Avenged (9 page)

THEY MADE IT
to second service early in two cars. Nick planned to hook up with his team and prepare for the first funeral straight from church. Today was Rojo’s, and the service would be held in a small Spanish-speaking church in downtown Las Playas at 1 p.m. After church, Nick and his people would have an hour to prepare before the funeral started.

They listened to Pastor Rawling’s message from Matthew 5: “‘But I say do not resist an evil person! If someone slaps you on the right cheek, offer the other cheek also.’”

Carly thought about Ginny Masters, glad she hadn’t come across the woman while she was angry. The blog posts still irritated her, but she had to admit that it was at least a blessing that Masters had not gone overboard in print. And Carly
knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had to handle the situations with both Masters and Barton professionally, not like some wounded teenager.

She squeezed Nick’s hand, feeling centered and at peace for the first time in a while. His warm, solid presence next to her was a large part of the reason why. When the service ended, they walked hand in hand toward his car so she could say good-bye. They were halfway there when Pastor Rawlings stopped them.

“If you have a minute, Carly, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Sure, I’ll be right there.” She turned to Nick. “You be careful.”

He smiled. “Always.” They shared a kiss and he was gone.

“What can I do for you, Jonah?” Carly loved her pastor. He’d been her mother’s pastor and mentor for years and then Nick’s when she and Nick were divorced. At first Carly had hated him. But when her heart changed and she and Nick reconciled, coming to church and learning from big, gentle Jonah had changed her life. Now she admired and respected him and cherished the memory of Jonah performing the ceremony that retied her marriage knot with Nick.

Jonah held his hand out, the grip engulfing Carly’s hand. “How about we go to my office?” His expression was unreadable. Carly hoped this wasn’t about Mary Ellen. But then if it was, all she had were positive reports. The girl was bright and helpful, and her progress since she’d been on probation was nothing short of miraculous.

Maybe Jonah doesn’t like the idea of Mary Ellen and Londy
dating, if that’s what they are doing.
Carly’s mind whirled with possibilities. They reached his office, and Jonah took a seat behind his desk. Carly sat across from him.

“Do you know Pam Sailor?” Jonah asked.

Since she was expecting a Mary Ellen question, this one knocked Carly for a loop. She thought for a moment and then remembered the name from the suicide she’d handled. “I know the name but I don’t know her.”

“She attends sporadically because her business is—uh, was catering and she often works Sundays.”

“She was related to the guy who committed suicide?”

Jonah nodded. “He was her husband. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about.”

Intrigued because Jonah couldn’t know she’d handled the call, Carly asked, “Does she think it wasn’t suicide?” Pam Sailor would have been notified about the death by the coroner’s office. It wasn’t likely Carly’s name would have come up at all.

“No, she’s certain he killed himself. He left her a note and unfortunately a lot of problems. I don’t want to go into everything Pam told me, but she has questions I think a law enforcement officer would be better equipped to handle. I also thought that speaking to another woman would make it easier for Pam. So I decided to ask you to speak with her, casually, maybe?” He held his hands out, palms up. “Maybe you can help by just listening to what she has to say.”

Carly thought for a minute. She could refer the woman to homicide. Though the death wasn’t a homicide, it’d still
been handled by that detail. They received all the autopsy information from the coroner and were the ones who officially closed the case. Or maybe the woman needed a good lawyer. Then again, she might just need to vent. Carly could listen as well as anyone else.

“Sure, Jonah, I’ll talk to her.”

“Great, thanks. She’s tied up for the next couple of days with family. As soon as I can arrange something, I’ll let you know.”

•••

Later that afternoon, Carly tried to take a nap but was only successful in dozing off and on. The first night back to graveyard patrol was always the hardest. A lot of guys didn’t try to sleep before their Monday shift. They figured they’d be tired enough to sleep well the next day. Carly liked to at least have a nap, but today there was just too much on her mind. She ended up taking Maddie for a long walk and then settling down to listen to the police radio while she got ready for work. She wanted to know what was happening in the city.

Things in the new marina had calmed down with the construction company hiring extra private security to ease up on the demand for cops. Nick had called earlier and told her that Rojo’s funeral had gone off without a hitch. People were sad but peaceful, he said. The gang guys were hanging out in Ninja territory. His tone was guarded, and she knew he was afraid peace would evaporate as the day wore on and alcohol took effect.

By 9 p.m. the radio traffic she listened to was routine. She hoped that when she got to work, Nick would let her know he was calling it a night and coming home to go to bed.

Carly studied the contents of the fridge, trying to decide what she felt like eating. She almost reheated some lasagna for dinner but decided it would be too heavy. Instead, she settled on a sandwich. Humming softly, she began taking things out of the fridge.

Suddenly the radio screeched with emergency traffic. She nearly dropped the mayonnaise jar when she heard Nick’s voice tight with stress. His words were indistinguishable.

Pulse accelerating, she rushed to the radio to turn up the volume.

“Gang 1, 10-9 your last.”

Gang 1 was Nick and Mickey. Carly felt ice form in her veins, and she held her breath.

The dispatcher had not heard the transmission any better than she had and was asking Gang 1 to repeat. Dispatch started the steady code-red beep, a sound meant to keep the radio clear during emergencies so the unit in need could get through.

Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

Carly jumped when Nick’s voice sliced through the code red.

“Gang 1, 998, shots fired! Shots fired!”

Carly gripped the radio, knuckles white, waiting as dispatch asked for a location.

“Gang 1, what is your 20?”

After what seemed an eternity, a radio was keyed, and Nick’s voice came across breathless but clear and steady. “Southwest corner of Seventh and LPS. Officer down, officer down. An officer has been shot.”

In the staccato stream of radio traffic that followed, Carly heard paramedics requested and numerous units announcing they were en route to assist Nick and Mickey.

She forgot the sandwich, running to get her shoes and car keys. A fear like she had never known coiled inside.

Where was Nick when the shots were fired?

And who was shot? Was it Mickey?

Was it Nick?

Odds were it was Mickey, and she hated that the thought gave her some relief. Mickey had a pregnant wife at home.

She was in her car moments later, speeding for the scene with the volume on her handheld radio turned all the way up. Her mind raced as she listened for information. And her pulse pounded with worry for Nick. He’d said Seventh and Las Playas Street—that was on the other side of the commuter rail line in Ninjas territory. It was also the area where he’d said they’d be hanging out, but that was hours ago.

Knuckles white on the steering wheel, she listened as the eerie emergency beep continued. It wouldn’t stop until Nick or another officer at the scene was able to say that the scene was code 4, in control.

She had nearly reached Las Playas Street, where she would turn north toward Seventh, when she heard Nick’s voice. Tense but controlled, he announced code 4, with the
shooting suspect still outstanding, then asked for confirmation that paramedics were en route.

Dispatch answered that medics were on the way. Carly slowed when she heard Nick ask for homicide and a shooting team. Her grip on the wheel relaxed, and she jerked the car to a stop.

Hands shaking, Carly leaned forward to let her forehead rest on the steering wheel. Her thoughts cleared slowly, and she realized she’d only be in the way at the crime scene. Not yet 10 p.m, afternoon patrol would be working the call and the shooting. It wasn’t Carly’s place to be there—especially since she wasn’t in uniform.

“Oh, God.” She breathed out a prayer. “I was so afraid for Nick, I didn’t stop to think. Thank you that he’s okay. And please look after whoever went down.”

Carly inhaled deep and exhaled regular as her heart rate calmed; then she sat back in the driver’s seat. She could continue toward work and suit up early, probably get some dull job to do at the crime scene. Or she could turn around and be at the hospital in a couple minutes.
I can be of use there,
she thought,
even if it’s only to update communications on the officer’s condition until my shift starts.

Carly needed to be involved. Whoever had gone down was a brother officer and one of her husband’s team. She turned the car around and minutes later parked near the emergency room. As she got out and headed for the entrance, she called communications and told them where she was and asked who was hurt.

“I’ll tell the watch commander,” Charlie, the comm center supervisor, said. “It’s Mickey T. Nick is okay. Medics have been on scene a couple of minutes, and from the sound of things, they want to get Mickey to the ER quickly.” His voice vibrated with adrenaline and stress.

But the only words Carly heard over and over were that Nick was okay.

MICKEY DIDN’T LOOK GOOD.
A few minutes after she talked to Charlie, serious-faced medics rushed the injured officer to a waiting trauma team. The watch commander had called Carly’s BlackBerry to thank her for quick thinking and showing up at the hospital. Her presence allowed all the other officers already on scene, including Nick, to stay at the location and help in the search for the shooters. The commander had logged Carly into service as Adam 7 and asked her to update him on Mickey’s condition and to collect any evidence the medical team might come across. To that end, Carly followed Mickey into the ER and waited outside the trauma room, watching and listening but not close enough to be an intrusion.

About five minutes later, her BlackBerry went off. Dispatch told her Jacobs was sending someone to Mickey’s house to pick up his wife. Was there any more Carly could tell them about his condition?

Sighing, she said no. They let her know that Captain Jacobs was on his way.

Sliding her BlackBerry back onto her belt, she folded her arms, leaned against the doorframe, and watched as bloody clothes were cut off her fellow officer and her husband’s partner.

While she waited for Captain Jacobs, Carly listened to the radio as Nick calmly directed officers to where he wanted them. He was certainly shaken and angered by what had happened, but the emotions would never intrude on his work. It was his job to find the shooter and keep everyone safe.

From what he’d said over the air, which at best was shorthand, Carly extrapolated that he and Mickey had been out walking through a neighborhood. They’d stopped to speak to a group of people when a drive-by shooting went down. Mickey had probably been trying to get the innocent people out of the line of fire when he was hit.

Suddenly more emergency traffic blared from her radio. A unit had spotted a vehicle fitting the description of the shooter’s car. The officer recited a license plate, and his voice went up an octave when he said the car split.

The radio was then a clash of people trying to talk at the same time. Carly tensed. Finally the dispatcher got through with the news that the car was stolen.

The first unit came back on the air, sirens wailing in the background, asking for another code red.

Carly turned up her radio. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until the ER doctor stepped out to tell her that Mickey was losing a lot of blood and they needed to get him to surgery.

She nodded and said she’d stay in the waiting area.

The steady emergency beep putting her on edge all over again, Carly walked out of the ER. As the double doors closed behind her, she nodded to the security officer who monitored them. He needed to push the lock release to allow admittance to the ER. Memorial Hospital had doubled its security measures after Joe’s son, A.J., had been kidnapped right out of the nursery about a year ago.

“Something happening?” the security officer asked. Carly remembered they were called facilitators, not officers or guards.

“They think they got the shooter.”

The facilitator held a thumb up.

“We have the vehicle stopped, Magnolia and Sixth.” An excited voice interrupted the code red.

The beep continued. Carly pictured the stop in her mind. Units fanned out behind the stolen vehicle, emergency lights flashing, cops behind open doors, weapons drawn, focused on the vehicle and occupants in front of them.

“Driver and passenger have exited.”

They’d be pronged out between the black-and-whites and the stolen car, the driver first, then the passenger.

Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

“Occupants in custody.”

They’d be handcuffed and moved out of the way so an officer could make certain no one was still in the vehicle.

And a minute later: “Code 4. Vehicle occupants and weapon in custody.”

“Yes!” Carly said with a fist pump.

“Great,” the facilitator said. “How’s your officer in there?”

“He needs surgery.”

“He’ll get the best here.”

Carly knew he was right. The doctors here were the best. But that knowledge didn’t stop her from praying while she paced and waited for the captain.

•••

Mickey was in surgery by the time Jacobs arrived. Sergeant Barrett and a press officer were with him.

“Update?”

Carly shrugged. “He was losing a lot of blood. They said they had to operate to stop the bleeding. We can go back and check with nursing staff for any news.”

She wanted to ask about Nick. She wanted to see Nick and to hold him close for a long time.

Jacobs pulled out his BlackBerry to read a text. He then turned to the press officer. “Reporters are on their way. We need a quick snippet to give them.”

As if on cue, Carly heard a voice that made her skin crawl.

“Captain Jacobs! Captain Jacobs!”

When she turned, Carly saw that the high-pitched, nasal tone belonged to Ginny Masters.

Jacobs turned as the slim, curvy, bleached-blonde reporter approached them, her stiletto heels snapping crisply on the hospital floor. The heels were attached to calf-length black boots that gave way to skintight black pants. A snug red blouse and a large black purse slung over one shoulder completed the outfit. A tall, skinny man with his hair in a ponytail followed her. He had a camera around his neck and one in his hand.

Carly struggled to keep her expression neutral. The photos on the blog were not a fluke. Duncan Potter had teamed up with Ginny Masters.

She worked to ignore Potter and concentrated on where she felt the real threat was—Ginny Masters. A jolt of anger shot through her, and Carly knew she needed to forget the nasty blogs and not let the woman or Potter get under her skin.

“I heard an officer has been killed by a gang member,” Masters said. “Can you tell me the details?”

Carly almost lost all her reserve right then, and her mouth dropped at the callousness of the question and the excited gleam in the woman’s eyes. She was spared from having to respond as Jacobs nodded to the PIO. He then put a hand on Carly’s shoulder and turned to the security facilitator, who hit the door buzzer. Barrett, Jacobs, and Carly went through the door while the PIO intercepted Masters and Potter.

“I never would have made it as a PIO,” the captain told her in a quiet voice.

Carly felt tension melt away, glad Jake was in charge. The doors closed behind them, and Carly’s anger at Masters dissipated. It was a great relief that they could leave her out in the waiting area. The sound of Masters arguing for information reached her ears, and she could only shake her head.

“I have a right to the most current information. You can’t suppress the news.”

The threesome continued to the nursing station. A nurse there said she’d try to get an update for them.

While they waited, Jacobs turned toward Carly. “What’s the matter, Trouble?”

Trouble was his nickname for her. Jake, as he was often called, was an old friend, only recently promoted to captain.

“I know you have to give her something,” Carly said, “but that woman is obnoxious.”

“All members of the press are obnoxious. You’re just used to Trejo.”

“I guess. Suspect in custody?”

Jake smiled. “Looks that way. Nick will be down here to brief me as soon as everything out there is squared away.” As if sensing her unasked question, Jacobs put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s okay. From what I heard, Mickey pushed Nick and some bystanders out of the line of fire.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

When his phone buzzed again, he pulled it off his belt to read the text. “The sergeant I sent to pick up Mickey’s wife, Ann, should be here shortly.”

The ER nurse came back with an encouraging report
about Mickey. She suggested they wait upstairs outside recovery, where he’d be taken after surgery, so the three of them walked to the elevators. While they walked, Jake texted the new location so Ann would be brought to the correct place.

On the recovery floor, the group moved toward the waiting area to the right of the elevator. Jake was again busy with his BlackBerry.

“Edwards,” Barrett said, “why don’t you go change? We’ll need someone posted here indefinitely. Might as well be you tonight.”

Carly agreed with Barrett. If she had a partner, she’d want to be out searching. But a solo officer would just be a scribe or something. At least at the hospital she’d be close to the most current information. “I can be back within a half hour.”

“I’ll give you forty-five minutes if you bring back some coffee.”