by Radclyffe
The corner of Tory’s mouth lifted with satisfaction. “I was just going to talk to you while you got ready. I won’t touch.”
“Promise?”
“Can I wash your back?”
“No.”
“You’re no fun at all.” Tory pulled a robe off the back of the door and shrugged it on. “Safe enough now?”
“Just stay out there,” Reese said threateningly as she stepped under the spray.
Tory plunked herself down on the closed toilet lid as the bathroom filled with warm steam. “What were you saying earlier about Bri?”
Reese stuck her head out of the water. “Huh?”
“Bri. You said something about Bri and Allie before.”
“Oh yeah,” Reese shouted above the sound of drumming water. “They left together after class today—on Bri’s bike.”
Tory waited until Reese finished her shower and stepped out to reply. “What about it?”
“Allie was plastered to her.”
“At the dojo?”
“No,” Reese said testily as she toweled her hair. “On the bike. You know, arms around her waist, pressed up against her back.”
“I think that’s kind of required on a motorcycle.”
Reese tossed the towel into the hamper. “Bri should know better.”
Tory’s expression grew serious. “Honey, it makes sense for them to be friends. They’re the same age, they’re both police officers, they’re both lesbians. It’s probably completely innocent.”
“And what if it isn’t?”
“Bri is pretty young still, and so is Caroline, for that matter. Caroline being in Paris for most of this school year is going to test their relationship, perhaps even more than it can withstand.” Tory rose, reached for another towel, and stepped around to dry Reese’s back. Then, appreciating her lover’s worry by the stiff set of her back, she threaded both arms around her waist and rested her cheek between Reese’s shoulder blades. She could hear Reese’s heartbeat, steady and strong and sure. That sound and everything it represented was what she counted on; that was what she had built her hopes and dreams and future upon—the solid surety of Reese’s love. She turned her face and kissed Reese’s back. “Remember that Bri worships you. No matter what happens, she’s going to need you on her side.”
“I know.” Reese covered Tory’s hands with her own and sighed. “I just don’t want her to do anything stupid.”
“Try to trust her...and be there for her if she stumbles.” With another kiss between Reese’s shoulder blades, Tory stepped away. “You should get dressed. I can’t seem to keep my hands off you this afternoon, and I know you need to go.”
“I didn’t ask you about how things went at the clinic this morning,” Reese added as she combed her hair.
Tory hesitated, then kissed the tip of Reese’s chin. “Go to work. I’ll tell you when you get home.”
*
When Reese reached the station, Bri’s motorcycle was parked in the small side lot. The sheriff’s department on Shank Painter Road was a single-story box of a building with the crowded office space taking up the front half and the rear housing several holding cells that were rarely used. Reese stepped inside and scanned the room. Gladys Martin, the day dispatcher, was just gathering her things in preparation for leaving. An efficient, even-tempered middle-aged woman, she looked up at the sound of the door opening and sketched Reese a wave. Bri, in a crisply pressed uniform, sat behind one desk, and a middle-aged man with thick dark hair, winter gray eyes, and wide, strong features occupied another. The broad planes of his face had been tempered in the more refined lines of his daughter’s, but the resemblance was clear. Nelson Parker was the sheriff, Bri’s father, and Reese’s immediate superior.
“’Lo, Gladys. Anything happening?” Reese asked as she pushed through the creaky gate in the waist-high dividing partition that separated the tiny waiting area from the space beyond that held the officers’ desks, file cabinets, and an industrial-sized coffeepot.
“The biggest excitement we had all day was when a couple of tourists sank one of Flyers’ rental boats out in the middle of the harbor.”
“Huh. That must have taken work. Everybody okay?”
“The tide was out,” she said derisively. “They could practically walk back to shore.”
“Someone take the report?”
“Ted Lewis.”
“Good enough.” She settled behind a desk piled high with papers. A small, silver-framed photo of Tory and Regina sat next to a pencil holder with the emblem of the United States Marine Corps embossed on its side. “Hey, Bri. Afternoon, Chief.”
“Hi, Reese,” Bri replied.
“Conlon,” Nelson grunted as he set aside the report he’d been reviewing. “When you have time, let’s talk about the duty assignments for the weekend.”
Reese held up a sheet of paper that had been divided into neat columns and rows, the grid meticulously filled in with times and names. “Got it right here.”
“Should have known,” Parker muttered to himself. His second in command was the best officer he had ever worked with, and he’d slowly turned over the day-to-day running of the department to her. The other officers respected her, she worked tirelessly, and she was professionally above reproach. “It’s the last big push of the summer. The town will be jumping.”
“I doubled the swing and night shifts. That means overtime.”
The big man grimaced as he took the schedule from Reese. “Fine.” He fumbled on his desk for his Tums and chewed one absently. “Who did you assign as Tremont’s training officer?”
Bri’s head came up as she regarded Reese and her father intently.
“Lyons. They’ll work the swing Friday and Saturday.”
“What about me?” Bri asked quietly.
“You’ll ride with me,” Reese replied.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bri said with a smile and went back to her review of the updated firearms manual. She wouldn’t have minded riding with Allie, but she knew Reese would never put two rookies together. Even though technically she wasn’t a rookie. She had a solid three months under her belt and she’d taken fire. Still, if anybody was going to partner with Reese, she wanted it to be her. She pointedly ignored the faint twinge of jealousy she’d felt when she’d thought Reese might take over Allie’s training herself—mostly because she didn’t know which one of them she’d been jealous over.
Chapter Three
“Wanna drive?” Reese asked as she and Bri walked to the patrol car after finishing an early dinner of fish and chips at one of the takeout stands on MacMillan Wharf.
“Yes, ma’am!” Grinning, Bri caught the keys one-handed and jumped behind the wheel. “Where to?”
“Let’s take another slow run through town.” Reese fastened her seat belt and angled her back against the door so that she could look out the windshield as well as see Bri. “So, did you get a chance to tell Caroline about your test?”
The corner of Bri’s mouth dipped but she kept her voice light. “Not yet. I called, but the time difference is a killer. Half the time I can’t catch her in or I wake her up.” She sighed. “Plus, even with cheap rates, long distance gets really expensive, and now that I have to pay for the apartment all by myself, we’re trying to be careful. I sent her an e-mail, though.”
Reese nodded sympathetically, eyeing the cluster of scantily clad men clogging Commercial Street in front of the Boatslip. The afternoon tea dance had just let out, and the night’s revelry was about to begin in earnest. Despite the fact that Provincetown in the summer was filled to overflowing with vacationers and day-trippers, there was very little public drunkenness or disorderly conduct. The town didn’t need a very big jail, because crimes requiring detention occurred very rarely. However, crowd control, the increase in drug use among both the town’s youth and tourists, and vehicular accidents kept Reese and the other members of the department busy. As Bri carefully maneuvered through the oblivious throngs, Reese asked, “Is she settling in o
kay?”
Bri kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, her hands clenched on the wheel. “Yes, as near as I can tell. It hasn’t even been a month yet.” But it feels like forever.
“It’s tough,” Reese remarked, “that she’s so far away. It probably wasn’t as bad earlier this year when she was in Manhattan and you were here.”
“I always knew I could see her if I wanted to. All I needed to do was get on the bike and go. Now...” Bri blew out a breath and consciously forced herself to relax. It’s just that we’ve never been apart, not really, since we were fifteen. Those four months in the spring when I was being a jerk and Carre wasn’t talking to me don’t count. That was just plain hell. This is different; this is something we both agreed would be good for Carre’s art career. So I just have to suck it up. “It’s okay. I knew it would be hard at first. I’ll get used to it.”
“Well, you know...you’re welcome at the house anytime.”
“You must be pretty busy, with Reggie and all.”
“She’s settling in. And you’re like family, too, Bri.”
Bri flushed. “Thanks. I...uh...appreciate it.”
Reese wanted to ask her about Allie but didn’t quite see how she could. She didn’t know that anything was going on between them, and if she were in Bri’s shoes, she wouldn’t want anyone making assumptions or prying into her private business. On the other hand, she didn’t want to wait until there actually was a problem to do something about it. As if you could. As if it’s even any of your business. A muscle in Reese’s jaw jumped. If Bri had been a recruit, it wouldn’t have been an issue. She could’ve demanded to know what was going on and would have been well within her rights. A lot of things were easier in the Corps.
Knowing Bri was unhappy and feeling helpless to help her made Reese think of her infant daughter. She decided on the spot that she was completely incapable of being a parent. All she wanted to do was keep Reggie in the house, safe and secure, for the next twenty years or so. She certainly didn’t want to think about her getting involved with anyone, male or female, where there was the slightest possibility that she could get her heart broken. However, Reese was certain—as well as eternally grateful—that Tory would know exactly what to do about any problems that Regina might face.
The radio crackled, flooding Reese with a sense of welcome relief. She wouldn’t have to pursue the conversation with Bri any further—at least, not until she had something concrete to discuss. She grabbed the microphone and clicked receive. “Conlon.”
“Passerby reported an abandoned vehicle, late-model Aerostar or similar, dark blue or black, on 6 just west of the turnoff to Race Point,” Paul Smith, the officer assigned as dispatcher, reported.
“We’ll check it out,” Reese advised. “ETA two minutes.” She swiveled to face front, her expression intent. “Go east on Bradford and cut over to 6 at the end of town. Come up on the vehicle slow and park twenty feet behind it so I can check the plates. Keep the engine running.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bri’s expression and tone were calm and controlled, but her heart was racing. Vehicle stops and domestic disputes were the most dangerous situations a law enforcement officer could face, because the call could be something as routine as a flat tire or as potentially lethal as a psycho with a gun. Bri put the worries from her mind and focused on following orders. After all, she was trained for this. And she was with Reese.
In just over a minute, she pulled up behind a dark green van with tinted windows parked on the sandy shoulder of the double-lane highway. “Tires are okay. The hood’s closed. Doesn’t look like a breakdown.”
“I see that.” Reese strained to see through the dark glass into the interior as she keyed in the license plate number on the remote computer terminal. She waited. There didn’t appear to be any motion inside the vehicle. The relay to the station house was slow, but eventually Smith’s disembodied voice returned.
“Vehicle registered to Thomas Bridger of Chelmsford, Mass. No wants or warrants. The vehicle, however, was reported stolen sometime last night. You need backup?”
“Have Lyons and Tremont swing by,” Reese replied curtly. “Code two.”
“Roger that.”
Reese flicked on the loudspeaker. “Anyone in the vehicle, step out with your hands in the air.”
Five seconds. Ten. Reese repeated the message. When there was no movement in or around the van, she unsnapped her holster, drew her weapon, and opened the patrol car door. “I’m going to have a look inside. Back me up from here—stay behind the cruiser door.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bri eased out, rested her forearms on the top of the open door, and trained her weapon on the rear of the vehicle. The metal door in front of her wasn’t bulletproof, but it afforded her some protection. Reese, on the other hand, was out in the open and vulnerable.
With her weapon at her side, Reese put her back to the driver’s side of the vehicle and inched forward, hesitating for a second to peer through the rear window. She reached out and tried the rear door. Locked. With continued caution, she moved forward and attempted to open the driver’s door. As it swung open, she crouched instinctively and trained her weapon on the interior. A millisecond later, she hastily holstered her weapon and leaned inside.
A boy—he didn’t look older than fifteen—lay slumped on his side, his legs under the steering wheel, his head leaning toward the passenger seat. His eyes were closed, his face gray and sweat coated, and his limbs loose and lifeless. He didn’t appear to be breathing. She would have thought him dead except when she touched his neck, his skin was warm. As she pressed two fingers to his carotid artery, she scanned the rest of the van. Empty. A faint, weak pulse trilled beneath her fingers.
She backed out and straightened, then turned to Bri and waved her forward. “Got a casualty here. Unconscious male.” As Bri rushed to join her, Reese continued, “We need to get him to the clinic.”
“Should I call for the paramedics?”
Reese shook her head. “It’ll be faster if we take him ourselves.”
“Is it okay to move him?”
“It doesn’t appear that the vehicle has been involved in an accident, and he doesn’t show any evidence of trauma. I doubt his neck is at risk.” As she spoke, Reese levered the front seat back carefully and bent over the victim once again. “Just to be sure, I’ll support his head and shoulders and you get his feet.”
“Here come Allie and Jeff,” Bri announced as the second patrol car pulled in front of the van, sandwiching it between the two cruisers.
The four officers easily lifted the boy out and carried him to Reese’s patrol car. Once they had him secured in the backseat, Bri climbed in with him and Reese got behind the wheel. She looked up at Jeff Lyons through the open window. “We can’t be certain he was alone. Check the vehicle for any evidence of illegal substances, and then search the scrub in the immediate area to make sure there isn’t someone else out there in need of help.”
“You got it, boss.”
Reese sped with lights and siren clearing the way toward the East End Health Clinic, hoping that after 8 p.m. on a weeknight, the clinic wouldn’t be too busy. The parking lot was nearly empty when she pulled the cruiser up to the front door and bounded out.
“We need a stretcher out here,” Reese called in Randy’s direction as she stuck her head in the door. Then she hurried back to help Bri lift the youth out. By the time they maneuvered his inert body from the vehicle, Dan and Randy had the collapsible stretcher open and waiting for them. Within a matter of minutes, they were back inside the clinic and heading down the hallway toward the treatment rooms.
At the commotion in the hall, Tory stepped out of her office wearing her white clinic coat and stared at the group. “What’s going on?”
Reese’s face never changed expression, despite her surprise. “Found unresponsive in a car out on 6. He’s barely breathing.”
“Bring him in here,” she directed briskly, leading the way to a treatment room. “Accident?”
“No sign of one,” Reese replied.
Dan steered the stretcher to the side of the examination table and, while Reese and Bri stood out of the way, he and Tory moved the youth and began resuscitation. They worked together efficiently, with very little conversation.
Reese had seen Tory in action many times, but her lover’s focus, skill, and confidence never failed to impress her. Even now, although she was baffled and uncharacteristically angry, Reese was spellbound.
Tory placed her stethoscope against the boy’s chest, frowning as she listened. “Respirations shallow—four times a minute.” She reached up and thumbed his right eyelid open. “Pinpoint pupils.”
“Pulse and pressure low,” Dan said tersely.
“Overdose.” Tory turned to an open tackle box that stood on a stainless steel tray next to the examination table. She pulled out a tiny glass ampule, snapped off the top, and filled a syringe with the clear liquid. As she worked, Dan started an intravenous line in the boy’s forearm. Tory passed him the medication. “Amp of Narcan. I’ll push the D50.”
Dan injected the drug intravenously while Tory prepared a bolus of glucose, just in case the problem was a diabetic complication and not a drug overdose. If it was insulin shock, the concentrated sugar solution would bring him around. Within seconds of the injection of antinarcotic, however, the boy’s eyes flew open, and he began to thrash and cough.
Bri stared, then asked in a low, urgent voice, “What’s going on?”
“They just gave him an antidote to a narcotic overdose. It works almost immediately, especially if the narcotic is the only drug he’s taken.”
The boy stared wildly about before lunging upright on the table. Before Dan could restrain him, the patient grabbed Tory’s arm and pulled her off balance, nearly causing her to fall. Reese was at her lover’s side in an instant, grasping the youth’s shoulders and pushing him back down on the table.