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‘Oh, fuck me running.’ She glared at them. ‘Is this how it’s going to be?’
‘Do me a favor,’ Daltrey goaded her. ‘Say, “Stop or I’ll shoot.” I want to judge your technique.’
‘No, that’s not what she said,’ Ledbetter reminded her. ‘It was “You’re surrounded”.’
They guffawed. Daltrey bent over double, clutching her ribs.
Harper had heard enough.
‘Will you please get out of my way?’ Lowering her shoulder she shoved her way past them with such force they had to jump aside to avoid being knocked down. ‘Don’t you have murderers to catch?’
‘Yeah, but you can do that for us,’ Daltrey said. ‘We’re taking the rest of the day off.’
Their laughter followed her all the way down the hall.
Harper knew this was only the beginning. Nobody on the planet enjoys ridicule more than a cop. They never tired of it. Last night she’d basically pinned a bullseye on her back.
She was grateful when she reached the door at the end of the hall where the name ‘Lieutenant Robert Smith’ was written on the sign outside.
Taking off her sunglasses, Harper stuffed them in her bag. Then, letting out a deep breath, she tapped her knuckles against the door.
‘It’s Harper.’
‘Get in here.’ The voice was a low, baritone growl.
Steeling herself, she opened the door, already launching into her defense.
‘Look, Lieutenant, last night wasn’t my fault.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
Lieutenant Robert Smith was about fifty years old, with thick, graying hair and a square jaw made to take a punch. He was six foot two and, even sitting at a desk, he dominated a room. His charcoal suit looked expensive, as did his dark blue silk tie.
He was one of those men who, even when no cigar was present, looked as if they ought to be holding one.
As she approached the desk, he listed the charges against her in an icy voice.
‘So you called out three armed men, while wearing no Kevlar and not carrying a weapon. You then impersonated a police officer when those three criminals threatened you. Am I summing this up correctly? And if I am, how is any of that not your fault?’
‘I was improvising.’ Dropping into one of the faux leather chairs in front of his desk, Harper pressed her fingertips against her pounding forehead. ‘I thought they were going to kill that stupid cop.’
‘That stupid cop is an experienced officer of the law.’ Smith’s voice rose. Harper winced. ‘He is trained to carry and use a standard, police-issue semi-automatic firearm, and to defend himself in dangerous situations. He was wearing a government-approved bulletproof vest. You were carrying a notebook.’
‘True,’ she conceded. ‘But they were about to blow your highly trained officer’s stupid head off.’ His face hardened, but she plowed ahead stubbornly. ‘Lieutenant, he was looking in the wrong direction. It is true that I could have yelled, “Hey, idiotic cop. They’re over here.” And they would have shot at me anyway. So I tried to buy time until your inexplicably delayed backup arrived on the scene to keep the residents of Thirty-Ninth Street safe from three wanted killers.’ She held up her notepad. ‘By the way, do you have any comment on the reason for that delay?’
The lieutenant opened his mouth and then shut it again.
‘Dammit, Harper. How do you always manage to turn everything around so I’m the bad guy?’
He still sounded a bit heated, but the edge had left his voice.
Harper flashed him an apologetic half-smile.
‘I learned from the best, Lieutenant.’
‘Flattery won’t help you today, young lady.’ He shook his finger at her. ‘In all seriousness, you could have got yourself killed. Walker told me everything.’
‘That narc,’ Harper muttered.
‘He is paid to narc,’ he reminded her tartly.
Before she could argue, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
‘Why’d you do it, Harper? I try to look out for you. But I can’t protect you if you walk into a bullet. You understand that, right?’
There was no more anger in his voice. Harper’s defensiveness slipped away.
‘I’m sorry, Lieutenant,’ she said. ‘It all happened so fast. Believe me, I know it was dangerous. I promise I’ll be more careful.’
Smith’s expression softened.
‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘I know,’ Harper said, adding remorsefully. ‘And I didn’t mean what I said about Luke. He was great out there. He saved my life.’
‘Luke’s one of my best,’ Smith said. ‘And he didn’t come here to “narc”, as you say. He came here because he was concerned.’
Harper said nothing, but the idea of Luke worrying about her was curiously pleasing.
‘Well.’ Smith’s brow creased. ‘Were you injured? You look pale.’
‘I went out drinking with Bonnie last night.’ She rubbed her temples remorsefully. ‘Overdid it. I feel like crap.’
‘Ah.’ His expression changed to one of almost paternal indulgence. ‘Were you at that hippy bar where she works?’
‘It’s not a hippy bar,’ Harper said, although it kind of was.
‘I hope you didn’t drive home.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course not.’
It was always like this. He talked to her like she was a teenager and before long she started acting like one.
He picked up his pen from the leather desk blotter.
‘Before I forget, Pat’s after me to get you to come to dinner.’ He glanced at her. ‘You free on Sunday? It’d make her happy.’
Harper brightened. His wife was an amazing cook. ‘If there’s any chance she might make her chicken and dumplings, I think I can be free on Sunday.’
‘She’ll be happy to hear that,’ he said gruffly. ‘I always tell her you’re fine, but she likes to see you for herself.’
He grew serious again.
‘Now, look, Harper, can I tell the deputy chief that the crime reporter from our esteemed local newspaper has agreed to stop impersonating an officer at crime scenes for the foreseeable future? Will you at least give me that?’
‘I suppose I can agree to stop breaking that particular law,’ she agreed. ‘I really am sorry. I had to think fast, and I wanted to keep Officer Dumbass alive.’
The lieutenant’s eyes held a look that was equal parts affection and exasperation.
‘Well, Officer Dumbass owes you one, and I’ve made sure he knows it.’ He flipped open a file on his desk and put on a pair of wire-framed glasses. ‘Now then. Get your pen out. The official statement is as follows: Backup was delayed because they required a helicopter in an effort to locate and isolate the suspects. Officers approached on foot from the first crime scene in an attempt to ascertain the location of the suspects, and in an effort to avoid loss of innocent life. Undercover officers arrived first on scene, but awaited arrival of all parties. Said undercover officers have been investigating the three suspects for several weeks, as part of a project to curtail drug dealing in the area.’
After jotting this down, Harper glanced at him. ‘You got enough evidence to throw the book at those guys?’
‘Off the record?’
She nodded.
‘Oh, yeah. We’ve got them.’ He closed the file. ‘That will be all, Officer McClain.’
‘Oh hell.’ Harper stood up. ‘I’m never going to live this down, am I?’
His smile told her everything.
‘I believe they’re having a badge made for you upstairs.’
It was nearly five by the time Harper left the police station, half-running to her car. She’d have to hurry to make it to the newspaper’s offices in time to file for the early edition.
But five o’clock is a bad time to be in a rush and, as she pulled out onto Habersham Street, she immediately found herself trapped in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Swearing under her breath, she hit the brakes and fell into line.
As traffic inched along, she replayed the meeting with the lieutenant in her head.
She wasn’t surprised Luke went straight to Smith. He knew how close she and the lieutenant were, and he’d wanted Smith to put the fear of God in her.
Harper’s own father wasn’t really in her life anymore. They spoke a few times a year, and that was more than enough for her.
Now that he lived up north and had a young family, it was easier than ever to forget he even existed.
Besides, Smith had filled that role for her for many years. Together with his wife, he’d helped her through her teens, fed her when the money ran short and remained close to her even now. She was grateful for them both.
No matter how old she got, Smith still saw her as a child in need of protection. In part because the day they’d met was seared on both their memories forever.
He was the cop who took the phone from her hand the day her mother was murdered.
Chapter Seven (#ulink_a05c3dd1-a582-5e87-855f-096e9bbecc33)
When Harper arrived at the newsroom twenty minutes later, the day shift was already wrapping up their final articles. Editors were making the usual demands, issuing low-key threats. In the bustle, no one paid any attention as she made her way to the battered black office chair and switched on her police scanner.
The familiar crackle and drone of official voices filled the air.
She was turning on her computer when the writer at the desk in front of hers rolled his chair back and swung around to face her.
‘Hey.’
Harper glanced at him. ‘What’s up, DJ?’
David J. Gonzales earned his nickname after announcing that his newspaper byline must include his middle initial.
‘It’s an important part of my name,’ he’d explained earnestly, to anyone who would listen.
At twenty-three years old, and on his first-ever newspaper job, he had no idea why this was so hilarious to the paper’s hardened old-timers.
At first they’d referred to him as David J in all circumstances. ‘Is David J coming?’ ‘Have you seen David J?’
Over time, that shrank to his initials, and he’d been DJ to everyone at the paper ever since.
‘Baxter’s looking for you,’ he said. ‘Where you been?’
An unruly mop of thick, dark hair overshadowed his glasses and round, jovial face.
‘Cop shop.’
‘Huh. She said she tried to call you.’
‘Oh crap. Did she?’ Harper dug through her bag until she found her phone. The message on the screen blinked an accusation.
Ten missed calls.
‘Balls. I forgot to turn the ringer on.’
‘Again?’ DJ shot her a look. ‘She’s going to kill you.’
‘Good. At least that’ll give me something to write about,’ she said snappishly.
Half-standing, she looked to the front of the room, but the city editor’s desk was empty.
She sat down again. ‘What does she want?’
DJ shrugged. He’d missed a spot shaving and the dark whiskers stood out against his tawny skin like a fingerprint.
‘Dunno. She’s on the warpath about something.’
‘Yeah, but that’s every day.’
‘True.’ Seeming to notice her suddenly, he took in the dark circles under her eyes and her unhealthy pallor. ‘You look terrible. What’d you get up to last night?’
Harper typed her login – a machine-gun rattle of keys.
