A young man of about nineteen, covered in tattoos and scars, exited the nearby red brick office building and walked towards the Saab. Darryl sat up in his seat, becoming alert when he realised this could be their guy.
“That’s him,” he said with absolute assurance.
“He doesn’t look too imposing,” she commented, as she too watched the young man, her body tense with anticipation. “I’ve dated men creepier than him.”
Darryl glanced at her. “I worry about you.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I always fall for the bad guy. Leather and motorcycles get me going.”
“That would be the worry part.”
She flashed him one of her rare smiles. “I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.”
The man stopped as he reached the door of the Saab and suddenly, as if aware that he was being watched, searched the area, his gaze immediately falling on him and Donovan. He stared at them for a moment before taking off on foot.
Donovan opened her door. “He made us.”
They both exited the car at the same time and started chasing their quarry down the street. Darryl cursed, knowing they were at a distinct disadvantage. Their suspect knew the area, knew the places he could get lost in, people who would hide him…and it wasn’t as if they were welcoming toward cops. He and Donovan would have to watch their backs. It wasn’t just the suspect they had to worry about now.
“I knew I should have driven,” he said as he tried to suck in breath. Running in blistering summer heat in a suit was not the best idea.
“Oh, this is my fault?” she wheezed beside him, easily keeping up with his much longer strides.
They rounded a corner and found themselves moving through a maze of side streets and back alleys, some residential and others commercial. Large dumpster bins overflowed behind restaurants and rats ate the discarded garbage hungrily.
For a moment they lost sight of their fugitive and savagely cursed when they found themselves at a T-junction. In silent communication, they split up, each taking a separate direction, hoping the one they picked would prove lucrative.
***
Amelia found herself on a path which led back to the main road where both the police Commodore and the suspect’s car were parked. She was determined to find the driver in time and stop his getaway. He would pay for his crimes.
The faces of her victims flashed in her mind.
She took a leap and quickly scaled the chained fence which closed off an old driveway beside what appeared to have once been a warehouse. She jumped down, landing on her feet, stumbling slightly as she made contact with the ground.
She barely avoided the blow that came out of nowhere, rolling to safety as her attacker hit the fence in the exact spot she’d been standing. Her skin burned from where it made contact with the rough concrete.
She went for her sidearm, her hand gripping the butt of the gun and within seconds the weapon was out of the holster.
The kid launched himself at her, slamming into her arm hard, causing her to drop the gun before she had a chance to use it. She cursed silently at her ineptness. She had been trained better than that. Her only excuse was that she had been slightly disoriented from the landing. She hated excuses just as much as she hated incompetence. The truth was she just hadn’t been prepared for him. He was quick on his feet, a teenager with high energy. She would need all her wits with her during this fight, should she have a chance of overpowering him.
He sent his large fists into her abdomen. She forced herself to ignore the pain as she fought to protect herself, using her arms to block further hits. His bulky mass pushed against her, sending her lighter weight backwards. Her ankle turned and she fell hard against the pavement, the action stealing her breath and jarring her body, only managing at the last moment to protect her head. Knowing she would be bruised and battered tomorrow, she lithely shot to her feet in one swift movement. Her body was already beginning to protest against the beating.
But her attacker wasn’t done yet. He extracted a knife from his pocket and with a flick of his wrist, the cool stainless steel serrated blade popped forth from within the grip. He slashed at her, the blade swished deadly in the air, nothing but a blur. She jumped back as his hand crossed back and forth in front of her as he advanced on her, leaving her with no choice but retreat.
He went at her again and she was thankful she kept her hair short, just long enough to be pulled into a stumpy ponytail. She’d heard of plenty of female officers who had been injured over the years because their attacker had grabbed their hair and used it to immobilise them. She wasn’t about to let some dirt-bag slice her up because of something as simple as vanity. She was nothing if not practical.
Amelia deflected each attack, her gaze following the fast movements of the blade as it came dangerously close to cutting her. She moved on her feet nimbly, her only chance of disarming him to be faster than he was.
She caught his arm as he moved in for what he hoped to be the first and final blow and applied pressure to his wrist as she brought up her knee, hitting him in his thigh, when he moved. An inch to the left and he would’ve been done. He cried out but refused to release his weapon, his only way of escaping without handcuffs.
Amelia stamped hard on his instep, eliciting another cry of pain from him and pushed him into the wall, applying more pressure to his wrist. Annoyed, no make that pissed off, her body taut with anger as she thought about this kid going at her with a knife. It was about time someone taught him a lesson. A slow fire beginning to burn beneath her skin as she fought her attacker. Punches landed wherever she could reach before she threw her body weight into him. He grunted, his movements becoming panicked as he realised she’d not been as beaten as he’d thought.
He relinquished his knife, dropping it to the ground. Immediately, he pushed back at her with all his might, his flight or fight instincts kicking in. He may have been a kid, but he had the strength of an adult male and he managed to throw her away from him. He moved towards her, his eyes wild, his breathing harsh.
She pivoted her foot, and swung a back-kick in his direction, hitting him square in the stomach. He dropped to the ground, winded and beaten. The blow sapping what was left of his energy.
Amelia tried to catch her breath, her body aching and tired, calling out for rest. She produced a pair of handcuffs from the small of her back and proceeded to restrain her captive as she read him his rights.
Darryl moved slowly towards her, his gun aimed, his finger poised over the trigger. He searched the immediate area for unseen danger as she yanked her prisoner to his feet. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and regarded her partner seriously.
“Like I said, I’ve dated creepier guys than him.”
Chapter 3
Kellie Munroe increased the speed and incline on her running machine. Her heart was racing and she could feel the stitch on her side. She was breathing fast and sweating profusely, her long blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.
Her body protested every step, every breath, telling her she wasn’t as fit as she should be. For twelve years, Kellie had prided herself for being as physically fit as possible although due to her current workload she had become slack with her visits to the gym. She continued to run until she could no longer keep going, her legs jelly. She turned off the machine and took a deep drink from her water bottle, swallowing half the contents as she wiped the sweat from her brow with a small towel. She glanced at her watch. Her lunch break was long over. She would have loved to spend some time lifting weights, building her physical strength, but she knew she had to get back to work.
She stretched her aching body on the yoga mat nearby as her heart rate slowed down.
“Looking good, Munroe,” a voice said from behind her.
She looked over her shoulder to find Detective Sergeant Nicholas Doyle grinning at her. She realised her position, her behind up in the air as she reached out for her toes.
“You’d better not be thinking what I thin
k you’re thinking, Detective. It could be viewed as sexual harassment, and I would hate to report you,” she informed him, knowing full well he wasn’t. Nick was friend.
His grin got bigger and he gave her a wink. “You know me.”
“Yes I do, Nick.” She sat down on the mat, changing the angle of the stretch, the muscles in her thighs tingling as she held the position.
She and Nick often bantered. He was the only one she felt comfortable enough to tease. Neither of them ever took any offence to what the other said. Some days she needed his teasing barbs. It helped push her past her endurance while training.
“Haven’t seen you around lately,” he commented.
She studied his hard body and tight muscles, black hair and piercing blue eyes. It was unfair to the rest of the male species, Nick having taken more than his share of good looks and charm.
“You obviously haven’t been missing a session.”
He shrugged and flexed a muscle. She refrained from rolling her eyes. Nick was a decent guy and much to the disappointment of the female officers never dated anyone he worked with, however remotely. He was the only son in a family of five, and had been instilled with strong, protective, and tender feelings towards the fairer sex. He was an ‘unofficial’ big brother, having taken all his fellow female colleagues under his wing. If anyone messed with them, they’d be messing with him.
“I could get you in real good shape, Munroe, just let me know when you want it.”
She nodded. “I will thanks,” she said sincerely. “We’ll get right down and dirty.”
Nick grinned, showing his white teeth as he reached down and brought Kellie to her feet in an easy motion. She knew she wasn’t heavy, weighing the right amount for her body type, but Nick could make even the heaviest woman feel no more than a feather. “Right.”
They were of course talking about self-defence, which Nick taught once a week at the LAC’s internal gym. He made sure that every female officer attended his classes and that each walked away with the tools and confidence they needed to defend themselves.
Nick Doyle was a good guy. She could see why the women all flocked towards him. If he had been so inclined, he could easily play the field, but Nick was the monogamous type. He loved being in a relationship but had yet to find the right woman.
“Well, I’ve got to hit the shower,” she said. If she rushed she could be dressed and back at her desk in ten minutes. If she was lucky.
“Sure. I’ll see you later, Munroe.”
In the shower room, she washed the sweat from her body, careful not to get her hair wet. She dried herself off and dressed in her dark navy blue skirt that stopped at her knees. She tucked in her white short-sleeved blouse and carefully applied some blush and clear gloss to her lips, then coated her long blonde eyelashes with mascara. After pulling out her ponytail and brushing her hair, she let it fall to the curve of her breasts, her bangs blending into her hair. She put on her shoes—a pair of three inch black heels—and got into the elevator, making her way up to the top floor of Harbour Bay’s LAC building where the office of Special Crimes and Internal Affairs—SCIA—was housed.
She exited the elevator and started toward her work station directly ahead, the first cubical on the floor. Her boss dumped a file on her slightly disorganised desk and started to walk away.
“Hey, you can’t just dump and run,” she announced, and sped up her pace as fast as she could, hindered by her skirt and heels to catch up to him.
Kellie picked up the folder and waved it in front of her boss’s face.
“What’s this?”
Her boss, Lewis Carlisle, ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. He was one of the unfortunate men whose hairline receded far too early. “New case. A complaint was made that one of the detectives downstairs was being a little rough with the crims.”
Her eyebrow shot up as she opened the folder. “A little rough?”
Kellie’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze found the official police department’s photo of Detective Inspector Amelia Donovan. She read the name on the file in case by some accident it had been misfiled. It hadn’t.
Amelia’s file was thick, filled with recommendations and what seemed like a matching amount of complaints that had been filed against her for rough handling.
Detective Donovan was ambitious and it was no secret she took no shit from anyone, least of all the criminals she brought in. She commanded a lot of respect from her colleagues and worked hard for it. She didn’t let the fact she was a woman deter her, nor did she ask for preferential treatment. She gave it as good as she got.
Kellie glanced up at Carlisle. He watched her closely.
“Sir, you know I can’t take the case.”
Lewis exhaled loudly as if she purposely went out of her way to make things hard for him. “You’re the only one I can spare at the moment. Both Holly and Fitzsimmons are buried deep in their cases.”
Clark Holly and Frank Fitzsimmons were the two other high ranking officers within the SCIA. While both were fine men and good cops on their own, Holly was an anal son-of-a-bitch who took the hide out of anyone who so much as dared to borrow his stapler. Fitzsimmons was more laid back, a veteran of thirty years who went home to his wife and children every night.
“And the personal history?” she asked.
“It shouldn’t be a problem. After all, you’re a professional and I have the upmost respect for your opinion. I know you’ll not let personal entanglements sway your decisions.”
If only she had his confidence. It had been some time since she had seen Amelia. They no longer ran in the same circles and neither had sought the other out. Even though they worked in the same town, on different floors of the same building, they never spoke. She wasn’t certain this would go over well. Even without the past between them, she was IA and automatically despised by most cops, some seeing her as something lower than the criminals they arrested and Mia was sure to be no different.
Kellie believed in what she was doing, and the truth was somebody had to do it, so why not her? Someone had to police the police. Cops were not above the law and they needed to know they still answered to someone.
It would be difficult, and Mia wouldn’t help the situation.
The next few weeks were not going to be easy, and not just because of the present situation but because of the past as well. The past which hung over them like a dark grey cloud, forever threatening a storm.
But there was a difference between personal and professional. Now all she had to do was act the part. She gave hear boss a curt nod before turning her attention to Mia’s file, reading the complaint that had prompted the IA investigation.
Twenty minutes later she was on her way to the second floor. She tried to calm her knotting stomach as the ensuing confrontation filled her mind.
Chapter 4
Superintendent Alec Harris’s face burned. His voice was a tenor below shouting as he spoke to the two detectives standing in his office. The vein in his temple throbbed from the restraint. He felt like he would blow a gasket, and he couldn’t believe the suspect Hill and Donovan had brought in was all black and purple—the result of a fine beating courtesy a la Donovan.
This was not the first time he had been in this position and until he retired it wouldn’t be the last. The date, only a year and half away, felt like forever.
Alec ran his hand through his blond hair with its streaks of white—the only thing that showed his true age—and took a steady breath. When he spoke again, his voice was a deep baritone. “The guy looks like he was in the ring with Mike Tyson.”
Internal Affairs was going to be all over this, and he’d already had a long chat with Lewis Carlisle up in the penthouse suite. He knew he’d be sending one of his own down here. That’s all his command needed, a goddamn IA investigation.
He shook his head. “You can’t just go round beating the suspects to a bloody pulp.”
Donovan didn’t look remorseful at all. “In my defence,
he had a weapon and my back-up was nowhere nearby.”
Alec stared at the ceiling as if he’d receive some divine answer. He almost asked the Almighty, Why me?
It was never ending. At home he had the joys of dealing with his very stubborn, headstrong, troublesome teenage daughter, Sophie, who was too much like him for his liking. Sometimes he wished she’d be more like her mother, but then he shuddered. Caitlyn hadn’t come without her problems and bad habits, either. At the thought of what it had taken to ensnare her, he felt somewhat relieved his daughter took more after him than her mother.
He loved Caitlyn with all the world, but the woman was trouble. Sometimes he didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her or strangle her, and now he was dealing with a stubborn subordinate. It seemed to him he was always dealing with the fallout of female hormones. He’d been lucky to survive his twenty-year plus marriage.
An ulcer burned in his gut. “It’s just not today, but every goddamned day.”
Darryl obviously felt the need to intercede on behalf of his partner, which only angered him more. “Boss, in certain cases sometimes it’s necessary to—”
Alec cut him off. “Shut up, Hill, I haven’t started on you yet.”
“Yes, Boss,” Darryl said, chastised.
Alec brought his gaze back to the current pain in his arse. Donovan was almost always causing him problems. “You can’t keep doing this, Donovan. You can’t beat up the suspects. It’s not your place to decide what punishment they get.”
Donovan’s eyes narrowed at him, and her mouth parted to say what he assumed to be a smart arse remark, but she was cut off when another voice—one not belonging to any of the three in the room—spoke.
Open Wounds Page 2