After Midnight (4 page)

Sam locked the door behind his brothers and could barely force himself to brush his teeth and turn out the lights before he crawled into bed and immediately fell into a deep, restless sleep.

It had been almost a week, but she still wasn’t making it through a whole night without waking in a cold sweat, the tentacles of the nightmare still wrapped tightly around her, pressing the air out of her lungs until she was gasping for breath. Sometimes she was able to fight them off and get a couple more hours of sleep, but usually, she would lie there, wide awake, until she gave up and got out of bed. Sitting at the table by the window and drinking a cup of coffee, she’d watch the sunrise sneak into the city, slowly creeping down the streets and sending streaks of light bouncing off the buildings.

Colfax was a ghost town at dawn, with the few holdovers from the night before sleeping in doorways or lying unconscious on the sidewalk. Within hours, all signs of the night would be gone, and the street would come alive again, populated by a whole different type of human. The night crawlers would disappear back into their holes, and the day creatures would appear: businesspeople on their way to the office, shopkeepers setting up for the day, and politicians heading to the capitol.

Kate chased away the last wisps of the nightmare with a quick shower, then tidied the apartment. With all her extra hours of awake time, the place had never been so clean. She smoothed the wrinkles out of the sheets and untwisted the comforter. Her bed neatly made, she propped the small, floppy Princess bear on her pillows. It had always been her favorite Beanie Baby, left over from her childhood. The soft purple body still hid the hundred-dollar bill Jameel had given her, along with the rest of her savings. It had been a safe hiding place for her cash since college, when she had replaced the back stitching with Velcro and stuffed folded bills in among the foamy “beans.” Princess grew fatter as Kate’s funds increased. Right now, she was particularly thin, but tonight the play opened, and Kate would be getting a paycheck soon.

And her part-time job at the bookstore on the ground floor of her apartment building provided some income. But most of that pay immediately went back into the owner’s pocket in exchange for her rent. But she couldn’t complain. It was a good arrangement because she had always loved books and didn’t mind keeping the shelves stocked and taking care of customers. She was even able to borrow the books and read them as long as she was careful not to bend the pages or crease the spines.

But today Mr. Jacobi had given her the morning off. She had told him she needed to prepare for the play’s opening night, but, in fact, she was going to a funeral.

Grateful that her limited wardrobe contained the prerequisite little black dress, she stepped into a pair of black spectator pumps and gathered her long brown hair into a low ponytail, tied with a royal blue scarf. She scowled at the single hoop earring she had dropped into her jewelry box that night. She had forgotten to get rid of it with the rest of her clothes. She pushed it aside and selected a pair of gold studs and a delicate gold locket that her grandmother had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

Kate studied her image as she absently caressed the delicate locket. She had owned more expensive jewelry in her life, but this necklace had always been her favorite. Circled by lacy filigree, there was a “K” engraved in elaborate script on the front. Without opening it, she was completely familiar with the faces inside. One was her beloved grandmother, who had died during Kate’s freshman year in college, and the other was Kate’s mother, who had died when Kate was twelve. No one since had come close to replacing those two women in Kate’s heart or her locket.

She decided that she looked presentable yet unremarkable enough to attend the funeral incognito. She knew it was probably not a good idea, but for some reason, she was compelled to go. If she hadn’t been on that street corner that night, Officer Resnick wouldn’t have been killed and Officer Wilson wouldn’t have been shot. She hadn’t pulled the trigger on either one of them, but she still felt responsible. If only…

Though she couldn’t change that night, she could go to the funeral and pay her respects to a man who by all reports had been a wonderful husband, father, and grandfather. She owed him that much.

She had decided to skip the church service because it was likely to be crowded and well covered by the press. Instead, she drove straight to the cemetery and parked on a side street. It was easy to find the grave site, so she had time to look around and find a spot from which she could watch without getting in the way.

The cemetery was large and well established. Roughly chiseled tombstones from the mid-1800s mingled with granite monoliths from the twenty-first century. Huge carved angels and elaborate crosses were scattered over the manicured lawns, and a generous sprinkling of American flags waved next to many of the markers. Mature cottonwoods and several different types of evergreens offered spots of shade on the gently rolling landscape.

Kate picked a spot at the top of a small hill, next to a thirty-foot blue spruce whose sprawling limbs would provide her some degree of obscurity while allowing her an excellent vantage point. She didn’t have long to wait before the procession entered the cemetery and began wending its way to the dark green awning and wooden folding chairs that had been set up next to the open grave.

Larry’s white cruiser draped with black crepe led the way. The light bar and all the other emergency lights were on, flashing, blinking, and rotating, washing the landscape in reds, blues, and whites. The hearse and two limos followed slowly, and what appeared to be an endless row of cop cars, ambulances, and even a few fire trucks trailed behind. The cruiser, the limos, and the hearse stopped by the grave, and the other cars continued farther down before stopping.

While the pallbearers took the flag-draped coffin to the platform suspended over the grave, doors began opening, and hundreds of cops, firemen, and paramedics poured out. Kate watched as the overwhelming numbers of police officers grouped in their respective departments. All of the cities and counties that made up the greater Denver area were well represented. In their dress uniforms, the officers lined up and began to march in orderly rows to the grave.

The family members, supported by several officers, exited the limos and were escorted to the seating area. The officers lined up, still in their departmental groups, and closed ranks around them.

Kate’s heart twisted at the obvious grief of the widow, who sat stiffly, unable to staunch the flow of tears that streamed down her face. The usually stoic expressions on the cops’ faces were replaced by shock and sadness. A strip of black tape stretched diagonally across their badges in silent support of a fallen fellow officer.

It was easy to pick out Officer Wilson because of the stark white sling cradling his arm against his chest. Kate had heard he was out of the hospital and on his way to recovery. He certainly looked better than he had the last time she’d seen him. Dressed in a crisp blue uniform, he looked every inch the hero he was. And incredibly handsome. But he, too, seemed to be having a difficult time holding it together. Several times he dropped his head, and, even from a distance, she could see his chest heave as if he was trying not to break down. An equally tall man in a fireman’s uniform casually lifted his hand and rested it on the cop’s shoulder.

As the priest spoke, Kate was able to catch only about half of his words. She felt her gaze drifting often to the man who had risked his life for hers. She wished he hadn’t been such an ass at the hospital. She had truly wanted him to understand why she had been there.

A piper stepped forward and played a heartbreaking rendition of “Amazing Grace.” Four officers lifted the flag off the coffin and folded it with military precision into a tight triangle that one of them handed to the widow, followed by a crisp salute. All of the hundreds of officers surrounding the coffin snapped to attention and also saluted their fallen comrade.

Seven officers stepped forward and fired their rifles in perfect unison, three times raised and lowered, in a twenty-one-gun salute.

From Officer Resnick’s police cruiser, which had been sitting quietly with all its lights still flashing, the dispatcher’s voice could be clearly heard, projected out over the crowd.

“Dispatch to car nine, come in.” A silent moment passed.

“Dispatch to car nine, come in, please.” Again there was silence, followed by the dispatcher’s voice crackling over the car’s speaker, solemnly continuing.

“Car nine, out of service. End of watch. We thank you for your sacrifice, Sergeant Resnick.”

The siren on the cruiser gave a single loud “boop,” then the lights turned off.

A moment of dead silence followed. Even the birds stopped singing, as if they sensed the intensity around them.

All of the policemen, firemen, and others had held their rigid salutes, and now, as one, lowered their hands stiffly to their sides. The priest said a few more words as the widow and her children and grandchildren stood and walked past the coffin, gently tossing roses on it. Then the sea of uniformed men and women began to shuffle around, some going to the widow and others heading for their vehicles.

Kate’s cheeks were wet and her heart was in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. It would have been impossible not to be touched by the emotional ceremony, but it broke through to her very core. Blinded by the flood of tears, she squealed in alarm when, completely by surprise, a large hand clamped around her wrist.

It was her.

After the sign-off from Larry’s cruiser, Sam felt like he was suffocating in the crowd. Slipping back, he’d made his way out of the mass of humanity so he could catch his breath. It was then that he had noticed her, standing alone at the top of a small hill, almost hidden against the dark bluish-green branches of a spruce tree. Even though she was sedately dressed in black, with her hair pulled back and much of her face covered by large sunglasses, there was no doubt.

He was struck by two strong, conflicting emotions. How dare she show up at Larry’s funeral! She was the last person he would have expected to see. It was wrong on so many levels, not the least of which was that it fueled his angry conviction that somehow she had triggered this whole tragedy.

But, on the other hand, Sam really wanted to talk to her. She was an enigma who surely held information that would help him get through this. Not that there was a mystery. Everyone knew whose fingers had been on the triggers and whose bullets had killed Larry and the pimp. Sam was both furious and curious. It had all started with her, and it should end with her.

Instinctively, he knew she wouldn’t stay long. He had to catch her before she left. He moved quickly, circling behind her and catching her completely by surprise. She never saw him coming, but to make sure she didn’t disappear too soon, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

Her eyes widened, and he felt her body stiffen in shock.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Don’t you have any respect for Larry’s family?”

“Yes—yes, I’m sorry,” she stammered, so shaken by his confrontation that she was barely able to speak. Then, to her total humiliation, she again burst into tears.

Sam clearly hadn’t expected that. He hesitated, not knowing whether to comfort her or shake her.

Kate sniffled, dabbing her eyes with her fingertips and wishing she had thought to bring a tissue. “I’m really sorry. I just wanted to…I don’t know…just be here. I never meant for anything like this to happen.”

“What did you
think
would happen?”

“I don’t know. I was just told to be there.”

Sam frowned. “Told? Why?”

Kate pulled herself together and pushed her sunglasses back into place. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “No one was supposed to get hurt.”

The crowd was dispersing, and several people, all clearly reporters, had spotted him and were heading toward the tree. “Sam…Officer Wilson…do you have a minute?” Several voices shouted out questions as the reporters and camera crews jostled for position.

Kate’s expression changed from wary to panicked. “I’ve got to go.” She whirled, jerked her arm out of his grasp, and walked away in the opposite direction before Sam could even react. He reached out, but she was passing on his right side, and his useless arm couldn’t reach her.

He started to go after her, but he noticed that one of the reporters approaching was the ride-along, still wearing his gray hoodie. Damn, he didn’t want to talk to him right now. He didn’t want to talk to any of them. All four major local television stations had been hassling him for an interview, which he had, so far, been able to avoid. But now the stakes had changed. Even more than he didn’t want to have to talk to them, he didn’t want them to talk to the woman. Instinct told him to protect his source. Whatever information she might have would be lost or garbled if the press got involved before he could interview her. And God forbid if she should get a lawyer.

Heaving a reluctant sigh, he stepped forward, hoping to draw the attention to himself and away from her. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that he shouldn’t have worried. She was already gone.

Kate spent most of the afternoon cleaning out the storeroom and organizing the new shipment of magazines. Just pulling the old ones off the racks and replacing them with new ones took several hours, but the activity kept her from thinking about all that had gone on at the funeral. Besides, her head was filled with all the lines from the play as the clock clicked closer to curtain time.

Rehearsal had gone much better for the past few days as she managed to push her thoughts about that night to the back of her mind and focus on her part. Every day it got easier, and working with the actors was so much fun, she almost forgot it was work. Starting with tonight, they would have performances every Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, plus two on Sunday, for the next three months. It was her first real break, and she was determined to do well. Thank goodness the heavy stage makeup would cover the dark circles under her eyes.

Butterflies started to multiply as she finished her shift at the bookstore and got in her car to start the drive to Morrison. Tonight’s audience should be relatively small, but J.R., the owner of the Music Hall, was hoping for sold-out shows on the weekend. She parked in front of the Ferris wheel and joined the other two women in the dressing room. She loved the camaraderie backstage with everyone joking and helping one another get dressed. This was a small production team and there was no extra money for dressers or makeup artists. They had all even pitched in to build the sets. There wasn’t a lot of money in local theater, so there couldn’t be any divas.