Turning Tables (WeHo Book 3)

by Sherryl D. Hancock

  “Go for it,” Midnight said, leaning back in her chair.

  “First of all, can you tell me how you feel the progression of women in law enforcement is going? Do you feel like women are being taken seriously in law enforcement now?”

  Midnight paused, thinking about the question, “I can tell you that we’re still not equal in law enforcement. Women are still taken less seriously than men are in field positions, but I think that’s changing with education and awareness. I mean, the citizens of the State of California elected a woman Attorney General, right?”

  “True,” Zoey said, smiling. “Do you feel that you’re changing people’s minds about women in power positions in law enforcement?”

  “Well, I hope that I am,” Midnight said, “But I can tell you that it’s not one of my main goals,” she said apologetically, “I’m trying to make a difference in this State’s crime and in the lives of its people.”

  The interview went on for another hour. At the end, Zoey thanked Midnight for her help on her paper.

  “I understand you wanted to try to speak with my new Director of Division of Law Enforcement,” Midnight said.

  “Yes, I was actually hoping I would be granted permission to shadow the new director to try and gain a perspective on her.”

  Midnight nodded, “Well I can see what I can do to smooth the way on that,” she said.

  “That would be wonderful, ma’am!” Zoey said, smiling brightly.

  CHAPTER 2

  It had been a month since Kelly had left, and Jericho was doing her best to move on. She’d only heard from Kelly once and that was to request that she send some kind of medical verification for her medical coverage which was still on Jericho’s insurance. Kelly hadn’t mentioned divorce and Jericho hadn’t asked.

  On a particularly warm day Jericho had gotten tired of looking at the backyard in the state it was in, so she’s thrown on shorts and a tank top, leaving her feet bare and pulling her long hair back in a ponytail. She’d bought a new iPod and loaded it, so she had music playing as she smoked and worked on her yard. She never heard the knocking at her front door, but she couldn’t miss the sight of the young blonde standing in her backyard looking at her.

  Picking up the new remote she’d had to buy for the Bose she turned the stereo down.

  “Can I help you?” Jericho asked, pausing the painting she was doing on a section of fence, her eyes shaded by sunglasses.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m Zoey Cabott,” Zoey told her, her hand up over her eyes to block the intense sun.

  Jericho looked back at the young woman, waiting for more of an answer.

  “Midnight Chevalier arranged for us to meet…” Zoey supplied.

  Setting down her paint brush, Jericho walked over to the table where her phone lay. Picking up her phone she checked her calendar.

  “Ah damn, that was today, huh?” she asked, grimacing.

  “Yes ma’am,” Zoey said, nodding.

  “How long are we supposed to be at this?” Jericho queried.

  “I hoped to spend a month shadowing you, ma’am,” Zoey said, praying that the Director wasn’t about to change their arrangement, she was really counting on this part of the paper.

  “Jesus, what’s the paper about?” Jericho said.

  “The effectiveness of strong women in law enforcement with regard to the political arena,” Zoey supplied.

  Jericho stood looking at her for a long few moments, her expression unreadable, finally she said, “And what do you hope to gain from hanging around with me?”

  “Shadowing you, ma’am,” Zoey clarified.

  “You gonna do any of my work?” Jericho asked, her tone even.

  “Well, no, ma’am,” Zoey stammered.

  “Then you’re gonna be hanging around,” Jericho said, her face serious.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but…“ Zoey began.

  “Relax,” Jericho said, reaching for a cigarette, “I’m not going to counter what the AG arranged, I just don’t honestly see the point.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Zoey said, not sure what else she should say at that point.

  Jericho Tehrani was far more intimidating than Midnight Chevalier had been. Midnight tended to be very straightforward with the media, as such, Zoey had felt like Midnight was a more known quantity. She had no idea what to expect from the Director of the Division of Law Enforcement. As Jericho smoked, scrolling through information on her phone, Zoey took the opportunity to look at her.

  The woman was very definitely well built, she was tall with well- muscled arms and legs, there didn’t look like there was an ounce of fat on her. She wasn’t really bulky with muscle, more lean, but she looked strong, the term “guns” came to mind when she looked at the Director’s arms, on display thanks to the black tank top she was wearing. Her skin was a dark olive color, not terribly dark, but very definitely an attribute of her middle-eastern origins. When Jericho reached up to pull off her sunglasses Zoey was surprised by Jericho’s most stunning feature, her very blue eyes.

  “Ma’am?” Zoey finally said, wondering if Jericho had forgotten she was even there.

  That had Jericho’s blue eyes focusing on her and Zoey was surprised to feel her heart flutter slightly, the woman had a very definite attractiveness about her that was impossible to ignore. Combining her features with the fact that she was now one of the most powerful women in State law enforcement was a heady combination. Zoey shook her head telling herself to focus on the task at hand.

  “What?” Jericho asked, setting down her phone and taking another long draw on her cigarette.

  “Can I go ahead and ask you some questions?” Zoey asked timidly.

  Again the blue eyes were trained on her, narrowed slightly, like Jericho was trying to determine what the questions were before they were asked, finally she sighed.

  “Go ahead, but you’re going to have to do it while I work,” she said, picking up her sunglasses again and walking back over to the fence.

  As Zoey watched, Jericho started to paint again, the cigarette clenched between her teeth.

  “Uh, ma’am, should you be doing that with a cigarette? I mean, paint is highly flammable.”

  Jericho’s head turned toward her, a half grin on her face, as she reached up to take the cigarette out of her mouth.

  “Is that going in your paper?” Jericho asked, raising a jet black eyebrow.

  “Uh, well, no ma’am, I just…” Zoey began, at a loss for words for the moment.

  “Just ask whatever questions you have, and I’ll worry about the flammability of household materials, okay?” Jericho said, grinning as she put the cigarette back in her mouth.

  “Yes, yes ma’am,” Zoey said, thinking this was going to be harder than she thought.

  When she didn’t continue Jericho looked over at her again, she knew she was intimidating the kid, but she just couldn’t help it. The last damned thing she wanted at this point was some coed following her around. Her life sucked enough right now, but Midnight had asked her to do it, so she knew she had to do her best to do as she’d been asked.

  “Ask,” Jericho said impatiently.

  “I, well, okay,” Zoey stammered again, knowing she was irritating the Director but just unable to get over her sudden nervousness.

  Jericho turned from the fence and looked at the girl, suddenly feeling sorry for her.

  “I’m gonna have a beer, you want one?” Jericho asked, “Or are you even old enough to drink yet?”

  “Yes, I’m twenty-seven,” Zoey said, surprised by the question, did she really look that young?

  Jericho canted her head, “So, do you want a beer or not?”

  “I, yes, thank you,” Zoey said, nodding.

  A couple of minutes later Jericho walked out of the house handing Zoey a beer, “You looked like a Corona kind of girl,” she said.

  Zoey nodded, seeing that Jericho was drinking Guinness.

  “And you’re a Guinness girl?” Zoey asked.

  “That going in
your paper?” Jericho asked with that raised eyebrow again.

  “I, well, no, I just…“ Zoey began stammering again.

  Jericho chuckled this time, a low rumbling sound that really fit this woman.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just fucking with you at this point,” Jericho said, grimacing at the use of the word fuck, “Sorry for the language, don’t put that in your paper either,” she said, grinning.

  Zoey laughed at that statement, hoping that she’d finally gotten past the barrier with the Director and feeling her nervousness dissipate.

  “Director, can you confirm some information for me?” Zoey said, suddenly locating her interviewer’s brain.

  Jericho grinned at the change in the girl, gone was the nervous girl, here was the inquisitive girl that Midnight had described to her.

  “Yes, but don’t call me Director,” Jericho said.

  “What should I call you?” Zoey asked.

  “Jericho is fine,” Jericho said.

  “But ma’am,” Zoey said looking worried, “I need to show respect for your station.”

  Jericho looked back at her, her blue eyes sparkling with humor, “You’re sitting in my backyard, I’m wearing shorts, my feet are bare, and I have paint on my hands,” Jericho said, “We’re not in my office, so you can relax a bit, okay?”

  “But director…” Zoey still protested.

  “Do you work for me?” Jericho asked.

  “I, no,” Zoey said.

  “Then don’t call me Director,” Jericho said, “It’s Jericho.”

  Zoey finally nodded, still not sure she wanted to be that casual with this woman, she was far too likeable for that, she’d lose objectivity.

  “How about ma’am?” Zoey asked.

  “It makes me feel old,” Jericho told her, “while I know I’m ancient to kids like you, I’d like to pretend for a little bit longer that I’m not.”

  “Ma’am,” Zoey began, “Jericho,” she corrected quickly in response to the foul look she got from those oh so blue eyes, “You are far from old, in fact you are one of the youngest Directors of the Division of Law Enforcement there’s ever been.”

  Jericho looked back at her for a long moment, then a slow smile spread over her lips, “Now I’m beginning to like you,” she said, humor in her eyes.

  Zoey found that Jericho Tehrani’s smile now rivaled her eyes as her best feature.

  “So can I call you ma’am then?” Zoey asked, her most charming smile on her lips.

  “Nope,” Jericho said, “Use my given name, my parents really like it.”

  “Okay, your parents,” Zoey said, leaning forward now, “I read that your father was an ambassador in Iran,” she said.

  “Iran,” Jericho said.

  “That’s what I said,” Zoey said.

  “No, you said Iran, like I ran down the street,” Jericho corrected, “It’s Iran, like your ear ran down the road,” she said with a grin, used to having to correct people about the pronunciation of her home country.

  “Oh,” Zoey said, nodding, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Jericho said, “Ever since dumbass Bush said it wrong, it’s been an epidemic,” Jericho said, grinning again.

  Zoey laughed softly, nodding her head, “So your father?”

  “Yes, he was the Persian ambassador to the US embassy in Iran,” Jericho said.

  “And your mother was American,” Zoey asked.

  “Is, American, yes,” Jericho said, nodding.

  “Sorry, is,” Zoey said, nodding too. “And you were born there?”

  “Yes, at the embassy itself, therefore an American citizen by birth,” Jericho said, with a slight edge to her tone.

  Zoey heard it, and canted her head, “Someone was trying to say otherwise?”

  Jericho gave a short laugh, “Every time I get a promotion someone else thought they should have had, yeah.”

  “They questioned your citizenship?” Zoey asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, you know, us dirty rag heads and all.” Jericho replied, her face reflecting her annoyance and her hatred for that phrase.

  “That’s despicable,” Zoey said, her tone reflecting her disgust with that kind of tactic.

  “To say the least,” Jericho said.

  “Do you think that had anything to do with you not getting the Directorship with the DEA?” Zoey asked.

  Jericho looked back at her for a long moment; the kid had done some research indeed.

  “Not to hear them tell it, no.” Jericho said, her look a bit icy.

  “But that’s what you believe,” Zoey asked.

  Jericho didn’t reply, only twitching her lips. Zoey nodded, she understood that the Director didn’t want to speak poorly of the DEA.

  “I understand you went to Cambridge University at the age of sixteen,” Zoey said, looking at her notes, “That’s amazing.”

  Jericho shrugged, “The embassy had great instructors, I got ahead.”

  “And you have your doctorate from the Institute of Criminology there? Which you achieved inside of 5 years?” Zoey said, her awe apparent.

  Jericho nodded.

  “That’s incredible,” Zoey said, “I just got my Masters a couple of months ago and I’ve been in school for five years already.”

  “What’s important is that you got it, not how fast,” Jericho said.

  Zoey bit her lip, enjoying the praise.

  Jericho looked back at the girl, she was very cute. Very young, but very cute, the lesbian in her couldn’t deny that. The heartbroken lesbian just ached to be that young again and starting over in the relationship department.

  “After you finished at Cambridge, did you go back to Iran?” Zoey asked, pronouncing it correctly this time, garnering an approving nod from Jericho.

  “No, my father had been reassigned by that time, and they’d moved to Washington, D.C.”

  “Oh, so did you join them?”

  “I came back to the States, but I ended up getting into the DEA, so I went to the academy at Quantico in Virginia.”

  “Oh, okay,” Zoey said, nodding. “So you were with the DEA for…”

  “Seventeen years,” Jericho said.

  “So that makes you…”

  “38,” Jericho said.

  “See? Still young,” Zoey said, smiling.

  “Uh-huh,” Jericho said, moving to stand as she drank the rest of her beer, she moved to pick up a large spoon and began to dig in a pot, glancing over her shoulder she said, “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  Zoey canted her head as she watched what the Director was doing, “Ma’am,” she said, forgetting for a moment.

  “Jericho,” the Director supplied.

  “Jericho,” Zoey said, smiling, “Don’t you have a gardening shovel for that?”

  Jericho dropped her head, shaking it, then began digging again, “Well, I did,” she said, her tone acerbic suddenly, “But my wife took that, along with my dog and my life.” She squatted on the ground, picking up the plant that sat there and began transplanting it, “The funny thing is, she doesn’t really garden,” she glanced over her shoulder at Zoey, “What do you think that was about?” she queried, her tone speculative.

  It was the very first sign of any sort of weakness in this very strong woman and Zoey felt instantly pained for her. Jericho didn’t see the look of sympathy that crossed Zoey’s features, but she noticed the girl had stopped talking. She felt bad then, allowing her bitterness to show through, it wasn’t what she wanted people to see.

  “What kind of dog?” Zoey asked.

  “Samoyed,” Jericho answered, smiling.

  “They’re beautiful,” Zoey said, picturing the long haired white dogs with the curly tails.

  “She is,” Jericho said, smiling proudly at the thought.

  “You miss her,” Zoey said, it wasn’t a question, and she wasn’t even sure herself if she was referring to Jericho’s wife or her dog.

  “Yes,” Jericho answered her look faraway suddenly.

  Z
oey nodded, wishing she knew how to help, but knowing that it wasn’t her place.

  Catalina walked up to a house she knew so well, it was the home of one of her childhood best friends, whose parents still lived there. The house was located on Nob Hill, well known for its beautiful homes and its rich occupants. Her mother had suggested she call the Azevedo’s to let them know she was in town. They’d been thrilled to hear from her and had immediately invited her to dinner at their house that evening.

  She rang the bell and waited. Gabriela answered the door, her “other mother” as Cat had always referred to her, moved to hug her tight.

  “So good to see you Catalina!” Gabriela said, hugging her again. “It’s been too long,”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” Catalina said, as Gabriela motioned for her to come into the house, “Work is always in the way and the last time I was here, things didn’t go so great.”

  She said the last referring to her last trip that had ended in Elizabeth getting abducted before her eyes, and her having to search everywhere with her team to find her before she was killed. The phrase “not so great” was a major understatement.

  “Well here you are now,” Gabriela said, taking Cat’s hand and leading her into the dining room.

  Cat was reminiscing about the times that she, Jovina and Rachel ran through these halls, it had been a great time then. Things later were harder, scarier, and more intense. It made her nervous being back, there were too many memories, some very painful ones, like the last time she’d been in this house. Suddenly she needed a cigarette in the worst way.

  “Mom, can I go out to the balcony?” Cat said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

  “Of course, honey,” Gabriela said, looking at Cat and noting that the color had left the girl’s face. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” Cat said, nodding, “I’ll be right back in, I promise.”

  “Okay, I’ll go check on dinner,” Gabriela said.

  Cat made it out to the balcony, moving to stand by the edge and letting the wind of San Francisco blow her hair as she took slow deep breaths, trying to clear her head. Reaching into her jacket pocket she pulled out a cigarette and her lighter, lighting the cigarette she took a deep calming drag, leaning a hip against the railing.