Rookie Mistake (California Dreamers Romantic Comedy Series Book 4)

by Dakota Madison

  “And I don’t want to fail the class.”

  I hand him back his documents. “Drive safely.”

  As soon as the kid pulls away Cody and I crack up.

  “Can you believe that?” he asks. “It was a doll.”

  “What I can’t believe is that you haven’t already starting singing a song.”

  He grins then starts singing O-o-oh Child by the Five Stairsteps.

  ***

  “Have you let your partner park his train in your station again?” Zoe asks as she plops down on my daybed.

  “Of course not.” I sit down next to her. “We’re playing things by the book until he’s completed his field training.”

  “And then what? Isn’t there some kind of rule that you can’t date a fellow officer?”

  “I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.”

  “And you’re supposed to be the sensible one.”

  “I guess if we decide we still want to be together one of us would have to transfer to another department.”

  “Would you be willing to do that?” She raises an eyebrow.

  “That’s a good question.”

  “That’s why I’m asking,” she says pointedly. “And I am going to wait for a real answer.”

  I heave a sigh. “I have no idea.”

  “It’s not a trick question. I want to know what you’d be willing to do for love.”

  “I never said anything about love,” I correct.

  She crosses her arms in front of her and glares at me. “You can lie to me, but please be honest with yourself.”

  “I’ve never lied to you,” I protest.

  “Really? I know you have feelings for your rookie. You can’t deny it. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Maybe…”

  “That’s all I get? Maybe?”

  “You want me to be honest?”

  She nods.

  “I’m afraid to admit how I feel because I don’t want to get hurt again. I want to see what he’s willing to do first.”

  “He knows you’re a cop and he still wants to be with you?”

  I nod.

  “He knows you’re single-minded and often driven to obsession and he still wants to be with you?”

  “He has seen that side of me on occasion.”

  “He knows that you’re a stick in the mud who does everything by-the-book and he still wants to be with you?”

  “It seems that way.”

  “Then why are we even having this discussion? You need to do whatever it takes to hold onto that man. He’s obviously a saint or he’s been blinded by your magic hoo-ha. Either way, don’t ever let him get away.”

  ***

  “Today I’m going to have you take the lead on our calls,” I tell Cody as we approach our vehicle.

  “You are?” He sounds a lot less excited about the plan than I thought he would be. He actually sounds extremely apprehensive.

  “It’s the third week of your training. I think you’re ready.”

  “I assume that means you want me to drive.”

  “That’s why I had you study maps of the area.”

  The color drains from Cody’s face. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

  “I’ll be right there with you,” I assure him.

  He takes in a deep breath. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “Nope.”

  For the first time since he started field training Cody gets into the driver’s seat and I take the passenger side. I have to admit that I have some apprehension about the transition myself. Not because I don’t trust Cody. It’s more about me not wanting to give up control.

  But allowing him to take the wheel, both literally and figuratively, is an important part of his training.

  Once he gets signed in and we’re on the road he seems to relax a little bit.

  “Are you going to the recital Friday night?” he asks.

  “My sister’s performing. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “And I heard this rumor that you’re conducting the string quartet,” I tease. “I have to see that.”

  “The kids are doing a great job.”

  “Hadley said you’re a decent conductor.”

  He scowls. “Decent?”

  “She said you’re the best music teacher they’ve ever had. Is that better?”

  His face lights up. “Much.”

  I have to admit that I enjoy seeing him happy. It’s not very often that he seems to be, especially on the job. His joy only seems to surface when the discussion is focused on music.

  Our first call of the morning is a domestic disturbance.

  “Great way to start the day,” I joke.

  “As long as someone doesn’t try to hit me with a frying pan I’ll be happy.”

  “You do realize that it’s not just cookware that could come flying out the door. I wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of a soaring clothes iron. An airborne dictionary would probably hurt pretty badly too. There are a few types of women’s shoes that could do a number on you if it was the heel speeding towards your face.”

  “I get your point.”

  He pulls the patrol car up to a rundown bungalow.

  “This is it.”

  The place is just a few steps above a complete dump. We both get out of the car and approach the place with caution. The entire house is dilapidated. All of the paint is peeling off of the front door.

  “I guess I have to knock on the creepy front door?”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” I remind him.

  He gives me the stink eye before he pounds on the door.

  We wait several moments before there’s a shuffling noise on the other side of the door. When the door opens we’re greeted by an old woman in a bathrobe and slippers. She looks almost as decrepit as her house.

  “Did you phone the police?” Cody asks her.

  The woman gives him a shaky nod. “My husband has some rocks in his box.”

  “Rocks in his box?” Cody asks. “What does that mean?”

  “Bats in the belfry.”

  Cody still looks confused.

  “Cocoa loco.”

  “I think she’s saying her husband is a little nuts,” I whisper to him. “That’s the clinical term.”

  “May we come in?” he asks.

  She opens the door wider to allow us entrance.

  “What’s your name?” Cody asks the woman.

  “Mrs. June March.”

  That’s an unfortunate combination.

  “He hasn’t been right since Vietnam,” she tells us as we step inside.

  “That was forty years ago,” Cody replies.

  She harrumphs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Where is your husband now?” he asks.

  “He’s wandering around the backyard.”

  We follow the old woman through the kitchen then out the backdoor. Her husband is also in bathrobe, but he’s wearing combat boots rather than slippers. What’s left of the man’s wavy hair is completely askew. It looks like a hair salad on top of his head.

  “Shoot on sight,” he shouts as he marches towards some bushes.

  “Does your husband have access to any weapons,” Cody asks.

  Mrs. March shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”

  “We should still proceed with extreme caution,” I whisper to Cody.

  He nods in agreement.

  When the man finally turns and marches back towards us he stops just short of Cody and salutes him. “All present and accounted for, sir.”

  “I’m Officer Jackson and his is Officer Navarro. We’re police officers.”

  The man’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of us.

  “Can you tell us your name?” Cody asks him.

  “March, sir. Private March.”

  “Do you know where you are?”

  The man glances around the yard. “Huế.”

  “Do you know what day it is?”


  “February 2, 1968.”

  “That’s the day his brother was killed in Vietnam,” Mrs. March whispers to me.

  Cody glances in my direction. “We should probably take him to the hospital so he can see a physician and a psychiatrist.”

  “Good call,” I tell him.

  “Sir, we’d like to take you to the hospital.”

  The man shakes his head. “The guys in my squad need me.” He points to the few trees on the other side of the yard.

  “You may have been injured in the line of duty,” Cody tells him. “We’d like to take you to get checked out.”

  The man seems to consider this for a few moments. Then to everyone’s horror Mr. March sucker punches Cody right in the nose.

  I react more quickly than my brain has time to process what’s going on. I immediately place Mr. March under arrest and handcuff him.

  There’s so much blood pouring from Cody’s nose it looks like he’s been injured a lot worse than being punched.

  “Please don’t hurt him,” Mrs. March yelps.

  “Hurt him?’ Cody fires back. “Look what he did to me?”

  “He didn’t mean it,” she cries. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  She’s probably right. Her husband is a few sheets short of a full load. Regardless, he still attacked a police officer.

  As we escort Mr. March out of the backyard his wife continues to beg us not to harm him.

  “He’ll be safe with us,” I assure her.

  The front of Cody’s uniform looks like a crime scene and it doesn’t look like his nose is going to stop bleeding anytime soon.

  “There’s a First Aid kit in the trunk,” I remind him. “I think I’d better drop you off at the hospital on the way to the jail.”

  “Good thinking.” He’s trying to stop the bleeding with pressure on his nose, but the blood is streaming down his arm.

  Luckily we’re not far from the Emergency Room where I leave Cody.

  “I’ll phone you as soon as I can,” I tell him.

  I have just enough time to get Mr. March processed before I receive another call. All hands on deck at a home where they suspect crystal meth is being produced and distributed.

  By the time I get there quite a few of our officers who are on duty have already responded, including the K-9 Unit.

  “What’s happening?” I ask one of the other patrol officers who is waiting next to the K-9. Officer Polo and I started working for the department around the same time.

  “The house is occupied by two brothers and their girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend? Singular?”

  Officer Polo shrugs. “They believe the suspects are armed. They don’t want to go in because there are small children in the house. The siblings are cousins, if you catch my drift.”

  “The brothers both have kids with the same girlfriend.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “It will make for interesting family reunions.”

  “If they live that long. I don’t know why anyone would expose their kids to all of those chemicals. We’ve got to wait for a HAZMAT team to deal with that shit.” He glances behind me. “Where’s your partner?”

  “He got punched in the nose.”

  “Ouch. Was there a lot of blood?”

  I nod. “I dropped him off at the ER.”

  “I got elbowed in the face once trying to break up a bar brawl. Blood was gushing from my nose. I didn’t think it would ever stop.”

  “Looks like something’s happening.” I point to the front door as it cracks open.

  A young woman with straggly blonde hair wearing ragged old clothes walks out of the house with her hands up. “My kids,” she shouts. “I’m worried about my kids.”

  “Will you bring them out?” The lead officer yells to her.

  The woman nods then disappears back into the house. A few moments later two kids, who both who look under the age of five, run out of the house. The woman follows holding a toddler on one hip and cradling an infant with her other arm.

  She’s definitely been busy with her brother lovers.

  The woman is greeted by two child protection officers as soon as she’s cleared by the police.

  “Anyone else want to surrender?” The lead officer says into a megaphone.

  There’s no response.

  I have a feeling this standoff is going to last a while.

  “I heard that partner of yours was some kind of musical prodigy when he was a kid,” Officer Polo says.

  “That’s news to me,” I admit.

  “Background check. Apparently there was an article about him in the newspaper.”

  It doesn’t surprise me. The guy seems to live for music.

  When the guys in HAZMAT suits finally arrive the lead officer begins to make plans for entry into the home.

  I’m sure if I’m asked to do anything at this point it will be backup, at least until it’s time to collect evidence. Then I’ll be busy bagging.

  “We want to surrender,” a voice yells from inside the house.

  “Come out slowly with your hands over your head,” the lead officer advises.

  When the door swings open one of the brothers steps outside. He’s tall and thin with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. His hands aren’t quite as far over his head as I would like them to be, but he is proceeding very slowly as he exits the home.

  As soon as his eyes land on the K-9 Unit he completely freaks out. “Not the dog,” he shouts. “Anything but the dog.”

  “The K-9 Unit will stand down,” the lead officer assures him.

  The man starts to shake as his eyes remain plastered on the police dog.

  Most of us are so focused on the shaking man we don’t notice until it’s too late that his brother has exited the home waving a gun in the air.

  The man with the gun is shorter and stockier than his brother. His hair is short and he’s sporting a goatee.

  When the shorter brother starts firing shots everything happens so fast it’s a blur.

  One of the bullets the assailant manages to fire hits me right in the shoulder.

  “Maya,” I hear Officer Polo scream right before I hit the ground.

  Six

  I drift in and out of consciousness. For a brief moment I see an EMT looking down at me. Then I’m in the Emergency Room and people are yelling about an officer with a gunshot wound.

  I think about my dad. They said he died on impact. I’m not dead yet, but will I be? I was hit in the shoulder. At least I think I was. That shouldn’t be a mortal wound.

  ***

  When I wake up again I’m in a hospital room. My mom is standing next to my bed. Her eyes are red and puffy like she’s been crying.

  “Mom,” I mutter. I feel like I’m in a haze and my brain isn’t quite matching up with my mouth.

  “Maya, you’re awake.” Her eyes light up

  “Was I operated on?” Either that or I was run over by a steamroller.

  She nods. “They took the bullet out of your shoulder. They don’t think there will be any lasting damage. You’ll just need some time to heal.”

  “Is he dead?” I ask even though I’m pretty sure I know the answer. Anyone who exits a house like that brandishing a weapon is usually trying to commit suicide by cop.

  “Both assailants were killed,” she reports.

  I immediately think of the man who shot my father. He escaped with his life, but he’ll be spending it in prison. He got a life sentence without the possibility of parole.

  My mom leans over and kisses my check. “I was worried about you. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. Tears begin to stream down my cheek.

  She places a hand on my arm. “You were doing your job.”

  “A job you never wanted me to do,” I remind her.

  “Your friend stopped by while you were asleep.”

  “Zoe?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Zoe is my only
friend.”

  “Your friend from work. Cody Jackson.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He looks like someone punched him in the face. I think he was more concerned about you.”

  “I’m fine,” I insist.

  My mom raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Not really.”

  “Just don’t let them convince you that time heals all wounds. It’s a lie. You’ll always have scars. And I don’t just mean the physical kind.”

  “This is the first time that I’ve actually considered doing something with my life other than being a police officer. The only problem is that I have no idea what else to do.”

  She kisses my cheek. “You don’t need to make any decisions right now. You just need to worry about getting better and getting out of the hospital.”

  When I glance towards to door, I notice Cody enter. My mom is right. He looks like someone who got into a bar fight. There’s a bandage over the bridge of his nose and he has dark bruises under his eyes.

  “I’m going to grab a cup of tea in the cafeteria.” My mom gives my leg a squeeze before she takes off.

  Cody takes the seat next to my bed, but doesn’t say anything. When our eyes meet I notice his are moist.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “I think I’m supposed to be asking you that question. You’re the one who got shot.”

  “I’m a little dizzy and my arm hurts like hell. I’m sure your nose is pretty painful.”

  “My head has been throbbing since I got punched.”

  “Aren’t we a pair of sad sacks?”

  He takes my hand in his. “I need to talk to you.”

  My stomach tightens. I’ve heard those words too many times. Guys generally say them right before they dump you.

  Technically we’re not together, so he can’t actually dump me. But I have feelings for him, so it’s still possible for him to break my heart.

  “This is really difficult for me to say.”

  I try to pull my hand from his, but he’s holding me too tightly. Not that I have that much strength right now anyway. I can’t remember ever feeling so weak in my life.

  “Just say it,” I snap.

  He gnaws on his lip for several seconds and I feel like I’m going to die.

  Who tells someone they don’t want to be with them right after they’ve been shot? I’ve definitely hit a new all-time low in my love life.

  “I’ll let you off the hook,” I tell him. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me. This isn’t my first rodeo. I know when I’m being dumped.”