Acting Brave (Fenbrook Academy #3) (9 page)

I notice stuff like that. People think I’m dumb because I’m big and I don’t talk much, but not talking gives me time to
see
.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes on the floor. “It was a mistake. We had a fight, and I…I shouldn’t have called you.”

She glanced up at me for a split second and saw me looking at her lip. She tried to lick the blood away with her tongue.

“Is your husband there, ma’am?” asked Hollister. His voice was carefully neutral. I used to be able to do that tone, too.

The door opened a little wider. He was still in his suit pants, shirt and tie, and from the look of them he had a nice, stable job with a Fortune 500 company. A nice, respectable guy with his respectable wife in their respectable apartment. The sort no one suspects. You say
spousal abuse
and they think of a trailer park.

“You mind if we come in and take a look around?” asked Hollister.

“That’s not necessary,” said the guy. He glanced at me and then decided to focus on Hollister, since he was the one doing all the talking. He opened his arms wide to show how innocent he was; I wondered if he was in sales. “Look. I know this
looks
bad. But really, it’s silly. We had a fight—about what to eat for dinner, of all things—and then Jackie turned around and her foot caught the rug and she went headfirst into the coffee table. I mean, God, it’s lucky it wasn’t glass or anything. Right?”

Hollister looked at Jackie. I could tell from the way she was twitching that she wanted to look over her shoulder at her husband for help, but she was willing herself not to. She nodded. “I tripped over the rug,” she said.

I could feel it start inside me, then. Leaking out, hot and red, just like the blood had stained Hux’s shirt. Polluting everything inside me, turning
it
red, too, everything becoming bright and hot and simple.
No. Control it.

“It’s a long way from the rug,” I said, staring at the room behind them. The first time I’d spoken since I’d knocked on the door.

Everyone turned to look at me. The husband wasn’t a small guy, but even he had to tilt his head up to look me in the eye. He took a microscopic step backward. “What?” he croaked.

“The coffee table’s a long way from the rug,” I said. It wasn’t, but I wanted to see how he’d react.

He started to say something, then thought better of it. The blood was draining from his face.

“Ma’am, I need to speak to you alone,” said Hollister, following procedure. “Sir, can I ask you to go to another room, please?”

The husband’s knuckles weren’t reddened, but there was a book on the floor, a heavy, hardback dictionary. “You hit her with that?” I asked.

Hollister turned and glared at me. “
Sir,”
he said, talking to the guy but keeping his eyes locked on me. “Can I ask you to go to another room?
Please?”

The guy was breathing hard, now, his eyes going from the book to me to his wife. He nodded and retreated into the apartment. I knew Hollister was doing everything right—talk to the wife alone, to convince her to tell the truth. Defuse the situation. But for me, it wasn’t defusing anything. For me, seeing the guy disappear was like watching a predator slither back into its nest. He was going to get away with it.
He was going to get away with it.
The heat rippled and blossomed inside, turning yellow and white. I could feel blood flowing into my muscles, my hands clenching and unclenching unconsciously.

“You want to wait in the car? Kowalski?” It must have been written all over my face, because Hollister’s voice had gone from angry to seriously worried.

I shook my head and folded my arms. My eyes were locked on the door through which the husband had disappeared.

Hollister took a deep breath. “Okay. Ma’am.” He did the reassuring cop voice, the one that’s a little like talking to a scared animal. “Now can you tell us what happened?”

“I tripped on the rug,” she said. Her eyes flicked to me, just for a second.

“We can take you somewhere safe,” said Hollister. “Right now. We can take you somewhere safe.”

“I tripped on the rug,” she said again. Her voice was like a fraying rubber band that’s about to snap. That hand was still on her stomach, cradling it all the way from her fingertips to her elbow.

The heat from my anger was palpable, now. I actually had my mouth open a little to try to let it out. Their voices seemed to come from a long way away.

Hollister tipped his head forward, looking the woman right in the eye. “Ma’am—” he started

“
I tripped on the goddamn rug!”
she almost screamed and stepped back into her apartment, her hand already reaching for the door.

I leaned forward and snatched up the hem of her tank top, wrenching it up until she was bare up to the bottom of her ribcage. Red and black bruises covered her from her navel round to her kidney. The biggest one had a distinct shape. A footprint.

He’d stamped on her.

The sound seemed to switch off. I could see her shouting at me in shock and humiliation but I couldn’t hear her. I pushed her out of the way with one hand and marched inside the apartment. Something was grabbing and pulling at my shoulder from behind and I was vaguely aware that it must be Hollister, but I ignored it. I’m strong, and I’m even stronger when I’m angry.

I found the guy sitting in his study, fingers steepled, staring at his MacBook screen without seeing it, waiting for us to go. He looked up with disbelief when I marched in, and was halfway up out of his chair when my fist caught him under the chin.

He went back against the desk and the laptop fell to the floor with an ugly cracking sound. I hit him again, in the belly this time, and then in the face, the full power of my rage behind each punch. It all boiled out of me, the
wrongness
of it, the fact that people like him were free and people like Hux were dead, and the scariest thing was that it wasn’t like a release of pressure; it didn’t lower the level of anger at all, because there was an inexhaustible supply of it.

***

The station was in uproar, everybody chattering about some pack of visitors. Reporters, I assumed, because suddenly everyone was fixing their hair and trying to get to the front as they approached.

In Captain Barnes’s office, though, it was very quiet.

“What happened?” Barnes asked Hollister.

I kept my eyes straight ahead, but heard Hollister clear his throat. He was a good guy. “
Sir.
We heard a noise coming from the study, and we had no choice
but to enter to ensure the safety of the female involved. Officer Kowalski was immediately assaulted by the suspect and had no choice but to defend himself—”

“Stop talking,” said Barnes. “Stop talking now. Kowalski, you’re already screwed. Are you going to let your partner go down as well?”

“No sir,” I said. “That’s not what happened. I lost my temper and hit the suspect. Several times.”

Barnes glanced at Hollister. “Get out.”

Hollister left, throwing me one last, mournful glance. I gave him a nod of thanks, for trying.

“The only reason you’re not in cuffs,” said Barnes, “is that the guy doesn’t want to press charges. Unsurprisingly, he’d rather forget the whole thing.”

I said nothing.

“I gotta let you go,” said Barnes. “I need your badge and your gun.”

And that was it. I was fired. I expected to at least feel the guilt ease, because now I’d been punished. But it didn’t feel any better. It actually felt worse. Being a cop was the only thing I’d ever been good at. Without Hux, life had been unbearable; without my job, I didn’t have a life at all.

I threw my badge and my piece on Barnes’s desk and opened the door.

“Why’d you do it?” asked Barnes suddenly.

I was halfway through the door. Some civilian in a shirt and jeans was walking by like he was the Prince of England, cops fawning over him and following him around.

I thought about it for a second, the anger rising and twisting inside me. “You know why,” I said at last. My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. The other cops went quiet. “Because he was going to hit her again. As soon as we’d gone. He was going to keep hitting her and hitting her and he was never going to stop, not until they took her off in a body bag and then maybe,
maybe
he goes to jail or maybe his five hundred dollar an hour attorney gets him off!” It was boiling out of me, now, the hopeless anger like steam rising off a hot plate. Hux’s death kept it permanently red-hot, deep down inside me, and every time I got frustrated it was like dumping in fresh water.

“You’re done,” said Barnes sadly.

I wasn’t angry at him. I think I was angry at everyone
but
him. He was just stuck playing his role in the whole broken system, the same as me.

I turned and stalked through the room, my shoulders tight from the feel of all the eyes on me. I could feel pity from them...but relief, as well. I’d been screwing up for weeks, and no one had wanted to be standing next to me when I self-destructed. Hollister was lucky that he’d walked away clean. Now that it was all over and I was just another ex-cop, the sympathy could return. They’d all be offering me contacts in the security industry and buying me goodbye drinks in the cop bar. Probably the last time I’d ever go there.

I was no longer a cop, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around that. It was all I’d ever known.

I put my hand out to open the door. Running footsteps behind me...awkward ones, accompanied by panting. Not a cop, then. Even Hux could run, when he had to. A civilian. “Wait!” the guy croaked.

I turned. It was the visitor, the guy in shirt and jeans everyone had been kissing up to.

“I love you,” the guy said. His eyes were shining as if someone had just handed him a plate of chocolate cream pie. “You’re perfect!”

The anger evaporated, I think out of shock, more than anything else. I blinked. “Uh...I’m flattered. But I’m not—”

“For my TV show! I’m A.K. Dixon. You’ve got it all going on: the rogue cop! The maverick.” He drew in his breath. “The
loose cannon!
You’re going to bring down the bad guys, and you don’t care if you have to cross the line!”

“
What?”

“And you have that dark, brooding thing going on. All moody.
Haunted.
Perfect. And you’re so
big!”
Dixon reached up and squeezed my bicep. I shook him off. “I need you. I have to have you. Barnes! Captain Barnes!”

Barnes stuck his head cautiously out of his office like a tortoise.

Dixon was breathless—not just from running after me, but from excitement. “I have to have this man,” he told Barnes.

Barnes walked toward us, running a hand through what was left of his hair. “You want
Kowalski?!”
he asked. “For a TV show?”

“I told you, I want real cops for some of the roles,” said Dixon. “It gives the show authenticity.
Texture.
We did it on
Foxtrot Company
.”

“
Foxtrot Company?
” I asked, trying to catch up. I’d watched that show. Good, gritty stuff. And it
had
felt realistic. I vaguely remembered something, now, about real-life soldiers playing some of the roles. That was made by this guy?

“Dixon was shifting his weight around—I swear he was only a few seconds away from hopping from foot to foot in joy. “ That’s why he’s so perfect. He’s
authentic!
Do you know what that’s worth, these days? It’s exactly what audiences want! The honest, good-hearted, downtrodden cop... you gotta give him to me!”

“Is anyone,” I asked slowly, “going to tell me what’s going on here?”

Barnes ignored me completely. “You’d pay him and everything?”

Dixon nodded wildly. “Absolutely. Full pay plus bonus pay plus residuals if the series airs.”

Barnes stopped beside us and gave me a long look. “I can’t keep you here,” he told me slowly. “City Hall would have my ass after what you did.” He stared at the guy in jeans. “But if I was to send you off with this guy for a while...I could say you’re on a leave of absence. Then, when the heat’s off…” I could see him turning it over and over in his mind, trying to find a way out for me. “If you do this and keep your nose clean and don’t screw it up...yeah. Maybe I could make that work. You could sneak back quietly, drive a desk for a few months, then maybe I could put you back on the streets.”

I was blinking. “But I’m not an actor!”

“You don’t have to be,” said Dixon. “Just...be you. The troubled, misunderstood, bad boy with the heart of gold.”

“The heart of—
what?”

“Be smart, Kowalski,” said Barnes, his voice a low rumble. “This could be a good thing for you. Like a holiday.
If
you come back with your temper in check, maybe I can get everything back to normal.”

I looked at Barnes and then at Dixon—who was beaming at me. I’d never seen someone so
happy
before. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning. I shook my head. “This is crazy,” I told them.