To Protect and Serve

by Pat Adeff

  To Protect and Serve

  Pat Adeff

  Copyright © 2014 Pat Adeff

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 1493668803

  ISBN-13: 978-1493668809

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my girls, Cat and Cryss.

  I’m so very proud of you!

  xxxooo

  Mom

  This book is also dedicated to the men and women of America’s police force. Thank you for protecting and serving our communities; for putting your lives on the line. Mike, Dom, Sherrie, Stan, Alex, Diane, Randy…your compassion, humanity and dedication set the standard for police officers everywhere.

  *****************************

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to individuals, either living or dead, is purely from the author’s imagination, not from real life.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A very special “Thank You” goes to Detective Dominick Povero of the Redlands Police Department for side-checking my writing so I sound like I know police procedure. Any and all mistakes are mine, not his. Also, thank you Dom for introducing me to Michael Connelly’s work!

  A special acknowledgement goes to my dad, James Craw, for believing in me. And for buying me a laptop for my writing! Love you! Trish

  Thank you to my brother, Chuck, for giving me that wonderful cabin in Angeles Oaks, where I completed the first draft of this story.

  Thank you to my other brother, Bill, for keeping me fed at The Gourmet Pizza Shoppe in Redlands, CA. Hungry authors don’t write well.

  PROLOGUE

  Doug could no longer feel the fingers of his left hand. His arm from shoulder to wrist was stiff and rapidly becoming numb. He could feel the sticky warmth of fresh blood oozing across his neck from the bullet wound in his shoulder. His heart was leaping in his chest; pulse pounding; breathing rapid, deep and desperate. His shoulder burned as though it was on fire.

  He looked up from where he was unexplainably pinned on the blood-soaked ground and watched the life leaving the young woman’s pleading eyes as the killer tightened his grip around her neck.

  There was nothing Doug could do to prevent her death. Through the buzz in his ears, he could hear sirens from the back-up he’d called for, but he knew they’d be too late. He tried to summon enough strength to reach his gun. He was almost paralyzed with fear, greater than any he’d ever previously encountered in the line of duty. He felt helpless, powerless and useless.

  “Let her go!” he pleaded. “Let her go, and walk away. Don’t kill her. Just walk away.” Doug knew he sounded like he was begging. He was.

  Just as the outstretched fingers of his right hand touched his gun he heard a snap that sounded like the dry branch of a tree breaking, and watched the woman’s lifeless body slide to the ground.

  Although her eyes were open, he knew she was no longer there. His own vision started to grow dark around the edges. He heard the killer’s boots crunch on the gravel as he approached.

  Doug rolled onto his back and viewed the killer lean down close to him. He focused on the killer’s gun positioned in front of his face. As though from a distance, he saw the killer’s finger tighten on the trigger. Doug knew it would be the last thing he ever witnessed.

  Then suddenly all was dark.

  ***************

  Doug opened his eyes and found himself in bed. His left arm was pinned beneath a smooth, tanned feminine neck and shoulder, which had caused his arm to fall asleep.

  His heartbeat was heavy and bounding in his chest and his breath came rapidly.

  Slowly extricating his arm, he sat up, the navy blue sheet pooling around his lean hips. He ran fingers through his short dark hair as he took a couple of cleansing breaths.

  “Doug? You awake?” The feminine form behind him now sat up and ran a manicured hand around to the front of his broad chest until he could feel the warmth of her firm, sculptured breasts pressing against his back.

  He pushed down a wave of revulsion that surprised him and put one of his hands over hers to stop its downward direction. He felt her stiffen against his back and then she pulled away from him.

  Doug puzzled himself with the way he was acting. He shook it off, attributing it to the false emotion stirred up by the dream. That awful impotent dream.

  It was his biggest fear as a cop. That he’d be unable to save someone in time. That the bad guy would win. It wasn’t fear for his own life. He was comfortable with knowing that his life was on the line. He would never be comfortable with knowing that he’d failed in the line of duty, and an innocent civilian would be dead. Like most other cops, he dreaded the possibility.

  He shoved out of the bed and padded into the bathroom. He set the shower temp to hot and stepped under the needle spray. When the shower door opened behind him he wasn’t surprised. Nor was he tempted. He knew that Jessica wouldn’t understand, and would probably pretend to be hurt. He also knew she’d move on and find someone else.

  They weren’t in love; they liked each other and were convenient. Over the years, Doug just hadn’t found anyone who made him feel strongly enough to commit. Once or twice he’d been in lust, but not in love. Jessica was just the latest in line.

  Doug’s day didn’t improve when he arrived at the station, either. As a rule, he got along with most of the other officers. However, there was just something about the new sergeant that set his teeth on edge. On the outside, the guy seemed fine. A little too precise for Doug’s taste, but better that than sloppy. Maybe it was the way the guy spoke – just this side of prissy. Or maybe it was the way he didn’t have a single hair out of place. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was an asshole. Yep. That was it. And now that Doug was able to correctly file that fact, he felt better.

  Right up until said sergeant spoke to him.

  “Saunders!”

  Doug stopped in the hallway and backed up two paces to the open office door.

  “Sir?”

  “Come in. Come in.” Another point against him; the guy repeated himself.

  “Yes, Sir.” Doug stood in front of the pristine desk and waited for the sergeant to speak.

  “Doug, are we having a communication problem?” The sergeant’s hands were folded together in the center of his desk.

  “Sir?” Doug tried to hide his impatience. God only knew what had gotten the sergeant’s knickers in a twist this time.

  “Communication. Between us. It’s lacking.” The sergeant also seemed unable to speak in complete sentences.

  “How’s that, Sir?” Doug tried to keep his expression neutral.

  “Forms?” A single raised eyebrow accompanied the latest syllable. Said brow looking suspiciously plucked – or maybe waxed.

  “Forms, Sir?” Doug was beyond understanding at this point.

  “Forms. Requisition forms, to be precise.”

  God forbid we not be precise.

  “Sir. I’m at a loss here. Please remind me.” Doug hoped that the grimace around his mouth might pass for a small smile.

  No such luck.

  “Don’t get smart with me, Saunders. I’m onto your game.” Obviously the good sergeant knew something Doug didn’t.

  “Sir, I’m not trying to get smart with you. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.” Doug tried for a little sincerity in his voice and demeanor.

  It seemed to work, because the sergeant actually started explaining himself. Apparently Doug had failed to fill in one of the myriad requisite

  forms. As the sergeant continued to explain in exquisitely gruesome detail about the form, Doug’s mind wandered.

  He had a meeting today with Jorge Morales, a young man who was working undercover in one of the local gangs. Last year when Jorge tried to l
eave the gang, he’d been beaten and kicked right up to death’s door. After a painful and terror-filled recovery, Jorge decided to get even. Although dangerous, his plan was good. He “remained” in the gang and was working on getting information regarding their drug sales in order to get the leaders put behind bars. Since there were a couple of deaths involved, there was a good chance he could get them put away for life.

  Doug came back to the present and realized that he’d apparently been listening to silence, and for quite some time according to the look on the sergeant’s face.

  “Are we clear, Saunders?”

  “Crystal, Sir. Will there be anything else?”

  “No. It is what it is.”

  Doug winced inwardly. NO one liked that hackneyed phrase. And no one used it more often than the Sergeant.

  “Dismissed.”

  With that, Doug headed out the door and down the hall to the locker room. What an ass. Could this day get any worse?

  Of course it could.

  Doug was supposed to meet Jorge at a downtown parking structure. After waiting 45 minutes, Doug had the awful gut feeling that something

  bad had happened. He headed back to the police department and asked one of the bilingual officers to call Jorge’s number to check on him.

  By the look on Crystal’s face, Doug knew something VERY bad had happened. “Doug, I’m sorry. That was his aunt. Jorge’s in the hospital. He was shot last night. They’ve got him in ICU.”

  Doug commandeered a black and white, again forgetting the requisition forms, and flew over to Chapman Hospital. When the elevator doors opened on the ICU floor, Doug was looking into the eyes of the main leader of the gang Jorge had been part of -- Armando.

  With recognition, but without speaking, they passed each other. Doug stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway while the gang leader stepped into the elevator. Eye contact was maintained while the elevator doors shut. Just before the doors met, Doug saw Armando’s middle finger thrust into the air. Shaking his head, Doug thought to himself that once again, someone was telling him that he was number one. Too bad they keep forgetting to use the correct finger.

  Oh well. Doug turned and went down to the nurses’ station and asked which curtain area Jorge was in. Emily, one of Doug’s ex-girlfriends, smiled and pointed out the area at the end of the unit.

  He quietly moved down to the area and glanced around the corner of the curtain to ensure that no other visitors were present. When he saw that it was all clear, he stepped next to Jorge’s bed.

  Jorge appeared to be asleep. His mouth was slightly open and his head was rolled away from Doug. Looking closer, Doug felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The monitor had been turned off. Jorge wasn’t breathing. And the handle of a four inch blade knife was sticking out of his side, surrounded by a spreading pool of red.

  Doug yelled for the nurse and within seconds the curtain was thrust aside, as was Doug, and three people started working on Jorge. CPR – Intubation – Three units type-specific blood! Atropine, Lidocaine, Epinephrine, calcium bicarbonate and more epinephrine all injected into the IV line.

  “200 joules!” … 250… 300… 350... The doctor tried valiantly to get a pulse, but to no avail.

  Doug winced when he saw the doctor open Jorge’s chest for a thoracotomy. There was blood everywhere. The crunching of the ribs under the surgeon’s tool made Doug swallow several times trying to keep breakfast down. After what seemed like an eternity of gory chaos, the attending doctor called time of death at 9:44 am.

  Yep, the day had definitely gotten worse.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Why the hell not.”

  It wasn’t exactly what Nancy wanted to say at that moment, but other words failed her. She knew that later some witty remark would come to mind, but by then it would be too late. Typical.

  She looked around the family-style restaurant and noticed that everything seemed slightly unreal. It wasn’t weird like Dali’s melting clocks. It was still real life … just sharpened a notch like they do in some movies to give it an edge.

  The man and woman sitting at the table to the left were in their 70’s and having a pleasant conversation about a cruise they were planning. It was sweet – they were even holding hands. The mother and father across the aisle in the large booth were laughing at something their young son had said. Nancy watched as the father reached out and affectionately ruffled the child’s hair.

  A waitress walked by with her arms laded with hot food and set plates in front of some teenagers in the booth directly across from Nancy -- and behind him.

  Him. The man she had been married to for the past 22 years. The father of her two teenage daughters. Him.

  She could see his mouth moving and realized that he had asked her something else.

  “What?”

  “Are you all right?” he repeated.

  “I suppose so.” She actually felt sort of shocky and numb.

  Just then their waitress came by and asked if she wanted more coffee.

  “Uh, sure.” Nancy didn’t really, but she was unable to think of anything else to say.

  “I’ll be right back with a fresh pot,” the waitress responded before heading to the kitchen, popping her gum along the way and efficiently gathering empty plates as she passed vacated tables.

  Nancy looked at Jonathon (Him) again and realized that he was watching her with an expression of sympathy on his face.

  Suddenly she felt something more than just a hollow numbness; she felt something approaching irritation. Maybe even – YES – Anger.

  How dare he pretend to care about her. How dare he feign compassion! For that matter, how dare he draw breath! She entertained a small fantasy about throwing her glass of water in his face and storming out of the restaurant, a la Katherine Hepburn. Then she took a deep breath and decided that maybe that wouldn’t be prudent.

  Not less than one minute ago (she was pretty sure it was only one minute) he had said that he thought it was time for them to split up.

  Split up? As in divorce?

  “Yes. I think that this is as good a time as any.”

  As good a time as compared to when?

  Only an hour ago they had been looking at a new house to buy. Last week their 13 year old ‘baby’ arrived home from a two-week tour of China (of all places) with her karate team, which had left Nancy frantic with worry the whole time. Tomorrow Nancy’s father was scheduled for an angiogram. And - oh yeah - two days ago she’d had another birthday. Of course . . . this just must be the perfect time.

  Up until now, the few times in their marriage that Jonathon had talked about splitting up, Nancy had dragged him in for marriage counseling. Things would get better between them for a while and they’d be almost happy.

  But right now, she just didn’t have it in her to fight anymore.

  “Why the hell not.”

  She wasn’t truly angry ... not really. She was more confused than anything. Hadn’t they just been looking at a new house with their realtor? Why would Jonathon have agreed to go house hunting if he wanted a divorce? They hadn’t been fighting recently. In fact things had seemed to calm down a little. Then why the divorce?

  “Babe, are you okay?”

  Babe?

  He’d called her “Babe?!?” This was getting more unreal by the moment.

  “Yeah, I-I think so.”

  “You’re crying.”

  “I am?”

  “Yeah.”

  As she wiped her face with a napkin, the waitress stopped with fresh coffee. She looked at Nancy and then looked at Jonathon.

  Jonathon shrugged his shoulders at the waitress and gave her a small ‘women-what-can-you-do?’ smile. The waitress frowned at him, her mouth diligently working the gum. The waitress’ response actually felt kind of good; as though someone was on her side.

  Sides. Oh, for pity’s sake. Now there were going to be sides.

  Jonathon pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and proceeded to r
ead from it. “I’ve figured out what the child support should be. I’ll also help with college for the girls. Of course I want final approval of the college.” He continued to talk in a normal tone.

  College? Child support? Weren’t they first supposed to talk about what had gone wrong? Wasn’t there first supposed to be some sort of emotional catharsis?

  Nancy’s eyes moved around the restaurant again. Then it dawned on her. Of course! She looked back at Jonathon and realized that he had been afraid that she would become upset and there would be an argument. Hence, the restaurant instead of a private conversation. Apparently he thought that she wouldn’t make a public display.

  She sighed. He was right. He knew her pretty well after all.

  “Why the hell not.”

  “So, it’s okay with you?”

  Not really. “Sure.”

  She held out her hand for the piece of paper that had been printed in his engineer-type block lettering, with evenly spaced columns and numbers. Good grief, he’d even put it in outline form! And now he wanted an answer. Nancy knew that she should get a lawyer. She knew that she should refuse to make any decisions at this time. She knew that she should take him for every penny she could get.

  She also knew that she wouldn’t do any of that. She just wasn’t built that way. She even thought that maybe, somehow this was her fault. She was sure that if she’d only been thinner, younger, more athletic, more...well just more ANYTHING, this wouldn’t be happening.

  Didn’t other marriages have rough patches? Didn’t you stick together through thick and thin? Weren’t you supposed to honor in sickness and in health?

  Obviously not everyone thought so.

  Then Nancy had a thought that made her heart hurt.

  “Is there someone else?” she asked haltingly.

  “No.” He seemed to be telling the truth. “Do you have someone else?”