Busted

by Diane Kelly

  I jumped onto my motorcycle without bothering to don my helmet or goggles, and roared out of the parking lot, tires screeching.

  ***

  When I arrived home after work, Dad met me at the door. His gaze stopped on my puffy, pink eyes. “Trey’s called the landline a half dozen times looking for you. He sounded upset. You two have an argument?”

  I nodded. Trey had called both my cell phone and the station several times, too. Selena had radioed me repeatedly all afternoon until I finally told her to tell him it was over and that I never wanted to speak to him again.

  I pushed past Dad into the house. “We’re through.”

  I sat on the bench in the entryway and yanked off my boots. I kicked them across the linoleum and burst into angry, anguished tears all over again. Dad sat on the bench beside me, putting his arm around my shoulders. I sobbed for a good ten minutes. Bluebonnet wandered up and licked my hand, and Tosh hopped onto my lap and began kneading my uniform pants with his sharp claws, the pain letting me know that I was still very much alive even though I felt like I’d died inside.

  How could I have been so stupid to let myself fall for that bastard?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  THE DEVIL STEALS PRADA

  The following morning, I woke early after a fitful night’s sleep. Trey had called again after I arrived home, but I refused to speak to him.

  “I think it’s best you leave her be,” Dad had told him.

  I’d gone to bed early, curled up in a ball under my purple polka-dot bedspread, shivering uncontrollably even though it wasn’t the least bit cold. My eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, my face blotchy. I applied some concealer under my eyes in a vain attempt to mask my pain.

  The power supply and virus protection software arrived at the station, but I had Selena call Trey to tell him we’d made other arrangements for the installation. For all I cared anymore, he could head straight out of town and out of my life forever. I was glad he was flying out that afternoon. The sooner the better.

  Cueing up Pat Benatar’s “Heartbreaker” on my phone, I climbed onto the police bike and drove to Jacksburg elementary. Thank goodness Trey had wrapped up his business at the school the day before and wasn’t there. If I saw the jerk, I’d probably beat him to death with my baton.

  I stationed myself in the back of Mrs. Nelson’s classroom, where I planned to confront Tiffany as soon as she arrived. She was fifteen minutes late already.

  The bell rang and we all stood to say the pledge of allegiance. Tiffany breezed in at half past eight, a large Starbuck’s cup in her hand.

  “You’re late again,” Mrs. Nelson said.

  “Sorry.” Tiffany offered the teacher an insincere smile. “Traffic.”

  Like there was such a thing in Jacksburg.

  “Good morning, Tiffany.” I stepped forward from the back row of desks.

  Tiffany spun to face me, her mouth gaping in surprise, alarm flashing in her eyes.

  I motioned to the door. “We need to talk.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  We stepped out into the hall.

  Tiffany took a sip from her cup and winced. “This is cold. Let’s talk in the teacher’s lounge.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  We walked across the hall to the lounge, a small room furnished with a flimsy card table and a couple of metal folding chairs. The room smelled of microwave popcorn and overcooked Lean Cuisine.

  Tiffany removed the plastic lid from her coffee cup, stuck it in the microwave, and punched a few buttons. Beep-beep-beep. The oven kicked on.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the countertop. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  She was trying to play innocent, but her pupils were dilated with fear. That fact gave me no small dose of satisfaction.

  I got straight to the point. “Someone’s been preying on the kids in this town.”

  “Preying on the kids?” Tiffany pursed her glossy lips. “Like a pervert, you mean?”

  “Nuh-uh.” I shook my head. “This predator isn’t into that kind of thing. She’s into Prada and Jimmy Choo.” I gave her a meaningful up and down glance, from her spike heels to her diamond-stud earrings.

  Her freshly waxed brows drew together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do.”

  The microwave beeped to indicate her coffee was ready. Just as she was about to snag the cup, I grabbed her wrist firmly. “Let me get that for you.”

  I’d noticed Tiffany had nuked the drink for a full minute, much longer than was necessary, and I wasn’t about to take a scalding latte to the face. I removed the cup from the microwave with my left hand and held out my right for the plastic lid. She grudgingly handed it to me and I secured it to the top of the cup, handing it to her. “Careful now, that’s mighty hot.”

  She glared at me and put her hand out as if reaching for the cup. Instead, she slapped my hand aside, sending the cup out of my hand to smash against the wall, sending a spray of coffee all over the room and the floor. Tiffany grabbed a folding chair from the card table and hurled it at me with surprising force for a woman with stick-thin arms. The only thing I could do was throw up my arms and duck. The chair struck my arms and chest, knocking me backward. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

  Tiffany ran from the room. I took off after her but slipped on the hot coffee, falling to my hands and knees. I scrabbled on the wet floor, trying to regain my footing.

  I got to my feet and ran after her. She’d gained quite a lead and was already at the far end of the long hallway. She glanced back at me, skidded to a stop, and grabbed at the red fire alarm on the wall, yanking the lever down until the alarm sounded. She may be a bimbo, but that was a damn smart move.

  She darted around the corner, into the hallway that led to the front doors and escape. I rounded the corner after her only to find myself in a flood of small children pouring out in weaving lines from their classrooms, hurried along by teachers with worried looks on their faces, knowing this was not a drill, having received no advanced warning.

  I ran after Tiffany, dodging children as best I could, eventually tripping over a tiny girl in pigtails, knocking the poor kid to the scuffed tile floor. I grabbed the girl by her arms and helped her to her feet. “Sorry, sweetie.”

  The tot burst into tears but I had no time to console her at the moment, not with Tiffany getting away.

  Tiffany barreled out of the front doors, ahead of the milling crowd. By the time I’d made it out the doors and maneuvered around the lines of children marching across the front sidewalk, Tiffany was hopping into her car.

  White reverse lights glowed as she zoomed backwards out of the parking spot without checking her mirrors, narrowly missing a line of second-graders crossing the parking lot.

  She floored the gas pedal and screeched out of the parking lot, leaving parallel tread marks on the asphalt and me cursing in her wake. She swerved around a group of children now in the crosswalk, the teacher grabbing a couple of kids by the back of their shirts and yanking them out of Tiffany’s way before they became road kill.

  Tiffany careened around the corner, cutting the wheel too close and taking out a half-dead holly bush. She dragged it along under her car, a trail of brown, pointy leaves in her wake as she accelerated down the residential street.

  I ran to the police bike. After jamming the helmet on my head and fastening the strap, I cranked the engine, yanked the bike around, and took a short cut, roaring over the grass and bouncing down the curb, siren screaming, lights flashing. I cranked the gas, took the corner at warp speed, and was on Tiffany in an instant. The quick acceleration and maneuverability of the bike were definitely an advantage.

  Despite my lights and siren, Tiffany made no move to pull over. A block down she took another corner far too fast, swerving first into the curb and then into the opposite lane, almost colliding head-on with an oncoming yellow and black motorcycle.

  The
Ninja.

  The Ninja veered into a yard, the rider braking fast to avoid slamming into a tree, the rider setting the bike down and sliding sideways across the lawn, sending up a cloud of dirt and dead grass. The bike and rider skidded to a stop worthy of a stunt man. I stopped and hollered, “You, okay?”

  The rider gave me a thumbs up and waved me off, letting me know he wasn’t critically injured. I took off again after Tiffany.

  I realized then that my pursuit of Tiffany would only encourage her to drive recklessly, putting innocent people at risk, so I ceased my pursuit through town, turning off my sirens, but leaving the flashing lights on. There was only one way out of town, the highway, so I knew I could intercept Tiffany there.

  I radioed the other officers. “Dante! Andre! Backup! Now!”

  Only one of them responded. “What’s up?”

  “Remember that bitch I told you about? Works at the school?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s evading arrest. Heading to the highway. Red Mitsubishi Spyder, vanity license plate reads ‘Tiffy T.’”

  “I’m up north,” the voice radioed back. “But I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  I cut through the back parking lot of the Dollar Depot, weaving to avoid the potholes and cardboard boxes littering the alleyway. I took a sharp right onto a side street and zigzagged down another alley behind Lorene’s.

  Hoping to cut Tiffany off, I took a final turn onto a private dirt road that led through a cow pasture to the highway. Through the dust I caught a glimpse of yellow and black in my side mirror. What the hell?

  I turned my head to look. The Ninja was a hundred yards behind me. Damn! The last thing I needed was someone else in the mix, complicating things. Even if it was my dream man.

  Just as the dirt road gave way to a cattle guard, Tiffany blew past on the highway. I bounced across the metal pipes and onto the shoulder, turning the siren back on now that we were safely out of town.

  I radioed Selena. “Any reports of damage or injuries?”

  “She took out two mailboxes and a garbage can, but no injuries.”

  Thank goodness.

  A male voice came on the radio, Dante or Andre. “I’m turning from county road eighty-six onto the highway.”

  Good news. The county road was only two miles behind me. At least backup was close now.

  Another three miles and we’d leave the Jacksburg city limits. Since we were in hot pursuit we could still chase Tiffany down, but Sheriff Dooley would no doubt want to haul Tiffany’s ass in himself, take credit for what was sure to be a high-profile bust given her social status and the recent arrest of her father.

  I have to nab her before she gets out of town. I’d solved this case with no help from the county. This bust is mine!

  I pulled up next to Tiffany’s car and waved her over with my arm, but she swerved at me, forcing me onto the grass median. After bouncing across the uneven ground, I recovered and drove back onto the asphalt directly behind Tiffany, quickly checking my mirrors. The Ninja was a quarter mile back, riding the shoulder. A Jacksburg PD cruiser was gaining on us. Thank God. There wasn’t much I could do in a motorcycle. But Dante or Andre could force her off the road.

  I looked up just in time to see Tiffany’s red brake lights come on, tires smoking as she jammed the brake to the floor. There was no time for me to stop. The front of my bike slammed into her trunk and momentum carried the back of the bike up, flipping me off the seat and sending me head-over-heels over the top of Tiffany’s car like a crazed performer at a monster truck rally.

  Crunch! My left shoulder impacted the hood of her car at an odd angle and wrenched. I screamed in agony and terror as my ass slammed down on the front fender, my right knee sliced by the hard metal edge of her personalized license plate. I toppled forward into the road and rolled to a stop a dozen feet in front of her car.

  Hot tears of pain seared my eyes. “You crazy bitch!”

  I tried to push myself to a stand, but my left arm wasn’t cooperating. My shoulder wasn’t in the socket anymore, my arm hanging limp and useless. Blood poured through the gash sliced through my pants and knee. I looked at my mangled limbs in shock, a surge of adrenaline rushing through me, thankfully masking some of the pain.

  I pushed myself into a sitting position with my right hand, scraped to shreds from sliding across the asphalt. In my haste to catch Tiffany, I hadn’t had time to put my leather gloves on.

  Revving her engine, Tiffany leaned forward over her steering wheel, piercing me with ocean-blue eyes pinched into a glare so sinister, so purely devoid of humanity, I knew my life was over. She’s going to run me down! With my left shoulder and leg not working, I couldn’t get out of the way.

  Tiffany saw me struggling and emitted a cackle, continuing to rev her engine, taunting me, toying with me, just like Fate had done all these years.

  The last thing I remembered before I died was the now cockeyed “TIFFY T” license plate barreling toward my face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  TELL ME WHERE IT HURTS

  Okay, so I didn’t die. But with the excruciating pain in my leg and shoulder, I almost wished I had.

  I opened my eyes to see an IV drip hanging on a stand over me, the tube leading to a vein on the back of my right hand where the needle was taped. My left hand felt warm and I turned to see the top of my dad’s gray head bowed, my fingers gently sandwiched between his rough, calloused hands.

  “Dad?” I managed to squeeze out.

  His head shot up, his expression changing in an instant from grief to joy. “Marnie!”

  He dropped my hand and started to grab me around the neck in a hug, impeded by the cast running from my left wrist all the way up to my shoulder. My left leg felt heavy and I looked down to see that it, too, was in an ankle-to-thigh cast. I was more plaster than person.

  I reached over with my right hand and dad took it in his. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the motion hurt like hell, activating the still-raw scrapes on my palm.

  “About time you woke up.” Uncle Angus stood from a chair in the corner of the tiny curtained space, his face as pink and swollen as Dad’s, his forced casual tone fooling no one.

  Dad held my hand to his cheek for a long moment, then gently let go. “How are you feeling, honey?”

  “Never better.”

  He shook his head and emitted a strained chuckle. “That’s my girl.”

  A nurse pulled aside the curtain at the end of my bed and stepped into the space. “Good evening, Captain Muckleroy.”

  “Evening?” Last I’d known, it had been morning.

  I learned the doctors had kept me in a medically induced coma for two days while they performed X-rays, cat scans, MRIs, and generally poked and prodded me all over for injuries.

  “Was Tiffany Tindall caught?” I asked.

  Dad nodded. “After you flipped the bike Andre stopped to tend to you, but some guy on a Ninja cycle followed her, jumped from his bike into her convertible when she floored the pedal, and forced the wheel to keep her from running you over. He restrained her until the ambulance picked you up and Andre could take her off his hands. He drove off afterward before anyone could speak to him.”

  Oh, my God. The Ninja rider could’ve gotten himself killed. What kind of guy pulls a stunt like that for a total stranger? Risks his life to save someone he doesn’t even know?