it out, putting in their twenty until retirement, and Caleb’s unsanctioned style of bear-baiting wife-beaters into a physical confrontation in order to put them away for longer stretches never seemed to bother them. In fact, Caleb had gotten the distinct impression that though they wouldn’t risk it themselves, the old-timers secretly admired the younger officer’s efforts to put scumbags away. But when asked about it, face-to-face, by the head of the department, Caleb also suspected that not one of them would lie for him or even claim they didn’t remember the details of Caleb’s numerous arrests. It seemed his days of refusing to go by the book were going to end up getting the damn thing thrown at him.

  Very reluctantly, he slid his badge out of his wallet and silently placed it on the desk. His service Glock was the next thing to go, though he didn’t feel nearly as tweaked having to part with it. His personal Desert Eagle .44 at home was his weapon of choice. But as he stood up, he noticed the distinct lightness at his hip, since the missing department-issue piece had a kind of weight of its own. And he had no one but himself to blame for any of it. Without another word, he turned and exited the office.

  Chapter 13

  Caleb pulled up to Maria’s and killed his Harley’s engine. He’d parked next to a large black Hummer—Tex’s ride—and sighed as he took off his aviators. When Shooter’s wife, Slick, didn’t make lunch for them, the men often made their way to the bar instead. Maria’s old man, Thomas, worked the grill for lunch and dinner. Easy’s woman, Daisy, was sure to be waiting tables this afternoon, as usual.

  Caleb occasionally joined the men for grub, either at Burnout if Slick was delivering or here if she was busy. And so it happened that he’d called Shooter and asked which was which today and said he’d meet them at the bar without arousing suspicion that Caleb’s presence might be more than a mere lunch break.

  He sighed again and put his bike’s kickstand down. He wasn’t in the habit of lying to his brothers—well, not about much, anyway. And they would understand when he told them about the suspension. It still felt a little too much like admitting defeat—or failure—and he was uncomfortable with either.

  The place was a little slow, even for a weekday, and he easily found the guys at a table near the door. Daisy had seen him come in, and noting he wasn’t in uniform, was already filling a frosted glass for him. He nodded to her as he pulled up a chair to the end of the table.

  “Free man today?” Hawk grunted around a cheeseburger.

  Caleb frowned down at his gray Henley shirt. Maybe every day from here on out, he thought darkly. “Yeah,” he replied. “Listen,” he said a little more loudly. “I—”

  “Hey, Doc!” Daisy said brightly as she set down his beer. “Burger and fries are coming up,” she told him.

  He nodded again and waited for her to leave. Easy would of course tell her the news later, again, but right now he just wanted to get it out to his brothers, who would be surprised but wouldn’t press him for too many details.

  “So what’s up?” Shooter prompted, watching Caleb watching Daisy as she headed to another table. By now the slightly older man must have figured something was wrong.

  Caleb tore his gaze from Daisy’s retreating figure. “I—” he began but stopped again when he spotted the front door opening. He recognized the brunette from the previous night. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. The other men turned to look.

  Daisy greeted Isabelle—Izzy, to her friends, he recalled—and gestured toward a table just a few feet away from theirs. When she caught sight of Caleb, she grinned.

  “Friend of yours?” Hawk asked, undoubtedly intrigued. Caleb didn’t answer.

  Izzy slid onto a seat facing him, giving another smile before picking up the menu and scanning the bar’s patrons. “What’s good here?” she asked Daisy, “aside from the view.”

  Daisy laughed. “The burgers won’t kill you, but the fries might,” the blonde woman replied.

  “That’s what I like to hear. Medium rare and a Coke, please.”

  Caleb was actually grateful for his momentary reprieve. He still hadn’t quite figured out how to explain his suspension from the force. His brothers weren’t stupid. They’d know there was a bit more to it than just an OIS. And really there wasn’t anything to tell just yet. Not until the IA investigation was over. He got up from his seat and stalked over to Isabelle’s table. Pulling out a chair, he sat down across from her.

  “Joining me for lunch?” she asked him. “Didn’t quite get enough the other night? I have to say, I feel the same,” she teased.

  Instead of leaving, Daisy paused her writing and looked up from her order pad. “The other night?”

  For a brief moment, Caleb thought she recognized Izzy as a patron from the night before last, but he realized that Daisy had never actually served Izzy and likely hadn’t seen her at all since the place had been so packed that night.

  “She—” he began when Daisy cut him off..

  “Oh. My. Gawd! Are you—Are you… Sioux Falls?” Daisy gasped.

  Shooter put his drink down and Easy did the same. Everyone looked shocked while Izzy only seemed perplexed.

  “Is this what you were going to say?” Shooter asked. “That your woman’s in town?”

  Caleb shifted in chair. “I—”

  “Oh my God!” Daisy repeated and dropped her pad onto the table. She grabbed Izzy’s hand and shook it. “I… We… have wanted to meet you for the longest time!” she declared. “Oh my God! I cannot believe I’m serving Sioux Falls!”

  Izzy glanced at Caleb, who was momentarily stunned into silence. All eyes were flitting between himself and the Boucher woman in earnest. To speak up and say that she wasn’t the woman he’d been seeing several towns over would undoubtedly lead to them asking what he had intended to talk to them about then… and who was the real Sioux Falls. And none of this was going the way Caleb had envisioned it, not that there was ever a good time to admit to your friends that you used the cover of your job to kick the shit out of assholes and that your ‘woman’ was everyone’s woman—for the right price.

  Caleb looked away from them and directed his gaze at Izzy. “She’s not here to see me,” he announced. “She’s in town trying to hunt down a friend she’s lost touch with.”

  Not quite a lie, but far from the whole truth. Caleb was betting that Isabelle had at least as much invested in keeping the whole truth a secret just as much as he did. He didn’t know much about the business of bounty hunting, but it seemed to him that it had to be much harder if the person you were looking for got word that you were searching. If she wanted to keep her identity and her business a secret, she’d play along.

  Isabelle handed the menu back to Daisy. Caleb held his breath as he waited. She managed to flash a winning smile at the waitress. “I’m Isabelle. Most people call me Izzy,” she said.

  Daisy, somewhat deflated, took the menu back. “Oh. So you’re not here to stake your claim on him?”

  Izzy raised an eyebrow. “Stake my claim?”

  Daisy nodded. “That’s what Jimmy did,” she replied, indicating the younger man. “When I left town, he went all the way to Nebraska to get me back.” She glared at her boyfriend. “Course he’s the one who chased me off in the first damn place!”

  “I love you, baby,” Easy declared loudly. “I was an asshole. But I’ve changed my ways.”

  Daisy sighed and blew her short blonde hair out of her eyes. “I’m Daisy, by the way. And it’s disappointing that you’r
e not here specifically for Doc. I was beginning to think you were either a fantasy, butt-ugly… or a guy.”

  Izzy laughed. Caleb rolled his eyes. Easy was horrified. “Daisy!” he scolded. “I told you he’s not gay!”

  Daisy shrugged. “Well, you can’t always tell.” To Izzy she said, “But you’re here, and you’re damn hot. I keep checking for an Adam’s apple but I don’t—”

  “Daisy!” Easy bellowed.

  Daisy shrugged again.

  Izzy glanced at Caleb. “You think I have a claim on him?”

  Daisy grinned. “Well, hell yes! I’d say so, anyway. Girl, I don’t know what you do for him—or to him—but he comes in here every weekend and the honkey tonk honeys try their damnedest to get into that man’s Levi’s.”

  “And no luck?” Izzy asked, curious.

  “Nope,” Daisy said as she shook her head. “Not a one.”

  “Well,” said Izzy. Caleb steeled himself. She was sharp. She obviously hadn’t missed the veiled threat that he knew exactly who she was and why she was in town. But she seemed to be enjoying this exchange. A little too much.

  “I could do worse,” Izzy mused, “than Caleb Michael Barnes. Cop. Ex-Army Ranger. I wouldn’t even have to change the monograms on my bath towels.”

  Caleb smirked at her. It appeared that while he was looking into Isabelle Boucher, he’d made enough of an impression for her to look into him. He wondered, though, if he’d have to end this charade before he ended up enlisted to pick out curtains to go with those towels. Thankfully Izzy took pity on him.

  “I don’t think I’m the marrying kind, though, Daisy,” Izzy said, sighing dramatically.

  Daisy gasped. “That’s exactly what he says about you!”

  “Oh, does he?”

  Daisy nodded. “Himself, too,” she added. “He says neither of you is the marrying kind.”

  Izzy seemed to pretend to consider this. “He’s probably right,” she said.