Blown Away (17 page)

“Well?” he prompted.

“Um, well, I…” The question had come up before. She always blew it off with a chirpy “'Cause I look so good in blue.” The truth was, it just sort of happened. She'd been sitting at the kitchen table, hair drying from her post-run shower, idly scanning the local
Naperville Sun
and wondering what to do with her life. The “poor me” voice inside her head was driving her crazy. As were her office mates, who griped ceaselessly about friends, rivals, parents, spouses, kids, lipstick, and weather, their lives never-ending tragedies. The more Emily heard, the more she wanted to scream, “Shut up! You have no idea how good you have it!” She needed to find something else to do. Then she saw the article tucked between the ads.

POLICE TEST TODAY

She read it twice, then set it aside for housework. She dusted, vacuumed, and scrubbed, but the inexplicable excitement grew stronger. She called Branch to see what he thought—Lydia and Jack worked together at Bell Labs, and all four of them had become close. She'd loved Branch's police stories but never imagined one happening to her. He encouraged her to go for it. “The worst that can happen is you don't pass, and that's where you are right now.” She drove to Neuqua High and took the written exam. The questions were harder than she'd anticipated, and she left the auditorium dejected.

Several weeks later she wandered out her front door, played with Shelby, then waved to Joey the mailman as he motored away in his box truck. She leafed through the mail. Electric bill.
Ooh!
American Express.
Ahh! Runner's World
's shoe issue.
Oh, catch me. I'm faint!
Heart research, lung research, cancer research, siding manufacturer, Naperville Police Department, immediate response requested.

She tore the cream-colored envelope and was astounded to read she'd scored in the uppermost percentile and would she please arrange an interview. A dozen physical, mental, and medical hurdles later, she scissored off her long hair and reported to the police academy for training….

“I really have no idea, Ellis,” she said, running her hand through her wet hair. “Office work seemed tedious and police work didn't. So I became a cop.”

Agreement and contradiction danced across Marwood's face. “Maybe,” he said. “But maybe you were telling them off.”

She cocked her head.

“Mama. Daddy. And Jack.” Marwood shook his fist. “‘You abandoned me!'” he cried in a mimic of her voice. “‘I'm gonna get even by becoming a cop! I'm gonna wrestle killers and rapists, and if you don't like it, you can kiss my dimpled ass! It's payback time!'”

Emily stared, not believing her ears.
Revenge?
That couldn't be why she'd joined the department. Couldn't be! “Who can say?” she said, trying to shrug it off.

“You can,” Marwood said, his gaze direct. “Your family abandoned you. Left you alone. Shattered your existence. You hate them for doing that. Hate!”

“I don't hate them,” Emily whimpered. “I…I can't.”

 

“Just a few more minutes till the list is sorted,” Cross said over the encrypted cell phone connection. “Pray the Unsub's there, because we're almost out of time.”

Annie blew a sweat ball off the tip of her nose. “I know.”

“Don't worry,” Cross said. “Marty encrypted the file with Level Nine….”

She listened to the particulars, alarmed at the body language Emily displayed through the high-powered binoculars. Hands bunching and releasing her shirt. Nostrils flaring. Head shaking, eyes darting.
Come on, girl, I know you're hurting,
she thought.
But hang in there. We're almost at endgame. Show Marwood what you're made of.
“Cap thought I'd changed my mind,” she responded when Cross finished. “It was a lousy thing to do to him.”

“You didn't do it. I did.”

“No, Chief, it was me.”

“Both of us then. How's Emily handling the emotion of this fun run?”

“Fine,” Annie said. “She's a trouper.”

“I'll call the instant Marty's finished,” Cross said.

 

“Are you all right?” Marwood asked.

“Fine. Fine,” Emily muttered. “Some bad memories is all.” She was drowning in the moment Jack's mahogany casket disappeared into the grave. She'd hurt so bad, she wanted to jump in and inhale dirt till she died, too, but somehow managed to remain calm.
Just like now,
she thought grimly.

 

“We gonna pull her soon, boss?” Flea asked, refocusing his binoculars. “She's lookin' awfully bad down there.”

“She looks calm and collected to me,” Annie said.

“Right. That's what I meant.”

 

Emily hugged herself to get on track. “We've wasted enough time on my problems,” she grunted, pushing to her feet. “Let's go.”

Marwood shook his head. “Tell me about your folks first.”

“What do you want to know?” she said, picking grass off her backside. “That a pickup truck hit Daddy so hard, his face cracked the sidewalk? Or that Mama couldn't take a dump without somebody coming to measure?”

“Both. Everything.”

“Sure. You free the rest of the century?” She plopped back on the grass and crossed her legs, the image of her brutalized parents sparking incredible fury. Fury was good. Fury she knew. Fury she could handle. “Daddy was big,” she began. “Not fat, just big. Muscular. He was a steelworker, took great pride in his strength and physique. He wasn't book smart—he barely graduated high school—but he was the most intelligent man I ever knew.” She patted her hair. “These henna highlights aren't from any bottle, Doc,” she said. “Daddy had a full head of electric-red hair.”

“Ken mentioned that in our briefing. Was it wavy like yours?”

“No. That I got from Mama.” She thought some more. “He smelled like Clubman. You know, the aftershave?”

“Barbershops and locker rooms,” Marwood said. “My favorite after bay rum.”

“Mine, too,” she said. “What else? He was easygoing, didn't have a cross word for anyone but stupid bosses. But he was a grizzly when provoked. We were at a White Sox game when I was seven. Some drunk pawed my boobs. I didn't know what it meant. Daddy did. He stomped the guy unconscious.”

“You inherited his tough-guy gene, I see.”

Emily shrugged. “I don't let anyone push me around, Ellis. Daddy taught me that.” She conjured more happy memories. “The neatest time I had with him,” she said, watching herself sprint barefoot across the green shag carpeting and leap into Daddy's lap, “was watching TV together after supper. Just him and me, Mama in the kitchen doing dishes. We sat in his lounger.” She crinkled her eyes. “It was a nineteen-inch Quasar—”

“His lap?”

Emily chuckled. “We watched cop shows.
Kojak, Mannix, Dragnet, Adam-12,
first runs, reruns, it didn't matter. He liked them all. Said he would have loved being a copper, but steelwork paid better, and he had a family to think of. We watched just one show a night because the nuns piled on the homework. When the show ended, I hit the books, and he and Mama took a walk. Every night, just the two of them. It was their alone time. All my friends thought it was so sweet.” Her eyes misted over.

Marwood looked sad. “How did your father die?” he asked. “I know hit and run, but what can you tell me about it?”

Emily explained what neighbor Goldie Abrams had said that long-ago night, then told him what she remembered about Mama. “I lived in the family bungalow till I met Jack,” she finished. “Sold it to move here. And now I'm by myself again. Full circle.”

Marwood rubbed his knees. “I'm sorry for your loss, Emily,” he said. “Losses. You loved and admired your family, and they adored you. I'm sure they're watching from the penthouse suite.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. “Time to leave,” she finally said. “I'm starting to stiffen up.”

The profiler hopped to his feet. “Want to say good-bye?”

Her eyes widened at the thoughtfulness. “Yes. I'd appreciate that.”

Marwood jogged off. Emily murmured her love to Jack, caught up. She pointed out the quarry beach, bell carillon, skateboard park, and covered wooden bridges, feeling so energized she could handle a thousand Unsubs. She couldn't wait to rejoin the hunt.

 

Annie's phone rang. She answered, hoping the list was ready—this graveyard gave her the creeps. She listened, and her face turned stony. “Rapid extraction! Now!” she barked, thrusting an arm at Emily. SWATs ran full-out. She raised her rifle, scanning for targets.

 

Emily's face drained as bodyguards stormed from the woods. “What's happening?” she asked, pulling up her shirt to expose her Glocks. Flea grabbed her left arm, another SWAT her right. The rest of the team encircled and moved her to the service road. Annie ran up.

“Bomb threat at Edward Hospital,” she panted. “Too dangerous to go there now. Cross wants you at the safe house.”

Emily cocked her head. “Why were we going to Edward?”

“Branch is out of the coma,” Marwood said, waving his phone. “Winslow just called.”

Emily shrieked, clapping her hands. “He's awake! What's he saying?”

Marwood shook his head. “The doc says it'll be hours before he's coherent. I'm heading there now to pick up what little I can for the profile.”

Emily tensed to shake her captors and join him, but Flea tightened his grasp. “Don't even think about it,” Annie warned.

“All right, I'll behave,” Emily grumbled. “But, Ellis, tell Branch I'm thinking about him and I'll visit the moment I can.”

“You got it.” He turned toward Edward and ran, and Annie pushed her into a waiting cop car.

Wednesday, noon
Eighteen hours till Emily's birthday

“A whole buncha ninjas and a psycho killer, too,” Emily grumbled. “My life's a country song.”

“Yeah,” Flea said from his observation post at the safe-house kitchen window. “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road.”

Everyone cracked up at the black humor, stirring a bodyguard napping by the fire. He snorted and fell back asleep. Emily smiled, went back to the profile. “Ellis thinks he's a Green Beret,” she said as Annie typed. “Maybe we can get a list of commandos from the Pentagon—”

“It's noon,” Annie interrupted. “Time to check the inbox.” She switched the laptop to secure mail, motioned for Emily to look.

Subject is fully awake. Subject vital signs look good. Four hours till hospital fully secured. I'll let you know when to leave. E.M.

“E.M. and Em,” Annie said. “Awwwwww.”

“It'd be cuter over a latte on Michigan Avenue.”

“Quit griping,” Annie said. “This is the plushest campout you'll ever have.” She tapped her watch, and the team headed out to switch places with the woods crew. “I did some more snooping on that commander of yours. Did you know they offered him the job of sheriff and he turned it down?”

Emily shook her head.

“Eleven years ago. A motorcycle gang was pulling a series of home invasions. Marty went undercover. He looks like a biker when he's grungy and knows his way around a Harley. Two of their toughest whack jobs took him on. He broke all four of their arms, made 'em cry for their mommies.”

“No way!”

“Way. The gang bought it and made him their chief enforcer. He went on to put every one of 'em in Stateville.”

“Wow.” Emily tried to square that with her vision of Marty.

“At the time, the sheriff was retiring with no electable replacement in sight. The politicians asked Marty to run and said they'd guarantee his victory. Marty wanted to say yes—he'd wanted that job since he was a rookie—but turned it down. Too much time away from his wife, who was dying of cancer.”

Emily recalled Marty's sadness when she mentioned his wife in the car. “What happened?”

“They were furious,” Annie said. “Nobody tells them no. They said take the job or kiss it off forever. ‘I guess it's forever,' Marty said. ‘Thanks, anyway.' One of them accused Marty of using the dying wife to extort a bigger salary before saying yes. Marty walked, and that was the end of it.” She stood, adjusted her trousers, sat. “How many people walk away from a dream for someone who's gonna die anyway? Your man's a real mensch.”

Emily put her chin in her hands.

“Hey, hon, you feeling all right?” Annie said, looking closely at her face. “You look pretty down. Is it what happened during the fun run? You want to talk about it?”

“Yes,” Emily said, rubbing her tired eyes. She stifled a yawn, and another popped out. “But I don't have the energy all of a sudden. Rain check till after supper?”

“You got it. Go take a nice long nap.”

“Aw, why bother?” Emily grumbled. “Soon as my head touches the pillow, we'll have to leave. Didn't Ellis say four hours till the coast is clear?”

“That means eight. Minimum. Edward's a huge place to search. Go on, get all the shut-eye you can. I'll keep the coffee hot.”

Emily stretched. “All right. Since you insist.”

“Adamantly. Sweet dreams.”

Chicago
November 1974

“Guess what?” Emily whispered to her third-grade classmates as they stood in line for meatless hot lunch. “My parents heard a father whip his son!”

“No!” a girlfriend squealed as the others crowded in. “Where? When?”

“Last week sometime. Mama and Daddy were taking their walk and heard a man screaming at his son inside a house. Then he smacked him with a belt!” A dozen kids squirmed, having been there themselves. “I don't know where it happened,” she continued. “They walk through different neighborhoods every night. But Daddy told the police, and they went to the house. Right in the middle of the whipping!”

Brady Kepp froze, not daring to breathe.

“Sure they weren't messing with you?” a boy asked skeptically. “My dad makes up stuff all the time to ‘prove' what he's saying. Mom calls it ‘poetic license,' whatever that means.”

“No, it's definitely true,” Emily insisted. “Because they didn't say it to me. They were talking during Johnny Carson. I'm usually asleep, but a bad dream woke me up, so I heard everything. Daddy wanted to beat up the father, but Mama said no, he'd get arrested. So they found some policemen, who ran to the house and pounded on the door. That's when my parents left.”

“Your ol' man,” the boy murmured admiringly.

“He stepped in boiling steel to save his friend,” Emily bragged. “He helps everyone!”

“That's really cool, Em,” the boy enthused. He kind of liked this pretty tomboy who was afraid of nothing. Maybe he'd ask her to the Valentine's Day dance. “It takes a whole lotta balls to do that—
ow!”

“We do not say ‘balls' at St. Mary's Elementary,” the nun scowled, twisting the boy's ear like a dead bolt. “It's disrespectful of the young ladies present, not to mention Our Jesus, who died in horrible agony for you.” She waved her ruler. “There's enough swats in this for everyone,” she warned. “So quit fooling around, and get your lunches.” She frowned at Brady. “Are you all right, Mr. Kepp? You look ill.”

“He probably wet his pants again, Sister,” the boy snickered. “It makes his dinger itch.

“We do not say ‘dinger,' either,” the nun said, bouncing the ruler off his rump. Boys winced and girls giggled as sister whapped him to the principal's office. “Oh, hey, I forgot to tell you,” Emily said, looking around carefully for more penguins. “Daddy gave Mama this cool new board game for her birthday. It's called Chutes and Ladders….”