Linda Barrett - Count on a Cop

by Summer at the Lake

  “I’ll back you with Long Island, Cooper, if that’s what you want. But keep me informed.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And, Cooper? I’m letting your team know you’re wearing blues again.”

  Rick disconnected the call and stood quietly for a moment.

  Stein didn’t miss a trick. His captain planted seeds and brought subtle pressure. To serve and protect. The mission felt right, deep inside him, but his nerve endings continued to sizzle. He shrugged it off. First day on the job. Everyone had a case of nerves on their first day.

  He motioned Quincy to follow, and quietly slipped outside, wondering if Ashley would be awake this early.

  He needn’t have worried. The child was waiting on her front porch. The mist rising from the lake diffused the early sunlight, so that she was bathed in a soft glow. She rose from her chair as he approached.

  “I’ll take very good care of Quincy,” she promised.

  “And he’ll do the same for you,” replied Rick, putting an arm around each of the caretakers. “Like a pact between the two of you. A deal.”

  Her big blue eyes stared into his. “But the three of us are partners, aren’t we?”

  “Absolutely.” He decided to test the waters. “I know your mom wants to be a partner, too, so that would make four.”

  But Ash shook her head. “She’d be too scared. More than now.”

  Her assessment might be true, but wasn’t fair. He reminded himself that Ash was still a child. Perhaps a musical genius, but still a child whose thought process could be reduced to black-and-white with no room for gray.

  “You’re still scared, too, Ash. About your house, about going to school.”

  “But not as much. Now I have you and Quincy.”

  This could get dicey. “Because I’m a cop, right?”

  She raised her elfin face toward him and took a moment before replying. “Yes…that’s part of it.”

  “What’s the other part?”

  A Mona Lisa smile appeared. “‘Tears in Heaven.’ When I heard you play, I knew I’d like you and that you’d be my friend. Even though I didn’t know it was you at the time.”

  He understood exactly what she meant. To her, music was truth and a vehicle for the person behind it. The song spoke to her.

  “Ashley, do you understand that I might not be able to catch the man who hurt you? In fact, that I probably can’t?”

  She nodded vigorously. “But you’ll try.”

  “I will. Is that good enough?”

  “Oh, yes. ’Cause you and Quincy are going to take care of us, anyway.”

  Her expression held such certainty, he didn’t want to disappoint her, yet he couldn’t deceive her.

  “We’ll try to hang around, Ash, for as long as you need us.”

  She raised her thin arms and hugged him. “That will be forever.”

  His stomach twisted and plunged. Forever didn’t work for him. It never had in the past, not with his lousy track record of a failed marriage and failed career. He waved goodbye to Ashley and the dog, vowing to work something out with the child later on. He simply could not fail with her, too.

  AT HER DAUGHTER’S REQUEST, Kristin left Ashley at the lake that afternoon with Madison and Danny, under their mother’s and Quincy’s watchful eyes. She apologized for Ash’s enthusiasm for being with the kids. She wondered, however, if this was a sign her daughter was ready to return to school.

  The encouraging thought ran through her mind as she drove to the sheriff’s office. She had an idea and was ready to act on it.

  She didn’t recognize the officer handling the front desk, and didn’t see Rick or the sheriff. Probably just as well.

  “I’d like to apply for a gun permit, please,” she said when he motioned her forward.

  The officer, about Sam’s age, paused and sat back in his chair, staring at her. “Um…I thought I knew everyone in the county.” He let the comment linger.

  “I’m here for the summer,” she replied, sitting down.

  “Sorry, ma’am. You must be a legal resident of the county to apply.”

  The man didn’t seem sorry at all, and Kristin was annoyed. “I live in Nassau County, which is part of this state. Can you get me an application from there?”

  “Don’t know about that…. You might have to appear in person just to get the application.”

  She drummed her fingers on the desktop. “So, there’s no way you can get one faxed here?”

  “Well, now…maybe. It takes six months, anyway, and you’re going home soon…”

  A familiar figure loomed behind the seated officer. “I thought I heard your voice.”

  Familiar? In uniform, Rick looked twice as big and so official.

  “Quincy and Ash are with your sister.”

  His killer smile stole her breath. “So, you’re here to visit me?”

  “I’m gone,” said the first cop, standing up. “She’s all yours. Her and her pistol permit.” He emphasized the last words before he took off.

  Her neighbor’s smile disappeared immediately and his brow furrowed. Kristin needed a minute to regroup.

  “Come on back here,” Rick invited, leading her to the central work area—filled with desks, mailboxes, bulletin boards.

  “He’s right, you know,” said Rick, approaching one of those desks. “It does take about six months to get the permit—if you fill out everything exactly right. You’ll need four character references, four photographs, lots of notarized signatures. And you’ll have to pay about three hundred bucks and demonstrate why you need a gun.”

  She hadn’t spent enough time online to verify all this information, but he listed too many details too quickly to be making them up.

  “And then you need to actually take a course in the use of—”

  “Enough!” she interrupted, holding a hand up. She took a step toward him. “Why are you trying to stop me, when all I’m doing is figuring out how to help Ash feel secure enough to go home? Time is flying…”

  He took her hand, led her into a private office, and simply stared at her beautiful face, now tinged with anxiety.

  “You’re killing me, Kris. I feel your pain, but a gun isn’t the answer.” He stepped closer and stroked her bare arm, the skin silky to his touch. She made no move to break away.

  “Plenty of women carry small guns after they’ve been raped. I read about it.” She spoke into his chest.

  “Try some other reading. Try reading the horror stories caused by innocent ‘family’ guns. Kids get curious, even smart ones like Ash.”

  Kristin shivered at the possibilities and moved closer to him, then felt his soft kiss on her temple.

  He pounced. “Think about Ashley seeing you with a weapon. It will reinforce her theory that her mom is afraid, that you believe the perp will show up. For all we know, she might ask for a weapon of her own. She was the one violated. She has more right than you do—in theory.”

  Kristin let a second go by before she stepped back. “No one’s rights supersede a mother’s. Not even Ashley’s.”

  Stalemate.

  Rick spoke first into the silence. “Have I steered you wrong so far?” he asked quietly.

  Fair question. “So what am I supposed to do? What if I can’t sell the house and he comes back? Even if we relocate, bad things can happen. I must be able to defend myself and my daughter in the future.” She broke out in a cold sweat. Her palms felt clammy. The more she thought about the perp, the more impotent she felt.

  “Ash pretends we’ll live here forever,” she continued. “That can’t be good.”

  “If pretending gets her through the day, then let her pretend. Whatever works. Your daughter is smart. She won’t pretend indefinitely. She knew enough to ask Quincy for help last night.”

  Rick stared at Kristin as if to relay a secret message, and she felt hope stirring again.

  “You spoke to Ash, and then you went back to work. You told Sam afterward….”

  His decision to wear
a uniform again was the postscript to his talk with her daughter. Maybe Ash had given him a description. Maybe she finally remembered details. Or maybe she’d never forgotten them in the first place, but was afraid to tell Kristin or the police. A lot of maybes.

  Only one thing was certain. Ashley had made her choice and had chosen to confide in Rick. A new wave of hurt rolled through Kristin. She tried to swallow her pride.

  “I am trusting you with my daughter,” she whispered. “Please don’t disappoint her—or me.”

  Trembling, she swiftly turned away from him. Rick draped his arms over her shoulders and pulled her gently against his chest.

  “I have no doubt,” he whispered in her ear, “that wise King Solomon would have given you the child when he decided between the two women who claimed him. You are the best medicine Ashley could have.”

  She twisted around, cupped his face in her hands and pulled him closer until his mouth touched hers. She kissed him. With warmth. With pleasure. And with joy.

  “You’ve made me feel better—again. Thank you.”

  “I meant every word.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re beautiful, Kris…especially when you blush.”

  She laughed, pulled away and headed for the door.

  “One more thing,” Rick called.

  She reversed direction. “What’s that?”

  “Self-defense classes. You and Ash. The fastest way to build confidence and see progress.”

  Self-defense classes? Of course. Instantly excited, Kristin punched her fist in the air. “Absolutely, yes. Where do I sign up? You do have the best ideas sometimes.”

  The gleam in his eye was unmistakable. “Worth another kiss?”

  She knew her cheeks were rosy again; she felt the heat. But this time she made it through the door with only a simple wave.

  Suddenly, she was back. “One more thing.” She echoed his prior statement. “I’m not assuming anything,” she began, “but if a call from Long Island happens to come in, or if you happen to learn something regarding my daughter during the course of your work…I expect to be informed. And that’s not negotiable.”

  HE WATCHED HER LEAVE, feeling he’d stepped successfully through a minefield. Everything’s negotiable. He’d wanted to say it, but didn’t. Mixing business with pleasure was never appropriate. He’d prefer to list Kristin solely in the pleasure column of his life. Despite all his doubts, he was drawn to her like iron filings to a magnet. Talking her out of the handgun had been touchy. Stubborn woman. Suggesting the self-defense classes had been inspired. He hoped she’d follow through.

  “Hey, Cooper! We’ve got the rotation for the parade tomorrow. We rope off Main Street…”

  Suddenly, his whole situation seemed funny. The last time he’d worked a parade, they’d roped off Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. Thanksgiving Day at the annual Macy’s event involved huge floats and hundreds of thousands of spectators. Main Street, USA, would be just a bit different. What the hell was he doing here? And then he remembered. He’d screwed up.

  Small as the parade was compared to the Big Apple’s, he doubted Kristin and Ash would attend. Ash didn’t like crowds of any size and, in this instance, he wouldn’t push her to go. Correction. He wouldn’t push Kristin to encourage it. Let the kid make up her own mind.

  By the end of the day, he’d directed traffic for three hours, assisted a motorist with a flat tire, and observed Sam Keaton on the job. The man ran a smooth operation. He knew what he wanted and how to get it from his officers—even paperwork was submitted on time. The jokes, the coffee, the camaraderie. The attention at roll call to the hot sheets that listed the latest incidents in the region. It was all part of a well-oiled machine.

  Protecting the town was a team effort, and somehow, without consciously noticing, Rick had become part of that team by the end of his shift. He was back on the streets, slipping into the role easily, as if he’d never been away from the job.

  But that’s crazy. As he headed home, he had to admit he didn’t understand it. Three weeks ago, he’d thrown his badge at his C.O. And now he didn’t break a sweat? It didn’t make sense. He tried to analyze it and came up with only one difference: no hostage negotiation team here. He’d been off the hook.

  For five minutes, that explanation satisfied him, until he reviewed his day. Less stress. Slower pace. Different culture. Finally, he whistled under his breath as the real explanation hit him. He’d been playing all day. Playing at being a cop.

  Despite similar responsibilities, working in a rural sheriff’s office seemed like a peaceful interlude compared with his regular assignment. Certainly, a crime was a crime regardless of location, but a twelve-person department in the country didn’t strike him as real. It was so much calmer than his busy precinct, which had hundreds of officers on three shifts in a city that didn’t sleep.

  His mind drifted backward, and as he parked at the house, he felt uneasy. A bolt of anxiety shot through him. Suddenly, his chest tightened. Boom! Boom! Boom! He held on to the steering wheel, but forced his eyes to remain wide open this time. No more blood. No more tiny angels. No more memories.

  Sweat covered him. His heart thudded ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom. He felt exhausted. Weak. These post-traumatic stress episodes were taking a toll. He couldn’t ignore them anymore, the way he’d ignored his dreams. Reaching for his cell, he dialed the shrink. When he quit the force, he’d do it for the right reasons. First, however, he had to face his demons and figure out what to do about them.

  He left a message—after all, it was Sunday night—and stared at the lights glowing in the windows, heard the faint sound of familiar voices. He didn’t want to enter the fray of his noisy family. There was only one place he wanted to be. Only one person he wanted to be with. He exited his car and began walking toward the Goldman house. Toward Kristin.

  SHE OPENED THE BACK DOOR, and her smile of welcome nearly knocked him off his feet. He wanted to hug her, kiss her and hold her until tomorrow—at least. She was so alive!

  Instead, he blurted, “I lost a kid.”

  She paled but stepped forward, put her hand on his shoulder and tugged. “Come in. Please.”

  He sniffed something delicious baking in the oven, and his stomach rumbled. Piano music drifted in from another room. Ashley, of course, playing a sonatina, Quincy probably snoozing on the rug next to her.

  “You’ve made a home here, Kris,” he said, nodding in approval. “A real home…in someone else’s home.” And if there was a bit of envy, of longing, in his voice, so be it.

  “Thank you…I think.” Worry etched her face as she put her free hand on his other shoulder. “Talk to me, Rick. What did you mean you ‘lost a kid’? Today?”

  “The whole thing came back to me just now, in the car. A flashback. Boom, boom, boom. The father shot them all.”

  “Oh, my God…how horrible.” Now she was the color of chalk, but she stepped closer, embraced him. Hugged him tight. “Just horrible—for them, for you. You saw it?”

  He swallowed hard. “Right afterward, after the SWAT team. I’m the negotiator on the Crisis Team, and I went in after the sharpshooters,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “I’d been talking to the guy for fourteen hours.”

  Now she led him to a chair. “Sit.” She reached into the cabinet and brought out a bottle of Merlot. “We can both use this…and this.” From the fridge, she produced two types of cheese, and in a jiffy had a plate set out with crackers and grapes. She poured them each a half glass of the wine and sat down.

  He watched her quick, efficient movements and stared at the table as though he’d never seen crackers and cheese before. “Your husband was a lucky man.”

  “I’d like to think so,” she said softly, “but I was lucky, too.”

  “Luck…” Rick murmured. Lucky or unlucky? Was life based on blind chance? “That woman and kid—no luck at all. Maybe another negotiator…”

  “I doubt it. The man was mentally ill, Rick. He had to be. No sane person m
urders the people he loves, especially after so many hours of intervention.”

  True statement, but he’d dealt with these situations many times before and succeeded. He sipped his wine. Not even psychiatrists, however, could truly predict the behavior of any particular individual.

  Kristin reached for his hand, her fingers gliding back and forth across the top. She was a toucher. Patting backs, stroking shoulders, offering hugs and kisses. He’d noticed that about her. Touching was how she connected with people. How she communicated. Now she pressed his palm and softly said his name.

  “Rick…is this the reason you’re here, at Morningstar Lake? You needed to get away from it?”

  He brought their entwined hands to his mouth and brushed soft kisses against her fingers. “Yes.” Simple answer. “I may not be able to share Ashley’s secrets with you, but I wanted to share my own.” If he wanted a chance with Kristin, he had to share the truth with her, the way she and her husband had done.

  Her beautiful smile almost did him in. “I’m glad,” she said. “Thank you so much for trusting me. It means a lot.”

  Unexpectedly, her eyes shone with humor and she grinned. “Aren’t we quite the pair? We’re both sort of homeless…”

  “Out of work…”

  “Trying to face some serious issues…”

  “I’d say we’re about evenly matched. I could also say, well matched,” Rick concluded.

  Now she looked startled. “Well matched? I’m not sure…”

  He stood, and she followed suit. “Kristin…why don’t we find out?” he whispered.

  And then there was no more conversation. No more confessions. No more joking. Just two people communicating in the most basic way, the most telling way of all.

  The kiss started gently but accelerated a moment after ignition. His tongue invaded her and she welcomed it. Her defenses were gone and her senses were spinning. Her skin tingled, and when she inhaled, the faint aroma of his cologne blended with the natural scent of man and started a cascade of remembrances. A delicious excitement that she’d not felt in so long. He wasn’t John…but she deepened the kiss. And it felt good. It felt right.