On Her Six (Under Covers)

by Christina Elle

  She fought to belie the disappointment washing over her. “Come on, Lou, I’ve got more training under my belt than both of them combined, and you know it. The only thing they have over me is a badge.”

  He shot her a look that said, My point exactly.

  She picked at her fingernails. “You know neither one of them would’ve jumped to help me anyway. Even if I’d called. They still think—they think I’m…”

  His gaze shifted from hers, taking keen interest in the dead plant hanging from a hook on the ceiling behind her. His chest expanded a few times before he brought his attention back to her. “No one holds what your father did against you.”

  A sharp current of heat zapped down her spine, making her jerk upright. “What my father did?” she hissed. “He didn’t do anything! My father wouldn’t, he couldn’t, be a dirty cop. You were his partner. You knew him better than anyone.”

  “I know, I know,” he said. “Calm down, kid. I wasn’t implying he was. It’s just…it’s hard for some of the guys on the force to get over the rumors. I’m not saying it’s right. It’s just the way it is.”

  It was rumored that after a year of working undercover for a local drug dealer, Viktor Heinrich, Sam’s dad had stopped reporting back to his handler. Weeks passed with no word, so a team from BPD Narcotics assembled to go after him and bring him in. But they never found him. After awhile, people on the force started suggesting he’d either become a dirty cop or he was dead. Sam didn’t believe either theory. Who knew the truth? Only her father and Heinrich.

  She’d tried to use her limited resources as Major Fowler’s secretary to find one of Heinrich’s locations and go looking for her dad. But those files were locked up tight. Only the officers on the case were given access. And since no one trusted her because of what they thought her father had done, they refused to offer up any information on the case or Heinrich’s suspected whereabouts.

  Eventually everyone moved on with their lives. Except Sam, who had a missing piece of her heart that would never be filled. Her father would forever be disgraced in the eyes of Baltimore City Police. And there wasn’t anything she could do to clear his name.

  “I’m sorry I brought it up, Sam,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. But promise me if something like this morning happens again, you’ll call the precinct, okay?”

  Her lips flattened into a thin line, and she resisted the urge to bark at Lou. To tell him he should stick up for his old partner. Make people believe her father would never turn against the badge. But the piercing pain in her stomach stopped her. There wasn’t anything out there to prove his innocence. “No one was hurt, Lou. If it makes you feel better, I’ll give a description of the perp to Henderson so she can do a sketch to post around town.” She took two more side-steps toward the door.

  Fowler stared at her for a moment longer, seeming to weigh her words, and then nodded. “You know your old man would have your hide if he was here and heard you’d tried to wrestle a man with a gun.”

  She tried to offer a smile to mask the pang of anger and sadness. “I know. But he’s not. So I’m your problem to worry about, remember?”

  “Yes,” he said, through a wry smile. “I do.” His eyes misted as he shook his head. “Sometimes you’re more trouble than you’re worth, kid.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m so lovable then, huh?” This time the smile did come, spreading across her face with ease.

  “Get out of here before I fire you.” He grinned before dropping his head and massaging his temples once again.

  “Yes, sir.” She gave him a mock salute and turned on her heels content in the fact that the Major must have completely forgotten why he’d called her into his office in the first place.

  Standing at her desk, she glanced at the piles of reports. Later, she promised. Right now, she needed to do some investigative work.

  Dropping into her office chair, she moved her mouse to wake up her computer. She flexed her fingers as the Baltimore City Police’s database homepage appeared. The program was invaluable in finding perpetrators with prior records.

  Her eyes shifted from her screen in a wide arc around the precinct. She and Martinez were the only two in the front room. Webb, Hirsch, and the rest of the gang were out patrolling the streets. Martinez sat behind his desk, phone resting on his shoulder, typing on his keyboard. He must have been taking a complaint from a citizen. As a probationary officer, Martinez gathered the facts and then sent an officer to the scene to handle it. Most of the calls that came into the precinct were non-emergency, my cat is stuck in a tree or my neighbor parked in my spot kinds of things. If it was a real emergency, people called 911, and the central dispatch center handled the calls and correspondence with officers on the road. Sam listened idly to the consistent chatter on the dispatch radio. Mostly domestics and B and Es; nothing she needed to respond to. At least for now.

  She maneuvered the pointer to the search box. If her neighbor was as dangerous as she thought he was, then his butt would definitely be in the database. She was counting on it.

  “Bird tattoo on neck.” She typed and clicked SEARCH. She waited, tapping her fingers on the keys of the keyboard.

  4,367 RESULTS.

  Yikes. That would take forever to sift through.

  “Hmm, okay, how about black bird tattoo on neck.”

  1,287 RESULTS.

  Impatience rose from her stomach and lodged in her throat.

  “Let’s try black bird tattoo on male neck.” Her fingers pounded each letter on the keyboard. The program took its sweet time processing the search.

  “Hey, Sam,” Martinez said across the room. “You busy?”

  She held off a groan, pulling her gaze from the computer screen. “Kinda, why?”

  “Sinclair just called and said he’s got a 10-95 coming in. Guy’s hopped up on PCP. He’s gonna need extra hands. Can you cover the phones while I help?”

  She looked sideways at the phone on her desk, praying it wouldn’t ring until he got back, and nodded.

  Then she glanced back at her computer screen. 435 RESULTS.

  Holy momma! A rush of excitement blasted through her from head to toe.

  Sam scanned the first three pages of results, growing more impatient with each passing minute. Her dinosaur computer kept locking up, and the server was busy, so it took forever to get to the next page. At this rate, she’d get through all four hundred entries by quitting time.

  There had to be another way.

  Rocking back in her chair, she looked up at the drop-tiled ceiling. A hum from the bright halogen lights invaded her ears. “What else? What else? Come on, Sam. Think.” She closed her eyes and white orbs flashed behind her eyelids.

  Opening her eyes, she leaned forward. “Hey, Martinez.”

  The young, dark-haired officer lifted his head from his computer screen, smiling. It was different than his usual smile. One that held an excited hint. The amber in his eyes was brighter, too. He must have been thinking about the impending arrival of the PCP user.

  That look made her want to chuckle. She’d seen officers on probation come and go. They all had that nervous anticipation whenever they had a chance to get their hands dirty. Hell, she felt it, too. “If I want to get information on a guy, but I don’t know a lot about him, what can I do?” The stakeout and Maybel’s contact would tell them more about Mr. Grumpy next door. But she was too impatient to wait until tonight. She wanted info now.

  A grin erupted on Martinez’s face. “Someone catch a case of the Salt Water Pinchers?”

  “The what?”

  “Crabs. You sleep with some guy and he gave you something nasty down below?” He swirled his hand around his lap.

  “Eww, no!” Her face contorted. “Why would you even go there? You know I’m not like those floozies you hang around with after work.” Martinez was a man-whore, and he flaunted it proudly. “It’s my neighbor—”

  His grin widened to the point of almost touching his ears.

  “�
�whom I have not slept with. Ever.” Just to clarify. “I want to find out more about him. Since he’s new and living near my grandma and all. I just want to make sure he’s legit.” Mentioning her grandmother would surely pull Martinez’s mind far away from STDs.

  He shot from his chair and stomped across the room in his black military-grade boots. He stood beside her with his feet spread and shoulders squared. “What do you know about him? Name? Hair and eye color? Type of car? License plate number? Any identifying marks on his body? Tattoos? Piercings?”

  “He’s tall. Well over six foot. Six-four, maybe? Dark hair. Blue eyes. Huge body.”

  Martinez tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. “Come again?”

  “You heard me. Huge body. Real fit. Like, muscles everywhere.”

  Martinez seemed to be fighting another grin. “Okay. Keep going.”

  “He’s got a tattoo on his neck. I could only see the top of it poking out of his collar. Looks like feathers. Maybe it’s a bird or…or one of those Vegas showgirls. You know, the ones in bikinis with feathers strategically placed on their head and body.” Yeah, Big and Brawny looked like the type to have a scantily clad woman tattooed across his bulging biceps.

  When his eyebrows touched his hairline, she clarified. “I’m not saying that’s what it is, I’m just saying that all I saw was feathers. Could be anything. I’ll have to get a closer look next time I see him.”

  “Sounds like it’ll be soon,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  She turned to meet his gaze. “What do you mean by that?”

  He shrugged. “Just sounds like you wouldn’t mind seeing this guy again is all.”

  “He’s my neighbor, Dan. Of course I’m going to see him again. With my luck, it’ll be all the damn time.”

  She got the sense she and Martinez were having completely different conversations.

  “Anyway,” she said, “He didn’t have piercings or any other identifying marks that I could see.”

  No need to mention her neighbor’s handgun and her almost mugging. Martinez didn’t need a reason to worry.

  “You check Book ’Em yet?”

  She nodded. “Checked that first.”

  “Hmm.” He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “What about NCIC?” he asked, referring to the National Criminal Information Center.

  Bending over her shoulder, he peered at the screen. He was so close she smelled the woodsy scent of his soap.

  Shaking her head, she said, “Can’t. I don’t have his name, social, or DOB.”

  Martinez nodded once. “Oh, right.”

  She scooted her chair forward a bit, creating a few inches of space between them.

  He leaned in farther, resting his palm on top of her desk. “That cancels out Dashboard, too, then.”

  She slid her chair forward again and turned her head, ready to tell him to back up. Before she could get the words out, his eyes widened. “You know what’ll work though?”

  She slid to the edge of her seat, her pulse revving in anticipation.

  “Let’s try—”

  The front doors swung open, slamming against the interior wall with a crash. “What the fuck, Martinez!”

  Sam fell against the back of the chair, slouching into the leather. She was so close.

  Officer Sinclair entered, holding on to a man in handcuffs. “I thought I told you to meet me outside in ten? Quit flirting with Harper and get your ass over here!”

  Martinez straightened and hustled toward the front of the station.

  The man in Sinclair’s grasp wasn’t large. He was around Sam’s height and probably only weighed about twenty pounds more than she did. But he had a crazed look in his eye, like he thought he was as big as a sumo wrestler. He swung his head toward Sinclair with teeth bared. If someone pulled out a red cloth, the guy was going to charge it like a bull. He was doing his damnedest to free himself, thrashing and pulling away from Sinclair. Which was a feat since Sinclair was more than six feet and almost as wide as a tractor trailer. When Martinez reached for the guy’s other arm, the man kicked a nearby chair, sending it skidding into Sam’s desk.

  “Hey!” she said. “Watch it!”

  The man yelled obscenities at her, involving something about a woman and a spoon.

  Sinclair gripped the man’s nape and shoved him forward. “Watch your mouth in front of the lady.”

  The perp cussed again and then jerked his head to spit in Sinclair’s face.

  Sam didn’t blink, but her mouth dropped open. Oh boy.

  Momentarily stunned, Sinclair’s grasp on the guy loosened, freeing one arm. The perp used the opportunity to swing his shoulder toward Martinez, landing a hit square in Martinez’s chest. Dan stumbled two steps and landed on his butt.

  “Damn it.” Martinez scrambled to get up.

  The perp dashed toward Sam with a broad, crooked grin.

  Oh, no you don’t.

  She reached for a half-empty bottle of water from her desk and clunked it on the guy’s forehead. It obviously wasn’t enough to injure him, but it stunned him enough to stop his progress.

  His heels dug into the tiled floor and he shook his head as if to clear it. He shouted another profanity and came around the side of her desk. His face was red, and he was panting like a wild beast. Sweat poured down his temples and spit trailed out of his mouth.

  Probably due to the raucous screaming, two plain-clothes officers from the back of the precinct came rushing in. With alarmed expressions, they swung their attention from Sinclair and Martinez approaching the perp to the perp himself who had caged Sam in behind her desk.

  Her back was to the wall, and the psycho stood in front of her wearing the grin of a serial killer. Before she made a move, Sinclair slammed the guy’s face into the computer monitor on her desk, and the other two officers, including Dan, contained the man from all sides.

  Once upright, blood dripping from his nose, the guy flailed his legs wildly and wailed like a caged animal causing one of his ankles to tangle with the cords under her desk. When the officers yanked him back, her keyboard went first. It dropped onto the floor and skidded a few feet. Her mouse clanked onto the tile next. Then she watched almost in slow motion as the computer monitor slid across the top of her desk and dropped. Right onto her already throbbing foot.

  “YOW!” she shouted, as the thing rolled off her foot and onto the floor in a steaming heap of plastic. It zapped, then sizzled, before the screen went black.

  “Holy freakin’ mother of a biscuit on toast with jelly!” She held her foot and jumped around as Martinez, Sinclair, and the other officers pushed the PCP user toward Booking.

  “Mother Mary in Heaven and Wilbert, too,” she whimpered.

  “Sam?” Major Fowler said from behind. “What the hell is going on in here?”

  She turned to see his furrowed bushy eyebrows and wrinkled forehead.

  Squeezing her eyes shut and wincing, she pointed to her foot, which was still cradled in her other hand. “Ow,” she squeaked.

  Chapter Four

  As Ash parked his ‘98 Dodge pickup along the curb, his stomach grumbled. After getting settled in last night, and then the incident with the Vamper this morning, he hadn’t eaten. He couldn’t wait to get inside and devour his lo mein.

  He lifted the manual lock on his driver’s side door and glanced up and down the street. Always vigilant.

  The street was quiet; it was midday so most neighbors were probably at work or staying inside to beat the heat. Based on what he’d seen so far, the community was made up of blue-collar workers. Some wore a shirt and tie, but the majority wore uniforms and drove company vans. The other half he’d seen walking the streets during the day were much older than him, probably retired, their hair gray and posture slumped from years of backbreaking work.

  Perfect place to blend in and learn what he could about the local drug scene. First, because this area was near the port, which was where the DEA suspected the Vamp supplier was bringing drugs i
nto the city. Second, he knew from personal experience on the job that the quietest streets and people were the best sources of information.

  The DEA knew about Vamp and what it could do to a person once hooked, but they didn’t know how and where patrons were getting addicted in the first place. The incident with the addict this morning was a great start. Club Hell on 27th Street. Ash’s portion of this assignment was to learn information like that and then pass it on to his team leader, who would decide what to do with the intel. Which pissed Ash off because that used to be his job. Before his major fuckup on their last assignment, that is. Out of habit, he rubbed the left side of his chest, his fingers gliding over the notch of round, raised skin just above his heart. A constant reminder.

  If he wanted to get his team back, if he wanted to be team leader again, he had to play by Director Landry’s rules. Observe the city, see what he could learn about where addicts were getting hooked, and pass the info on. Do not under any circumstances take matters into his own hands.

  That last order was going to be his greatest struggle. Ash was a hands-on kind of guy. It wasn’t in his nature to sit back and watch.

  But he wanted to stop the drug pandemic that seemed to be taking over. It was why he joined the DEA in the first place. That shit didn’t belong on the streets. And users most definitely didn’t deserve to die because of it.

  Still gazing out the driver’s side window, he glanced at Blondie’s house and thought about their unorthodox introduction this morning. Boyish and athletic had been his first thought when he’d spotted her. But it was something in the way she moved that had caught his attention. Fluid and confident. Shoulders back and spine straight gave the illusion she always got her way.

  A bitter laugh escaped. And now he knew she was demanding and overbearing, too.

  Snatching the take-out bag from the seat, he slid out.

  He made it five steps.

  “Excuse me!” a female voice called out behind him.

  He glanced down at the bag in his hand and sighed. So much for chowing down on his lo mein. Stopping on the first step leading to his house, he turned.