Holding a Hero

by Layne, Lyssa

  Pacing the floor with nowhere to go in the small living room, he finally settled on the couch. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands.

  He let out a slow heavy breath.

  She was unsure of what to say or do to make it clear that she was there for him. Instead, she settled for placing a hand on his back, gently rubbing up and down.

  Moments later he dropped his hands from his face, clasping them in front of him. He turned toward her. “I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. I know you’re not the enemy, it’s just that this whole situation is getting to me.” He stood and began pacing like a caged panther, wanting to strike out at its prey, yet unable to reach past the bars.

  “I have Captain Roberts breathing down my neck. I have Internal Affairs pushing for my termination and incarceration. It feels like the guys on the force are avoiding me, treating me like they believe I really shot Marty.”

  “I know this is a touchy subject, but can I ask what happened?” She leaned forward to see his face. “If it’s too much, forget I asked.”

  “Hell, you of all people deserve to hear the facts after you stuck up for me last night.” He stood up and paced the floor, continued moving, unable to stand still yet afraid to sit down. With hands in his pockets, he stood in front of the entry window staring blankly out at the street.

  Shoulders stiff, he began, “Marty Rodriguez, my ex-partner, got a tip about a drug deal that was supposed to be going down. We had it all planned out. Joe Gallagher, my current partner and I would meet Marty and his partner, Dean Fletcher, at the watchman’s hut. Before we entered the warehouse Dean radioed for back up. Joe said he thought he heard a vehicle start, so rather than let them get away, I went in the front and Joe took the rear. Marty was to approach from the east side and Dean from the west.”

  As he repeated the events of the night the vivid images rolled by in slow motion.

  “I slipped in at my location, hugged the wall, trying to get a glimpse of the dealers' location as well see how many perps were involved. I knew something was wrong when the place was dark. Who deals that way? Regardless, it didn’t feel right. I skirted my way toward the west expecting to see Dean, but then I heard a noise behind me and spun around. When I saw movement, I raised my weapon and I cautiously worked my way toward where I heard the sound.”

  Brad turned, he felt a film of perspiration on his face then he wiped his sleeved forearm across his eyes, as if he were trying to see the memory more clearly.

  “I heard the click of a cylinder rotating and knew someone was preparing to fire. I listened for breathing, noises, anything that would give me a hint as to where they were. I remember the hair on my neck raising because no one had joined me yet, like I’d been alone in the building for hours, but I’m sure it was barely a minute.” Brad was seeing it happen all over again. “Then I heard a single footstep. I waited for more, but nothing happened. I kept listening and finally heard the sound of two sets of feet, one approaching me from behind, the other from the back of the building.” His body repeating each motion from that night. “The next thing I know I there’s a flash in front of me as I was shoved from behind. I flew forward and bumped my hip on one of the barrels and my gun went off accidently.” Brad turned around and grabbed Chris, clutching her by the upper arms. “I couldn’t have shot Marty, he was the one who knocked into me. He was behind me. And not just that, I heard a whoosh blow past my ear as I was pushed. When I spun around Marty is on the floor bleeding to death. I looked up, there was Joe and Dean staring down at me as white faced as I felt. I’m sure my smoking gun didn’t help, and they thought I'd shot Marty.”

  He wiped his eyes then looked down at his palms. His imagination brought back the haunted memory of Marty's blood all over him.

  Brad sat on the couch beside Chris as he continued to relay what happened. “I sat there rocking Marty, numb, refusing to believe I’d never see him again. How would I tell Rosie he wouldn’t be coming home? Hell, I didn’t know if I could even tell her what happened. By the time our back-up arrived, it was too late. Marty died in my arms.” Brad clutched a throw pillow in her arms.

  “What happened to Joe and Dean? Why didn’t they cover you?”

  “Joe had to wiggle past a bunch of oil drums stacked near the back door and had to take it extra slow or risk knocking into the barrels and being heard. Dean’s door was padlocked locked so he tried to find another door to get in.”

  “Okay, that still doesn’t explain where the shot that killed Marty came from. You just said you saw the flash before you fired your gun. I’m assuming the first shot was from a silencer from the way you described the noise. If so, where did the shooter disappear to?” Chris blinked and grabbed his hand. “Is it possible Marty saw the shooter and tried to push you out of the way?”

  Brad shivered, Chris’ explanation was the first real piece of identifiable detail that he’d failed to report. “Were you a cop in another life?” He chuckled.

  Christine shrugged a shoulder and gave him a shy smile saying, “I was in my third month at the Police Academy when I lost my leg. Shot me out of the saddle, but I managed to learn a lot in that short span.”

  Everything moved in slow motion including his mind, then suddenly sped up, real time, as his memory became clearer. “You’re right, there flash was the first shot.”

  “Okay, now we know for a fact that two shots were fired. Where were you and which way were you facing when your gun when off?”

  Brad rubbed his forehead trying to visualize the warehouse, as if trying to push the mixed up pieces of his memory into the proper puzzle places. “It happened so quickly. I can’t see it clearly. I’ve tried until I’ve given myself a migraine, but it’s not coming together. The guys in IAD are convinced I’m lying because I can’t be more precise.”

  “It sounds to me like you’re trying too hard. I know this is stressful for you, but sometimes when you try too hard, the thing you want most is completely out of your grasp. Have you slept at all since this whole thing happened?”

  “Not much. Just when I get to sleep, I startle awake, soaked from nightmares reliving the whole thing.”

  “That’s it. Tonight you’re going to get a good night’s sleep if I have to beat you over the head with a baseball bat.” She gave him a malicious grin, the one she used on Jared.

  Brad chuckled. “You’d probably do just that to get even.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a minute.” He pinched the bridge of his nose then yawned.

  She settled next to him. “You’re too tired to think straight.”

  He rested his head on the back of the couch. Before long he was breathing gently.

  She wanted to brush an errant strand of hair away from his face but she shopped short because she didn’t trust herself to stop there.

  Christine waited until Brad's breathing slowed, steadied, and soft snores escaped. Careful not to wake him, she pulled herself up with the aid of her crutches and headed for the kitchen. Opening her cupboard, she set out to make a pot of coffee. The thought of a caffeine fix thrilled her especially in light of the lousy coffee in the hospital. Damn! She forgot she used the last of it yesterday morning before her show. She might as well do something productive while Brad got some rest.

  She'd watch television in the bedroom so she wouldn't wake him. Hobbling toward the hall, she made it as for and the hall table that held her purse, keys, and Brad’s cell phone when his phone rang to the music of Bonanza. She went to press ‘send to voicemail’ on the screen so the ringtone wouldn’t wake him up, but hit speakerphone at the same time.

  “Hey, cop killer—how does it feel to have someone shooting at someone special to you. Too bad we didn’t kill your girlfriend, but we’re not done with you yet. We won’t be satisfied until you’re dead or behind bars and we don’t particularly care which it is.”

  Click.

  Christine gasped, dropped the phone, sending it crashin
g to the floor. She shivered, wishing she’d left it alone, at least then the message would have been caught on tape. She had to warn Brad. She turned and slipped on the battery that had popped out, one of the crutches jammed her in the armpit and she hit the ground, crying out as she went down.

  In a flash Brad stood next to her, scooping her up in his arms. He carried her back to the couch. It wasn’t until she registered his voice crooning her name, that she realized she had tears running down her face.

  “Brad, stop. Put me down. You have to check to your voice mail. I tried to press send to voicemail so it wouldn’t wake you up. Someone left you a threatening message. Last night wasn’t an accident or casual drive by. They were aiming at me to get even with you!”

  He stumbled and almost dropped her as her words penetrated his foggy brain. “What are you talking about?”

  Chris was frantic, pushed off of him landing on her good leg. “Try to check your messages. You have to call the police and get some protection.”

  He knew she wasn’t a lunatic, so doing as she bid he helped her back to the entry way of her apartment then set her on the ground near the pieces of his phone. He replaced the battery back in his phone, pressed on the back casing and started his phone. Pressing voicemail he cued in his password then heard the chilling accusation over the speakerphone. The threat scared the shit out of him. They had to get out of there. Now!

  Brad grabbed the crutches from the floor where they lay.

  She said, “Save that message! Right now it’s your only proof of innocence.”

  He pressed ‘9’ in shock. “You’re right.” He pocketed his phone. Then handed Chris the crutches and made sure she was safely seated on the couch before calling Joe at the office. Luck on his side for a change, Joe answered the phone on the first ring.

  “Detective Gallagher.”

  “Joe, it’s Brad. I just got a call on my cell—from the shooter. The message said last night was an attempt on Chris’ life and they aren’t done trying. I want you to get some to rig my phone with a tap.”

  “Sure buddy, let me square it with Roberts. Where are you?”

  “I’m at Chris’.” He gave Joe the address and said they’d be waiting.

  Brad glanced at her sitting motionless on the couch, her face strained. He worried about what he'd gotten her into and prayed the caller was just blowing smoke. A nagging feeling suggested they intended to carry out their threat.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Brad sat on the edge of the couch, legs bobbing, his anxiety level had him jumpy as a frog.

  Christine sat beside him, drumming her fingers on her crossed arms.

  When the doorbell rang, he raced to answer it. What surprised him most was Christine had managed to be right beside him by the time he opened the door.

  Joe glanced from Brad to Christine then grinned a toothy smile. “No wonder you were so cranky—so this is the lady that stole your heart. Nice!”

  “It’s about damn time.” Brad stepped forward raising his tone in anger.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Christine pushed her way in front of him, her voice high pitched with excitement.

  Brad and Christine spoke simultaneously, each drowning the other out.

  Joe started laughing. “Slow down.”

  If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Brad would have seen the humor as well and made a wisecrack.

  Joe let out a whistle, a piercing note.

  Christine covered her ears and lost her balance.

  Brad stepped back and caught her before she fell.

  Silence.

  They looked at one another.

  Joe snapped his fingers in front of them. “Okay now, one at a time. What happened?”

  Again, he and Christine started talking at once.

  Joe raised his hand to whistle again.

  Brad picked up Christine and stepped away.

  Joe chuckled. “Come on kids, you aren’t playing nice.”

  Brad invited Joe into the apartment, Christine led the way to the couch.

  She sat forward on the sofa, glaring at Brad to get him to keep quiet. “You hush up. You were asleep anyway, so let me tell what happened.”

  Joe snickered.

  Brad didn’t need to be told again to hush up.

  Play-by-play, step-by-step, Christine took Joe through how she happened to accidently answer Brad’s phone.

  “Based on what I heard, sounds like the shooter is out to ruin Brad’s career. I believe this has to do with Marty’s death. But I’m not sure how we can prove it without any casings.” She turned to Joe. “Did the crime scene techs find anything last night? We need to get a team back to the gala site, and search for shell casings that way when they do find the bullets from Marty’s shooting they can compare the ballistics. I’ll bet you they match.” Christine preened happily following her update, then continued, “In the meantime, you should be concerned for Brad’s safety. Should we move to new location? And who needs his phone to check that call?” she said.

  Joe raised an eyebrow after she finished speaking, lips pinched together, fighting not to smile.

  Christine’s clear rendition had earned a few points in her favor.

  “Now you, Brad.”

  Brad explained how he had been telling Christine about the shooting then in a state of exhaustion fell asleep on the couch until he heard her call his name.

  “I wasn't aware I'd called out to you.” Christine blushed beautifully.

  Brad gazed at her and felt Joe studying them. “You did, and I'm glad I heard you.” He leaned close and took her hand in his.

  Joe waved a hand in front of Brad’s fact to catch his attention. “I feel as if I’m interrupting something.”

  “So, what do we do now?” Christine interjected.

  “I’ll take the phone to voice prints then re-interview witnesses to Christine's shooting,” Joe offered.

  There was a knock at the front door.

  Brad and Joe turned abruptly.

  Joe nodded a go-ahead.

  Brad checked the peephole before answering. With an audible sigh he opened the door and allowed four other men to enter Christine's apartment, four suits he wasn’t happy to see.

  Joe crammed his hand into his jeans pockets.

  Brad made the introductions.

  “Gentlemen, this is Christine Jansen.” He indicated with an open hand, palm up. “Chris, this is our superior officer Captain Roberts, Marty’s partner Detective Dean Fletcher, Watch Commander Captain George Van Norton, and Ken Billings from Internal Affairs.”

  Christine nodded to the men, noting the frown on Brad’s face and the way his gaze seemed locked on the man from IAD.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Captain Roberts nodded.

  Captain Van Norton raised a suspicious brow. “What this commotion all about?”

  A chill ran through her at Captain Van Norton’s tone and the touch of suspicion she read on his face. She recognized Captain Roberts from the news bulletin she'd seen earlier. She took an immediate dislike to the man based on his lack of belief in Brad from the interview.

  Van Norton stared straight at Brad as if waiting to detect a lie.

  The man Billings remained silent taking it all in.

  As for Dean Fletcher, he maintained a look of boredom. That name sounded familiar. Wasn’t he one of the guys with Brad on the night of the shooting? Yes, he was the one, Marty’s partner.

  Something didn’t feel right here. Wild vibrations seemed to center between Brad and Van Norton.

  Christine eyed each man's steely expression, their guarded stance, assessing each other ready for battle. The tension was palpable, expectation filled the air, but what had they expected to happen?

  Captain Roberts broke the deafening silence. “Detective Maxwell, Captain Van Norton would like to question you in the other room. In the meantime, Detective Fletcher will stay here and talk to Miss—”

  “Jansen,” she supplied.

  “Thank y
ou.” Roberts turned to face the other officer. “Fletcher, I want you to interview this nice young lady. In the meantime, Joe, you wait outside. When the team arrives, send them in. We’ll join you back here when I’m done talking to him.”

  Brad stepped around his boss and put his arm around Chris’s shoulder before he turned her so they were eye-to-eye. “Don’t worry, Chris, just tell the Captain what happened. Tell him everything. Don’t leave anything out.” He leaned down to press a kiss to her temple, for courage. Only he wasn’t sure who needed the courage most, him or Chris.

  He knew from the look on Roberts’s face that he’d be on the hook for another reprimand. But why, of all people, did Fletcher tag along, when it was obvious to him that the cases were connected? To Brad it was a pure cut case of conflict of interest. Too bad the brass didn't see it that way.

  Rather than make a scene, Brad waited until they were out of hearing range. Once they were in the other room he turned to challenge his boss. “Look Roberts, I don’t know why you came instead of sending one of the guys, but what possessed you to bring Fletcher?” Brad thumbed over his shoulder.

  Van Norton spoke before Captain Roberts could respond. “He’s here because I asked him to come.”

  Brad spun around. “That’s another thing…since when does Internal Affairs ride along to the scene of a crime?”

  Van Norton and Roberts exchange knowing glances.

  Brad snorted. “Okay, out with it. What’s going on?”

  “Move.” The Captain pointed toward the front door. “Not in here.”

  Once outside the apartment Brad rounded in attack to his superiors. “Talk.”

  Again Van Norton interrupted, “In the past two weeks you’ve been involved in two separate shootings. Marty and now Miss Jansen. The entire force has been taking a great deal of heat for Marty’s slaying.”

  It grated on Brad’s nerves the way Van Norton worded things. “Are you crazy? I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again. I had nothing to do with Marty’s death.” Shaking his head, Brad mumbled under his breath.

  Roberts interjected, a steely cold tone to his voice. “That’s no way to talk to your superior officer Detective Maxwell. Considering the trouble you’re in, I'd think you’d be a bit more careful how you handle yourself.”