Sherry Lewis - Count on a Cop

by Her Secret Family

  Captain Eisley would have a field day with this if he found out—and why shouldn’t he? No matter how Jolene felt about it personally, she knew one thing as well as she knew her own name—there’s no place on the force for a self-absorbed cop.

  The trouble was over almost as soon as it began. Two men, one tall and blond, the other stockier, dark-haired and vaguely familiar to Jolene, settled back at their table, giving each other looks and posturing a bit to make sure the other knew he hadn’t won the battle.

  Clearly unhappy, Ryan settled back on his stool and linked his hands together on the bar. “Some backup, Jo-Jo. Where the hell were you?”

  “Sorry. Anything serious?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Some drunk Indian wanting to pound in the head of his white friend. Nothing to worry about.”

  Jolene caught her breath. She’d heard Ryan talk like that before. She’d heard others on the force toss it off without thinking at least a thousand times. Before tonight, it hadn’t meant anything to her.

  Mason’s image flashed through her head, followed closely by Debra’s. She thought of the smiling faces of Billy Starr and Henry Owle in the photograph she’d seen, and of her own face staring back at her from the mirror.

  She hated thinking that she’d nursed any prejudices at all, but she’d been as guilty as the next guy of not calling it when she saw it in others. And she’d had the nerve to come across all high-and-mighty with Mason.

  “So you were saying?”

  Much as she liked Ryan and respected him, hearing him talk disparagingly about a drunk Indian tonight killed something inside her. The desire to explain what she was going through withered right along with it. There was no way she could tell him his partner was Indian, especially since she still didn’t know how she felt about it, or how it might change her.

  She watched the familiar-looking man leave his table and stumble a little on his way to the men’s room, cell phone glued to his ear as he walked. Probably just someone she’d busted on a minor drug charge, she decided, and looked back to find Ryan eyeing her chips.

  Nudging the bag toward him, she shook her head. “I don’t know. I think maybe it’s just stress. Losing that Zika bust bothered me more than it should.”

  One of Ryan’s eyebrows arched. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Bullshit. There’s something else. You were just about to tell me what it was. Don’t stop now.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “One failed bust had you sitting here on your butt while I went over there into God knows what?” Ryan demanded with a jerk of his head toward the back of the bar.

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “Fat lot of good sorry’s gonna do me if we’re out there on the job someday and you can’t be bothered to back me up.”

  “I’ll back you,” Jolene insisted. “It won’t happen again.”

  Ryan snorted a laugh and shook his head in disbelief. “Oh. Oh, good. See, for a minute there, I was worried. But I feel all better now. Kind of warm and fuzzy inside.”

  Jolene shoved her drink away and stood. “Don’t be an ass, Fielding.”

  “Then don’t bullshit me.”

  “I’m not!” Jolene shouted. She was furious with Ryan for being such a jerk, even more furious with herself for lying. Why couldn’t she just tell him? What did it matter what he thought of her? What did it say about her that she cared?

  She took in the doubt and suspicion on Ryan’s broad, open face and decided to get the hell out of there before she did something she’d regret. “Why don’t you have another beer?” she suggested bitterly, snatching her keys from the bar and swallowing enough margarita to give her brain freeze. “You’re not nearly drunk enough.”

  She heard Ryan shout something as she marched across the bar and pushed outside, but she didn’t stop. He was right about one thing. She wasn’t herself, and she didn’t trust this person she’d turned into.

  She stood in the cool night air for a minute trying to pull herself together, then unlocked the 4Runner and climbed in behind the wheel. But she couldn’t make herself turn the key. She hadn’t had enough to drink to register on a Breathalyzer, but she’d nearly run over Mason last night, nearly rear-ended that Saturn earlier and she’d racked up two moving violations on the way here. She’d be stupid to risk more.

  So her life had come to this. She dragged out her cell phone and called for a cab, then sat back to wait with her eyes closed. In the past two days, her well-ordered life had turned into something she barely recognized. She’d turned into someone she didn’t know. She’d lost her family, and she was damn close to losing her friend.

  Somehow she had to regain control, before she spontaneously combusted and destroyed everything around her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HUNCHED DEEP into her department-issue slicker, Jolene trudged across the parking lot of the old GemCrest Toys warehouse two steps behind Ryan. A light rain had been falling since morning, and they’d been out in the elements since their shift began, searching for a slimy drug dealer and sometimes-informant known as OC.

  They still hadn’t found a trace of Big Red and, while users and pushers could crawl into holes and disappear in the blink of an eye, Jolene was starting to worry about this one. Raoul Zika was a dangerous man. He could be a deadly enemy.

  Word on the street was that OC had been seen arguing with Big Red before he disappeared. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t. Some people would say anything if they thought it would benefit them.

  Even if OC knew where to find Big Red, Jolene had serious doubts about whether he’d talk to them. The guy blew hot and cold, depending on the day, how long ago he’d had his last fix and how desperately he wanted cash to buy his next one.

  A day like this one was miserable enough when everything was going well, but Ryan had barely spoken to her since their argument at McGillicuddy’s three nights earlier, and the atmosphere inside their department-issue Crown Victoria had been cold as a winter night.

  She and Ryan had spent their fair share of time in miserable conditions before, but today it seemed as if Ryan was choosing all the worst places to look. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was punishing her.

  Jolene dodged a puddle and realized that her feet were numb. To make matters worse, her pants were wet almost to the knee and her fingers had gone stiff from the cold. But she’d die before she complained. “You really think we’re going to find OC here?” she said to Ryan’s back.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes cold. “If he’s not here, we’ll keep looking—unless it’s too hard on you. Do you have a problem with it?”

  Maybe she wasn’t imagining things. He really could be a jerk sometimes. “I’m not the one with the problem,” she growled.

  Ryan abruptly stopped walking. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  To avoid plowing into him, Jolene stepped to one side, and this time she landed in a puddle of ankle-deep water. Swearing under her breath, she found dry land again and pulled off her shoe so she could dump the water. “It means that you’ve been acting like an ass ever since the other night,” she snarled. “You can let up anytime now.”

  Ryan started walking again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Seriously annoyed, Jolene hopped on one foot to keep up as she got her shoe back on. “You’re upset because I won’t get all weepy and confess that something’s bothering me.”

  “I’m upset because you refuse to be honest with me.”

  He had a point, but Jolene didn’t want him to be right. “Why is it so important to you, Fielding? You have some twisted need to be the big strong man or something?”

  “Stuff it, Preston,” Ryan shot back over his shoulder. “Just keep your mind on the job.”

  “My mind is on the job,” she insisted. “You’re the one who’s acting all pissy.”

  Ryan spun around. “Drop it before you say something we both regret.” His eyes were
narrow and his jaw set. She’d seen that expression before, but always when they were dealing with pushers or some strung-out mother who’d abandoned a child in her search for a fix. He resumed walking.

  Jolene knew she’d crossed a line. She’d worked for eighteen long months to earn his trust, and she’d blown it in just a couple of days. And for what? The anger churning around inside her had nothing to do with Ryan.

  Standing in the middle of the parking lot, waterlogged from head to toe, she sighed in resignation. “I didn’t mean to insult you the other night. You’re right, something is bothering me. But it’s…it’s personal and tough to talk about.”

  Disgusted, Ryan didn’t even break stride, his rigid shoulders a barrier between them.

  “If I could tell you about it, I would.”

  He whipped back again so quickly, she flinched. “There’s no such thing as personal when you’re a police officer, Jo. Not between partners. What affects you, affects me. Don’t you get that?”

  She nodded miserably. “Yes, but—”

  “If you’re distracted in the wrong situation, I’m dead. It’s as simple as that. If you don’t understand that, we’ve got a problem I’m not sure we can fix.”

  He couldn’t have said anything more hurtful. “You’re right,” she said again. “I’m sorry.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before she could identify it. “That’s it?”

  “What do you want me to do, grovel?”

  He almost smiled at that. “That would be a good start.”

  That near-smile got her blood pumping again. “Yeah, well, you have to know that’s not gonna happen. All I can tell you is that I know I need to deal with this issue so it’s not a danger to either of us.”

  “And?”

  How would he react to learning that she was half Cherokee? Would it matter? Would he try to pretend that it didn’t?

  “I’ll tell you,” she conceded with effort, “but not here.” She glanced at the warehouse’s broken windows and the door sagging on its hinges and shivered. “I’m freezing my butt off. How about I confess everything over something hot to drink?”

  Ryan dipped his head once. “Let’s check this place out and then call in a forty-five.”

  She needed a coffee break as much as she needed to release some of the tension she’d been carrying around. Really, she ought to be grateful that Ryan was willing to listen. She couldn’t keep holding it all inside, and who else could she confide in? As they had countless times over the past few days, her thoughts strayed to Mason. But that was ridiculous. She barely knew him, and it would be a giant stretch of her imagination to call him a friend.

  Ryan was right about one thing. She had been distracted lately, and being distracted in a place like this could be deadly. She stepped into the warehouse and shook the water from her hair and jacket.

  These were the moments her parents hated most about her job.

  She wondered what Billy Starr would think of her and the life she’d chosen, then immediately tried to wipe that question out of her mind. She didn’t want to care about that, and she couldn’t let her personal life interfere with her job again.

  With her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, she ran a quick glance around the seemingly vacant warehouse. To the uninitiated, the cavernous room appeared deserted, but this building housed an active and thriving drug community that Jolene and Ryan felt certain was part of Zika’s operation.

  Thick layers of dust covered almost every surface, rusted chains coiled in one corner and mounds of old cardboard boxes disintegrated slowly in the building’s moist interior. Only a little light spilled through the broken windows on the first-floor level, and the walking was treacherous.

  This wasn’t Jolene’s first time inside, or Ryan’s, either, but neither allowed familiarity to make them reckless. They moved together cautiously, Jolene keeping an eye on the right side while Ryan watched the left, each aware of every sound and every movement.

  As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, odors she didn’t want to identify floated up from the stairwell, and she could make out new colorful graffiti on the walls. At the top of the stairs, she saw a young girl, no more than seventeen, slink into the shadows, and she thought of Debra. Some of these kids ended up here because nobody cared, but others left grieving, frightened families behind—parents and siblings who would give anything to have their sister or brother, their son or daughter come home clean and drug-free.

  Jolene hated to think of someone as young and innocent as Debra getting caught up in a world like this one. She’d seen mothers abandon children in search of drugs, children prostituting themselves for the junk they craved, and more ugliness done by one human being to another than anyone should see in a lifetime. Mason was right to be worried. If she ever saw him again, she should probably tell him so.

  Faint music played somewhere in the distance, whispered conversations hushed as she and Ryan moved across the second floor. She heard someone crying softly, someone else swearing. The smell of vomit was strong.

  They found OC in the far corner, his eyes red-rimmed and vacant in his gaunt face, his pale hair slick with grease and dirt. He rolled his eyes and curled onto his side as if that might convince them to leave.

  “Hey there, OC,” Ryan said, nudging him with the toe of his boot. “How’s it hanging?”

  “Go away.”

  Jolene hunkered down and at eye level with him. “Sorry. Can’t do that. Looks like you’re using again, OC. What’s up with that?”

  OC shook his head. Stains dulled his teeth and dark circles rimmed his eyes. “Somebody must be lying to you. I’m clean.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan said, “you look clean.”

  “It’s true. I haven’t used in a long time.”

  Ryan shared a look of disbelief with Jolene and gave OC another nudge. “You sure about that, buddy?”

  “Sure I’m sure.” OC flopped onto his back and tried to focus on their faces. “I’m being straight with you, man. I don’t do that shit anymore.”

  “Well, that’s good. I’m proud of you.” Ryan bent, grabbed OC’s arm and tugged him to his feet. “We’re both proud, aren’t we, Jolene?”

  Jolene took his other arm and tried not to notice how bad he smelled. “Sure we are. Real proud. But the only trouble is, you don’t look like you’re being straight with us. How long has it been since you shot up?”

  OC managed to look outraged for a split second before his knees buckled. He struggled to keep his balance—not an easy task, even with a person on either arm to hold him up. “I don’t know. What time is it now?”

  Ryan’s laugh bounced off the walls. A head popped up from behind a nearby crate, and Jolene heard the telltale swish of someone scuffling deeper into hiding behind her. “That’s what I figured,” Ryan said. “You’re lucky we’re not really looking for you.”

  That got OC’s attention. “Who do you want?”

  “Big Red,” Jolene said. “You seen him lately?”

  OC shook his head and tried to get back to the floor. “Nope.”

  Jolene held his arm tightly, forcing him to stay on his feet—sort of. “Are you sure? I thought you were a friend of his.”

  “I know who he is,” OC admitted, “but I wouldn’t say we’re friends.”

  “That’s not what we’ve heard,” Ryan said. “We heard that the two of you are tight. So think again and see if you remember seeing him around in the past week or so.”

  “What do you want him for?”

  “We just need to ask him a couple of questions. When did you see him last?”

  OC wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I dunno. Weeks ago.”

  “We heard you were talking to him on Saturday,” Jolene told him.

  The man’s beady eyes narrowed. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Around.” She nodded for Ryan to let go and planted herself in front of OC. “Matter of fact,” she said, switching tactics abruptly, “we heard you w
ere the last person to see Big Red.” She flicked something from his shoulder and straightened his collar—feminine gestures that some men responded to without realizing it. “A couple of patrol officers found his bag just outside the warehouse, here. Looks like all his stuff is still in it, and it’s not like Red to leave that bag behind. That makes us worry.”

  OC’s eyes shifted from one to the other. “You think something’s happened to him?”

  “That’s what we’re asking you.”

  “I don’t know. Why would I know?”

  “Aw, come on, OC, don’t sell yourself short.” Ryan leaned against a clean patch of wall and crossed one foot over the other. “I’ll bet you have plenty to say. Are you on Zika’s payroll now?”

  OC’s lip curled to reveal his stained teeth. “No.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe Zika asked you to do him a favor and get Big Red out of the way. Maybe that’s why you were talking to Red right before he disappeared.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “Then what did happen?” Jolene asked.

  “I don’t know. Nothing. You’re just making stuff up, trying to get me to cop to something I didn’t do so you can bust my chops, aren’t you?”

  “Not today,” Ryan said with a cool grin.

  “Then leave me alone. I don’t have anything to say.”

  “Now, see, that’s where we disagree. I think you should tell us what you were doing at the middle school yesterday afternoon.”

  Panic darted across OC’s ugly face. “I wasn’t at the school. Who told you I was?”

  “A little bird,” Jolene said. “You just can’t imagine how disappointed we were, either. Especially after that nice, long talk we had about what we were going to do with you if we found you by the school again. I thought we had an understanding.”

  “We did. We do,” OC insisted. “I wasn’t at any school.”

  Ryan leaned in close and spoke just above a whisper. “Tell us what you know about Raoul Zika and Big Red. Maybe we’ll believe you.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  Ryan shrugged. “We prefer to call it creative bargaining. What do you say, OC? What do you have for us?”