Back to Life

by Linda O. Johnston

  “You finished?” Greg Blanding called out from a nearby desk. Like Trevor, he’d come in way early, before day shift roll call, and had just e-mailed his report.

  “Yeah, I’m done,” he told Greg. “And, yes, before you ask, I feel good enough to head outside for a workout.” But the question he’d known his thin friend with the shaved head was about to ask reminded him of his injuries. He instinctively rubbed his neck. It was still sore, but he was getting close to a hundred percent.

  “Good,” Greg said. “Shavinsky’s back on duty already. Almost as amazing as your recovery…Well, not quite. His wounds last night weren’t as bad as yours. But he’s mad. Wants to talk to us before roll call, get us ready to run some practice scenarios later on, probably similar to those we’ve already encountered with Marinaro.”

  Trevor thought practice scenarios like that would make damned good use of K-9s with certain training backgrounds, but he wasn’t going to bring that up just yet.

  “Is Shavinsky officially our team leader yet?” he asked as he stood up. He’d come to the station wearing workout sweats in anticipation of the exercises to come.

  “Any day now, or at least that’s the way the guys who’ve chipped in to our pool see it. We’re each choosing a day as the one we think the final decision will be announced. You want in?”

  “Why not?” Trevor reached into his pocket and pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. “Who’s keeping it?”

  “Yours truly. We’re all bought out up to next Monday. You want then?”

  “If that’s the best I can do.”

  They headed outside. Trevor’s gaze instinctively went toward the fenced area next to the SWAT training grounds where the K-9s hung out for their workouts and other needs. A couple of guys were there doing early morning exercises with their dogs, but not Skye and Bella, which was probably a good thing since Trevor wanted to concentrate on the training exercise he was about to engage in.

  About half the team was already there. Most were doing push-ups and pull-ups to prepare themselves for the day’s official training. Before Trevor could join them, his new cell phone rang, and he pulled it from another pocket. He recognized the number on the display. “Owens,” he barked.

  “Hey, Owens, this is Edinger. I want you to know I talked to my lawyer, and he said your calling me in the middle of the night, showing up where I work—that’s harassment. I can sue you and your damned police department for millions if you don’t lay off. Got it?”

  “Well, gee, Eddy. I think any claim you’d make would be your word against mine. I showed up at your work establishment because I’m thinking of having some landscaping done at my house and I’m starting to think about who to hire. And any other call I might have made to you—which I’m not confirming—would have been simply to check on your welfare.”

  “Look, just leave me alone. I’m not guilty. Just ask the judge. Got it?”

  “I got that you got off,” Trevor said with a tight grin. “Not that the system did what it was supposed to. So, good guy that I am, I’ll watch your back—a lot. Make sure you’re safe. Same goes for everyone around you. Of course if you get out of line and try to kill someone else, just remember I’m right behind you. And I’ll catch you in the act. Then we’ll see if some high and mighty judge will let you off on some ridiculous technicality. See ya, Edinger.” Trevor hung up.

  The guy really was getting a little nervous.

  What a shame.

  Chapter 12

  Y esterday’s surviving victim was going to be fine. She had been held overnight in the hospital for observation, and Skye had gone to see her before reporting for work.

  Her name was Sally Brighton, and she was twenty-five years old, only two years younger than Skye. At the theater, her long hair had been disheveled and her face was a mask of terror. This morning she sat in the hospital bed wearing a frilly pink robe that was probably her own. Her dark brown hair was combed in attractive waves about her pretty, small-featured face. There was a haunted look behind her amber eyes, even though she smiled at Skye.

  “You were there yesterday,” she said immediately after Skye knocked and entered the room.

  Since she would soon be on her way to the station, Skye wore her uniform, and her hair was pulled away from her face as usual. Though she figured she looked like a cop, she was a little surprised that the woman recognized her, considering the state of panic she’d been in at the time they’d met.

  “Yes, I was there,” Skye acknowledged. And maybe she shouldn’t be here. But she cared about what happened to this woman.

  And she wanted to learn all she could about Marinaro to assist in stopping him from hurting anyone else.

  “You had a dog with you, didn’t you? I have to say that things yesterday…Well, I remember more than I want, but not all I should.” A frown creased her otherwise perfect complexion.

  “You’ll recall everything that matters, I’m sure. You’ve been interviewed already by some detectives, haven’t you?” The ABPD detectives were always efficient, but Skye didn’t want to taint anything by her own questions if, for some odd reason, they hadn’t yet spoken with her.

  Sally confirmed that she’d been interviewed several times—in the ambulance, after she’d been treated at the hospital and early that morning.

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Skye approached the stark hospital bed, where Sally looked almost too exhausted to be propped into a sitting position. “And I’m not asking right now in any official capacity, but can you describe who hurt you?”

  Skye knew full well what Trevor Owens had in mind to discuss that night at dinner. She wanted to come prepared. And ready to work with him—but only if it made sense.

  “It never dawned on me that I shouldn’t be there alone,” Sally said with a shudder. “The theater’s like my second home. And when I heard someone come in, I assumed…I assumed it was another cast member, or someone else associated with our acting troupe.” Tears started cascading down her smooth cheeks.

  And when she gave a description of her attacker that matched Marinaro’s, Skye nodded but didn’t mention his name.

  “Thanks for going back over such a hard thing,” she said softly. “Everything you tell us will hopefully help us catch the suspect quickly and prevent him from hurting anyone else.”

  “He killed a man last night, didn’t he?” Sally cried. “They didn’t tell me here, but I saw it on the news.” She waved her hand toward the television mounted on the wall facing her bed.

  “Unfortunately, he did kill someone in the parking lot,” Skye confirmed to the weeping woman. “Was he…Did you know him?”

  “No. They said he was just there to see if he could get tickets for his family for this weekend’s show.” Sally started crying even harder, and a nurse came in.

  “I’m sorry, Officer, but I have to ask you to leave,” she said. “Ms. Brighton needs her rest.”

  “Of course. Please take good care of her. And, Sally, please know that I—we—will do all we can to find the man who hurt you.”

  Skye hurried out the door and rushed home to pick up Bella, so they wouldn’t be late for roll call.

  She wanted to see Trevor this morning, first thing—to confirm their dinner meeting tonight and let him know she was ready to offer her services and Bella’s to catch Marinaro.

  “I thought Marinaro might strike again this evening to make us postpone again,” Trevor said. “He’s got to know that once we’ve teamed up, he’s toast.” He grinned, and she smiled back.

  Trevor sat across the table from Skye at one of the area’s most posh restaurants, the Angeles Fish House. He had called earlier, and she had agreed, reluctantly, to leave Bella home. This place was worth an evening away from her partner. Every table in the dimly lit dining room was occupied, but the acoustics were good enough, despite the violinist playing softly in a corner, for Skye to hear Trevor’s every word.

  Or maybe it was because she concentrated on him so deeply.

&nb
sp; “I’ll drink to that.” She lifted her wine goblet.

  Trevor clinked his goblet against hers, then took a sip. He wore a beige button-down shirt that, even in the soft lighting, seemed to deepen the dark mahogany shade of his eyes. Their sparkle was enhanced even more by the twinkling candle in a frosted glass holder.

  Skye tamped down her simmering sexual reaction. This was business. “I went to see last night’s victim, the woman who survived,” she told him. She described her visit as the mellowness on Trevor’s face slowly turned into a frown of concern. But as expressive as his face was, nothing detracted from how wonderfully his sharp, defined features fit together. His jaw was strong and determined despite the boyish cleft in his chin. His lips, though set in a straight line of resolve, were full—and Skye recalled all too well how exciting it had felt to kiss him last night, despite all that was going on around them.

  “Too bad we didn’t get Marinaro the night he shot Danver and me,” Trevor said. “It would have saved that lady from one hell of a bad situation. Not to mention the vic who died.”

  “No sense going backward,” Skye said. “Before I left the station, I checked with some of the detectives to see if there were any more Marinaro sightings or tips. They said there were the usual calls from good citizens who want to help after an ugly incident, but so far none has resulted in anything helpful.”

  “Which is where you come in.” Trevor waited as the male, informally dressed server refilled their wine from the bottle and whisked away their nearly empty salad dishes.

  “How can Bella and I help?” Skye asked, leaning toward him when the server had gone. “No one, not even the department’s best, seems to have a clue.”

  “I’ve got some ideas,” Trevor said. “The thing is, I won’t have as much time as I’d like to deal with him until I can put my other commitments behind me.”

  He paused while Skye was served a luscious-looking grilled halibut steak, and the thresher shark teriyaki that Trevor had ordered was placed in front of him. The aromas of the freshly cooked seafood dishes made Skye’s mouth water, and she picked up her fork, ready to dig in.

  After a few bites, Trevor said, “Try some of this.” He cut off a little of his fish and passed it onto Skye’s plate. She did the same—and found the gesture oddly but pleasurably intimate.

  “Anyway,” Trevor continued, “I’m sure you can appreciate why it’s personal with me.” He speared a bit of his shark and thrust it into his mouth. Skye watched as his lips closed and he chewed fiercely, as if he was as much of a predator as the food he ate. Perhaps he was, in his drive to capture Marinaro.

  “Of course I understand,” she said. “But I don’t see how—”

  “I’ll have an edge if I can work with Bella and you. Your dog seems smart, and good at what she does.”

  “She sure is,” Skye acknowledged.

  “Above all, she’s gotten Marinaro’s scent, and not just once but twice. I’ve a few ideas where to search for him, and once I get some confirmation I want Bella, and you, to help nail him at one of those locations. Can I count on you?”

  “You’re talking about doing this while we’re off duty,” Skye hedged. “Unofficially.” She suspected he did a lot of things unofficially if he thought it would help bring down the bad guys. She wasn’t necessarily against it, but needed all the facts about what she was getting into.

  “Yes. That means we’ll have to rely a lot on each other. If things go down wrong, we could both get into trouble.”

  “I understand, but I reserve the right to opt out at any time.”

  “Got it,” he said.

  He was being awfully nice. Conciliatory. And damned sexy, with his heavy-lidded, attentive smile.

  “I guess we have a deal,” she said. “And if I hear of any leads on finding the suspect, I’ll keep you informed. But—well, I’m curious. How did you happen to become a cop in the first place?”

  His expression suddenly grew studiously blank again. “I was a naive kid when I decided that’s what I’d do. I had the odd notion I could make sure justice always triumphed.”

  “I get it.” And she did, kind of. She didn’t condone what she had found in his files, but she assumed he had been looking for justice in his own way—and that way had gone awry with those terrible suspects, who’d attacked him.

  Or was she being naive, too?

  “No, I don’t think you do get it,” he contradicted. “Since I’m asking for your help, I guess it’s fair that you understand what’s driving me. The thing is, ever since I was a kid, I knew that justice doesn’t often—or even usually—triumph, so I try to even the odds.”

  “What do you mean?” He looked tense and angry, so Skye reached across the table and gently touched his arm. It felt as if he’d tautened every muscle into tempered metal.

  He stared at her. “Long story short? When I was a kid, my dad owned a convenience store. Some punks came in one day, robbed and shot him. Turned out they’d done it before. The evidence against them in the earlier case had supposedly seemed incontrovertible—till they got put on trial. Usual story—they got off on a technicality. They weren’t nabbed after my dad’s death and they killed again before they were finally caught. They wound up being convicted, but it was too late for my dad and the others. That’s what sent me into law enforcement. And now I do everything I can—everything—to help the good guys win and stop killers before they harm more civilians. Now, you want out before we start?”

  His hand suddenly grasped hers so tightly it almost hurt. His dark eyes bored into hers challengingly. Fiercely.

  They sparked something way down inside her.

  She wanted to hold the little boy he’d been. And she wanted to help tame the furious beast that now dwelled deep inside his soul, crying out for help. For justice.

  “No, I’m in, Trevor, she said softly. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  Trevor never meant to bring up that stuff about his father. But Skye was really something. Something nice, which was a real turn-on.

  Everything about her was a turn-on. In fact, as much as he needed to recruit her help in his scheme to track down Marinaro, he also just wanted to tear off her clothes and take her.

  For now, though, he was just going to concentrate on staying with her for as long as he could.

  The young, eager server who seemed to be bucking for a large tip came to the table to see if they wanted coffee.

  “Sure. Black. How about you?” he asked Skye.

  “Coffee sounds good.” The server trotted off. “Actually I’m already feeling kind of jumpy. I don’t think I’ll sleep well tonight, and coffee won’t help.”

  I know what would help you sleep, Trevor thought.

  The pupils of her brilliant blue eyes widened as if she heard what he was thinking. Well, hell, she didn’t have to hear his thoughts to know what was on his mind. He was practically undressing her without even touching her.

  “So how did you wind up in Angeles Beach?” he asked, as if the question had been on the tip of his tongue all night. In a way, it had. He wanted to know about her. Everything about her.

  “I chose it over a lot of other possible locations,” she responded. “Not just me, but also some friends from childhood. Ron Gollar, of course, and two female buddies. We decided to stick together, so we looked for a place with opportunities for all of us. I’d taken basic training at a police academy near where I grew up. Then, after spending a few years on a police force, I trained as a K-9 cop. My girlfriends were both in the health care profession. Angeles Beach seemed perfect, especially when a spot opened up for a K-9 officer. Ron went into the military but decided to join us when he got out.”

  “Where’d you grow up?”

  The server came by with their coffee, and she took a sip. “Minnesota.”

  “Ice country,” Trevor said. “No wonder you ended up here. It’s a lot warmer in Southern California.”

  “True,” she said. “I don’t necessarily mind the cold, but, w
ell, this just turned out to be a place we could all agree on.”

  So why did those gorgeous blue eyes of hers turn so shifty? She usually seemed so up front, so in-your-face, boring into him with her gaze as if attempting to figure out everything he was thinking. But not now. Was there something she was hiding? He planned on finding out.

  “So all of you came here to big, bad California. What did your families think about that?”

  “They weren’t happy about it,” Skye said, “but what parents like their kids to move far away?” Her tone had grown firm again, her expression hardened, and Trevor figured he’d hit a sore spot. If only he understood what it was, and why it bothered her so much.

  Much too soon, they’d both finished their coffees. Time to drive Skye home. At least he’d get to stay in her company for a little while longer.

  The Angeles Beach streets on the way to her home were remarkably empty. Soon, they pulled up to the door of the house she shared with Bella. He parked at the curb and went around to do the gentlemanly thing and open her door, but she was already out of the car.

  “I enjoyed tonight a lot, Trevor,” Skye said. “Please let me know how Bella and I can help find Marinaro. And, well, would you like to come in for a little while to talk about it?”

  She’d started out by avoiding his gaze as she stood beneath the white glare of the streetlight overhead. But now she was looking right at him. Her mouth was open just a little, as if inviting him to kiss it. Hard. Heatedly.

  “I’d like that a lot.” He used the remote on his key chain to lock his car and grabbed her hand as they hurried up the walk.

  As soon as they got inside, Trevor took Skye into his arms. But of course they were greeted by Bella, who barked insistently.

  “She needs to go out.” Skye sounded apologetic as she put the dog on a leash and left Trevor sitting on her living room couch—waiting, thinking, anticipating.

  Chapter 13

  A s soon as she came back in, Trevor pulled her against him, and his mouth claimed hers.