Line of Duty

by V. K. Powell

  In the squad lineup room, Finley, the detectives working the shooting case, and the tactical squad waited for Captain Carlyle and Lieutenant Perry’s briefing. To keep from pacing, Finley studied the wanted posters tacked around the room, but it didn’t ease her anxiety about the upcoming operation. When the bosses entered, the energy in the room shifted, and Finley straightened, preparing for her part in the updates.

  “Okay, guys,” Captain Carlyle said, “Officer Masters has a possible location of our second shooter, Jeremy Spencer. Finley, fill us in.”

  Most of the officers in the room were more senior than her, and Finley’s mouth dried as she scanned their expectant faces. She licked her lips and began. “Josh Spencer, the hospitalized shooter, said his brother, Jeremy, had a girlfriend who lived in the apartments on Clifton Road off Merritt Drive. Her name is Gloria Bunker, and she doesn’t have a record. I’ve included a photo, her address, and the layout of the complex in the handout. The apartment manager says Gloria still lives there, but she doesn’t know Jeremy and hasn’t seen him. But he could still be there. That’s all I have. I’ll let the tactical sergeant make assignments.” She sat down and glanced up at Bennett who gave her a quick nod.

  “Good job getting this info and the background for us, Fin,” Jazz said.

  The tactical sergeant assigned the teams of officers strategically around Gloria’s apartment building. “Let’s try for a consent search first. If Gloria doesn’t have a record, she might be more willing to let us look. And if not, we’ll explain the seriousness of harboring a fugitive. If we have to, we’ll lock the place down and serve the warrant.”

  “All right, guys,” Bennett said. “Officer Masters will handle the approach since she spoke with Josh. Let’s roll, and be careful.” Bennett started toward the door with Jazz and called back over her shoulder. “Fin, you’re with us.”

  Finley slid into the back seat of Captain Carlyle’s vehicle while Jazz took shotgun. Nobody spoke for several minutes, and the ride felt a bit like waiting for a condemned man to die. Did they know she and Dylan had spent the night together? She certainly wasn’t about to bring it up. Either of these formidable women could ruin her career with one word or negative recommendation.

  She looked out the window, unable to make idle conversation because only one thing was on her mind, and she couldn’t talk about that. The thought of Dylan made her ache and want all over again. She clamped her legs together as heat gathered in her center. Last night had been amazing, unforgettable—Dylan’s soft skin, the sound of her moans, her responsiveness—and, and damn it, Finley wanted to do it again. Soon.

  “Yo, Masters.” Bennett said. “Focus.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I asked how you got to Spencer so quickly after he woke up.”

  “Dy—” She almost ratted Dylan out, which would’ve been bad for both of them. “I got a call from the hospital.”

  “Inside information. Way to use your contacts. Anybody we know?” Bennett looked at her in the rearview mirror, and Finley could’ve sworn she knew about her and Dylan.

  Before she could answer, Jazz said, “Leave the woman alone, Ben. She got what we needed. That’s the important thing.”

  Finley thought Bennett mumbled, “And what she needed too,” but couldn’t be sure.

  Bennett stopped in a circle of apartments next to Gloria’s, and they waited until the other officers surrounded the beige target building. When the tactical sergeant gave the okay for them to approach the door, Bennett waved for Finley to lead the way.

  Finley took the concrete stairs two at a time, positioned herself beside the door with another officer behind her, and waited until Jazz and her backup flanked her on the other side. She breathed deeply and then knocked twice, using casual thumps instead of her usual police pounding. Gloria might be more agreeable to consent if Finley didn’t piss her off first.

  When the door opened, a petite, gray-haired woman of about forty greeted them with a look of surprise. “Yes, Officers?” She glanced back inside.

  “Ma’am, are you Gloria Bunker?” Finley asked. When the woman nodded, Finley signaled to Captain Carlyle who stood farther down the stairs, indicating the suspect was probably inside. Finley returned her attention to Gloria. “Ms. Bunker, do you know this man?” She held a photo of Jeremy Spencer up, and Gloria’s eyes grew even larger.

  “Umm…maybe. Why?”

  “He’s wanted in connection with a shooting that occurred at Fairview Station. Maybe you heard about it on the news.” She nodded. “I have information that he’s here, and we need to search your apartment.” Finley edged her foot over the threshold so Gloria couldn’t slam the door.

  “Well…” She looked over her shoulder again, obviously stalling.

  “Ms. Bunker, if Jeremy is here, and you don’t let us search, you can be charged with harboring a fugitive, which is a very serious crime. You don’t have a record yet. Are you willing to risk your job and apartment for a man you barely know?” Finley let the question sink in.

  Gloria seemed to consider the situation, glanced back a third time, and finally stepped aside. “Go ahead, but he’s not here.”

  Finley and Jazz fanned out to cover the left side of the apartment, the second team went right, and Bennett stood guard at the front door with Gloria. Finley crouched and covered one half of each room, and Jazz the other. They moved in sync like they’d served together before, each anticipating the other’s movements. The teams shouted the all-clear until each room had been swept. Jeremy wasn’t in the apartment. The officers regrouped in the center of the space.

  “I told you he wasn’t here,” Gloria said.

  “But he’s been here recently.” Finley pointed to two drink glasses sweating circles of condensation on the coffee table and Newport menthol cigarette butts with chewed ends in the ashtray. “Looks like you stalled just long enough for him to get away.”

  “Officer, I really had no idea what he’d done or I would’ve called. I swear.”

  Finley scuffed her boot in the carpet, unable to look at the other officers or her bosses, feeling like she’d let everyone down, again. She’d listened to Gloria’s excuses too long, and Jeremy had gotten away. Glancing down at the floor, she noticed light flecks on the toe of her shoe. She stooped and wiped at the substance, rubbing it between her fingers. The sharp edges scratched her skin and made her itch. Insulation. She looked up, and the cover of the attic crawl space was cockeyed. “There.”

  One of the officers dragged a chair into the center of the hallway, and she made a stirrup with her hands and hoisted him up before following quickly behind. “He’s definitely been up here,” he called back to her. “The insulation is disturbed leading straight ahead.”

  The space was covered with dust making it hard to breathe, and Finley gagged at the smell of rotting flesh, a large rat caught in a trap. Finley crouched and duck-walked along the supporting beams behind the other officer while reporting to the guys on the ground. “We’re traveling east from our location. It looks like we’re passing supporting walls, possibly into other apartments.” They continued forward. “Now another one. Have the officers outside expand the perimeter and stand by.”

  The officer in front of her pointed down into another apartment and reached for his walkie. When he turned, he lost his footing and stepped between the rafters. “Fuck.” His face twisted into a shocked mask.

  Finley grabbed for him as he started falling. She went down hard across three rafters—one hit her chest, one her ribs, and the last one she tucked her feet behind to anchor her—but she held onto the officer’s arms. “I’ve got you, pal.”

  “Jesus H. Christ. Don’t let go until I see what’s under me.”

  “I’m really glad you’re not a weightlifter, but hurry.” She hurt everywhere, and her shoulders were shifting, threatening to dislocate. “Now would be good.”

  “I think I’m okay. Let go.”

  She released her grip, heard him drop to the floor, and dangled her
arms over the opening for several seconds before attempting to move. Voices grew louder below her. “Are you okay?”

  “Might’ve sprained my ankle, but the suspect is in the wind. I’ll advise the others.”

  Damn it. She’d wasted too much time before entering the apartment—just long enough for Jeremy to hoist himself into the attic and scurry to safety. She coiled herself up from the opening and eased back across the rafters to the original apartment. As she lowered herself to the floor, she caught a glimpse of the captain and lieutenant huddled near the front door.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Bennett said, glancing toward her vehicle. “This guy is making us look like a bunch of amateurs. The tactical sergeant and his squad are going to check the area before clearing. Make sure our injured officer gets his ankle checked. You’ll have to hitch a ride. Jazz and I are leaving.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but—”

  “We have to go now. It’s family.” Bennett sprinted toward her car.

  Jazz started to follow but turned and said, “Find us in the ER.”

  * * *

  Dylan cranked up the volume on her iPhone to block her thoughts while she changed clothes in the locker room. The aggressive, percussive beats and eerie electronic sound of Jack Trammell’s “Dark Effect” matched her mood perfectly. She ached for Finley one minute, and never wanted to see her again the next. Their involvement promised only regret and pain. The physical release and short-lived pleasure weren’t worth sacrificing her beliefs and interrupting a path that worked for her.

  “Dr. Carlyle to ER stat.”

  Dylan paused with her green scrub pants halfway up her legs. She hadn’t checked in yet, and only a few people knew her schedule. An unsettling feeling snaked up her back, and she finished dressing quickly. She grabbed her tablet, and her phone pinged simultaneously with a text from Holly. ER. Stat.

  Something was definitely wrong. She slammed her locker shut and sprinted to the elevator. When the door opened on the ER floor, Holly rushed to her, eyes wide. Usually nothing fazed Holly. “What?”

  “It’s going to be okay.” Holly pulled her into a hug. “Really.”

  “Holly, what’s wrong?” She glanced over Holly’s shoulder at her entire family huddled near a consulting room and Finley standing off to the side. Their somber faces and stooped shoulders broadcasted bad news. She spun out of Holly’s grasp and ran. “Who?” She struggled for breath, but her chest was too tight.

  Mama reached her first. “Baby, it’s going to be all right.”

  “Okay…what is?” Tears welled in her eyes and she fought them back, reverting to work mode. She didn’t panic in emergencies, especially when family was involved.

  Bennett flanked her on the opposite side and guided her toward the room where the others now waited. “Let’s have some privacy.”

  “Would you like a glass of water?” Stephanie asked.

  Dylan waved her hands in front of her. “Stop coddling. What I’d like is for someone to tell me what’s going on. You’re in my bailiwick, so the chances are pretty good that I’m better equipped for whatever is happening than any of you.” She met her mother’s watery gaze. “So?”

  “It’s G-ma.”

  If G-ma were a typical seventy-eight-year-old, Dylan could rattle off any number of possible maladies, but she was healthy, never sick, never complained, never even caught a cold. “What?” She said the word so calmly that everyone stared. They were used to the slightly scattered baby-girl Dylan, not the focused hospital version.

  Mama eased her into a chair and squatted in front of her. “We’re not sure what happened. I found her collapsed at the bottom of the stairs this morning when I got up.” She swallowed hard. “A lot…of blood.”

  Oh my God. Dylan pushed her first thought and the accompanying panic down. “Where is she now?”

  “Holly took her back to one of the treatment rooms and called a doctor immediately,” Mama said.

  “Was she still breathing when you found her?” Dylan asked. “Did you have to resuscitate her? Any visible injuries?” She rattled off the questions automatically, trying to determine a diagnosis and what to do next. She refused to lapse into the personal yet. “Tell me.”

  “Breathing fine, bleeding from the head, and her right wrist was obviously broken,” Mama said. “She knew where she was but was really groggy and didn’t know exactly what happened. I called Ben first.”

  “And I called an ambulance, Jazz, and Simon. You’d already left for work,” Bennett said. “And I didn’t want to tell you while you were driving. So, I called Holly.”

  “Did she seem dizzy, have balance issues, or was she forgetful? How about respiration and blood pressure?”

  Jazz shrugged. “From what I saw, she seemed pretty normal, but I’m not a doctor. Ben and I checked the house, thinking maybe she was attacked, but the place was secure.”

  “I should’ve gone over for breakfast or at least coffee. I would’ve found her sooner,” Dylan stuck her hands in her pockets so the family wouldn’t see them shaking. They needed her to be strong right now.

  “Don’t you dare,” Mama said. “This isn’t your fault, and you couldn’t have done more than we did after the fact.”

  Dylan stared at her in disbelief. “Of course, I could’ve. I’m a doctor for God’s sake, Mother. All of you stay here.” She stood. Her mission was now G-ma’s care. “I’ll let you know something as soon as I do.”

  She didn’t look back but stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Her legs trembled, and she grabbed for something to hold on to. Finley raced to her side, but when Dylan leaned into her, Finley grunted in pain and they both backed against the wall for support.

  “Are you okay?” Dylan asked.

  “I’m good. Ben and Jazz got the call while we were searching for Jeremy. Are you okay?” She shook her head. “Stupid question. Sorry. If I can help, let me know.”

  Dylan met Finley’s gaze, and her offer seemed sincere, her concern genuine. For a moment, Dylan needed not to be strong, to have someone see her pain and be there just for her. She allowed Finley to calm and ground her for a few precious seconds. Now she could do what needed to be done. “I have to go, but thank you for being here.”

  Finley nodded. “Go do your doctor thing. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Holly was waiting in front of the nurses’ station with exactly what Dylan needed. Facts. “Treatment room one. Laceration to right forehead, nothing unusual about it, but we can’t rule out possible hemorrhage, edema, or concussion, especially for a woman her age. No complaints of headache or change in vision, weakness, dizziness, or nausea, and her speech seems fine. I’ve ordered a CT scan. We’ve done X-rays of the simple fracture to her right wrist. No idea what caused the fall yet.”

  “Thank you, Holly.” Dylan cupped her elbow, needing a little extra support, and followed toward the treatment area. She breathed in a deep gulp of air before pulling back the curtain. “Well, what do we—” When she saw her grandmother’s pale face and silver hair covered with dried blood and her wrist grotesquely twisted, Dylan faltered and grabbed the gurney railing.

  Holly whispered, “You’ve got this.”

  “Hi, honey. Isn’t this a sight?” G-ma waved her left hand toward her face. She chuckled, and the sound brought Dylan back to her responsibilities. If anyone deserved the benefit of her training, it was her grandmother. She and G-pa had set aside college funds for their grandchildren before they had any, and G-ma had been Dylan’s staunchest supporter when she chose a field other than law enforcement. It was payback time.

  “Well, it’s certainly different.” She held G-ma’s hand for a few seconds, reveling in the warmth and familiarity of her touch before pulling on a pair of gloves. She opened some alcohol wipes and dabbed at the dried blood around the injury. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Darn if I know really. I was sitting at the kitchen counter waiting for my coffee to brew. When
it finished, I was going back upstairs to enjoy it in a hot bath. I started to step up on the first stair and then bam. Nothing. The next thing I remember was waking up in a pool of blood, my wrist throbbing, and Gayle beside me on the floor.”

  “So, you passed out?” Dylan asked.

  “Maybe I was magically transported out of my body or someone else took over for a while. Your guess is probably better than mine, at least it’s an educated one.”

  “Do you remember anything else, G-ma?” Dylan asked.

  “I lost a tooth from my bridge in the fall. One of those nice young EMT fellas got down on hands and knees and fingered through all that blood until he found the tooth and then put it in a plastic bag for me. Wasn’t he sweet?”

  “Very,” Holly agreed.

  “And then…” G-ma continued while Dylan checked her pupillary response, pulse, and the heart monitor. “At the ER, one of the nurses asked if I wanted her to take my bra off or cut it off. I checked if it was one of my good ones and told her to stand back and cut away.”

  Holly snickered. “The fall obviously didn’t damage your sense of humor.”

  “The day I lose that, you might as well plant me six feet under, girly.”

  “Okay, let’s get your forehead stitched.” Dylan turned, and Holly had a suture tray ready. She smiled her appreciation and nodded at Holly’s questioning look. “I’m good. Would you find someone to stabilize her wrist, please? The ortho doc won’t do surgery until we know what caused the blackout.” She looked down at G-ma. “You’re going to feel a sting while I irrigate and numb the area.”

  “Do what you have to, honey. I’m in good hands. And we should probably let the rest of the clan know I’m not going to die…at least not right now.”

  Dylan flinched at the mention of dying and felt an overwhelming sense of grief. It had been the first thing that flashed through her mind—like the night Papa died. Thank God it wasn’t G-ma’s time yet. “As soon as I get you stitched up, I’ll let them in. The kids don’t need to see you in your current condition.” She carefully pulled the skin together and closed the wound using a simple line of interrupted stitches, periodically checking that G-ma was okay.