Uncertain Calm (Uncertain Suspense Series Book 1)

by Jamie Lee Scott

  I started my Dodge truck, pressed the button for my garage door opener, and backed out of the garage. Driving past my police issue vehicle made me swell with pride. I loved what I did, and I’d been away too long. I smiled until I saw Ochoa leaning against the back of the cruiser.

  While I’d been recovering, and going to the state mandated psychology program for officers shot in the line of duty, I’d considered other careers. I’d even taken a semester of business classes at Sacramento City College. Yes, I’d left Uncertain. I needed to be as far away from Uncertain, and yet as close to home as I could be.

  I took my horses with me, even though I couldn’t ride, which killed me. But I learned a lot about myself, and what I could handle. Who I was. I was a cop, and a cowgirl. That was me. And my roping skills had gotten really good, once I’d been cleared to rope a bale of straw. Then I’d been allowed to sit on a horse and rope a plastic cow head stuck in a bale of straw. I had yet to rope a moving steer, or ride in a reining event since my surgery, but I was getting there.

  I reminisced about my riding days before getting shot as I drove to the bar. I’d get back to my old self soon enough. One step at a time. Besides, I didn’t have the money to compete. I hadn’t had a job for almost a year.

  The parking lot of Code 7 was packed by the time I arrived. I promised myself I wasn’t going to get drunk. I had to drive home, and I had a huge case to begin investigating in the morning. Besides, I was more responsible than that. And I was afraid of what dreams would come with the beer and whiskey.

  Having special privileges, I snuck in through the kitchen. I grinned so wide my cheeks hurt when I saw my ex-father-in-law.

  “Hey, Pops.” We all called him Pops, but he’s Wyatt Burke, Senior.

  I knew what Wyatt would look like at sixty-five: burly, fit, bald for real, and lots of laugh lines. Pops had the bluest eyes, and they sparkled. When people talk about a smile reaching someone’s eyes, they are talking about Wyatt’s dad’s eyes.

  He grabbed me in a bear hug and lifted me off the ground. “How is my favorite ex-daughter?”

  “In-law,” I reminded him. I sucked in a breath, and said, “I’m better now.”

  “I heard you had a rough couple of first days back on the force.” He punched my shoulder lightly.

  “They sure as shit haven’t been easy.” I took a step back.

  “Watch your mouth.” He hated swearing.

  “Sorry, it’s been awhile.”

  “Too long.” He tucked a towel inside his white apron. “Wyatt’s already bellied up to the bar. Head on in.”

  “I wanted to talk to you first,” I leaned in conspiratorially. “I don’t really want to drink much tonight. Actually, I don’t want to drink at all. Is there any way to make it look like I’m drinking?”

  Pops winked and walked past me, back into the bar.

  I followed him, and took the empty stool next to Wyatt.

  Everyone wondered why we were divorced, including Wyatt. Sometimes I did, too. When I saw him sitting there in his jeans and a pink polo shirt, the tanned skin of his biceps bulging against the pastel fabric, I swooned. He was a great man. He was my man. But I didn’t want to be married to him. We didn’t do husband and wife very well.

  Before I could take my melancholy mood too far down memory lane, someone put money in the jukebox, and the music blared so loud we couldn’t hear ourselves think. I felt a tap on my arm, and Pops handed me an ice cold glass of beer. He winked and I knew it was non-alcoholic beer. God, I loved that man.

  Half a dozen songs later, a slow tune came on. Wyatt grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor. I went willingly because it was one of my favorite tunes. And we danced. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me tight, and I put my arms over his shoulders and linked my fingers behind his neck. I rested my head on his chest and listened to his heart beat.

  When he looked down and kissed me on the top of my head, I wished I was drinking real beer, so I could get drunk enough to need him to drive me home. Then I’d invite him inside and ask him to stay. It would be cruel, but I still needed that part of him. He was really good in bed.

  I hoped I wouldn’t be the jealous ex-wife when he finally did start dating other women. I would be jealous on the inside, knowing that his new chick was getting serviced well. I mentally shook the thought out of my head.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I must have physically shook my head a little, too. “Fine,” I looked up at him. I wanted to kiss him right there on the dance floor, for everyone to see. But I couldn’t, and it wasn’t fair.

  Why did I do this to myself? And why did I do it to him?

  When the music stopped, I asked, “Did you choose that song?”

  He smiled, but didn’t answer.

  Back at the bar, we sat, and I asked, “What if I wasn’t the intended target?”

  “Let’s not talk shop tonight,” Wyatt’s voice sounded tired.

  “Just this one question, then I’ll let it go until tomorrow, I promise.”

  “We’ll investigate the same, regardless. Though there’s not much to investigate at the moment. No evidence, no witnesses. Nothing.”

  “What about news crews?”

  “Harper!” Wyatt downed a shot of whiskey.

  “Sorry, I’ll save it for tomorrow.” I drank my near-beer. “You look handsome tonight. All of the women are jealous of me.”

  “They should be.” He looked around.

  There weren’t many women in the bar. Three that I could see. One with with her own cop, and two looked like badge bunnies.

  “At ten she’s a two, and at two she’s a ten,” I said.

  The badge bunnies weren’t all that good looking, but with a few drinks, they would do for the night. Only I didn’t think Wyatt was looking for a girl to keep his bed warm for the night.

  “I’m not going to be drinking that much. And besides, with Pops feeding you O’Douls, you might be giving me a ride home. So, no badge bunnies for me tonight.” He knocked his knee against mine.

  “How did you know?” I blushed, but I didn’t know why.

  “I saw him wink as he brought you the glass,” Wyatt laughed. “And besides, you usually drink what’s on tap.”

  “Dead giveaway, huh?” I looked down at my glass. The non-alcoholic beer was pretty tasty.

  “Only because I know you too well.”

  “Maybe that’s our problem.”

  Wyatt threw back his head and laughed out loud. “That’s never been our problem.” Then he leaned in and kissed me long and hard on the mouth. “And this hasn’t, either.”

  He’d had more to drink than I’d expected, or he’d never have done that in front of other cops. It was a good thing one of us was sober.

  “Wyatt, I love you, but we can’t do this.” I got up and walked past the bar stools to the kitchen. Wyatt followed.

  “This night didn’t last long for you two,” Pops said as we walked through the kitchen doors. “I was just frying some mushrooms for you.”

  “Wyatt needs to have some coffee, and maybe some carbs, then he’s going to bed early.” I was pointing Wyatt toward the kitchen exit.

  “Early to bed, lucky Wyatt,” Pops wiggled his brows.

  “He’s not getting lucky, Pops. At least not with me, anyway,” I furrowed my brows at him.

  “Too bad.” He looked genuinely bummed.

  “Ain’t gonna happen, old man.” I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

  “A guy can hope. Only good daughter-in-law I ever had.” He followed us further into the kitchen.

  We headed to the exit, and Pops headed to the fryer to pull up the mushrooms. The timer was beeping so loud, I thought my eardrums were going to cry.

  The nice thing about Code 7 was that I didn’t worry about leaving Wyatt’s car in the parking lot. It’d be safe until we came and picked it up. Wyatt tried to walk to his car, but I pointed him to my pickup.

  “Sweet,” he said.

  I fe
lt as if he was suddenly more drunk than he’d been about ten minutes earlier.

  “We aren’t going home, Wyatt. I’m taking you for coffee, then I’m going to call you a cab to get you home.”

  He sobered up quickly.

  “I don’t want any coffee. I’ll be awake all night, and I need to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.” He sat on the bumper of my truck.

  “So, since we aren’t going to my place, you’re okay to drive?” Funny how that works.

  “I was okay to drive before, you just assumed I wasn’t. Besides, it was fun, like old times,” he chuckled. “I was going to hang out with my dad for a bit.”

  “Oh, yeah, old times. When you’d get so drunk, you couldn’t get it up.” My turn to laugh so hard I almost choked.

  “I don’t remember it that way.” He played in the dirt with the toe of his boot.

  “I’m sure you don’t remember it at all.”

  I sat next to him on the bumper, our hips touching.

  “Why do we do this to ourselves?” he asked.

  “What?” I knew what he was asking, but I wanted to hear him say it.

  “Torture ourselves. I love you. You love me. We should never have gotten divorced in the first place.” He put his hand on my knee.

  “We should never have gotten married in the first place,” I corrected him, but I didn’t move his hand. “Do you really want to go there? I thought we promised not to do this when I came back.”

  “I tried. And I’m okay working with you, I really am. It’s when you aren’t around that my heart hurts.” He squeezed my knee.

  I jumped. “Wyatt, stop. I hate that.”

  He knew I hated to have my knee squeezed like that. I think it was his way of making the situation less mushy. I wasn’t trying to break his heart, I loved him, but I needed him to move on. We wanted different things in the long haul, and the longer we put it off, the worse it was going to end.

  “There’s been a lot of stress my first days back. Let’s work on this murder book, get the killer, and then we’ll talk about us.” I stood and walked around to the front of my truck, putting the huge chunk of metal between us. “We can regroup in the morning. I’ll bring the coffee and Tylenol.”

  “Aspirin. I don’t do Tylenol after I’ve been drinking. Besides, I won’t need it. I’m going back in and have some of the mushrooms my dad made,” Wyatt said as he stood up.

  I knew he wasn’t going inside to have mushrooms. He was going back inside to discuss the two shootings with Pops. Wyatt admired his dad, and looked to him for advice when he was stumped or stressed about the job. It was one of the things between us. He never came to me. I was below him in rank, but I was a smart cookie. He never gave me that credit, the way he did his dad. But hell, I went to Pops too, so who was I to complain?

  I sat in my truck and watched in my rearview mirror as Wyatt walked away. I thought how fitting it was. My heart flipped in my chest.

  CHAPTER 9

  The morning started with a vengeance of a pounding in my left temple. A migraine. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that king-size package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups with a glass of milk when I got home. Okay, so it was two king-size packages. I figured I deserved it after not drinking any alcohol. But I’d forgotten how that sugar rush, and the sugars from the milk, wouldn’t mix well with my blood, and about five in the morning, I awoke with a ball-peen hammer tapping from the inside of my skull.

  I’d been trying to ward off sleep, and the devil. A devil named Ochoa.

  In the daylight, he’d been harmless. At night…I wasn’t ready to go there. But it all came back. The night he’d undressed me, taken me to my knees. When I slept, he didn’t die; he succeeded. Donovan gave orders and watched as Ochoa and his men…never mind. When peaceful sleep came, it was in the wee hours.

  I finally forced myself to open my eyes and sit up around six-thirty. I was up, and for better or worse, I’d stay up and get ready for work. There was a lot of ground to cover. I opened every drawer in my bathroom, looking for my Excedrin Migraine. Nowhere.

  I went to my linen closet, which had a junk shelf, and I dug through the plastic container. Aspirin, but no migraine meds. I swear my head pounded harder with each drawer I opened.

  As my last resort, I check my prescription cabinet in the kitchen. Just like that junk drawer everyone has in their kitchen, I also had a medicine drawer, only mine was in the cabinet, and it was a plastic tub with a lid. Almost identical to the one in the hall closet, only deeper. This one had everything from cold medicine to Pepto Bismol. I scrounged around in the plastic tub to no avail, and by the time I was done, I was leaning over the sink, dry heaving from the pain in my head.

  I could do this. I wasn’t going to miss work for a lame headache. I’d take the aspirin I’d found, and I’d make an extra strong espresso. Or I’d stop at Starbucks and buy one. Forget it, I couldn’t wait that long. I dry heaved again into the sink, hating the feeling, but glad I wasn’t actually puking anything up.

  I did my best to keep from heaving while I ground my espresso beans, measured, and pressed. I waited as long as I could for the water in the machine to heat, then I pressed the double shot button. I hoped it wasn’t too hot, because there might be a need to chug.

  Once before, I’d tried pink Himalayan salt and lemon juice for a migraine. It worked! And I puked the shit back up only seconds after it went down. I mean, it made my stomach actually do flips. For about an hour, I was thinking the headache would have been better. So I was going with the aspirin and caffeine for this headache.

  I chugged the double shot, but not until I’d taken a shower and gotten dressed. I won’t mention nearly passing out in the shower. Oh, did I say I wasn’t going to mention it? Ugh. I was afraid to eat anything, because then when I heaved, something would come up.

  I checked in at the station, then quickly headed over to Maria’s house. We’d given her time to get home from the hospital, and to grieve for Danny overnight, but we needed to find our killer, and I had to find out more about Danny to do that.

  When Maria answered the door, she looked more put together than she had the previous morning.

  “Hello, Officer. I was expecting a detective.” She stepped back and let me in.

  She had her black, wavy hair down, and it fell past her shoulders, her long bangs clipped off to the side with bobby pins. She wore navy blue slacks, and a white silk blouse that hung loose over her torso to camouflage her extra weight. Her feet were bare.

  I wondered if she expected me to remove my boots. I hoped not, because it wasn’t going to happen. I stepped into the small entry.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked.

  “Not so good.” She looked at the floor.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss. I did the best I could.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Now I’m going to do what I really know how to do, and catch the person who did this.”

  She looked up at me. “As God as my witness, I want that bastard to fry in hell.”

  I was stunned by the ferocity of her words. But I understood, all too well.

  “God will do what he has to do, and I’ll do my job. In order to do that, I need to see Danny’s room. Maybe look at his computer, get to know him a little better.”

  “He didn’t have a computer, but he had a phone. One of those crazy phones that does everything. He was on it all the time.” She led me to his bedroom. “He’d left it on the kitchen table that morning. It’s still there. Been buzzing since last night. I can’t bring myself to pick it up.”

  I decided to stay on course and take a look at his bedroom first. Then I’d check out the phone. There’d be a lot to learn. Speaking of phones, mine buzzed. I pulled it from my pocket. Wyatt.

  “Excuse me. This is my boss.” I answered the phone. “Hold on a moment.”

  Maria said, “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

  She left the room, and I answered Wyatt. “What’s up?”


  “I’m tracking the cartel angle on the shooting yesterday. I think it’s best you stay away from it.” His voice sounded strained. I didn’t know if it was from the case, or from the previous night.

  “I hate to even consider that Donovan’s work isn’t done. Besides, it wasn’t really even Donovan; it was Ochoa. And I don’t think Ochoa’s little charade was anything more than a show of strength for his little gang.”

  “You forget, his gang was part of the cartel, one we shut down. Maybe they want to rebuild in Uncertain,” Wyatt’s voice sounded stronger.

  “Maybe we talk to the FBI or DEA. They might have a handle on anything headed this way.” They had been here before.

  “Good idea. I’ll make a few calls.”

  “Anything come through from last night?”

  “Sergeant Cruz had his officers working our detail through the night. No one is giving this guy up. They’re stonewalling us. The lieutenant thinks it’s because of Bernie’s shooting, and how the news stations are reporting the incident. Making us look trigger happy.”

  “Such bullshit,” I whispered into the phone.

  “Preaching to the choir, my dear.”

  “I’m at Danny’s aunt’s house. I gotta go.”

  We clicked off, and I stared at my phone a moment before putting it away.

  The coffee and meds turned in my stomach as I considered that angle on the previous day’s shooting. I decided not to consider it as a viable option. If I did, it could taint how I investigated.

  Trying not to “toss” Danny’s room, I looked in his drawers, his closet, under his bed, and even his mattress. The only thing I found was Asians Babes, Penthouse, Swank and Jugs magazines, between the boxspring and mattress. I chuckled. He was a typical twenty-something male.

  Under the bed, I expected to see dirty clothes, fast food wrappers, pizza boxes, condoms, or old comic books, but it was spotless. The room was very clean, which meant either his aunt cleaned it for him, or he was a neat freak. I assumed he was a neat freak, because Maria would have found the magazines if she was cleaning.

  His clothing ran a usual mix of jeans, tees, flannel shirts, some shorts, and a few dress shirts and pants. Nothing along the lines of a specific color, or style. Nothing to make me suspect gang activity. But I did wonder if his clothing the previous morning made him stand out, and he was an unwilling target based solely on what he wore.