Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) (47 page)

Pushing it aside, she just hoped she still had time to shower and dress to be at the station before eight. The patrol captain had little tolerance for tardy officers.

Rushing around, she cursed herself for not programming the coffeemaker the night before. The thought of going without a caffeine fix was torture, but there wasn't time. She glanced at her wrist for the third time in ten minutes. Where the hell was her watch?

Thankfully her job didn't require much primping, and she preferred it that way. She had never worn much makeup. The last thing she wanted to do was look more dainty and feminine. At only five foot three, it was difficult enough to be taken seriously. As she passed the mirror on her way out the door, she caught her reflection.

She cringed at the way her normally curly auburn hair hung limply on her shoulders. Dark circles stood out beneath her eyes, which were so bloodshot it was impossible to tell they were green.

Back in the car, she considered trying to remedy her appearance but decided against it. The one day she had actually put on lip gloss, her partner had teased her that she looked more like she belonged in front of a group of kindergartners than in a police uniform. And while she knew Greg had probably been joking, she was sure there were others who would readily agree with him without so much as a hint of humor. She didn't want to be singled out, just left alone. She was proving herself as a rookie—top of her class, best record so far. No sense screwing it up by reminding them that she was a girl. She could swear that every once in a while, when things were going really well, they forgot. And in those moments, she loved being on the force more than anything.

At ten to eight, she pulled into the parking lot next to the familiar gray building that housed the police department. The yellowed windows on the lower level still bore the bars installed after the station had been bombed back in the sixties. Though she had been on the force only a short time, she'd learned to enjoy the history and idiosyncrasies of the building. It would be strange when the new building was finished.

Alex straightened her back and got out of the car, thinking about what tests today would bring. As one of the few females on the force, Alex was at the receiving end of more than her share of jokes. She was used to it. Facing the teasing of the other officers was fine most days. Bra and panty jokes, she could suffer through.

Issues of her strength, her tolerance, her endurance for the job, those she wouldn't. She'd been a physical trainer for eight years before the rundown with a mugger made her realize she wanted more.

And she'd been tired of women whose idea of getting in shape was leg lifts while having their bikini line waxed. Alex was faster than all of the women and some of the men on the force. She'd proven it at the academy and she'd do it again if anyone questioned it. But mental strength and stability were not so easily measured and she refused to let anyone question hers.

And if anyone found out about last night, that would be the first thing to come into question.

She just prayed no one ever found out.

Chapter 2

Alex locked her car and ran in the front door and up the closest of the two half-circle staircases on either side of the lobby. The stairways always reminded her of an elegant hotel lobby from some old black-and-white movie, and they seemed out of place in the middle of the dilapidated station entrance.

At the top of the stairs, she ran into one of the consulting psychologists, carrying a tall stack of files. As they bumped, the files dropped to the floor.

"Sorry," Alex said, leaning down to scoop them up.

"Don't worry." Dr. Richards straightened the files in her arms. "It's a zoo in there today."

Alex nodded, handing her a stack of papers. "Always is." That was what she loved about police work. Every day was a new adventure.

Alex edged her way through the crowd of people waiting at the desk.

"I'm telling you, he said he wanted to buy the cycle," one man yelled. A black leather jacket covered his white dress shirt and the jacket of a gray suit, a helmet tucked under his arm. "Brand-new BMW bike. Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Alex moved past another man who rolled up his sleeve and showed his tattoo to the administrative officer. "Does that look like an eagle to you? It's a goddamn Tweety Bird. I paid a hundred bucks for an eagle and the asshole won't give me my money back."

Alex looked at the tattoo. It was definitely not an eagle. She thought even Tweety looked tougher than the wimpy bird on his shoulder. Rotten luck.

"That's really not a police issue. You should contact the consumer bureau to file a report," the officer behind the counter explained.

"A report? I ain't going to file no damn report. I want my fucking money back."

Alex wished she had time to stay and watch the man get himself thrown in jail for assaulting an officer. Through a large solid oak door, she entered the administrative division where they housed the fingerprint and mug-shot files. The department planned to scan them all so they would be accessible by computer at any station in California and eventually the nation. Great intentions but the process was unbelievably slow. She'd had to "thumb" through the records more than a few times in her months on the force, and it wasn't an enviable job.

"Morning, Alex," Detective Sam Portreo called. A brown tie curved over his round belly as though it had been starched against a bowling ball. This particular tie was his favorite because it hid the coffee stains.

"Hey, Sam. How's it going?"

His coffee cup raised, he gave a half smile. "I could complain, but what good would it do?"

"Exactly. Nice tie, by the way."

"Never been cleaned," he said proudly.

"I'm impressed."

"Knew you would be."

On the way down the hall, she leaned into her brother's office.

"Hey," James called, waving her over.

She leaned over his desk and pointed to her empty wrist. "I'm late, but I wanted to ask: Do you remember if any of us walked in our sleep as kids?"

James raised an eyebrow. "Sleepwalking now?"

She shook her head, realizing the question sounded strange coming from someone already late for work, especially to James. James was Internal Affairs and his intense stares made an average cop's suspicious nature seem like child's play. "I just thought I remembered something from when we were kids."

"Not that I know of." Then, turning back to his work, he added, "You'd better get to work. And no sleepwalking walking on the job."

Feeling better, she almost smiled at the remark. It was the closest James would come to humor on the job. He took his work very seriously. It was something she respected about her brother despite the fact that it occasionally made him difficult to be around.

In the locker room, she dressed as quickly as she could. It was normally a ten-minute process with the lace-up ankle boots, the twenty-five-pound equipment belt, and a bulletproof vest. This morning, she finished in five. The first few steps with all the extra weight always made her feel as though she were walking through water. Today, rushing around, it felt more like she was running through water.

As she reached the second-floor squad room—a square, windowless area—she scanned for her partner. They were due in the briefing in three minutes.

Four patrol officers, one with a ball tucked under his arm, headed in after their morning two-on-two basketball game.

"You should join us some time, Alex."

She smiled and waved off the comment. "I'd hate to embarrass you guys."

"I think they need bigger help than you can offer," another joked.

"And I thought guys always swore size doesn't matter," she sparred back.

The first one laughed and the two exchanged high-fives. One of the others mumbled something about kicking their butts tomorrow. Alex turned back to search for Greg.

Other officers waved from tables, but Greg was nowhere in sight.

"I wondered when you'd show up. Late date last night?"

Alex turned to see Brenda behind her, her long, lean frame easily six inches taller than Alex's.

Alex covered her mouth, remembering. "I was supposed to pick you up this morning! I'm so sorry."

Brenda laughed, her flawless black skin creasing into tiny lines around her eyes as she smiled. "No biggie." She waved her finger at Alex. "I did call your house, though. No answer. Who's the latest? Because when you cut him loose, I've got someone to set you up with."

Some people seemed to find it weird that Alex was thirty-five and happily unmarried. Alex had relationships—some short, some longer. But none had worked out. In the end, it was always for the best. Some people were good at relationships, some weren't. Alex put herself in the "suck" category. If she met someone special, she'd worry about it. For now, it was one less thing to concern herself with.

Brenda's huge almond-shaped hazel eyes widened as she waited for an answer. "So, is it still Tom?"

Alex smiled. "Not last night."

Since going through Los Medanos Police Academy in Contra Costa County with Brenda, Alex had found herself sharing more with her than with anyone else. But confiding wasn't something she did much of. Her former fiancé and her best friend in L.A., both cops, had often said she kept more secrets from them than they did from each other. Nobody knew her better than those two.

And they knew each other very well, too, she realized when she found them in bed together two months before the wedding. Still together, from what Alex heard from friends in L.A.

Strangely, after a brief pissed-off period, the whole incident had rolled off her like water off wax. She was further from being concerned about marriage than ever.

"I totally overslept," she lied, thinking it wasn't so far from the truth.

Brenda frowned. "Overslept? You all right?"

"I know, the one time I can actually fall sleep, I can't wake up."

"You don't look rested. You sure you slept at home?"

Alex looked up at Brenda, catching the jest in her gaze. "Positive."

Someone yelled Alex's name and she turned to face her partner, Greg Roback. Thankful for the distraction from Brenda's questions, she took a step toward him. Greg was easily six foot five and so skinny he looked like he might break in two like a pencil under pressure. Only slightly meatier, Alex knew why they were often called the bean team.

"Are we late?"

He shook his head. "But we're about to be."

The shift briefing meeting was held in a cramped windowless room in the center of the building. The walls were littered with everything from wanted posters and APBs to furniture sales and baby announcements.

People milled about as Alex sank into a hard plastic seat and the captain started the meeting. He was in a sour mood, so the normal repertoire of jokes was kept to a minimum. He went over a couple of internal memos and let them know they had an armed robber on the loose driving a white Honda Civic.

"Great. That'll be easy to spot," Officer Nancy Yim joked from up front.

There was a round of laughter and the captain cracked a crooked smile.

He read off the car assignments and tossed his clipboard on the table. "That's it. Get out there."

Alex stood and headed for the door. "What's up with the captain?" she asked when they were out of earshot.

Greg shrugged. "Political bullshit, probably."

She followed Greg out the door toward their squad car, stifling a yawn. She almost always drove the first shift, preferring to drive in the morning when she was most awake and alert. Usually that meant right after the first cup of coffee of the day. Today, without her caffeine and a good night's sleep, Alex thought she'd fall asleep before they were out of the station's parking lot.

"You know what Al Capone's business card said?" Greg asked, throwing out the first trivia of the day.

"Used furniture dealer."

"Damn. How'd you know that?"

"Saw
The Godfather
six times," she said.

Greg shook his head. "You're the weirdest chick I know."