Deadly Aim (5 page)

He set a plastic collection bottle on the table in front of her. “Why don’t you take care of this now, if you can. When you’re through I’d like you to come into my office.” He leaned over, resting his hands on the back of the chair across from her.

“Sure. No problem.” Angel grabbed the bottle and hurried to the women’s rest room. Giving urine samples wasn’t all that unusual. The department did random drug testing on all of their officers from time to time. But this was different and humiliating.

She washed her hands and took the specimen with her into Joe’s office, where she set it on his desk and sat in a chair across from him. She clenched her hands to keep them from shaking. Then, maintaining more control than she thought possible, she told him what had happened.

She thought about telling him the same thing she’d told Eric—that she’d fired only once—but like Eric had said, she needed to
have her facts straight first. And she just plain didn’t know what the facts were. Her magazine would show how many shots she’d actually fired, and Nick had that sealed in an evidence bag.

Joe leaned back in his chair, then let it bounce forward. “Sounds like you followed procedure. We’ll probably hit a few rough spots dealing with the press on this one, with him being a kid and all. But I don’t foresee any problems.”

Angel felt a thread of relief weave in and out between the tension. “Good.” She pushed herself out of the chair and headed for the door. She had her hand on the knob when Joe’s cell phone rang.

While he listened to the caller, his lips formed a tight, thin line. He held up his hand for Angel to wait. “I see. Right. Thanks for the call.” Joe looked up at Angel, then pulled his gaze away. “You might want to sit back down.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she eased back into the chair.

Joe rose and walked over to the window.

“Joe?”

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he turned around to face her. His hazel eyes held hints of anger and accusation. “He was only twelve years old. Did you know that?”

“I... yes. I met him a couple weeks ago.” Angel gripped the arms of the chair. “He had a gun, Joe. I followed procedure.”

“For your sake, I hope that’s the case.” He ran a hand across his balding head.

Angel frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“It was a toy gun, Delaney. The kid was carrying a stinkin’ toy gun.”

T
hey’d find J.J.’s body soon. Duke raised his foot and set it on the rear bumper of his car and bent over to tie his shoelace. The cops were still swarming all over the place, looking in every nook and cranny for the men who pulled off the robbery. A futile effort—those kids would be long gone by now. There were a lot of places to hide in Sunset Cove.

Duke was plenty steamed about the robbery. Those idiots were supposed to keep a low profile, not hit the local establishments with guns blazing. He had expected petty theft, but not armed robbery—not gunning down an innocent old man.

Things were getting out of control. An icy trickle of fear ran down the back of his neck. If these guys weren’t careful, they could blow the entire business apart, just like they’d shattered that window at the pharmacy.

Since he’d eliminated J.J., he would have to find a replacement and quick. He needed someone with as much street smarts and pull as J.J. He’d met several potential dealers through the Dragon’s Den over the weekend. He sneered. The saps who ran the place had set up the teen club to help kids who’d gone down the wrong road. They hoped the kids would somehow find God and turn their lives around. Fat chance.
The kids came in to shoot pool and hang out and eat, not to be rehabilitated. Their “safe” weekend dances were safe all right—safe for the kids to pop designer drugs.

Maybe he’d go to the club tonight, play a little pool and pick out his new contact. It wouldn’t be hard. All he had to do was keep his eyes open for the one guy the others looked up to. There was always a pecking order. He had a hunch the highest guy in that pecking order was the one who’d set up the pharmacy hit.

Duke knew just how to bring him into the business. Money would interest him initially, but keeping him would require something more compelling. The threat of being turned over to the cops might do it. His main man would make the initial contact and bring him in.

He rubbed his eyes, feeling the grit from too many hours on the street. Maybe he was getting too old for this business. His mother had always warned him about burning the candle at both ends. Maybe she’d been right, ’cause he was sure feeling the heat.

A
ngel went quiet at the news about the kid’s gun. She sat stiffly in the chair, staring out the window, her eyes fixed on a cherry tree coming into bloom. Her dark hair hung in damp ringlets that dripped water down her back. She wished she could think of something to say. She hoped Joe would tell her it would work out okay, but they both knew the opposite was true.

“What now?” She turned to him, knowing her eyes and voice betrayed her, making her sound vulnerable and afraid.

“I’ll have to put you on administrative leave.”

She nodded. He was going to have to find an officer to replace her. Unfortunately, there was no money in their already overextended budget.

“I suppose you’ll want my key to the evidence lockers,” Angel said.

He nodded, and she removed the key from her key chain and set it next to the urine sample.

Joe pulled open the top side drawer of his desk and moved papers aside—probably thinking he’d have been better off not hiring Angel in the first place. She knew he’d hired her as a favor to her father. Frank Delaney had asked Joe to offer her a job after one of their guys had been killed in a domestic
violence case a little over a year ago. The police chief had done it as a favor, but Angel had been more than qualified.

And she’d proven herself, especially with her negotiation skills in domestic violence cases. She could take care of herself. She could and would get through this.

Apparently finding what he’d been looking for, Joe pulled a card out of a banded pack. “I want you to see a psychologist. Dr. Campbell has worked with officers in the past.”

“I don’t need—”

“No is not an option,” Joe snapped. “Seeing a shrink in a case like this is standard protocol, and you know it.”

She did, but she didn’t like it.

“Call. The sooner the better.”

Angel took the card.

“You’ll make an appointment?”

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Joe said. “Do you need someone to give you a ride home?”

“That won’t be necessary.” She looked him in the eye. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

She sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “How do you expect me to look? I just shot a—” The words caught in her throat, and she ducked her head.

“Look, Angel, I don’t mean to seem hard-nosed about this, but I know what can happen in cases like this. One guy I worked with in Portland a few years back accidentally killed another officer. Took it so hard he committed suicide. I don’t want that happening to you. You need support. Family.”

Her spine went rigid as he spoke. “I’m not going to kill myself.”

“Good. Now go home.”

“I’d like to finish my report first.” She started for the door.

“You don’t need to write this up. Your statement will be in Detective Riley’s report.” Joe cleared his throat.

She looked back at him. “Did you want something else?”

“No, I’m just... I’m sorry this happened to you.” For a moment he looked sympathetic.

“Thanks.” Angel raised her chin a notch.

“Uh, if you need to talk about it...”

Joe’s comment faded as she closed the door.

She turned back, thinking she should go back and apologize, but through the window she saw him picking up the phone. She hurried past the receptionist’s desk and steeled herself against the tears that would come if she didn’t get away from the police station fast. She would not cry—not in front of Joe, not in front of anyone. She balled up the paperwork she’d started and threw it in the trash, then headed for the locker room, where she gathered personal items from her locker. A book she’d never opened. A brush, hair bands, an extra pair of tennis shoes. The small black notebook she kept in her uniform pocket.

Brandy Owens came into the locker room. Her replacement? Brandy was the only other woman police officer in Sunset Cove.

“Hey, Angel, what’s up?”

Hadn’t she heard yet? Good. The last thing Angel needed was more sympathy.

Brandy frowned as Angel grabbed her stash of candy bars off the top shelf and dumped them into her duffle bag. Brandy had large blue eyes and kept her tan even after a long winter; Angel suspected she spent some time each week either lathering on the sunless tanning lotion or lounging in a tanning bed. Her blonde hair was woven in a neat French braid that reached the middle of her back. “You cleaning out your locker?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Brandy glanced at her own and grimaced. “Not a bad idea. Except I’m afraid of what I might find in there.” She hesitated. “Are you sick or something? Joe called and asked me to come in today but didn’t say why.”

Angel gulped and choked back the thick mass forming in the back of her throat. “Something like that.” She mustered up a smile. “I’m out of here.” She hurried away before Brandy could ask any more questions. She wasn’t ready to talk to her or anyone else. She needed time alone to think. No, not to think. Angel didn’t know what she needed; she only knew she had to get away.

As she walked out of the building, she had the foreboding sense she was leaving for the last time.
That’s crazy. You’ll be back
.
As soon as the details are cleared up and the crime scene investigators determine what happened. You were doing your job. You’ll be back to work in no time
.

A
ngel made her way through the parking lot to her rebuilt 1972 Corvette. Luke’s car, really. She’d just taken it over when he left. An old ache made its way into her heart again as thoughts of her brother overtook her own problems. He was the oldest of the five Delaney kids. Dad’s favorite. At least he had been until he disappeared. He’d graduated from Harvard Law School with honors then joined a prestigious law firm in Portland. Four years ago, he’d gone on a business trip and never came back. He’d sent a note telling the family not to worry. The note read like a will. In it he’d asked Angel to take care of his car.

Tears rimmed her eyes. She brushed them away with the palm of her hand. This was not the time to be thinking about Luke. She slid behind the wheel, pushed the key into the ignition, and twisted it, bringing the engine to life. Lowering the windows, she reached for the door, but Nick grabbed hold of the frame before she could shut it.

“What are you doing here?” Angel turned away, pretending to be looking for something in the glove box. When she finally looked back, he was still there, resting his arms on the door.

“You gonna be okay?” His concerned gaze leveled on hers as if daring her to lie.