She warned the angel about the monster. Monsters were as real as angels and extremely deadly. Then, as quickly as the angel appeared, he disappeared. But the assistance he provided was pivotal. She never would have gotten her friend to a safe place without the angel.
Tilly could think now; her thought process became untangled as she looked after her friend. There was no response, no movement, but there was breath. Tilly struggled with addled thoughts to do the right thing. She didn’t want her friend to die. A thought niggled: Go to the police.
But Tilly couldn’t obey the idea of going to the police. The police would only take her to jail.
No, Tilly was on her own now. Glen was gone, the angel was gone, and she would do the best she could with what she had.
12
Terrorist? Mass shooter? Domestic dispute? What was she dealing with?
Alert and focused, Tess shelved the issue with Peabody and concentrated on the man in front of her.
“Who’s shooting and where is he?” Tess noted the man’s injury and was poised, ready to jump into her uniform and head toward the danger.
“He’s on his porch, firing off a handgun like it was a cap gun. I’m just trying to do my job.”
Now that he had her attention, the man calmed somewhat and Tess got the whole story, even as she heard gunshots echoing in the distance.
She decided quickly that the situation, while thankfully not a mass shooting, did need her attention. She took a few minutes to change into her uniform and notify Officer Bender about the situation and her intentions. As the on-duty day officer he joined her on a rural piece of property on the south side of Rogue’s Hollow.
Now, Peabody forgotten, here she was, helping to try to defuse a situation that would have been funny if it weren’t so dangerous.
“Yee-haw!”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Tess sighed. Her presence at the standoff with Bubba Magee was going on twenty minutes. She’d laughed when she first heard his name—was somebody really named Bubba?—but she wasn’t laughing now.
The shooter was a local boy prone to getting liquored up and acting crazy. Officer Bender told her that officers had been called out to the house before and that all of Bubba’s guns had been taken away without incident by the last chief, insinuating that Tess herself was not good enough to handle the matter diplomatically like Chief Bailey had.
But obviously the prior chief had missed at least one gun.
Tess ducked even though the shots were going into the air and she was behind cover. They had a clear view of Bubba and his porch. He sat between a cooler, from which he’d grabbed a beer, and a footlocker, from which he’d taken the gun.
Beside her, Gabe Bender cursed, then shook his head. Tess heard him mutter, “Maybe we’ll make a move this century,” before he said out loud, “That fool drunk is going to kill someone.”
Beside him, Jackson County sheriff’s deputy Steve Logan raised an eyebrow in agreement with the last statement. Tess let the muttering slide.
It was no secret that Bender didn’t like her. She wasn’t certain about Logan and had mixed feelings about him.
When she’d met him the day of her interview, he’d been pleasant and encouraging. And in these last two months, that hadn’t changed; he’d been an invaluable support, helping whenever he could make his way to the Hollow. Today, he’d responded in mutual aid so quickly she wondered if he’d already been on the way. Every time she saw him, it was getting harder and harder to deny that she was attracted to him.
Logan had been promoted to sergeant since she’d first met him, so he had a lot more freedom about where he patrolled, and Tess wasn’t about to turn down the offer of extra help. In Long Beach there was strength in numbers, and everyone who could would show up to shots calls, so his presence was not out of line. But he was too good-looking for her own good. And he was not at all standoffish, not like Bender, a man who made no secret of the fact that he was not happy Tess was the new chief.
“I expect you’ll waltz in here and change everything that makes this a great place to work,” he’d groused the first day she’d met him. “If I’d wanted to work in California, I’d’ve moved there.”
It had gone downhill from there. Bender practically broadcast the fact he’d applied to every department in the state that was hiring lateral police applicants. And job offering bulletins from all over the state had been tacked up on the station bulletin board with regularity.
It was a bit refreshing that Logan was helpful without being obnoxious.
He caught Tess’s eye. They’d all tried to talk Bubba into dropping the gun to no avail. He seemed to have an unending supply of bullets. Logan had a Taser, but he’d have to get close to deploy it, and there was no guarantee it would have any effect. Fact was, a drunk with a gun was just too volatile.
And she didn’t want this to end in a fatal police shooting, not if she could help it. She’d survived here so far without losing her cool or ending up in a controversy. As unhappy as she was, she knew only a major issue would make her quit, while she doubted it would take as much for the small city council to fire her. And, Paul notwithstanding, she had too much respect for her father’s legacy; she did not want to be fired. As far as hating her new job, she would suck up her angst. The Hoover shooting in LB had taken everything from her but the knowledge that she’d stayed true to her pop’s memory.
Today was the two-month anniversary of her appointment as Rogue’s Hollow chief of police, and while her career hopes and dreams might have been dying a slow death, she didn’t want any people to die.
Though she knew it hadn’t changed any, Tess looked around at the personnel she had with her on this call. Logan and Bender. There was an Oregon State Police officer en route, but she wasn’t sure when he’d get here or how he could help when everything they’d already tried had failed.
She’d thought about calling in an off-duty officer to help but didn’t because she knew how tight the small budget was. That was a tightrope she’d walked in Long Beach, knowing the difference between essential overtime and nonessential overtime. Rogue’s Hollow just didn’t have the resources for nonessential.
And Bubba wasn’t shooting at people; he was just shooting. Even the red-faced roofer had eventually conceded that Bubba wasn’t shooting at him.
Bubba’s manufactured home sat on a rural wooded lot. From what Tess already knew of the area, at one time he probably could have sat on his porch and shot up trees all day long. But three lots next to him had sold, and the new owner of one of them was trying to build a home. Tess heard rumors that all three properties would be growing cannabis, but that wasn’t her problem now.
This was where the roofing contractor came into the picture. One of Bubba’s bullets had shot out a chunk of wood from a roof truss, sending a small splinter into the roofer’s face. The guy was understandably hopping mad and wanted to file charges.
“He’s reckless! He could have killed me without even realizing it.” The contractor wanted him stopped and thrown in jail.
Tess agreed that he had a point and was trying to do just that. But Bubba was not complying in any way, shape, or form, validating a universal formula: for instant idiot, just add alcohol. It was impossible to reason with a drunk. That he was so drunk this early in the morning certainly signified some kind of issue. To walk straight up to him, even Bender conceded, would be dangerous and crazy because he was uninhibited and unpredictable.
Though it would have been comforting to have a few more bodies, Tess would make do. Not for the first time since she’d signed her contract, she found herself missing the large Southern California police department she’d grown up in. In Long Beach, she would have had any number of resources at her beck and call to deal with someone like Bubba.
A MET unit, or mental evaluation team, a crisis negotiator, a SWAT team—heavens, at this point Tess would be happy with a beanbag-shooting shotgun. That would have a better range than a Taser.
Her gaze caught
that of Officer Bender. The mocking impatience in his eyes didn’t go over her head.
She’d been surprised that the eight police officers she now supervised were not more supportive of her position. She’d expected a little attitude from Sergeant Pounder, only because he’d been acting chief for eight months. But not cold shoulders from the majority of her employees.
Even in Long Beach most of the men and women on the PD knew that the press and public opinion were wrongly persecuting Tess. She’d saved JT Barnes’s life. Many of them had begged her to stay and fight for her job. But her presence in Long Beach had made it hard for the PD as a whole to operate. The last thing Tess would ever want was to be responsible for another cop being hurt. She did know that since she’d left, the protests had stopped and Connor-Ruiz was not getting the attention he wanted.
Now she owed Rogue’s Hollow the best she had to offer for Pop’s sake, cold shoulders or not, despite the impulse to run away.
Sergeant Logan gave her every respect, even a little deference, but Tess knew that a wrong move here on her part could destroy her image in everyone’s eyes, maybe make it impossible to recover any modicum of respect.
Bubba fired off a few more rounds skyward.
“Problem solving, decision making,” Tess muttered a phrase under her breath from her field training eighteen years ago.
“What?” Logan asked.
“Nothing.” She handed him the bullhorn. “I’m going to try and get behind him. Keep him occupied.”
Logan started to say something, then stopped. He nodded. “Your call,” he said and went back to watching Bubba.
In spite of everything, a shiver went through her; his eyes were so blue and the statement of his confidence in her bolstered her own. It made Tess realize how much she missed and wanted closeness with someone, anyone.
Rule #12 applied: “Keep work professional, and personal life, personal.”
Forcing her thoughts to the problem at hand, Tess struggled to develop a strategy. She’d tried earlier to talk to the drunk guy but he had not responded. He simply drank his beer and fired his handgun.
She made her way back around her patrol car, then Logan’s, just as Bubba started shooting again. Tess jumped and turned. The guy had a semiautomatic rifle now and was shooting that into the air.
Make that two guns the last chief had missed.
This had to stop.
Bender caught her eye as she crossed to the other side of the narrow driveway.
“Going for a walk?” he sneered.
Tess ignored him. “Hold your position.”
She continued through the thick copse of trees to the left of Bubba’s home. The trees would give her cover only so long. Then there was the car garden, four or five aging and broken-down vehicles of assorted makes, in various stages of decay, that dotted the lot. She thought she heard Bender mutter something, but she wasn’t going to play his game. Now wasn’t the time.
She pushed her way through the thick bunch of trees, hands and face getting scratched here and there. When her cover ended, Tess paused and Logan began talking to Bubba.
“Come on, Bubba, why don’t you put the gun down? I don’t want to see anyone get hurt and we all have other things to do today.”
Bubba answered him by hooting and shooting some more.
Tess eyed the sprint she’d have to make. A good seventy-five-yard dash with two jogs to avoid cars. Tess had been a middle distance runner in college; this was a bona fide sprint in full police gear. Bubba would have plenty of time to turn and shoot her in her tracks. A quick end to a short, unhappy job as chief of police.
Bubba’s back was to her, so Tess took a deep breath, counted to ten, and broke from cover, legs pumping, arms moving.
Twenty-five yards, fifty, seventy, almost to the porch. Tess leaped as Bubba turned toward her, silly grin on his face. She hit the top of the porch and launched herself into the big drunk man’s broad shoulder.
The impact took her breath away. They crashed down onto the rough surface of planks that made up his porch, and Tess grabbed for his gun, but it went flying. She then reached for a fat wrist with one hand and her handcuffs with the other.
For his part Bubba didn’t seem to know what hit him. The smell of body odor, stale beer, and cigarettes was pungent and thick. Tess got one fat wrist cuffed by the time Logan appeared at her side and helped her secure the other.
Shoulder aching, breath coming hard, Tess stood and brushed off and straightened her uniform while Logan, then Bender, finished securing Bubba. The big man was now crying.
Hands on hips, Tess watched as they pulled him to his feet.
“Okay now. We can book him.” She looked at Logan, who regarded her approvingly.
“Nice work, Chief.”
Bender only grunted an acknowledgment and took hold of the drunk’s forearm.
While Tess was taking down Bubba, the OSP car had pulled in beside all the other police vehicles. The state trooper stood at the front of his car, hands on hips, watching. Tess raised a hand with four fingers to indicate the situation was code 4, under control, then ignored him. He’d been a spectator anyway.
Logan stepped close when she turned her attention back to the mobile home. “Chief, it might make more sense for me to book this guy. It will take your day officer out of service for a long time. If I go, you and Gabe can confiscate the guns. All the guns.”
Bender had paused his progress to the car, his expression hopeful. Tess knew immediately what a generous offer this was. For Logan to offer to ride forty minutes to Medford to book a stinky drunk was huge.
Though it was a nice gesture for Bender, Tess could see in Logan’s eyes that he was trying to help her out.
She sucked in a breath, working to stay formal, professional. “That’s nice of you, Sergeant Logan. I’d appreciate that.”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ve got this.” He walked to where Bender stood with Bubba, took one arm, and Bender took the other. Together they ushered the drunk to the sergeant’s car. The drunk kept mumbling that he was sorry.
When Bender returned, Tess said, “Let’s you and me confiscate his guns and ammo and make sure we get all of it this time.”
He nodded, and as he moved to help her, Tess noted, with not a little satisfaction, that Bender wouldn’t meet her gaze this time.
13
Tess tried not to pat herself on the back after the Bubba incident. Besides the fact that she was sore and achy from tackling the big oaf, she could not ignore the voice in her head that said she’d acted like a raw rookie. Yeah, she’d gotten her man, but at great personal risk.
In Long Beach, a move like that, rushing an armed man, would have been called reckless, poor officer safety, and she’d have been sent to remedial training.
But she’d so wanted to prove, especially to Gabriel Bender, that she was up for this job, that she could be a solid, fearless chief of police who could solve problems without shooting. After two months she still didn’t feel connected to anyone who worked for her. True, they weren’t all like Bender. Her one sergeant, Curtis Pounder, was always the consummate professional; likewise Del Jeffers, the oldest cop on the payroll, was respectful. Martin Getz, one of the younger guys, even seemed to think she had a lot to teach him. The only woman on the force, Becky Jonkey, worked swing shift and Tess had had little contact with her. Tess lamented that the camaraderie, the inclusion she’d always felt in Long Beach, was not here.
She was more hands-on here than any chief in Long Beach would be. In Long Beach the chief of police didn’t even answer his own e-mail. It was all screened by a secretary first. He had a lieutenant and two sergeants working in his office to delegate to. But Tess learned right away there’d be no one screening her e-mail, and sitting behind a desk all day wasn’t going to happen. It was important, given the light staffing, that she have a public presence. She’d taken to wearing the full uniform—ballistic vest, Sam Browne, the whole nine yards—while in the office, and she paid close a
ttention to the radio.
When she wasn’t hating her life, she could admit that she’d actually stepped into a well-run department. Seven patrol officers and one sergeant was tight for a population of just over five thousand, but things ran smoothly. She’d left the staffing alone. Some of it was unconventional, but it seemed to work. Officers worked three twelve-hour shifts with an eight-hour shift every other week. Sergeant Pounder worked a flexible five eight-hour-day workweek. He’d flex his hours if he thought more coverage was needed or if for some reason he was called out on overtime when he was off. The only bumps were the shortages that occurred with normal absences: vacations, training, sick days.
All the officers lived within the city limits and took their patrol cars home with them just in case they were needed and called in on their off hours. Tess had found that something similar to her sergeant’s unconventional flexible schedule worked for her. Except since she’d started here, she’d logged well over forty hours every week. She would always check in before she left town and return if or when the radio indicated things were busy.
Though these two months had been filled with minor stuff, she’d stepped up wherever she could to help and support her people. Was she doing too much or not enough? It didn’t seem to make a dent in attitudes. A still small voice in her head kept telling her she didn’t need to take risks; all she had to do was relax and be herself and it would all work out.
But why don’t I see any improvement with the confidence of my people? Why won’t they let me into their inner circle?
Since Logan had offered to book Bubba, leaving Bender free to stay in town and help catalog the guns and file the report, Tess wondered if she’d be able to make any headway with the man.
As she made the turn to the station lot, Tess remembered the encounter with Duncan earlier, a little miffed that she hadn’t been able to address his troublemaking sooner. If she’d been able to, she would have given his parents an earful.
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