Avenged (4 page)

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.

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 minutes?”

“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?”

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 join 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.

“Yeah?”

He appeared as though he hadn’t slept in ages. Stale cigarette smoke hung around him like a shroud. She remembered what Joe had said about his marriage breaking up.

“Great job with Porter. I told Nick it was a good catch.”

She shrugged. “I’m glad we caught him but bummed it cost me my partner. I’d sure like to know where he got that arsenal. Did Nick get anything out of him?”

Nick and Mickey had taken on the responsibility of cataloging and entering into evidence all the weapons and ammo recovered from the stolen car. They were in the evidence section now. Carly was resigned to the fact that she probably wouldn’t see her husband again until much later in the day.

“No, Porter isn’t talking. But that’s not why I came to talk to you. I got called in to take a citizen’s complaint on you.”

“What?”

Flash drive forgotten, she felt her face flush hot when she saw that he wasn’t joking. The anger she’d felt earlier ramped up to fury. No one had ever filed a complaint against her
specifically. She’d been named in a couple of complaints as part of a group in an altercation after a rock concert and once after a riot in downtown Las Playas, something officers regarded as a type of carpet bombing by lawyers on police departments, where they would name in a lawsuit every officer whose ID number showed up on a call.

Barrett stepped into the room and pulled a chair close to Carly. “Look, I know it’s nonsense, but you know the rules—someone makes a complaint, I have to take it.”

“Who complained? I haven’t had contact with any—” Her mind latched on to a name.

“I guess it happened right before you got to work.”

“Dean Barton.”

Barrett nodded. “I knew you’d remember; the guy has an unforgettable face. Tell me what happened.”

Carly sighed deeply and struggled to keep her indignation from surfacing. She told him everything about the confrontation and Erika’s desire not to prosecute her brother-in-law. While Carly could have arrested Barton for taking a swing at her, Barrett would understand why she didn’t. The contact with Barton was precipitated by what he did to Erika. Carly taking him to jail would have dragged Erika into the mix whether she wanted to be there or not. Since Carly had defused the situation with a simple control hold, in her mind it was a no harm, no foul situation.

“I get the picture,” Barrett said when she finished. “The guy is basically whining that you stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong and put your hands on him for no reason.”

Carly kept her mouth shut, fearing she’d say something she’d regret.

“I’ll have to talk to the coffee shop people, but as far as I’m concerned, this is a service complaint that doesn’t bear further investigation.” He stood to leave. “That guy is just playing the system, trying to get to you because he knows he can. Don’t worry about this.” He waved the paper. “But file a brief follow-up about the contact, just in case.”

Carly sat back in her chair, watching the sergeant walk away and fighting frustration. Her ten-year streak of no complaints was now over. Biting her lip, and mortified that the situation made tears threaten, she turned to a terminal and typed a quick follow-up, explaining the circumstances of the contact with Barton. After printing a copy, she ground out her initials on the bottom. Tossing it on the in-tray, she grabbed her kit and hurried to the elevator.

She changed clothes with fitful, irritated energy, snatched her wedding ring from the top shelf, and slammed her locker closed. Holding the ring, she took a deep breath as she slid it back on her finger. The action calmed her as much as picturing her blue-eyed husband in her mind did. Carly hadn’t changed to her married name at work. Even when she and Nick were married the first time, she had remained Carly Edwards at the PD. It was never a women’s lib thing but rather a practical move meant to keep mistakes from being made when it came to subpoenas or commendations or any paperwork issues.

Now, when she slid the ring on and prepared to go home,
she was Carly Anderson, happy to leave the work persona in the locker room. When her phone chimed with a text, the emotion boiling inside about Dean Barton had eased. Blowing out a breath, she sat down and opened the message, thanking God that it was from Nick.

Making food run. Have time to meet at HBAAG?

“Oh yeah,” she said out loud as she replied to the text, grateful she wouldn’t have to wait all day to see Nick and relieved she didn’t have to stew for hours before telling him about the avalanche of bad news that had hit her this morning.