Safe (Law & Order)

by Shara Azod

  rumors that didn’t add up to anything had come out of there. But here was a living,

  breathing connection.

  She sighed and hugged herself.

  “You don’t ask for much do you?”

  “This Turt killed a police officer and tried to harm a woman, a woman like you,”

  he said, and the knot of lust in his chest tightened. Quentin’s words echoed in his head.

  Wait and see. If you’re lucky, one day you’ll understand.

  She sighed again.

  “There is a secret room behind Mike’s bar. That’s where all of us, criminals, hang

  out, make deals, swap information,” she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

  “Can you point out Donny Chestnut?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Then you’re not going to go home tonight,” he said, getting to his feet. “I want

  to know how to get into this secret room behind Mike’s bar, and I want you to talk to an

  artist to draw a picture of Donny Chestnut.” She just nodded again. Her eyes had taken on hollowness that picked at him. She

  had folded herself into a ball, crossing her legs and clasping her hands over her knee.

  She hugged her knee tight.

  He wanted to hold her, to cradle her against him, but he had a job to do and right

  now, she was the key. He had to turn her a bit to unlock the door.

  “I promise, I’ll protect you,” he whispered down to her. “Trust me.”

  With her eyes shining and turning hard, she looked up at him.

  “You better.” Chapter Ten

  Quentin was between a rock and a hard place. He couldn’t leave Briony. The last

  time he had, she had almost been taken from him. He would never forgive himself if

  anything happened to her. Hell, he wouldn’t be able to breathe should something

  happen to her. She was his life, even before he had ever touched her. Briony was the

  thing he lived for, fought for.

  Yet, he had a personal, burning need to rip the bastard who dared threaten her

  apart with his bare hands. Richards was setting up the sting at Mike’s Bar tonight.

  Quentin had to be there. He had to see the bastard face to face. He had to make sure he

  saw with his own eyes that the man was either dead or in custody. Preferably dead. It

  was the only way he could be sure Briony would be safe, and nothing was more

  important than that. If it meant his shield, so be it.

  So what did he do with Briony? Leaving her here was out. Not after what

  happened the last time. It didn’t matter how many damn agents where surrounding the

  safe house. Not one of them felt about her the way he did. It was perhaps a diss to his

  fellow agents, but they had no vested interest.

  Damn it! What the hell was he going to do?

  “You can have McClure and Michaels come in and sit with her, while posting a

  couple of guys outside,” Richards suggested, knowing the reason for Quentin’s restless

  pacing without being told.

  “I can’t leave her, man. I just can’t.” Richards nodded.

  “Then we have to take her with us,” Richards said, folding his arms over his

  chest.

  “What?”

  “We can put her in the black and white with the informant,” Richards said. “The

  squad car will be locked. Briony will have the keys so she’s safe.”

  Quentin scowled at him. Richards stared back, his blank face set on serious.

  Taking an informant to a sting was one thing, but a civilian? Not just any civilian, but

  Briony. If anything happened to her… He didn’t even want to contemplate what that

  would be like. It was too fucking horrifying.

  “How the hell is that supposed to be safer? Guns? A sting operation? SWAT?”

  Quentin didn’t even try to soften the words. “What the hell?”

  Richards gave his one shoulder shrug, the one that meant he was being practical

  – or what he thought was practical.

  “You have two options. Leave her here or take her with us.”

  “I know that, genius.”

  Richards nodded, as if agreeing on the genius part. “If she goes with us, you will

  be there. You can see her and protect her. If she’s at the safe house, you can’t. She’s in

  danger no matter where you put her because Donny Chestnut is still walking around.”

  It made sense. Still, the gun play could get out of hand. With fucking bikers, it

  always did. Bastards didn’t like prison any more than anyone else did, but they seemed to prefer suicide by cop. He looked at Richards and shook his head. It was too

  dangerous. The entire thing was too damn dangerous for her.

  “No.”

  He paced again, around and around.

  “We’re running out of time,” Richards said. “You can keep Briony safe in a

  parked black and white at the perimeter, away from SWAT’s entrance at the rear of the

  bar, third tier back. You sit with her there. Once we arrest Donny Chestnut and the

  others, you can have a huge piece of him at the station. This way, you don’t leave

  Briony and you still get your piece.”

  Quentin didn’t like it but it was far better than the alternative.

  “Agent Richards, sir,” McClure bounced into the room, panting a bit. “SWAT is

  ready, warrants have been signed, and the operation is a go, per Assistant Director

  Wong.”

  Good.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Quentin left without a word, his adrenaline kicking into high gear. He didn’t

  wear his vest but instead marched into the large rectangular squad room and the crowd

  of people in there. He walked right up to the front of the room. The sea of black clad

  SWAT personal, uniformed local cops, and the suit and tie dressed agents all turned to

  face him. Richards stood behind him, and to be frank, he didn’t want to be up front.

  Seated in interrogation room four, Briony waited for him to come back and

  collect her. The sooner the fucking better. “This is gonna be brief, and then Agent Richards will go over the operation,” he

  said, loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “Most of you know me. For the newbies

  and SWAT, I’m Agent Beauchamp, lead agent on this case.”

  Rumbling of whispers and several sharp coughs scrambled across the room.

  Some of the SWAT people whispered to each other and a couple shook their heads.

  He didn’t give a fuck what they thought about him, about his relationship with

  his brother’s widow or any of it. He only wanted one thing – to be with Briony – and to

  do that, they only had one job, catch or kill Donny Chestnut. The fucker had to go

  down.

  “I wanted to thank you, personally, for the hard work you do. Today we get a

  cop killer.”

  Claps and a few “yeahs” met his words, but he didn’t really hear them. Already

  cutting through the crowd, he headed to interrogation room four, to Briony. He had to

  be sure some stupid ass didn’t hurt her while he was in the squad room. He trusted

  them, he did, but no one had the same level of investment he did in her.

  He stalked down the polished corridor and right into interrogation room four.

  She sat at the table, reading a book. She wore this summer yellow dress and it brushed

  the tops of her smooth knees as if caressing them. Her gold charm bracelet dangled as

  she flipped the page. When she heard the door open, she turned and instantly her face

  brightened like a blossoming flower, sunny and warm. She smelled nice, and he w
anted

  to bury his face in her neck and kiss the skin he already knew tasted like heaven.

  Damn. She had him thinking all that mushy shit again. “Hey,” he said, sitting down in the chair across from her. He took her hands into

  his. “Here in a bit, you and I are going to take a ride.”

  “Okay.”

  Just like that. No questions, or inquiries, she just trusted him.

  “Let’s go outside,” he said, standing up. He looked at the two-way mirror and

  the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in warning. Someone was back there,

  watching him – watching them. He didn’t like being treated like a suspect or a criminal,

  so he went to the door with Briony right behind him.

  He headed down the hallway, the opposite direction from the squad room.

  “Is that Richards?” she asked from behind him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you supposed to be with him?”

  “No,” he said, and pushed open the back entrance doors.

  He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. Across from them, a sea of parked patrol

  cars waited to be used. Perfect.

  “You are supposed to be with him. He’s your partner,” she said, stepping in

  front of him.

  “He is my partner, but he doesn’t need me with him.” He didn’t lie to her.

  Richards could handle the tactical part of the job. Yeah, he was the lead agent, but being

  a leader meant knowing when to delegate. “He’s got his part covered.”

  She pursed her lips and looked around. “All right,” he said, and put his arms around her. “In a few minutes, you and I

  are going to take a ride.”

  “Okay,” she said again, but this time she heard the thread of worry in his tone.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He sighed and hugged her to him.

  “It’s going to be dangerous,” he explained. “You’ll be protected and I’ll be right

  beside you.”

  “What do I have to do?” she asked, burrowing in closer to him.

  “Nothing. Just sit in the patrol car.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What will you do?” she asked, kissing his bicep.

  “I’ll be keeping you safe.”

  “I’m sitting in a car!”

  “Yeah, but baby, even that can be dangerous,” he said, his anger brewing anew.

  Damn Bobby Ray for doing this to her. Fuck.

  “Agent Beauchamp,” Agent McClure called, searching around until he spotted

  Quentin. He slowed his pace as he approached. His eyes darting to Briony and then

  back to Quentin. “Here are the keys to patrol unit #4210.”

  He held out his hand, and the fresh faced agent put the keys there. Briony tried

  to pull away, but he held her fast. She felt good in his arms and he wanted her to stay a tiny bit longer. In a half an hour, maybe less, she’d be put in harm’s way again. Not

  directly, but shit happened. He had to keep it from happening to her.

  “Sir?”

  “Yeah, agent,” Quentin answered. His anger rolling out. “What?”

  “Uh, Agent Richards said you should get her, uh, Ms. Beauchamp, a vest.”

  “A vest?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Briony firmly stepped out of his hug. With her book still clutched in her hand,

  she said to the newbie, “Where do I go get one?”

  “Follow me, ma’am,” McClure said, his on the ground, not meeting Quentin.

  Why the hell did Richards think she needed a vest?

  He closed his eyes and exhaled.

  “There you are,” Richards’s calm tone rushed out to greet him. “The vest…”

  “Yeah, what the fuck?”

  “It’s precautions, Quentin, just a precaution. She’s a civilian. I had to sell it to the

  assistant director that she too was sort of an informant,” he explained. “Otherwise she

  wouldn’t be allowed to be there at all. I have the real informant in the back of the black

  and white I’ll be in. Wouldn’t be a good idea to have them together. She’ll be wearing a

  vest as well.”

  “Then I wouldn’t be.”

  “Then you’d be fired.”

  “I don’t give a shit about being fired!” “Quentin!” Richards roared, getting into an inch of his face. “You are way too

  fucking close to this!”

  “Fuck you, and get out of my face!”

  “Or you’ll what? Hit me?” Richards said, voice back on calm, but he didn’t

  move.

  He raised his fist. Damn he wanted to punch the fuck out of him.

  “Hit me and get over it, because damn it, you’re acting like you need to be

  fucking suspended. Damn it, I don’t want anything to happen to her either. Give me

  some credit. But if you keep popping off raw, you’re going to make a mistake that

  might cost us or worse, her.”

  Quentin’s fist rose.

  Who the fuck did Richards think he was? He so didn’t get the fact that this slimy

  fuck had threatened his life.

  “Hit me and get this shit over with,” Richards said again. He stared at him,

  waiting for the punch.

  Richards was right. Quentin dropped his fist. “I just wanna get this guy.”

  He nodded. “I know you do.”

  “Fuck.”

  “We have a good plan to get him, but if you go all Rambo and shit, his conviction

  can get tossed. It can go sideways. So by the book on this one.”

  Quentin nodded, but he made no promises.

  “Come on, let’s go.” The ride over to Mike’s Bar held so much tension he could cut it out with a

  spoon. Briony sat beside him in the patrol car, the bulletproof vest making her seem

  fragile. Up ahead, the SWAT units, several other patrol cars, and a bunch of unmarked

  F.B.I. vehicles moved into positions Richards had already predetermined. All Quentin

  had to do was keep his baby safe.

  She reached for his hands as he parked three blocks over.

  “Team four in position,” he said into the patrol’s radio.

  “Team one in position.”

  “Team two in position.”

  “Team Alpha in position.”

  “Team Beta in position.”

  “Team three in position.”

  The last team’s lead had whispered it in.

  “Who are the Alpha and Beta teams?” she asked.

  “SWAT.”

  “The numbered ones?”

  “F.B.I. and locals.”

  He didn’t mean to sound terse, he just couldn’t think about the operation. This

  part of his life he didn’t want her involved in. The grit and grime of humanity. Sure,

  she’d experienced it with Bobby Ray, but he wanted to lift her above it. Keep her above

  it. Exalt her high above the petty and the puke. Tonight it would end. Tonight she

  would be safe. “What do we do now?” she asked, her hand squeezing his.

  “We wait.” Chapter Eleven

  “Team four! Team four!” came the crackling barks. “Team four, over!”

  Briony bolted awake in her seat, her heart in her throat and her heart galloping

  like a team of horses in her chest.

  Christ! She’d dozed off next to Quentin. The static filled shouting of the radio

  made her stomach hurt.

  “What?” Quentin yelled into the black receiver in his hand. He held it so tight his

  knuckles were white. This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  “Donny Chestnut escaped! Suspect is on foot heading in your direction!”

  Escaped. What did that mean?

  “Suspect is wearin
g jeans, blue shirt, and black boots,” the SWAT person

  radioed.

  “Roger that.”

  Briony rubbed her eyes and swallowed hard. Donny Chestnut. The name

  conjured fear in her gut, so much she clutched her belly. The bulletproof vest seemed to

  get tighter all on its own. Chestnut had escaped and whatever plan the F.B.I. and SWAT

  had was falling to pieces. They didn’t catch him.

  And he was headed in their direction.

  “Quentin?” she asked, a frown staining her face.

  “Stay here. Lock the doors and get down,” he said, face tight with anger. He had

  his gun out, checked it for rounds and shoved the clip back in. “You’re scaring me,” she whispered, touching his face, her fingers brushing the

  bristles of new growth along this chin. “What’s going on? What are you going to do?”

  He puffed out a big breath, and twisted in the driver seat to face her.

  “I love you.”

  “I, I love you too,” she croaked around the knot in her throat.

  He kissed her hard on the lips and said, “Stay down!”

  With that, he shoved the door open and got out of the car. He scanned the area,

  and then he caught her watching him.

  “Get down!” he roared at her and she did.

  She pressed the button to lock the doors. She couldn’t lose him. Surely, she didn’t

  come all this way, go through all that hell, just to lose the one thing that mattered.

  “Stop! F.B.I!” she heard Quentin yell and then shots! Or what sounded like shots.

  Oh God! Is he all right?

  His warning to keep her head down be damned. She had to know if he’d been

  hit, harmed, or injured. She counted to ten, but it felt like ten million, before she slowly

  sat up. All around her silence crept out. Nothing. No people, no cars, nothing.

  It was like the world had gone to hide.

  Where was Quentin?

  She peered above the window and then a harsh, dark shadow fell over her face.

  “Get the fuck out!” the man roared. His goatee gleamed with sweat. A tattoo

  littered the side of his neck, but fury spilled out from his eyes, those deeply hated-filled

  pits. No, it couldn’t be. The police artist’s illustration of Donny Chestnut made real

  shoved a gun hard against the glass window.

  He stared at her a moment and then laughed.

  “Ain’t this some shit! You the bitch I been lookin’ for!”

  He recognized her.

  “Fucking bitch! I said to get the fuck out of the car! I’ll blow your head off!” He