Where Loyalties Lie (MidKnight Blue Book 3)

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Where Loyalties Lie (MidKnight Blue Book 3) Page 12

by Sherryl Hancock


  “What the fuck is this?” He waved some papers in her direction. They were divorce papers.

  Midnight remained calm—a bit surprised that he had been served so soon, but calm all the same. “What does it say?” she asked coldly.

  “Don’t get smart with me, Midnight, you know goddamned good and well what it says. But you don’t actually think you’re taking my daughter away from me too?”

  “Oh.” Midnight steepled her hands in front of her, the picture of confidence. “I don’t just think it.”

  “Like hell!” Rick yelled.

  “Do try to get a grip on yourself,” Midnight said, glancing at a group of people outside her office who were looking in their direction.

  “Oh yeah, I’ll get a grip.” Rick stepped inside and slammed the door behind him. “If you actually think that you have a right to take Keyla away from me, you’ve got another think comin’.”

  “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact,” Midnight said, her voice still as cold as ice, “and that thought is that you had better watch your mouth. I’m still the boss at work.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you are, but you won’t be for long—my boss, that is. I’m requesting a transfer.” Rick watched her to see how she’d react. He was trying to hurt her, wanted to wipe that cool look off her face, but he was sure he wouldn’t manage it. For all the noise he was making about losing Mikeyla, what he was reeling from was losing Midnight too.

  “Approved,” Midnight said simply. Then she turned her back on him, went to her computer, pulled up a menu, and selected a document. She tapped out a few sentences then asked over her shoulder, “What section do you want to go to? Vice? Homicide? You name it.”

  Rick stared at Midnight’s back for a long moment, knowing that what he said next could affect him for a long time. He didn’t want a transfer, he didn’t want a divorce—he wanted his wife back, and nothing else. Midnight waited patiently, her eyes trained on the computer screen. Rick couldn’t see the glistening tears in her eyes; she didn’t want him to either, and was sincerely hoping she wouldn’t have to say anything else, because she knew her voice would belie her feelings.

  Rick finally lost all his fight. He turned, opened the door, and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him. Midnight let out her pent-up breath, slumping in her chair. She knew things were going to remain difficult as long as Rick was in the unit, but she really didn’t want him to leave either.

  Joe wandered into her office about an hour later. He had heard about the scene and wanted to find out what had happened.

  “He was served,” Midnight answered simply.

  “With what?” Joe asked, perplexed.

  “Duh.” Midnight rolled her eyes. Then, seeing Joe’s blank look, she said, “Divorce papers.”

  Joe’s eyes widened. “No shit?”

  “Obviously not.” Midnight met Joe’s stare. He hadn’t expected it to happen so soon—he had been sure Rick would come home and grovel enough to get back into Midnight’s good graces. But obviously that hadn’t happened, and seeing Midnight’s face right now, Joe realized that even if Rick had come home, Midnight wouldn’t have forgiven him anyway. Joe left her office a while later, feeling very down. It didn’t help matters much that Randy had received an academy date that was only three weeks away. Joe was beginning to feel like he was living someone else’s miserable life.

  ****

  Things between Joe and Randy had continued to be strained, and now with a start date for the academy, Randy felt like she needed someone to share it with. She had become acquainted with another woman during the testing phase and had kept in touch with her since the backgrounds had started. Sarah Dickerson was the antipode to Randy’s fair, petite looks. She had the build of a woman who spent a lot of time in a gym, and she wouldn’t be classified as beautiful; her looks were a little on the basic side. She had brown hair, brown eyes, and a sallow skin tone. She did, however, know how to utilize makeup to make her look softer, and how to dress to keep people from being put off by her athlete’s build.

  Sarah had been very easygoing about the entire process, not feeling the strain of the competition as the other women had due to her confidence in her ability to handle the physical aspects of the job. Randy had confidence in knowing that getting the job as a police officer was not life or death; she had the security of knowing Joe would take care of her, and that went a long way toward projecting self-confidence in herself. Randy had changed a lot in the three years she had been married to Joe. She had gained more assurance in her looks, as well as her ability to handle most any situation. What she didn’t realize was that her ability to handle things stemmed from her reliance on Joe as, basically, backup. It was her unrealized dependence on her husband that worried Joe.

  Joe didn’t feel he could point out to her that she needed him, knowing that would only make her more determined to do this on her own. He was also afraid that her blind, headlong path would lead her into something that could hurt her, but he didn’t know how to express his fears to her in a way that wouldn’t make him look like an insensitive, egotistical asshole. So he remained silent. And Randy found it necessary to hang out with someone who was supportive, and who wanted what Randy herself thought she wanted—to be a police officer.

  Randy called Sarah when she received her academy date, and she was pleased, but not surprised, that Sarah had received the date also. Sarah suggested that they go out and celebrate. Randy had hesitated, having never gone out without Joe, and not sure how Joe would react to this. But then the stronger, willful side of her personality, the one that was newly born, said, “Why shouldn’t I go out and celebrate? Joe could come if he wants to.” But Randy knew he wouldn’t, having already made no secret of the fact that he was not pleased. Randy found herself agreeing and making plans for that evening.

  Hanging up the phone, Randy looked toward Joe’s office. He was reading a report, leaning back with one booted foot on an open lower desk drawer. Now, Randy thought, how do I tell him? She figured she’d do it on the way home that evening, but as fate would have it, she didn’t have to.

  Twenty minutes before they were to leave, Midnight got the word that they had received a search warrant on a gang that Rick and a newer FORS member, Manny, had been tracking. Midnight wanted Joe in on the warrant, and subsequently, Joe had given Randy the keys to his Porsche and told her to be careful on the way home. A few minutes later, Joe, Midnight, Rick, Manny, and Spider left the office, carrying their bulletproof vests and shotguns.

  Randy left right after them—actually leaving early, which she rarely did. She arrived home and went in to take a shower. She dressed casually in jeans, a teal cotton shirt, and white high-top tennis shoes. She slipped on a white jean jacket, pinning on a broach with delicately laced gold chains hanging down from a half-carat sapphire. It was a beautiful pin, and she had delicate gold-and-sapphire earrings that dangled in the same way. She let her hair flow loose, much like Midnight wore hers most of the time, and carefully reapplied her makeup, using just a little bit more navy blue eyeliner and mascara than she usually did.

  When she looked at herself in the mirror, Randy decided that she looked pretty good. She also felt a flash of guilt that she was trying to look good, and it wasn’t for Joe. She put the thought out of her mind, knowing that if she allowed herself to think too much along those lines, she would spoil her time with Sarah. She was secretly excited about the idea of being at a bar without her husband, curious what people would think. Again, the guilt made her stop for a moment. She looked down at the beautiful diamond ring on her left hand and told herself that no man would miss that ring. They’d know she was married, so what did she have to feel guilty about? She left, taking the keys to the white Jaguar that Joe had purchased just for her.

  Sliding behind the wheel, Randy felt an incredible rush at doing something her husband knew nothing about. Here she was sitting behind the wheel of a beautiful car, she felt great about the way she looked, and she had the evening to spend partying wit
h a woman whose life was much less fettered by guilt. Starting the car, Randy once again was amazed at the powerful purr of the engine, the almost heady smell of the leather interior. She switched on the radio; Gloria Estefan’s version of “Turn the Beat Around” was on the local pop/rock station. Randy turned it up, enjoying the dance beat. She backed out of the garage, and a few minutes later she was driving down Interstate 5. As she passed Mission Bay, the sun was just setting, and the brilliant orange and deep pink of the sun on the scattered clouds and reflecting on the water made Randy feel young and carefree.

  Randy drove up to Park Place, remembering when she had been there before with Joe, Midnight, and Rick, and members of the Scorpions had confronted Joe and Midnight in the parking lot. It had been terrifying, and Randy hurried into the club. Sarah was sitting at the bar. She stood as Randy came over to her.

  “Let’s grab a table,” Sarah said. “I want to get close to the band.”

  Randy looked up at the stage and read the name of the band. “Flyweil?” she said, remembering the name well.

  “Yeah, why? Have you heard them?” Sarah asked, surprised. She hadn’t thought Randy got out much.

  “My, uh, husband knows them.”

  “Oh, wow, really! I think the lead singer is so gorgeous! Do you think you could introduce me?” Randy had never seen Sarah gush—it was different.

  “I don’t know if they’ll even remember me. I was only here a couple of times, and it’s been a while…” Randy trailed off as she saw Sarah looking crestfallen. “But if they do, sure, I’ll introduce you, okay?”

  Sarah brightened again. “Cool!”

  When the waitress came over Randy started to order a soda, but Sarah waved that away. “You gotta try a Fuzzy Navel.”

  “A what?” Randy asked, laughing.

  “No, really, it’s great. It’s orange juice and peach Schnapps.”

  Randy thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay.”

  Half an hour later, Randy had had three Fuzzy Navels, and she decided she had better switch to coffee or she wouldn’t be able to drive home. When the band started to play, Sarah dragged Randy onto the dance floor. The Fuzzy Navels had gone a long way to loosening Randy up; Sarah goaded the rest out of her. Soon they were dancing together, with other women as a group, or with the guys that seemed to swarm around them.

  One of the men was paying particular to Sarah, which left Randy on her own a number of times, but she was never at a loss for a partner; guys were asking her to dance left and right. Randy was thrilled with the attention. She was used to Joe being there, and any man who even glanced in her direction twice would receive a dangerous look in return from her husband. The look usually served well enough to discourage any interested men, but if they decided to challenge Joe, they would back down real quick when he stood up, all six foot four inches of him. It helped too that Joe carried himself with all the confidence of a seasoned cop who was also still sometimes a gang leader. Nobody wanted to mess with Joe for long, because one look at him told anyone that he could back up what he was selling.

  After the band’s first set, Randy and Sarah went back to their table. The guy that Randy had ended up dancing with followed them. He kept asking her questions about herself, what she liked to eat, where she liked to hang out, things that Randy didn’t really want to answer for a guy she’d known all of five minutes. She wasn’t used to dealing with overzealous men; Joe usually took care of that. Randy was trying to work up the courage to tell him she thought it was time to go back to his friends, who were, she noticed, watching him trying to score. Right before she was going to say something, a familiar voice cut in.

  “’Scuse me.” It was Steve Tally, Flyweil’s bassist, edging the other man out of the way. “Randy!” he exclaimed, then moved to hug her. “How’s that really big cop husband of yours?” He emphasized the words, and the other guy got the idea and left in a hurry.

  “Steve!” Randy hugged him back. “I didn’t know if you’d remember me.”

  Steve stood back, smiling. “Remember you? Hell, I’m still in love with you.” Randy laughed, and Steve looked brokenhearted. “So I guess you’re still married then, huh?”

  Randy nodded, but didn’t say anything about the troubles Joe and she were having.

  “So where is the big lug?” Steve asked, looking around.

  “He’s probably breaking down a door as we speak.” Randy looked at her watch, and was surprised to see that it was already nine o’clock. “Or maybe not.”

  “Well, then…” Steve smiled mischievously. “Have a drink with me.”

  “Well, I don’t know…” Randy replied, her expression very reminiscent of Midnight’s favorite hard-to-get, don’t-touch-or-you-might-get-burned look.

  Steve dropped to his knees dramatically, surprising the people at nearby tables. He reached up and took her hand, like a prince would have in a Shakespeare play. “Dear Lady Randy, please, I beg of you, one drink for the parched.”

  Randy laughed, having forgotten what a nut Steve was. “Okay, okay,” she said finally. “But you’ll have to get up off your knees first.”

  “Done, my lady,” Steve said, standing up with a flourish.

  ****

  Earlier in the evening, in a seedy neighborhood in east San Diego, Joe and Midnight waited for the signal from Rick to hit the front door, which he’d give once he and Spider were in place at the back of the house. Manny was holding the battering ram at the ready. It had been a battle to get to this point. Rick had been difficult when he saw that Midnight intended to come along on the warrant. Increasingly so when Joe suggested that he and Midnight cover the front door. “No fucking way!” Rick had all but yelled.

  “And why the hell not?” Midnight said, not one to be left out of an argument going on around her.

  “I don’t think you can cut it at this point,” Rick said.

  “Obviously you’ve forgotten one important detail here,” Midnight replied, her voice as nasty as his.

  “And what is that?”

  “That is the fact that I say who goes in and who doesn’t, and if you had your head screwed on straight you’d remember that, plus the fact that I’ve hit a hell of a lot more doors than you ever will.” Midnight didn’t usually pull rank on people, but she found herself doing it with Rick more and more often. Her lieutenant’s bars were like a shield she could use against the humiliation of what Rick was doing, warding off the insecurities and anguish.

  “Yeah, but this is my warrant, not yours,” Rick said, sounding more like a kid in a sandbox who was thinking of anything he could to be right.

  Joe was shaking his head, knowing Rick had just said the wrong thing.

  Midnight waited an extra couple of beats before answering, wanting to knock her husband out. “For your information, Officer, every search warrant goes through me, and I sign it. They are, therefore, all my warrants, and unless you want to be doing some serious desk duty for the next ninety days, I’d advise you to get off your high horse and brief us!”

  Her voice had become strident at the end; she was growing more and more aware that Rick was going to fight her on everything. That thought made her wonder if she should have made him transfer. She knew she was losing her objectivity where he was concerned, and she didn’t like to indulge such excesses in her career.

  ick eyed her for a long moment, wondering where this Midnight had come from. He knew he was goading her when he protested her participation in this search warrant, but he hadn’t been prepared for the fire she had blown his way. Reflecting on it, as he stood at the back door to the run-down house they were about to serve, Rick realized he did recognize that fire—it just wasn’t usually directed at him in anger. He knew it was just such a fire that had gotten her where she was today. It was that fire that had attracted him to her from the very beginning. He remembered their first meeting. Midnight had been in a fight with Joe, and she had gotten a little heated talking about it. Rick wondered how they had gotten so far away from
where they had begun, so far off their path together.

  But he didn’t have a long time for reflection, because Manny gave the signal and he heard the crash as the front door was kicked open. He thought he heard Midnight cry out, then the sound of shots. Rick plunged in the back door, all but running over Manny, who was laying down cover for him. All he could think of was getting to the front of the house, to see what had happened.

  On his way he encountered one gang member hiding in a doorway, aiming down the hall toward the front door. Rick launched a kick into the man’s head, knocking him to the floor. He slumped, unconscious.

  “Night!” Rick yelled, his voice belying his concern.

  There were a few anxious moments when all he could hear was glass breaking and shouts. When he got to the front of the house, he looked around frantically for Midnight. She was nowhere to be seen. He saw Joe, wrestling with a large, young black man. Rick leveled his gun at him. “Freeze, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

  The man froze in place. Joe twisted around, pulling the young guy’s arm with him to hold it behind his back, then looked at Rick.

  “Cuffs?” Joe asked, grinning. Rick returned the grin and tossed Joe a set.

  “What happened?” Rick asked. He was still concerned, having not seen Midnight yet.

  Joe nodded toward the front lawn. Rick walked outside just in time to see Midnight finish cuffing a man one and a half times her size. She was straddling his waist as he lay face down in the dirt. Once the man was secure, Midnight moved off him and sat on the ground, and as Rick watched, she rolled over to lie on her back, staring up at the sky. He heard her say, “I’m getting too fucking old for this shit.”

  Later, Rick noticed that she was holding her right arm gingerly. He found out while they were doing paperwork that Joe had been first through the door and Midnight had come in right behind him. When the shooting started, Joe’s first reaction was to shove Midnight back. She had slammed into the doorjamb with her sore shoulder—that was when she cried out. As they all sat around the conference room table, Midnight needled Joe about it.

 

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