She and Joe stashed their riot gear in the trunk, and Carly was happy to return to the normalcy of patrol. But once they were out of the marina and rolling through city streets, the atmosphere was heavier than it had been facing the mini riot.
“Things are tense,” Carly said when they pulled up to a loud music call on Ninth Street, the fringe of Ninja turf. Guys were out in yards, on porches, glaring.
The music was lowered as they made their way up the walk.
A hostile man met them at the door. “Where were you all when my homeys were smoked?”
This was the kind of contact that would never be positive, so both Joe and Carly said as little as possible and thanked him for turning the music down. He cursed them and slammed the door.
“This neighborhood is a powder keg,” Carly observed as they got back into the car.
When Joe just grunted, she cast a glance his way. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”
He yawned. “I didn’t get much sleep. A.J. has a cold.”
“I thought you seemed distracted.” She pulled away from the curb as Joe punched in the call disposition on the computer.
Settling into patrol mode, eyes roaming, she acknowledged how comfortable she felt with Joe. Did she really want a change in this relationship even if the work itself had become tedious?
Trying not to think about the job in those terms, Carly concentrated on the world outside the patrol car. Traffic was moderate, and she watched each car passing the other way.
A priority-one call went out in another beat, and suddenly fear for Nick bubbled up again. She worked hard to steady her thoughts and focused in on a green sedan, catching the driver’s eyes as they came even, then passed. She saw him clearly enough to see his lips register “Oh no” and a curse.
“Joe!” She stomped on the brake and waited for traffic to clear so she could make a U-turn. “That’s Trey Porter; I know it. In the green sedan, and he’s splitting.”
Joe didn’t question her observation. He grabbed the radio and informed dispatch that they were in pursuit as Carly clicked on lights and sirens, executing a U-turn with tires squealing. Trey Porter was the leader of the Ninth Street Ninjas. Carly and Joe both knew that not only was his license suspended, but he did not own a car.
As Carly completed the turn, the green car disappeared around a corner. She punched it and rounded the corner as Joe calmly kept dispatch informed of their location. He relayed the car’s license plate and was quickly informed that it was 10-29 Victor, a stolen vehicle.
After a couple more turns, they pulled to within a block of the car. Carly thanked God traffic was light here because Trey barely had control of the sedan. The taillights swerved and the rear end whipped across lanes of traffic.
By now, two units were behind them, and the scream of sirens pumped up Carly’s adrenaline. Every cop she knew loved to chase stolen cars.
“He’s gonna try to cross the rail tracks,” Joe said, raising his voice over the siren.
Carly had figured that, but when Trey jerked left across the tracks where there was no crossing, she nearly lost her grip on the wheel. She followed, banging over the low curb, across the tracks, and over the next low curb.
Sparks flashed from the green car as it bottomed out but continued speeding away. Then the passenger door flew open. Carly jerked the wheel when the passenger lunged out of the car, which had to be traveling at least forty miles per hour.
He didn’t get completely clear of the vehicle and hit the pavement right in the path of the rear tires.
6
CARLY WINCED as she saw the rear tires of the fleeing vehicle roll over the passenger’s legs. She called out, “Joe!” then steered the patrol car away from the rolling figure.
“The passenger jumped out! Passenger in the street!” Joe radioed to the assisting units.
Carly stayed after the green car, and an assisting unit answered that they would take care of the passenger.
Carly’s knuckles were white on the wheel as she strained against a taut seat belt.
Then Trey lost it. He clipped a parked car, and the green sedan spun out of control. Carly slammed on the brakes, screeching to a stop as the car they were chasing slammed into another parked car and finally came to rest. Unbelievably, Trey hurtled from the driver’s side immediately and hit the pavement running.
Joe leaped from the patrol car while Carly took a second to jam it into park. Then she was out, legs pumping, after her partner.
Joe was half a block ahead of her by the time she hit her stride. Then everything went sideways. Carly watched in horror as Joe tripped on something and went down hard, skidding across the sidewalk and smashing into a fence. His flashlight shattered on the pavement and bits flew everywhere.
“Are you okay?” She reached him quickly, but Trey had vanished.
“Ah, I twisted my knee,” Joe moaned, grabbing his leg and rocking back and forth.
The sound of feet running up behind them caused Carly to turn. She saw Nick and Mickey. Nick started to slow, but she waved him on.
“I’ve got this! He went right toward the alley.” She pointed.
Nick nodded, and he and his partner disappeared into the night after Trey.
Flanagan and Lopez came running up next, and Carly also waved them on in the direction Porter had gone.
She keyed her mike to set up a perimeter, concentrating, wanting to be certain she made it the right size so Porter would be caught inside. She also requested that K-9 start their way in the event Porter hunkered down somewhere. Everybody knew Trey Porter; he was one of those frequent fliers many officers had contacted or arrested for one reason or another over the years. Someone even came on the air and offered to go by Porter’s house.
Carly knelt next to Joe and listened as the intersections she called out were covered. Then she turned her full attention back to Joe. His pants were torn and so was the elbow of his shirt. Spots of blood were noticeable in those places and on his scraped palm.
“You want medics?” she asked Joe.
He shook his head. “No, I’ll make it back to the car. Once K-9 gets here, you can take me to Memorial.”
“We got a perimeter up quick,” she said as she helped him up. “They’ll catch him.”
Joe leaned on Carly, wincing when he had to put weight on his left leg. Together they made their way back to the car, Joe obviously in pain. On the way, she saw an uneven spot where the asphalt met the concrete and realized that was probably what Joe had tripped over.
Joe saw it too. “Man, why did I have to trip? Why couldn’t Porter have hit that?” he muttered with disgust.
Carly heard fire department sirens and from the radio traffic knew that they’d been summoned to look after the passenger who’d bailed out of the stolen car.
Joe settled into the police car and turned up the radio. Carly heard Nick’s voice, and her heart raced.
“He’s headed out toward Chestnut.” Nick’s breath came hard from the chase.
Carly hooked her thumbs in her gun belt and tensed.
“We got nothing on the southwest corner of Chestnut and Ninth,” Flanagan said.
“He doubled back!” Mickey added.
“He’s—” Nick started to say something, then stopped.
“Gang 1, 10-9 your last.” The dispatcher asked him to repeat.
Carly held her breath.
“Can anyone with Gang 1 relay his status?” dispatch asked.
An eternity ticked by in slow seconds before there was a response.
“Gang 1, we’re in the alley west of Chestnut, north of Sixth, code 4, code 4. Suspect in custody.” Nick was still breathing hard but in control.
Carly expelled a breath and wiped sweat from her brow. Code 4—suspect in custody—were wonderful words.
She looked at Joe, who smiled. “That gang sergeant is on it,” he said.
Carly nodded, flushed with relief and pride. “I’m going to check out the car, start the inventory. Do you mind a few more min
utes?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Besides, I want to find out what Porter was doing running from the poh-lice.”
“Yeah, I guess I’d like to know why the punk cost me one good partner.”
Carly opened the trunk to grab her report forms. The property in the stolen car needed to be inventoried and then the car itself recovered and sent to the tow yard. She was walking toward the green sedan when dispatch called their unit designator.
“I’ll take it,” Joe said.
The dispatcher had a request from the unit who was with the passenger, the guy who’d jumped out of the car while Trey kept going. They asked Joe to go to a clear channel. Carly listened as she filled out the information asked for on the tow sheet. Omar Garcia, the unfortunate gang member, had a broken leg. The unit needed to know if they were going to charge him with anything or if he was going to be an RNB—released not booked. Carly could hear him howling about his innocence in the background.
“I just got in the car,” the gangster cried in a plaintive whine. “He just picked me up. I didn’t know it was stolen.”
Joe told the unit to release him, and Carly agreed. Unless they could prove Omar helped steal the car, there was nothing to charge him with. A juvenile might be charged with joyriding in such a case, but Omar was an adult. The medics were transporting him to the hospital anyway, so he wouldn’t be disappearing into the woodwork or stealing more cars anytime soon.
She stuck her head in the 10-29 car and saw a collection of fast-food wrapper trash. Pressing the trunk release, she straightened up in time to see Nick and Mickey walking her way with Trey Porter between them. Flanagan and Lopez were also with them, and everyone but Trey was smiling. Running someone down in a foot pursuit was almost as gratifying as catching someone in a car pursuit. This was a twofer.
“Hey, Joe, what happened?” Nick asked.
“Didn’t pick my feet up, I guess.” He stood, supporting himself on the open patrol car door. “Why’d you run, Trey?”
The gangster didn’t answer and wouldn’t even look at Joe.
“We’ll inventory the car and wait for the tow if you want,” Nick said, leaving Trey to Mickey and walking to where Carly stood.
Suddenly a camera flash went off. Duncan Potter had found them.
Carly gave Nick a look and ignored the camera. “I’m almost done with the vehicle form. I just have to check the trunk.” Together they moved to the trunk. “You can wait for the tow, though. I want to get Joe to the hospital.”
“No problem. You did us a favor. Trey was on our list of guys we wanted to talk to tonight. Thanks for finding him.” Nick glared at Potter. “Back off. You contaminate anything, I’ll be happy to book you.”
Potter said nothing—he rarely did—just kept snapping photos.
Carly concentrated only on Nick. “My pleasure. How’s it going tonight?” she asked. “Things seem tense.”
Nick nodded. “Tense and angry. We’re sitting on gasoline waiting for a match to drop.”
Carly had an overwhelming urge to grab Nick in a hug and implore him to be careful, maybe even whine a little bit. But she realized he needed to focus on the bad guys right now, not on her personal crisis of faith.
“Any indications that the shooting really was a gang hit?”
Nick sighed. “No one is talking. The Ninjas are angry three of their own were hit, and the Playboyz are on the defensive, waiting for the retaliation drive-bys. We’ve confiscated a few weapons though, so . . .” His voice trailed off as his gaze went to the trunk.
Stepping forward, she pushed the lid all the way up. “What in the world?” she said as Nick reached in and pulled a tarp away.
There, illuminated by the bright headlights and the flashing emergency lights of her patrol car, she saw at least two shotguns and several handguns, plus boxes and boxes of all types of ammunition. Plenty of stuff to start a full-scale war and keep it going for some time.
Finally Potter said something. “Did they rip off a gun store?”
7
CARLY AND JOE RETURNED to the station after the hospital trip—and the piles of IOD paperwork—with only an hour left to their shift. The doctor had wrapped Joe’s leg in a splint, then told him to keep it elevated and iced and to visit occupational health as soon as possible, but he was off work for at least a month. Carly offered to drive him home, but since it was his left leg, he told her he’d be fine to drive himself.
Because of the guns they found in the trunk, there was more interest in Omar, Trey’s passenger. While at the hospital, Carly had a predictable conversation with the gangster. He was still coherent in spite of painkillers and was adamant that he knew nothing about the car being stolen.
“He just picked me up, I swear! I work at Burger King on the boulevard until midnight. You can call my boss.”
“We will; we will. Did you and Trey pick anything up after you got in the car?”
“I just barely got in the car.”
Carly folded her arms. “Yes or no.”
“No, no, no.”
“I’ll send a unit out to talk to your boss right now.”
“Good. He’ll tell you. Man, I didn’t steal no car.”
“How about guns?”
“Huh?” Omar truly looked confused, but Carly wondered if the painkillers were kicking in. Doctors told her they were going to have to put a pin in his leg.
She conferred with Barrett about him. After verifying his work story, they continued with the RNB. If they needed Omar, he wasn’t going anywhere for the time being.
When Carly said good night to Joe, she was angry. Trey Porter had cost her a good partner. The triple shooting and this moronic gang war had put her husband in jeopardy. She bought some bad coffee from the vending machine and tried to swallow the sour lump of resentment in her throat with a gulp. They hadn’t had a chance to take a lunch break, but even though her stomach growled, she didn’t feel like eating.
Taking the coffee, she settled into the file room to review their log before heading to the locker room to change. Patrol logs were kept electronically, but officers printed out a copy at EOW to review and write notes if needed. The logs were then initialed and turned in to records. She also planned to call authorities in Arizona about Dean Barton.
A familiar voice sounded from her left. “Officer Edwards.”
Carly looked up. “Hey, G-man, Agent Wiley. How are you?” She started to stand to shake his hand.
He waved her down and pulled up a chair, straddling it so he could rest his elbows on the back while he faced her. Wiley looked crisp and formal in a dark suit, the stereotypical picture of an FBI agent, a man who had helped with the kidnapping investigation and rescue of Joe’s son.
“Good observation of that stolen car tonight. I paid a visit to Nick and his partner.”
“Trying to stay busy?”
“I hear Joe got hurt.”
Carly nodded and told him what had happened.
“That’s tough, but maybe it’s only a sprain and not as serious as they think right now.”
“Hope you’re right. What brings you here this time of the morning? Are you checking up on Oceans First?”
He shook his head. “From what I’ve seen, LPPD has been handling the protestors just fine. I actually came to talk to you. I knew I’d find you working these godforsaken hours.”
Carly smiled and spread out her arms. “Well, I should’ve known you’d catch me sooner or later . . . and I hid the bodies so well.”
Wiley cracked a hint of a smile, which was about the most he ever did. “I’m heading up a federal task force. We’re pulling in good officers from agencies all over Southern California.”
“Mission?”
“Homeland security. Under that umbrella we’ll work on a lot of different things. There will be travel involved; it’ll be exciting, always changing, and infinitely challenging.”
“That’s great. But why are you telling me?”
“Because I want you to j
oin us. It’s been cleared with your chief, should you decide to hop on board.”
Her anger forgotten, shock caused Carly’s jaw to go slack. “Talk about out of proverbial left field. I don’t know what to say.”
What would Nick say? shot through her mind as she tried to predict her husband’s reaction. He thought she needed a change. A federal task force would certainly be a change. It would afford her investigative opportunities she’d never see in small Las Playas, and that made her sit up straighter. But knowing it would also take her away from home a lot kept her interest muted.
“I didn’t expect you to answer right now.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flash drive. “Here, take this; study it. It has all the pertinent information about the job. I’ll be in town for a while. We’re monitoring Oceans First, but we’re not involved at the moment.”
Carly took the flash drive and closed her fist around it even as the gravity of what Wiley had just offered her sank in and excitement started to swell. This was a huge honor.
“This will take some thought,” she said, working to keep her tone noncommittal.
Wiley stood. “You’ve got two weeks. I’m hoping you’ll decide soon, but don’t rush,” he said. “You know where to find me when you’ve made a decision.” He shook her hand once, then turned and left her sitting in the report room.
Carly’s mind raced with all she imagined such a job would entail. Homeland Security—protecting the nation, not just Las Playas. Settling back in front of her log, she couldn’t suppress the smile. She’d bet a federal task force wouldn’t be tedious.
“Edwards.”
Carly glanced up this time to see Sergeant Barrett regarding her.
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