by Dan Alatorre
“Take your hands out of your pockets, please,” Abbie said. “And stand up straight.” Walking quickly, she glanced at him. “You look very nice in that tie. The suit, too. Blue is a good color on you.”
“Thank you.”
After adjusting the shoulder strap of her dress, Abbie straightened up and smoothed out some nonexistant wrinkles in the dazzling blue material covering her thighs. “Be yourself, but for the next hour or so, be the best version of yourself.”
Sergio grinned. “You’re more nervous about this than I am.”
“Really?” She looked at him. “Good.”
They approached the double doors at the front of the police station. A short rope line had been erected, but there was no one waiting yet.
Abbie turned to Sergio and adjusted his tie. “Ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He put his hand on the long, steel door handle. “It’s showtime.”
The officers working security at the front door were as pleasant as usual. All hand-held items were placed on a conveyor belt to pass through an x-ray machine as the respective owners walked through a metal detector before retrieving them on the other side.
Officer Jim Dornan, a veteran of the force, stood at the end of the conveyor belt, his hands folded in front of him. Dornan’s large gut and silver temples were the mark of a man who was close to retirement but who refused to consider it. He smiled at Abbie as she picked up her purse. “Have a nice evening, ma’am.”
“Thanks. Merry Christmas.”
As Sergio passed through, Dornan nodded. “You, too, Detective. Merry Christmas.” Leaning forward, the elder officer lowered his voice. “I hope your hearing turns out well. Some of us around here still appreciate a guy getting a cop killer off the street.”
“Thanks, Jim.” Sergio sighed, pursing his lips. “Keep your fingers crossed.”
Dornan winked. “Chin up, Detective.”
The station atrium was in full holiday mode. Strands of garland draped each doorway; giant ornaments hung from the ceiling. A twelve-foot Christmas tree occupied the center ground, stuffed to overflowing with wrapped presents that would end up at Toys For Tots. The walls were lined with long tables filled with sandwich trays, baskets of chips, and plates piled high with cookies. As a steady stream of officers filled their paper plates with the makeshift dinner, the midtown urban boys choir sang Christmas carols from a tiny stage.
Clusters of reporters and other guests mingled with the evening’s dignitaries—the mayor, the governor, and most of the Tampa PD top brass.
Abbie slipped her arm around Sergio’s, guiding him toward Governor Richie.
The cluster of people around the governor was the largest in the room, but Tom Richie would have been the biggest personality in any group. Not just because he held the highest office in the state, but because he was a big man with a big personality. A Miami trial lawyer turned real estate developer, Richie was known for his common-sense approach to business and politics. He was as likely to give cash to a struggling subcontractor as he was to break up a bar fight, and he had the size to ensure he emerged unscathed doing either. He won the governorship by sheer force of will, outlasting competition from bigger and better-known politicians.
A young officer carrying a red cloth bag marked “toys” approached Abbie and Sergio. “Would you folks like to donate to our fifty-fifty? Five bucks gets you a ticket. The winner gets half the cash and the other half goes to the food bank.”
Sergio reached for his wallet. “Sounds slightly illegal.”
“It is.” The officer grinned. “Somebody should call a cop.”
As Abbie opened her purse, the young officer shifted on his feet. “Sergio, just so you know . . . we’re all pulling for you.” He checked over his shoulder. “A lot of guys wish they could have been in your shoes that day on the docks with Parmenter. Hang in there.”
“Thanks, kid.” Sergio dropped a five-dollar bill into the bag and patted the officer on the shoulder. “Really.”
Abbie’s donation followed.
“Here you go.” The officer tore two tickets off a reel clipped to his waist. “Good luck.”
Dots of color washed over the room. A mirror ball spun overhead, with colored lasers bouncing off it. “Underneath The Christmas Lights” played softly over the public address system.
Abbie turned to Sergio. “You are quite the celebrity around here. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah.” He said. “Neither did I.”
She gazed at him, the twinkling lights gliding over the walls and floor and gathered guests. Abbie locked her arm around his again. “Come on. Let’s go work the room.”
As they approached the nearest cluster, a large hand shot into the air.
“Abbie!” Governor Richie waved. “Good to see you again.” He beamed, looking at her gown. “Good grief, woman. This dress doesn’t give the other ladies a chance to be noticed.” Taking a sip of his cocktail, the big man looked at Sergio, smiling. “And who is the lucky young man squiring you around tonight, Abbie?”
Across the room, Lieutenant Davis frowned, making a straight line for Sergio.
Abbie patted Sergio’s arm. “This is Detective Sergio Martin, Governor. You might recognize him. He was on the news recently.”
“Martin. Oh, yeah—that unfortunate bit about the car, right?” He held up his drink, pointing. “Drove it into the water, was it?”
A few people in the group chuckled.
Abbie smiled. “Of course, I meant he was the one who chased the Seminole Heights serial killer into the stairwell upstairs, where they fought. Detective Sanderson, his partner, was able to take down the killer after Sergio was stabbed.”
“Stabbed!” The Governor put his hand to his chest. “And I have the nerve to complain about my job. In Tallahassee, the backstabbing is figurative.”
Sergio patted his side. “It was nothing. He got me in the hip with a knife. Mostly caught my service belt. It just required some stitches.”
“And then while he was still recovering,” Abbie said, “he helped take down Lucas Parmenter, a notorious drug dealer and murderer.”
Richie nodded. “Is that right?”
“Abbie’s being very flattering, Governor,” Sergio said. “But that was a mistake, to go against departmental rules.”
Lieutenant Davis put his hand on Sergio’s shoulder, whispering through clenched teeth. “What are you doing here? This party is for officers in good standing only.”
Abbie bristled, facing the lieutenant. “I believe my invitation read, ‘Abbie Wilder and guest.’ Detective Martin is with me, Lieutenant. As my guest.”
Davis glowered. “Counselor, I think it might be best if . . .”
“Everything okay here?” The Governor stepped forward.
“Of course, Tom.” Abbie turned her back to the lieutenant. “I was just about to explain, the reason Detective Martin’s car went into the Bay was because Lucas Parmenter, a drug dealer and murderer, rammed him with a Ferrari while trying to escape.”
Richie looked at Sergio. “That’s quite a story, young man.”
“I happened to stumble upon the man who shot and killed my partner,” Sergio said. “Parmenter had never been brought to justice for that. Now, I broke a rule, and I’ll be held accountable—I understand that. I also understand Parmenter . . . killed my friend.” He looked down, lowering his voice. “Franklin bled out right in front of me, right there in the dirt.”
The Governor’s group was quiet, all eyes on Sergio. The rest of the ballroom, too.
“Caught a bullet in the throat. There was nothing anyone could do. When the chance to take down Parmenter happened, it was fairly obvious we didn’t have enough people in place.” He raised his chin and looked the governor in the eye. “But I was there. I could do something. So I chased him in a personal car, and we got him.” Looking away, Sergio shrugged. “But I’m a police officer. I should follow the rules.”
Richie swept his hand over his chin, taking a long, slow breath.
“But then he would have gotten away.”
“Very likely. Yes, sir.”
“And more recently,” Abbie said, “Sergio disabled two thugs who were trying to abduct a woman in broad daylight. And he did it without a weapon.”
Richie cocked his head. “Is that true, son?”
“No, not really, sir,” Sergio said.
“Oh.” The Governor raised his drink to his lips.
“There were three thugs.”
A broad grin broke out across the governor’s face. His entire group laughed.
“So, you put yourself in harm’s way,” Richie said, “to keep a dangerous killer off the street. And you stopped a kidnapping. Sounds like you’re some kind of superman.” He glanced around, grinning. “Why aren’t we giving you a medal?”
“We’re giving him a pink slip,” Abbie said.
Sergio put his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. “Violating rules puts people at risk. I’ve learned my lesson.”
The governor rubbed his chin. “Is that right?”
“I . . . yes sir.”
Richie held his drink up, pointing at Sergio. “Did you ever stop once to consider what could happen if things went wrong?”
Sergio shook his head. “No, I guess not.”
“Uh huh. Well.” The Governor rubbed his chin. The rest of the crowd in the atrium had all gathered around his group. “I’m a little older than you, but I saw NFL legend Terry Bradshaw throw a touchdown to win a Super Bowl. Later, the reporters asked him if he worried about being intercepted—they’d have lost the game. He didn’t hesitate. He said no. He knew what he and his teammates were capable of. When I hear a cop goes into a stairwell after an armed serial killer, that’s what I hear. You don’t hesitate because you’ve got a teammate right behind you.” Richie narrowed his eyes. “I’m gonna tell you, this suspension sounds like crap to me. Heroes like you keep things safe for the rest of us. Occasionally, the rest of us forget that.”
He clapped Sergio on the back as the crowd voiced their approval.
* * * * *
“How do I look?” Bree spun around in front of the bathroom mirror at Marla’s condo. Her red dress drifted upwards at the hemline and swayed back around her knees. “Good, you think, baby?” In the next room, Rossi was passed out on the bed—compliments of two Rohypnol tablets. She walked over to him, tapping her finger on his nose. “It’s just a little while longer. You’re doing great, though. The Buick went into the deep part of the lake and it barely caused a ripple.”
Strolling to the kitchen, she put a finger to her lip. “I feel like I’m forgetting something. Let’s see. Turley’s big fat head went into the pond. We flushed the fingers and teeth. The tools went with the car. What am I missing?”
She peered down the hall to Rossi. “The sniper rifle is under the bed, and I pressed your fingers onto it, so we’re good there as far as prints go. I am, at least. But that’s only if the cops get that far. They can be lazy, sometimes, but why take chances? The gas and fuses come tomorrow—and the dead woman from the freezer. What else?” She put her hands on her hips. “I think that’s about it. I can relax, enjoy the police party, make a cameo at the telethon, and then spend the rest of the evening at Rex’s making sure I am the woman of his dreams.” Walking down the hallway, she put her hand on the bedroom doorknob. “I’ll swing by on my way home in the morning, baby—to make a quick call to Tampa’s finest about the strange man I saw carrying an AK-47 into this condo unit. Then, I’m home free. After I torch the place, of course.”
She leaned on the door frame. “I will miss you, though, baby. Such a sweet boy. You were more than helpful in so many ways, over so many years.” She closed her eyes and put the back of her wrist to her forehead. “Whatever shall I do without you!” She smiled, gazing at his semi-comatose body on the bed. “I’ll live happily ever after, that’s what.”
Shutting the door, she twirled the BMW keys and headed for the garage.
* * * * *
Abbie sauntered around the atrium with Sergio on her arm. “Very well done, Detective. That could not have gone better. You must have had a very good teacher.”
“I did. And like I said, I studied the notes—so thank you.” He stopped walking and gazed into her eyes. Holiday music serenaded the room. “So? Now what?”
She beamed. “We work the room a little and then get out of Dodge. We scored big with the Governor back there. Now we spend time with each little cluster, reinforcing the message. That oughta do it.”
“Will do.” He looked out over the room. “Where do we start?”
“I’ll see about mingling with anyone else who might be a power broker in all this. The Mayor isn’t here yet, so I’ll be sure Tom tells him your story. You can just socialize for a while. Let some of the other cops tell you how much they covertly admire what you did. Try to remember their names, too.”
“We’re splitting up?”
“Divide and conquer.” She gave his hand a squeeze and headed into the crowd. “I’ll circle around and meet you at the punch bowl.”
Chapter 40
Bree swept into the party in her red dress, ready to own the room.
You have to admire someone with the nerve to walk into a police station when the entire police force is looking for her.
The mayor was in one corner; the governor in the other. Between them, cops, reporters and dignitaries, all set to be dazzled by Rex Addleson—and Bree was ready to help him.
She scanned the room until she found her target.
Charming and handsome, Addleson looked good in his charcoal gray suit—but was working too small of a group for the man who would be the next mayor of Tampa.
Bree strutted toward Addleson, prepared to light up the party with him.
The plan was working overtime today, and she was loving every minute.
“Bree!” Marjorie Latham waved from the cocktail table. “How are you? It’s been ages.”
Bree waved at Marjorie, not stopping until she reached Addleson’s side. “Mr. Future Mayor, you cut quite a dashing figure in that suit.”
“Bree! There you are.” Addleson sidled up to her. “I was beginning to think you’d stood me up.”
“Not a chance.” She flashed a grin at the cluster of nobodies surrounding her man.
Addleson swept his hand in front of the group. “Everyone, I think you know Bree Barclay, my Campaign Chairperson.”
She greeted the faces she recognized. None were of a significant status quotient to warrant any more of Addleson’s time.
Marjorie sauntered up. “You missed it, Bree. We had quite the speech a moment ago.”
“Oh?” Bree maintained her smile, desperate to move on to the influencers in the room, but understanding the need to be polite. After all, they were all potential voters—and more importantly, donors. “Did Blumenthal announce he was quitting the race?”
“No, no.” Marjorie raised her martini, gesturing in the direction of the Christmas tree. “This detective happened to be telling the Governor how he stopped a woman from being abducted from a restaurant—and he was off duty and without weapons. Just a fantastic story. Kept Governor Richie’s full attention, and you know how hard that is.”
Bree turned, raising to her tiptoes to see across the crowded room.
A brave cop story could be useful. Maybe he’ll do an endorsement for our campaign.
“Which one is he?”
“That one.” Marjorie pointed. “Dark hair, navy blue suit, silver-blue tie.” She giggled, turning to the lady next to her. “Broad shoulders, ruggedly handsome.”
“Silver blue tie . . .” Bree spotted the man in question. “He looks familiar.” She turned back around to face the group, her disappointment apparent in her tone. “Isn’t he the cop who drove his car into the bay?”
A few snickers went up from the group.
I think we’ll pass on that endorsement, officer.
“Glad he got dried off for the party.” Bree laughed. “I’d bette
r get a glass of punch before he drops his wallet in the punch bowl or something.” She tugged Addleson’s arm. “Rex, we should really go say hello to the Governor.” Waving to the others, she pulled him away. “Will you excuse us?”
* * * * *
As Marjorie took a sip of her cocktail, one of the other ladies in the group watched Bree leave. “You have to hand it to Bree Barclay. Managing a campaign, juggling interviews and fundraisers—she really remains calm under all that pressure.”
“Calm is her thing,” Marjorie said. “Bree has ice water in her veins. Nothing gets her heart rate up.”
“Nothing?” The other woman chuckled. “Well, that makes for a dull Saturday night.”
The other people around them laughed.
* * * * *
“Bree, slow down,” Addleson said. “What’s the rush? Richie isn’t going anywhere—there’s still some unconsumed Scotch at the bar.”
Bree continued walking, steering Addleson toward the Governor. “I’m sorry, honey. We can only interact with the upper crust of the movers and shakers. The people at these things only have so much time to see and be seen—including us.”
Addleson glanced over his shoulder. “But those were my friends.”
“Then you can see them at the country club.”
* * * * *
Carly stepped to the full-length mirror in the second-floor ladies’ locker room, wearing an elegant dress with a black bottom, a white top, and lacy white sleeves.
She was surprised by how great she looked.
She was so exhausted, feeling anything but pretty or sexy. It had been forever since she’d worn heels anywhere. One strap pinched her toes; her feet were already sore. The dress used to fit better—now it was a little tight around her curves, since there hadn’t been time to work out in more than a week. It displayed more of her figure than she would have preferred.
Still, she smiled at her reflection, genuinely impressed with how good she looked.
Pressing the button on the elevator, Carly inspected her nails—and grimaced.
A manicure sometime in the last month would have been a good idea, too.
But there isn’t time for everything. I have priorities.