LineofDuty

by Sidney Bristol

  Undercover officers were already on the scene watching the house, and uniformed officers were on standby at a staging area a few blocks away where the narcotics team had set the whole thing up. Many of the officers were old friends of Jake’s, who had begun his career after patrol in narcotics. He didn’t miss it, but he did regret some of the unfinished business, the cases he’d never been able to close.

  The earpieces everyone wore to communicate chirped to life. “House will be on the passenger side, blue with white shutters. There are to our knowledge six people inside, all male. Two Caucasian and four Hispanic.” The voice was that of the commanding officer over all of SWAT, Thomas O’Neil.

  The van eased to a stop, brakes squealing slightly with the evening humidity settling in. There was rain in the forecast for tomorrow, well, today since the clock had rolled over midnight somewhere between when he arrived home and found Nicole spread out like a buffet and now. What he wouldn’t give to still be there.

  “Let’s go,” Cole said and pushed the back doors open.

  Jake’s heart beat in triple time, blood pounding in his ears as Cole, then Aaron, then he jumped out of the double doors.

  The subdivision at a glance was the kind of run-down area where bars covered every window and door.

  An anonymous tip from this neighborhood? It sent off all kinds of warning bells in Jake’s head, but they had boots on the ground.

  He jogged silently up a cracked sidewalk to a small blue house with cracked siding and enough junk in the yard to start a scrap business. There were two stairs, then a tiny porch. Cole leapt from the ground to the porch, keeping as silent as possible, shield up and at the ready.

  Aaron jumped and swung the ram at the same time, hitting the flimsy door with the full twenty pounds plus everything his thick build could bring. The first blow knocked the topmost hinge back. Aaron hauled back and kicked, sending the door sailing inward.

  “Police,” Cole called out, filling the doorway with the bulletproof shield up.

  Jake pressed in behind Cole, his gun up as they both entered the house.

  All hell broke loose.

  The unmistakable rat-a-tat-tat of automatic gunfire sent both men lunging for the relative shelter of a sofa. The old house seemed to be built on squares and rectangles, with the entrance leading into a large square that served as both living room and dining room.

  Jake rolled to the farthest end of the couch and aimed for the legs of a man leaning out of a hallway. The night was alive with yelling and gunfire. He couldn’t even hear the bark of orders in his earpiece.

  He squeezed off two shots, but the shooter dropped before the bullets hit their mark.

  Jake pushed to his feet at the same time Cole recovered and together they advanced through the dining nook into the kitchen, other officers rushing down the hall.

  Two Hispanic men huddled on the floor by a beaten-up refrigerator. Their jerky motions and glassy eyes gave them away as addicts.

  “Stay on the ground,” Cole ordered. Another officer on their heels took over securing the two meth addicts.

  From the other side of the house gunshots erupted and the acrid smell of chemicals Jake could never forget wafted in on the air.

  “Cole—” he began to say.

  “Fire, the meth lab is on fire,” Aaron shouted from the living room.

  “Shit,” Jake spat.

  He kicked what had once been the back door of the house. The door and pieces of the jamb flew into a cinderblock and cement addition.

  Someone moved.

  Jake squeezed the trigger and the figure flailed, falling against metal storage lockers. He jumped over an overturned chair and boxes. Papers were strewn everywhere and a goddamned pile of money sat on a desk, complete with automatic bill counter blinking a total of one hundred.

  He ignored all of it and grabbed the downed suspect by the back of his jacket.

  “Get everyone out now,” Cole’s voice came over the earpiece.

  Jake yanked his cuffs out and wrenched the man’s arms around one at a time, reciting the man’s rights as he sped through cuffing him, ignoring the yelling threats. He’d heard it all before. If he kept count of how many men promised to ruin his life or see him dead, he’d never sleep at night.

  Another officer entered the safe room and helped secure the suspect. Together they hauled the man to his feet and hustled out of the house. Thick smoke billowed out of the hallway, fumes of the various chemicals used to cook meth heavy on the air. Jake held his breath, eyes beginning to water, and charged out of the house.

  The street, which had been silent and dark upon their arrival, now teemed with officers, firefighters and other first responders. The two meth heads from the kitchen were handcuffed and sitting on the curb. The first shooter was strapped to a stretcher.

  “Need EMT,” Jake said and pushed his suspect toward another ambulance.

  “Watch it, jackass,” the suspect snapped.

  An EMT waved them to the back of another ambulance and opened both doors, spilling light out. The suspect turned, glaring at him, and Jake’s world narrowed to the age-worn profile.

  He knew that face.

  Jose Garza.

  One of the open cases Jake had left behind when he moved to SWAT. The man was a high roller in the narcotics world, and Jake had just taken him down.

  * * * * *

  Nicole lay on the bed, swaddled in her fleece robe, hair a sopping mess from her postcoital shower. As soon as Jake had left she’d needed to scrub the sweat from her body. A bone-deep ache pierced her chest. She’d cry if she had anything left in her, but there were no tears left.

  Tanya had been wrong. Sex hadn’t made a difference to the great chasm yawning between her and Jake. It was still there. He hadn’t even bothered to kiss her. What man made love to his wife and didn’t even kiss her? They’d fucked and that was it. No emotions, nothing at all. Maybe this was a good thing. Now she knew the love they’d shared was dead.

  She swung her feet over the edge and rose. It was time she did something for herself, because Jake wasn’t going to be her plaid-wearing, truck-driving hero this time. That ship had sailed. It was time to get out of Dodge, because this wasn’t just a transition like when he’d transferred from narcotics to SWAT. They’d had a whole week of interrupted lovemaking sessions that erased all the tension that had been strangling their marriage. They’d laughed and copped a feel every chance they got, unable to keep their hands off each other. The sex that week had been some of the hottest, most impassioned she’d ever experienced. When she married Jake, she’d wanted someone who defied normal, and that was the life they’d had together. The sex, their passion, was anything but normal. But they’d fizzled—just like everyone else.

  Tonight’s fucking was tame, impersonal and quite frankly, her last.

  She dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers laid out in the closet. In short order she filled her suitcase with the essentials, enough basic items to mix and match for work for two weeks, a few vibrators since she wouldn’t have a cock for a while, toiletries and what she couldn’t live without. The rest she’d have to take a chance on losing.

  Jake had always told her he didn’t believe in divorce. It was one of those arguments they couldn’t resolve, so she’d let it go. Sometimes things didn’t work out and you had to cut your losses. For her, this was it. And Jake wasn’t going to like it but then again, this was about her. Not him.

  She rolled her luggage out of the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to make sure she’d blown all the candles out. A wealth of memories stared back at her. Some happy, others sad. But it was time to say goodbye. She flipped the lights off and took her things to the front of the house.

  Nicole piled her luggage in the foyer, studiously not looking down the dark hall toward the rooms she never ventured into. At least not in months. Momentarily she considered just leaving, no backward glance. She sucked down a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other. She couldn’t run away without one f
inal look.

  The hall seemed to stretch out longer than it really was. Her hands began to shake as she came to the first door on the left and turned to peek into the room. A nightlight provided enough illumination for her to make out the furniture, but she didn’t need light. She’d painted the room with Jake. They’d laughed and cursed, getting pink paint on the carpet.

  Almost everything in the room, to an item, was pink or white. A little girl’s paradise. The pink cradle had a canopy of gauzy white and pink ribbons hanging over it. Fanciful toys sat on shelves, just waiting to be played with. Wooden letters Jake had carved using some fancy tool in his workshop spelled out their little girl’s name—Willow.

  Jake fought her on the name, but Nicole had won out. She’d wanted that little girl so much. There would have been a closet of pretty dresses and sparkling bows. Nicole’s luck, Willow would have turned out a tomboy and her daddy would have her decked out in camo with a cap gun so he could teach her to hunt like he had growing up. Nicole dreaded it, but if her baby girl had wanted to be like Daddy, she’d have figured out a way to add a little sparkle somehow.

  Nicole wrapped her arms around herself and drew in another shuddering breath. She’d shed so many tears in this room, it was a wonder she couldn’t taste salt in the air. It was time to put all this behind her, but Willow, her darling baby, would always reside in her heart.

  Nicole took a little stuffed doll from a shelf next to the door and hugged it. She’d made it with Jake’s mother guiding her every step of the way. It was hideous, the eyes were mismatched and uneven. The dress didn’t even fit and the skirt was higher on one side than the other, but she’d made it. Maybe someday there would be another little girl to love it. Nicole wasn’t shutting the door on her future.

  With a final glance at boxes of diapers that had never been opened, Nicole closed the door, returned to her luggage and tucked the doll in her purse.

  The last thing she did was pull a set of folded papers from her work tote and leave them on the kitchen table. Chances were Jake wouldn’t find them until sometime tomorrow. She didn’t know if her nerves of steel would hold, but for now, she left them on the table without a backward glance.

  She loaded up her convertible with the matching luggage set, a few extra bags and her doll, and backed out of the drive for what felt like the last time. In reality, she knew she’d be back, maybe to pick up belongings or to sort out the divorce, but this was goodbye.

  Nicole kept the top down as she drove through Metro City, the evening breeze whipping her hair out behind her. The best thing was it dried her tears almost as soon as they fell, which was fine by her. She was tired of crying, tired of the hurting, tired of it all.

  * * * * *

  Jake pulled on a t-shirt and wiped the grit from his eyes. The meth house had burned for hours, destroying all the evidence, but there were stacks of dirt on Jose Garza. He didn’t doubt the dealer was about to face a very lengthy prison visit. Jake couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He’d chased Jose and his partners years before, but caught only one, Diego Cruz.

  The charges against Diego were minor, possession of narcotics with intent to sell. Jake had never found hard evidence to link Diego to the murders he was suspected of committing. They rarely found the bodies, and what had been found was so mangled and the evidence so contaminated it was always beyond usable. Diego’s possession sentencing hadn’t been anywhere near as heavy as what Jake had hoped for, but at least Diego was off the streets.

  Around Jake, the other guys were packing up, heading home after a long day and an even longer night. There weren’t that many hours before Jake needed to be back at the station, but he couldn’t wait to spend a little time at home. For the first time in months he didn’t even consider rounding up a few of the others for a drink or something to eat. He just wanted to see Nicole.

  “See you in a few hours.” Cole slapped him on the shoulder as he stood from putting his boots back on.

  “What? No pancakes?” Aaron leaned around the row of lockers, water droplets racing down his cheeks.

  “Not tonight, man,” Jake replied. He closed his locker and fastened the lock in place.

  “Oh come on, I’m starving.” Aaron slung a shirt over his shoulder.

  “Go home. Cuddle up to your fiancée.” Cole grabbed his duffle and hefted it over his shoulder. “See you.”

  “Yeah. Later.” Aaron’s face twisted as if he’d smelled something rancid, but considering the fragrant nature of the locker room, it was anyone’s guess what the other man was thinking.

  “I bet Becca would go get something to eat,” Jake offered.

  Becca was one of the three women on SWAT, and the only one Jake thought had any business being with them. She might as well be one of the guys. It wasn’t easy for women to be part of the team, but she’d found her place and now they were all stuck with each other.

  “Nah, I guess I’ll go home.” Aaron pushed off the lockers and ambled back across the room.

  “Suit yourself.” Jake gathered the rest of his equipment and uniform in his duffle bag and hoisted it on his shoulder.

  He left the locker room, whistling as he went. The sound echoed off the metal lockers and concrete floors.

  Things were starting to look up, just like he’d always told himself. Enough time, plenty of space and life would settle back into normal once more. They’d heal. Get better.

  During the drive home, he kept the windows down, feeling the fresh breeze against his face. The trip took only a little over twenty minutes in the dead of night. During the day it could take upwards of an hour to make the journey. All the houses in his subdivision were dark, families tucked away in bed for the night. At the end of the street the porch light was on, like old times.

  Jake didn’t bother with the garage. The noise might wake Nicole, so he parked in the drive behind his bike and let himself in the front door.

  The scent of the candles had long since expired, but he remembered it. If he weren’t bone weary, he’d consider waking her up for round two. Instead, he just wanted to slip in next to her and be with his wife.

  He dropped the duffle in the washroom off the kitchen before tiptoeing into the bedroom. As soon as he crossed the threshold the hair on the back of his neck rose. Something wasn’t right. He tilted his head to the side and listened for the steady sound of Nicole’s breathing, but silence met him.

  “Nicole?” he whispered, padding toward her side of the bed.

  He reached inside the closet and flipped on the light.

  The bed was neatly made though the pillows were scattered. He had a vague memory of knocking them off during their lovemaking.

  “Nicole?” he said louder, wheeling and striding back into the living room, turning on lights as he went.

  Everything was perfectly in place. The afghans folded across the back of the sofa, decorative pillows situated in an artistic, messy manner only Nicole could master.

  He strode down the hall, past the nursery and spare rooms. Nothing out of place. That left the garage. He strode through the kitchen and pulled open the door, flipping the switch.

  Nicole’s convertible was gone.

  Where would she be at almost three a.m.?

  Jake turned and stood in the kitchen. Her purse was gone, which made sense if she’d driven anywhere.

  “Fuck it.” He pulled out his cell phone and pressed her speed dial.

  The line rang.

  And rang.

  And rang.

  And rang.

  “Mm, hello?” a sleepy voice said on the other end of the call.

  “Where are you?” Why wasn’t she home waiting for him?

  “Jake? What time is it? God, it’s three in the frickin’ morning.” She groaned and he could hear the sound of sheets rustling.

  “Where are you?” he demanded. She was supposed to be there when he got home.

  For a moment she didn’t respond. The silence stretched taut. “Um, did you look at the papers I le
ft you on the table?”

  “Papers? Where?” What was she talking about?

  “Kitchen table.”

  He spied the creased pages on the mahogany table and crossed to smooth them out.

  His gaze skipped over the first few words, over and over again. He recognized their meaning, but rejected the reality of them every time.

  This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this was right.

  “Jake?”

  “No,” he said with more force than he intended.

  They were not getting divorced. This couldn’t be happening. What about earlier? They’d made love. It had been perfect.

  “Jake, we’ve been headed down this road for a while now.” She spoke slowly, as if she were some reasonable, patient woman. Not his hot-tempered wife.

  “All couples have problems.” He crumpled the papers in his fist.

  “And most couples talk it out. They work on their issues. We just fight, ignore the problem and don’t speak.” Her voice steadily rose in volume. When Nicole got angry, she was pretty amazing.

  “We can fix it.” He began to pace, through the kitchen and living room, then back again.

  “Then why haven’t we fixed it yet? Some things can’t be fixed, Jake.”

  “We’ve just been getting over things.”

  For a moment neither spoke. He could picture Nicole biting her lower lip, winding up for her rebuttal.

  “Willow. You can’t even say our daughter’s name. She died. And you checked out on me. When I needed you, you left and you’ve never come back. I will not wait around for you to wake up. I want a divorce, and I want to do it quick and civil. You can sign the papers and bring them to the old house. I’m staying here until we figure it all out. There’s no reason to drag it out.” She kept talking about how they could split assets, that it didn’t have to be nasty, but they were just words.

  Nicole was leaving him.

  He’d given her space after the miscarriage. Walked on damn eggshells. It wasn’t as though he could bring their baby girl back to life. What did she want from him? He’d been torn up too.