Uncertain Calm (Uncertain Suspense Series Book 1)

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Uncertain Calm (Uncertain Suspense Series Book 1) Page 1

by Jamie Lee Scott




  Uncertain Calm

  An Uncertain Mystery

  by

  Jamie Lee Scott

  Copyright © 2015 by Jamie Lee Scott

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author and publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Scott, Jamie Lee, 5-31-15. UNCERTAIN CALM. LBB Company.

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  CHAPTER 1

  Have you ever been so excited about something, yet dreading it at the same time? I wondered the same about myself as I dressed for work that morning. I’d been gone from the Uncertain police force for almost a year. I promised myself there wouldn’t be a one year anniversary party before I was back to work full time. Besides, there wasn’t going to be a party anyway, because seriously, who celebrates getting shot?

  He said, “I’ll be celebrating.”

  I turned, but no one was there. No, not again. I was done with that. Moved past it. I’d killed the voices in my head. That’s why I was back, ready to work again.

  I pulled a white tank top over my head, and walked over to the bed. I’d placed pieces of my uniform strategically, and as I sat down to put on my socks, I wondered how it would all feel, and if the Kevlar vest would irritate my scar. Then I felt cold, dead fingers graze the skin. A chill overcame me.

  I’d been alone for months. How did this happen? How could he be back? I shook my head, no, it couldn’t be. It was just nerves.

  I rubbed the fabric of my tee over the area of the bullet wound. It’d gotten to the point where most of the time, I didn’t even think about it anymore. I didn’t see it when I scrubbed my body down in the shower, didn’t feel it rubbing against my clothing. But on this day, it felt as if it was sticking out further, irritated, mad at me. And he was mocking me.

  No two-bit, hustling drug dealer was going to mock me, or change my life for good. And as I put the scar, and him, out of my mind, I continued to dress for work.

  The routine was easy. I’d done it more than a thousand times: bra, panties, socks, T-shirt, vest…this was when I hesitated.

  He whispered, “What the hell good had a vest done you that night?”

  I’d been stripped down to a bra and panties, and nothing short of a miracle saved my life. My pulse quickened as I recalled that night, the miracle, and the great ambulance crew along with incredible surgeons. They were my miracle. I’d already been ready to say goodbye to the world, and those talented professionals pulled me back from the abyss. The least I could do was to keep their streets safe from the types who tried to kill me.

  “It was a fluke; they didn’t mean to kill me,” I said aloud. The same thing I’d told the counselors. The chances of something like that happening again were less than slim-to-none. I believed it with all my heart. I’d been offered up as Donovan’s bait, and never expected that to happen again.

  “Yes, we did. We meant to rape and kill you. Slowly.”

  I knew the truth now. The former chief of police had set me up. He put me in the position to be killed; only I’d outsmarted the numb nuts the chief had recruited.

  I picked up the vest and pulled it over my head. I remembered exactly how I liked the Velcro straps placed over my shoulders, and I adjusted the others around my chest and back, pulling the side straps into place. It somehow didn’t feel right, as if someone had a hand in the way.

  “Shit,” I said, as I ripped the Velcro apart and tried again. It wasn’t like I’d ever gotten it right the first time before, but for some reason it irritated me today. Then I remembered, I needed to put my pants on first. At least get my legs in them anyway.

  Leaving the vest on, but the sides unstrapped, I pulled my freshly cleaned uniform out of the dry-cleaning bag. The blue stripe down the side leg of the pants looked nice and crisply starched. I sat on the bed again, moving the vest to a better position, and shoved my foot through the opening of the pants. The heavy starch made this quite a task. Once I had my pants on and pulled up to mid thigh, I stood and pulled my pants up over my butt. Now I was ready to adjust my side straps on my vest.

  It still didn’t feel right. But it was.

  No, it’s not.

  I was overthinking it. I was ready to go back on duty; I’d proven it to myself when I had come back to Uncertain. Mind over matter.

  Uncertain was my home now. Even though I hadn’t grown up here, it was the place I called my hometown. Nestled in the foothills, and only an hour’s drive or so from Lake Tahoe, it was a beautiful place to live, if you didn’t know anything of the underbelly that festered beneath the lovely facade. I knew of the underbelly, and I still wanted to live in Uncertain.

  I’d worked through my gunshot wound issues in occupational and physical therapy. And I’d tackled my psychological issues with the state issued psychologist, and during my time at West Coast Post Trauma. Being in San Jose, California made me miss Uncertain even more.

  It wasn’t the big city, even if the millions of people did make me feel a bit like a grain of sand on the beach, compared to the ant I felt like in the shadows of the redwoods of Uncertain. I was with my own kind at WCPT. Cops who needed help working through something they’d witnessed, experienced, or done. But I wanted to be at home, with cops who didn’t need help.

  It had been good to know I wasn’t alone. No matter how many people tell you they understand, no one understands unless they’ve been there. The people at WCPT had been there.

  I nearly jumped out of my pants when I heard a knock at the door. I almost didn’t bother to answer, not expecting anyone. I had no desire to chat with a Jehovah’s Witness that morning and I sure didn’t want to be late for work.

  Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked out to look through the peephole in my door. I yelled, “What are you doing here?” as I opened the door.

  “Nice to see you, too,” my boss, Sergeant Wyatt Burke, said.

  By the way, my name is Harper Leigh, and I’m a police officer with the Uncertain Police Department. Today was my first day back, after an eleven month medical leave.

  “Why are you here?” I asked again, as I walked back into the bedroom.

  Wyatt followed me. “I thou
ght I’d give you a ride, since you don’t have your police issue vehicle here.”

  There was a safety in having Wyatt with me; I felt more ready than ever to go back to work. He’d been my rock through this reinstatement. There were all new bosses to meet and impress. Though Wyatt’s accounting of the arrest of the former chief, Donovan, had likely been enough. He’d regaled many an officer, and administrator, with his story of my shooting accuracy. But the job wasn’t about being able to shoot: it was about being smart, thinking fast, and sometimes just being patient. It was the patience that I had the most trouble with.

  “Would you do this for your other officers?” I buttoned my shirt over my vest and pinned my badge in place. The feel of the cold metal on my fingers gave me strength and it chilled me at the same time.

  “Don’t read into it, Harper.” Wyatt grabbed my belt from the bed and handed it to me.

  “I’m still not going to have sex with you.” I looked up and grinned, taking the belt from him.

  “Oh, darn.” He stepped back and leaned against the door frame. “I guess I’ll have to keep trying.”

  “I think I’m nervous.” I wanted to change the subject and get serious.

  As I tucked my shirt in and fastened my belt, I looked to Wyatt for reassurance. I adjusted my gig line to be sure it was straight from my shirt through the zipper of my pants, as I waited for his response. When he said nothing, I grab my duty belt and fastened it over my personal belt. Making the adjustments, and feeling the heft of it, I sat down again and pushed my feet into my boots.

  Wyatt came over and knelt down in front of me, grabbing the laces and cinching my boots tight. “I’d be nervous, too. But you’re not coming back to Donovan. You’re getting a fresh start, and the people responsible for your leave of absence are long gone.”

  “I’m over that,” I lied. “It’s the fact that I’m coming back to the force, but it is all new bosses.” I let him finish tying my boots and I pull down my pant legs, then I reached for my pistol.

  “Loaded, with one in the chamber?”

  I nodded as I holstered my weapon.

  “Two spare magazines?”

  “Wyatt!” Frustration overcame me.

  “Sorry. I know you’re more than capable. And remember, I’m your boss, too, and I’m not new.” He put his hands on my face and kissed my cheek.

  I felt the familiar pang of loss when he touched me. I almost turned and let him kiss me on the lips. That would’ve been a huge mistake. I’d come this far without leaning on him again, and I’d make it through this.

  He lingered like he wanted to rehash old times, and maybe get that kiss. “Ready?”

  I looked around the room, panic gripping me. “My hat? I don’t have my hat.”

  I reached up to my head and felt the tight bun I’d fastened at the nape of my neck.

  “It’s at the station, Harper. Don’t you remember?” Wyatt put his arm around me and led me out of the bedroom. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  “I was born ready.” I looked up at him and smiled. I loved his bald head, and goofy grin. I loved everything about him. But that wasn’t enough.

  “Horses are fed? Chores done? Are you going to make any excuses?” He bumped his hip into me.

  “I’m finished with excuses. Finished hiding. My psychologist said I’m ready to come back to work. And now that the Lieutenant job is open, I figure you can try for that and I’ll become Sergeant.”

  “I don’t want that job.” His words made it clear it wasn’t up for discussion.

  I stopped in the kitchen and grab my lunch bag. I also grabbed a second bag and handed it to Wyatt.

  I’d made him lunch: tuna sandwich, cold pasta salad, and an apple.

  “You do this for all of the other officers, too?”

  I looked back into the house before I closed the door behind us.

  Ochoa stood in the hallway. He grinned, and blood ran out of his mouth and down his chin.

  “I could if you wanted me to,” I blinked, trying to rid myself of the image of Ochoa.

  We headed out to Wyatt’s patrol car. I’d had all of the shades in the house drawn, and was stunned by the bright light so early in the morning, so I reached into my handbag and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. Once the glare was eliminated, I looked around my small farm. Two cats soaked in the sun’s rays, while sleeping on an unopened bale of hay, and the horses munched happily on alfalfa they’d spread across their pens. Life was good for them. And I had to work, so it could stay that way.

  “How’s Wally?” I thought about the dog I’d given Wyatt when we got divorced.

  “Smart as ever. He misses you.”

  “Whatever, he doesn’t even know me.”

  “Well, he’d like to know you better.” Wyatt opened the car door for me.

  I climbed in and didn’t respond. This was a conversation best left alone. It only caused a fight. I was sorry I’d even asked about Wally. The drive to the station was eerily quiet, other than the sounds from the police radio. Wyatt sped through town, not heeding the speed limits, but not racing either. I tried not to notice how many times he glanced at me, but eventually I started counting.

  When we pulled into the parking lot of the Uncertain Police Department building, I said, “You glanced at me thirty-seven times on the ride over here. I promise I’m not going to break. In fact, I’m stronger. I’m not afraid of getting shot, because I know how it feels now, and that’s okay.”

  Wyatt didn’t respond as he exited the vehicle.

  I didn’t wait for him to come around and open my door. I reached down to the floorboards and grab my personal stuff, then jumped out of the Explorer and stood tall, ready to tackle my demons.

  Speaking of which, I could see Ochoa standing at the front doors, waiting.

  I’d already met, and been interviewed by, the new chief of police, Speed Richardson. What a name for a cop, right? Speed? It can be taken a couple of ways, but I preferred zoom, zoom, to the drug connotation.

  All the paperwork needed to put me back on active duty had been filled out the previous week. There had even been a sit down with a psychologist provided by the state. I was cleared for patrol, and there was no need to put me at a desk job. I vowed I’d quit if they ever stuck me behind the desk.

  Maybe that’s why Wyatt didn’t want the promotion: he hated being inside. I couldn’t blame him, though the perks and pay raise would’ve been nice.

  “Let’s do this thing.” I stepped in line with Wyatt, and we entered the massive double doors of the police department, walking right past Ochoa without even looking in his direction.

  That’s when my heart started racing and I was sure everyone could see the movement in my chest.

  I’d made Wyatt promise no big hoopla around my return, no cake, no welcome back gathering, nothing. He’d promised me there wouldn’t be, and there wasn’t. But the chief was there to greet me as we walked in, and that would never have happened if I hadn’t been a wounded cop returning to work. It made me wonder if they knew just how wounded I really was.

  The chief reached out his hand and said, “Officer Leigh, welcome back. This is a good day.”

  If it had been Chief Donovan, I’d have spit in his face, but I had yet to have any reason to despise this man. I reached out and shook his hand.

  “This is a very good day.” Mirror the other person’s words or actions, I reminded myself, to make them feel at ease, and comfortable with me. It was a tactic I learned in business school. I’d taken some college classes while I was on leave, just in case.

  He turned and walked in the same direction Wyatt and I had been walking, saying a less overzealous good morning to Wyatt.

  “I’ll see you in the squad room.” Wyatt split off from us, and left me with the chief.

  We headed toward his office, but he stopped short. “There’s no reason to sit down with me, Leigh, we worked everything out last week. I think it’s best to clock in, get the keys to your vehicle, and get on
the road.”

  I didn’t need any more nudging than that. But I hesitated when the chief put his hand out.

  He looked at me quizzically. “Your keys?” He handed me a set of car keys.

  I sighed as I took them. “I get my same car?”

  He nodded and walked away.

  Relieved, I tossed the keys up in the air and caught them. “I got my baby back.”

  I looked up to see a Hispanic officer staring at me. “Hi.”

  I grinned. “Ortega.” It was a friendly face.

  Manny Ortega had been on the investigation that brought to light the fact that Donovan had been dirty. He’d worked with Wyatt to bring him down, at least on the periphery of the investigation.

  I stood eye to eye with Ortega, though I was an inch taller. He was stout, with light skin, and black eyes. I loved that his dark lashes made it look like he wore eyeliner. What women wouldn’t give for lashes like that.

  “I hear we are on the same shift today. I’m glad I’m working with you on your first day back.” Ortega’s smile was genuine.

  “I’m glad, too.” I could really have cared less, but Ortega was a nice guy. A kid, actually. At least compared to me.

  At thirty-five, I felt old. The new recruits kept getting younger and younger. Ortega was seasoned enough, but he was a pup compared to me. I wondered if they considered me an old lady.

  “You may want to head to the conference room. There’s a bunch of stuff on the whiteboard. The captain had some things he wanted to share with everyone before the shift today.” He looked down the hallway.

  “Something going down?” My heart raced again, but in a good way this time. Better not be a freaking party, I thought.

  “Not really, but we are still reeling from the loss of Donovan, and the death of Roberts. It’s been a lot of secret meetings and public conferences. So, in order to save time, Captain Svente started having his assistant write notes on the board. That way everyone sees them, and he doesn’t have to repeat himself for each new shift.”

 

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