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“That was too close for comfort. I’ve got to get out of here. Where’s the phone?” She found it in the far corner of the floorboard and shut it off, then turned south on Columbia Boulevard. A few minutes later, flashing lights beckoned in her rearview mirror as backup turned into the apartment complex. “They’re all yours, guys. I’ve done as much as I can.”
Calli’s heart raced in an unsteady rhythm as the motor purred down the street. Four miles later, she pulled into the parking lot of Teodoro’s, the Quonset hut-turned restaurant she frequented. She clicked off the ignition and leaned her head against the seat. Darn it, Calli. You’re pushing too hard. You’ve got to stop.
Tugging the bristly hair from her head, she stuffed the blond wig into the bag and let out a deep breath. She gazed into the rearview mirror, removed the glasses and studied herself disapprovingly. After wiping the gauche color from her lips, she applied ointment to help remove the remaining tint. The near-accident replayed in her mind as she yanked a brush through the matted mess of black curls. She had hung around too long, almost long enough to meet the cops in person. That was one complication she didn’t need.
Stuffing the sundries and the makeup bag into her purse, she slammed the truck door, then walked to the restaurant entrance. Calli took a deep breath and tugged the glass-and-iron door open, anxious to meet friendly faces.
“May I help you?” the young woman asked.
Calli didn’t even consult the menu. “Barbaccoa with black beans instead of pintos, and a large diet cola.” She watched as rice and beans were piled onto the tortilla, then salsa and shredded beef. Last was the cheese and sour cream.
Teodoro’s owner, “Teddy” Chavez, greeted her with a smile. “Your usual, eh, Calli? What are you doing out this late?”
She let his friendly wink soothe her nerves. A member of her neighborhood watch group, he knew very well what kept her out this late. Yet he always shared her silent celebration at making it through another night safely. She glanced at the staff, and went along with the conversation. “Couldn’t wait for one of your burritos. Just thinking of them keeps me awake at night.”
“That’s no good. Ah, well, eat and enjoy.” He turned to his employees and rattled off directions to them while Calli crossed the room and seated herself in the plywood chair. She rested her head in her hands and begged her heart to slow down.
Eating alone beneath the dangling halogen light bulb was much too comfortable. She sliced the giant burrito into two halves and set one aside for tomorrow’s lunch. Her kid brother had always teased her about eating when she was upset If he could only see her now. Listening to alternative music in a dingy restaurant, trying to forget the goodlooking cop who’d nearly run her over.
Calli pulled the journal from her purse and turned to today’s date.
January 22, 11:05 p.m.
She documented her evening’s patrolling events, descriptions and response time of the local law enforcement on the blank pages.
Calli had started journaling in her early teens, as a way to deal with the loneliness of frequent moves, foreign languages and the other drawbacks of being an army brat. But in recent years the pages were filled with fewer emotions, and more details.
She thought through the events of the day, then wrote.
Has no one ever realized the guilt I feel? Surely they have. Over and again, Mom and Dad tell me it wasn’t my fault—that Mike had snuck out before, that nothing anyone had tried had helped him. Why can’t I move on?
It was not my fault. But maybe if someone had called the cops, maybe he’d be alive today.
She closed her eyes and whispered, “As in David’s day, I see violence and strife in our streets, on city walls. Be my shelter and my strength, Father.”
How can I stop now? Community involvement is making a difference. The neighborhood’s crime rate has dropped. I have to keep trying.
The media tries to convince us that gangs are losing their appeal. They say gang members are frightened off by friends getting hurt and others sent to prisons. Yet, every week, I still see them out there, luring innocent kids into believing that they’ve found a place to belong. Tempting them with the promise of easy money. Trapping them into a life without hope.
Calli recalled the look in the youth’s eyes as he stared at her. Fear, raw and exposed, spoke to her.
What was that kid looking back for? A way out, or someone they left behind?
Police sirens jolted her back to the present. The cruiser sped past the front of the restaurant. The officer she’d nearly collided with reappeared in her mind. His concerned gaze lingered there, like an unwelcome guest. Reflections of light glimmered over his handsome face. She shook her head. He’s just another cop. They all have that look.
Thankful that she took the time to don her disguise, Calli wondered if they would place her as the caller. Did they get her license number? Hopefully she’d gotten away before they had the chance.
How can I give up now? There has to be a way to help kids like that.
The pen stopped.
Kids like Mike. She never believed that he wanted in to the gang. Never allowed herself to see him as needing something more in his life. Maybe she’d been wrong. About Mike, and the gangs, and thinking she could make a difference—to anybody.
She noticed the employees wiping Formica-topped tables, wrapping stainless-steel food bins and polishing the glass block room divider.
“Calli, we’re closing.” Teddy set a foil sheet next to her plastic basket. “For your leftovers.”
She finished chewing and gulped her soda to wash the bite down her dry throat. After closing her journal, Calli wrapped the extra half. “Thanks, Teddy. Have a good night.”
“You be careful out there.”
“Always.” She left the eatery, climbed into her truck and turned west, toward her apartment. It was after midnight, and morning would come early.
Fog rolled in from the river and a fine mist coated the streets with black ice. Even four-wheel drive wouldn’t help in conditions like this. The light ahead turned green and Calli took her foot off the gas pedal. From the side street, a truck spun out of control.
She tried to determine a way to avoid it, but there was no escape. The truck rammed the passenger door, pushing her vehicle into another car parked along the street. Her head slammed into the driver’s side window and shattered the glass.
Calli screamed, then covered her eyes with her hands, feeling a cold draft. She tried again to open her eyes, but they hurt too much. She pulled on the door handle, but the door didn’t move.
“Help! Help! Someone help me.” A few minutes later, sirens wailed. Voices commanded that she not try to move. Louder and louder the noise grew, then stopped. The fireman knocked away the remaining glass from the door. After the paramedic took Calli’s vitals, he reassured Calli that they would have her out soon.
Calli awoke to pitch black. She tried to blink and found her eyes were covered. Reaching out, she felt a hard rail to her side. Her head hurt and her left arm ached. She vaguely remembered an accident and an ambulance.
Where am I?
The room was silent except for beeping noises in the distance. She licked her parched lips and grimaced. She heard breathing, then footsteps, followed by a warm deep voice.
“Calandre Giovanni? I’m Sergeant Northrup, Palmer Police Department.”
The police? What are they doing here? Am I just imagining an accident? Or is this about the break-ins at the apartment complex? For all she knew, he may not even be a cop. “Where am I?”
“University Hospital. You were in an accident.”
Calli gasped, then let out a moan as she tried to move. She must have been seated, as her mind was fuzzy. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Let me call the nurse for you.” He stepped out of the room, and was gone for a few minutes.
His voice sounded familiar. What were the chances that he was the patrolman who’d nearly wiped her off the road? Next to zero, she assured herself. If the officers who’d responded to that call had caught the kids, they were probably still at the juvenile facility booking them at this very moment.
When the cop returned, Calli decided she’d rather ask questions than answer them. She needed time to clear her mind. “Where’s the nurse?”
“It’ll be a few minutes before anyone can come down. Emergency room’s a busy place tonight. You okay?”
“Do I look okay?”
He stammered a minute, then apologized. “I meant, you’re not going to be sick or anything, are you?”
“I’ll live. Were you the officer at my accident?”
“No. That would be Jake Williams. He asked me to take your statement while I’m here. I came in with an unrelated ambulance call.”
Hysteria threatened to return to her voice. She swallowed, trying to soothe the scratchiness. Absently she ran her dry tongue over her lips.
“Need a drink?” Without delay she felt the officer lean against the bed. “Here.” She lifted her hand, ready for him to place a paper cup in her hand. Instead she felt a strong hand wrapped around a huge insulated-type mug. Pursing her lips to drink, she jumped when she felt the brush of his fingertip against her lower lip as he placed a straw in her mouth.
He chuckled. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you what to expect.”
Embarrassed that all of her assumptions were wrong, making her feel even more helpless, Calli resented the warmth of the personal contact between them. She jerked her hand away. “Thanks. That’s enough.” The sooner she got rid of him, the better. The last thing she needed was a cop to keep her company. “So what do you need from me?”
“Just need to ask a few routine questions. No hurry. I’m here waiting to talk to another patient. My partner’s still on the streets. Sheesh, they’re a mess tonight. You’d think these drivers had never seen ice before.”
Calli tried to sit up, and failed. She heard him bump into something, then felt a strong hand on her arm.
“Can I help?”
“I want the nurse. Where’s the call button?”
His warm hand fumbled with hers and gently guided her fingers toward the side of her bed. His baritone voice was edged with control. “Here’s the call button.”
A calm confidence echoed his voice, and the scent of his aftershave sent a shiver of awareness through her.
Memories from her past tainted the image of this knight in shining armor. Calli realized that not only did she not have a clue as to what Officer Northrup looked like, but she had no idea if this man was really a cop. I’ve been watching too much television. He couldn’t be the one I saw earlier.
“I’m sure it’s frightening not to be able to see anything. You may not even believe I’m a police officer. Who could blame you, after the night you’ve had?”
The fact that he’d read her mind made her more suspicious. “Sorry, I’m not used to…” trusting people.
“You’re cautious, just as you should be under the circumstances.”
“Cautious.” Now that is an understatement.
Calli struggled to pull herself out of the fuzziness and remember more about the accident.
Shuffling noises followed by a nearby clank dragged her back to the present image of a cop sitting next to her bed, as if he planned to stay a while.
I’ve managed to avoid the officials for three years, and now, over a simple car accident, I’m trapped. “So, what did you want to ask me?”
“Can you tell me what you remember?”
Chapter Two (#ulink_c6fa6af9-1ef8-5643-a028-153546236323)
Luke finished Miss Giovanni’s statement just as his partner radioed from the car that he was ready to call it a night. With all the reports they had to fill out, Luke didn’t argue, but silently confessed he wouldn’t have minded spending a little more time with Calandre Giovanni.
Back at the station, Luke opened the locker room door; a strange mixture of aftershave and gun metal slapped him in the face. After the night he’d had, a room full of his fellow officers should have been a relief. It wasn’t.
He shrugged the blue shirt off and straightened his uniform on the hanger, trading it for his street clothes. The young officer next to him was doing just the opposite. “What a night,” Luke said.
“What’s wrong, lucky Luke? Tired of leaping tall buildings in a single bound?” Vic Taylor drawled with distinct mockery.
Luke felt the muscles in his jaw tighten when he saw the smirk on the rookie’s face. In no mood to confront the kid, Luke attempted to be civil. “Nah, piece of cake, Taylor. One kid in a coma, a woman who narrowly escaped losing her eyesight, and a city full of drivers who act like they’ve never seen icy roads before. Not to mention the two punks in the slammer for breaking into a dozen cars and nearly beating the life out of a friend. All in a night’s work.”
“You are so lucky. You always get the excitement.” Taylor spat a four-letter word as he poked a finger in Luke’s face. “All week I’ve been called off before I saw any action. You’d think my wife worked in dispatch or something.”
Luke laughed before he lost what little self-control he had left. “Don’t be so eager, kid. The action’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
The rookie adjusted his belt and puffed his chest out, as if ignoring Luke’s advice.
“And by the way, it has nothing to do with luck.” Luke tugged the gray T-shirt over his shoulders and rubbed the ache buried deep in his muscle. He noticed his partner, Tom, coming into the locker room.
When Luke turned around, the rookie was strutting into the briefing room.
Luke flung the leather jacket over his shoulder then slammed the metal locker door closed. “What’s Taylor’s problem? If he thinks two hours of paperwork and tagging thirty items into the evidence room is fun, he’s got a lot to learn.”
His partner chuckled and slapped Luke’s shoulder sympathetically. “Let it go, Luke.” Tom continued. “I’ve learned the best way to deal with people like Taylor is to let their ignorant comments roll off your back.”
The reality of his best friend’s comment sobered him. Luke glanced at Tom and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tom. After all these years, it just isn’t right that a person’s race still brings such discrimination.”
“Nothing for you to apologize for.”
An icy draft followed the command sergeant through the door from the parking lot, his shotgun slung from one shoulder and bag in the other hand. “Good work tonight,” he said, nodding toward Luke and Tom. “One by one, we’re putting those gangs out of business. Did the kid come out of the coma?”
Luke shook his head. “I’m going to check in on him throughout the day. If he doesn’t, we really need that witness. The two suspects won’t talk.” Luke chugged the last of his cold coffee, watching as Tom moved his duty weapon from his belt to a waist-pack “holster.”
After securing his handgun, Tom looked at Luke. “I still think we had a break tonight I’ll lay you odds that our anonymous caller is that blonde you nearly wiped out in the parking lot.”
“Just what we need. A woman determined to eliminate Palmer’s worst gang single-handedly. Why doesn’t A.C. volunteer at one of the after-school programs or something safe?”
“Maybe she already has gang connections.”
Luke didn’t like that possibility at all.
“We should check out gang members’ ex-girlfriends. Could be one trying to settle a personal vendetta.”
“Against the whole gang?” Luke shook his head. “No way. But whatever the lady’s reasoning, she’s playing with fire.” An image of the flustered blonde in the white truck flashed into his head. Couldn’t be her. After three years, A.C. would be too used to the streets to get that upset over a little skid.
He rinsed his coffee mug and set it in the cupboard to dry, then tossed his taped report to Tom. “Can’t believe neither of us got a look at that license plate.”
His partner placed both microcassettes in the manila envelope and filed them for transcription. “Nothing more we could’ve done. It was a bad angle. No light Backup hadn’t arrived. You know as well as I do, she was low priority.”
“I should have told her to stay put so we could talk to her,” Luke mumbled, continuing down the hall to the parking lot.
“Go home and chill. We’re going to find A.C. It’s just a matter of time.” Tom disappeared from view, leaving only his footsteps echoing on the marble stairs.
“Don’t hold your breath. She’s as elusive as the Eastsiders’ leader himself.” Luke knew there were few on the force who believed that the same woman was responsible for the majority of their tips. Thank goodness, his partner happened to share his theory.
Tilting his head from one side to the other, Luke hoped to shrug off the tension in his shoulders and the headache lurking behind his eyes. Tom was right, he needed to loosen up. Twelve years on the force was going to be the end of him if he didn’t find some way to enjoy life again.
He recalled the woman’s dark eyes and fair skin—recalled the quick recovery she’d made, slipping back into control in those brief seconds of their encounter. Tom’s suspicion that she was their informant crossed his mind again. No way. I’m just not that fortunate.
