Carved in Darkness (6 page)

She was different. Every muscle, every pore. Only the eyes remained the same. Not the color, but he looked past their wrongness and saw something he’d searched for in countless women for over a decade. He saw the truth of himself staring back at him.

Only Melissa had seen him for what he truly was, and he saw it in this woman’s eyes.

She was alive.

Lucy was coming. He carefully placed the picture in its sleeve and slipped it into his back pocket.

“I made an extra cake for company. Would you like a piece?” she said.

He wanted to grab her and shake the truth out of her. He wanted to make her bleed for hiding his Melissa away from him. Instead he smiled.

“A piece of cake would be great, Miss Lucy,” he said and made himself sit still.

“Coffee?”

“That’d be fine, but I’d hate for you to go to any trouble on my account.” He forced the smile to stay put when she fluttered her hand his way.

“Nonsense, it’s already made,” she said before heading toward the kitchen. He waited for her to disappear into the kitchen before he moved.

He pulled a pair of thin latex gloves from his back pocket and put them on while he crossed the room. He locked the front door and slid the security chain home. He cocked his head to the side and listened. The soft murmur of her voice came to him from the kitchen.

“Miss Lucy?” he said loudly. Who was she talking to? He turned to follow her in to the kitchen.

She stood with her back to him, humming to herself. He took a quick glance around the kitchen and saw it almost immediately. The cord attached to the wall-mounted rotary phone swung slightly from side to side.

She’d made a phone call.

“
Mmm, mmm.
Lucy, that coffee smells almost as good as your lemon pound cake,” he said, and she laughed without turning around.

“Well, you can hardly have one without the other,” she said, placing cups and saucers on a tray along with a sugar bowl and creamer. It made him smile. She’d always been so formal.

“Who’d you call?” He kept his tone conversational and closed the distance between them.

“What? No one. I didn’t call anyone.” She looked up at him and smiled back.

“Miss Lucy … ” He laid a gloved hand on the side of her throat and traced a thumb over her pulse. The drum banging away inside her vein thrilled him. “You’re lying to me. You shouldn’t do that—I really hate being lied to.”

EIGHT

R
ICHARDS’S OFFICE WAS ON
the basement level of the precinct, down the hall from the practice range. The muffled
pop, pop, pop
of gunfire followed her down the corridor, the loud bark of an angry dog. For a moment she wanted nothing more than to simply turn around and leave. Not just the corridor or the precinct. She wanted to leave this life. A life she never asked for. One she never wanted.

Without thinking, she reached inside her shirt and wrapped her fingers around the silver and lapis band hanging from a chain around her neck and gave it a squeeze. The metal, warmed by her skin, bit into her palm and the sudden sting grounded her.

The door was shut. She could hear the muted drone of conversation coming through the door. Someone was in Richards’s office with him.

Sabrina leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. She closed her eyes, tried to look bored, like she didn’t know what was waiting for her on the other side of Richards’s door. He’d want to know why she’d ignored department protocol, why she’d skipped her psych sessions. A question she had no ready answer for. Not one she’d want to give, anyway.

If the raid had taken place a few months ago, she would’ve been able to sit through the sessions without a problem. She would’ve been able to nod her head and make appropriate comments and facial expressions. She would’ve hated every second of it, but she would’ve been able to do it. But the raid happened in September. The paranoia had already kicked in, and so had the nightmares. No way in hell could she have sat through a counseling session. Any therapist worth their salt would’ve seen her for what she was: a cop on the verge of a major crack-up. She would’ve been out on her ass before she’d even had a chance to sit down.

Skipping the sessions had been a risk, one that would cost her. Her chances of sliding on this were between slim and none, but she’d rather be tagged as non-compliant than crazy.

The door suddenly opened, and she jerked her head up. All thoughts of her suspension disappeared. Nickels, the one person who could help her find Michael, was standing right in front of her.

He began to open the door wider to allow her to pass through, but she shook her head and moved down the hall toward the gun range. She shot him a look; he instantly fell into step behind her.

“What’s up?” he said.

“I need a favor.” She forced the words out and had to beat down the guilt when he readily nodded his head. He’d want to know why she needed O’Shea’s records, and the lie she’d worked up to explain herself wasn’t one she wanted to tell.

“You got it.”

She pressed on before she lost her nerve. “You were in the military, right?”

“Yeah, I served in the Gulf—so?”

“If I asked you to help me get a hold of some service records, no questions asked—could you?” The open expression on his face closed up tight, and she instantly regretted asking him. “You know what? Never mind. Forget I asked.” She stepped to the side, but he shifted his body to block her exit.

“You just asked me to help you get confidential military files. Not exactly something I can just forget. What’s going on?” he said, his usually pleasant face clouded with concern.

“It’s stupid, really. Val wants to fix me up with this guy she knows. He said he’s ex-military, but you know how it is. He could be lying just to try and impress me. Being a cop is hell on a girl’s love life.” This was the lie she didn’t want to tell. She watched her words sink in, and his face changed again. His concern took a back seat to the protective possessiveness he felt where she was concerned. She felt horrible exploiting his feelings for her, but she’d do whatever it took to protect her family.

“What’s his name?”

“Michael O’Shea.”

“What branch?”

“Army.” She thought she remembered Lucy telling her it was the Army, years ago when he left, but she wasn’t sure. Nickels nodded his head and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“What do you want to know?” He was all business now.

“I don’t know … service dates, where he was stationed. If he committed any crimes while he was in,” she said. She had no idea what she needed, but it seemed like a good start.

“Basically, you want his entire jacket. Shit, Vaughn—you’re not asking much, are you?”

“I know it’s a lot, Nick. I just don’t know who else to ask.” If there was any other way, she’d jump on it in a heartbeat, but there wasn’t.

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do but I’m not promising anything.” He gave her a crooked grin. “A date, huh? I don’t know—you don’t seem like a dinner and a movie kinda girl.”

She forced herself to smile back. “I’m not. I’m a taco stand, gun range kinda girl, but Val thinks I need romance or some shit.” She rolled her eyes.

He threw a glance over his shoulder before looking her in the eye. “Ya know … you could just tell Val thanks but no thanks and grab a drink with me after work,” he said. She instinctively took a step back and dropped her gaze to the floor. With his light brown hair and whiskey-colored eyes, Nickels was no hardship to look at. If she thought they could keep it casual, she might consider it, but she knew Nickels didn’t do casual. He was a long-haul guy. He couldn’t handle her brand of relationships, which was no relationship at all. He caught her hesitation, and the disappointment she saw on his face compounded her guilt. She opened her mouth to agree to a drink, but he cut her off.

“I’ll do it regardless, but the drink offer still stands,” he said. Nickels was one of the good ones. He didn’t deserve to be used. The last thing she wanted to do was string him along, but she didn’t want to hurt him either.

“I better go see what Richards wants.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you inside,” he said, nodding in the direction of the briefing room. He took a few steps down the hall before she called out.

“One condition: I buy the first round.” She ignored the little voice in her head telling her this was a bad idea.

“As you wish.” He gave her a slight bow and another grin before he turned and walked away.

NINE

“
Y
OU WANTED TO SEE
me, sir?” Sabrina nudged the cracked door open with the toe of her boot and wrapped her knuckles on the frame. Richards’s head popped up from the small mountain of paperwork crowding his desk.

“Sit.” Richards leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin, studying her with enough intensity to make her want to squirm. Seemingly out of thin air, he produced a piece of paper and held it up for her to see. “You know what this is?”

“No, sir.” She knew exactly what it was. Richards cracked a smile and nodded his head.

“It’s your four-forty.”

She said nothing. When an officer discharged their weapon in the line of duty, the case was taken before an incident review board. A committee of fellow officers, administrators, department shrinks, and civilians were asked to review your actions and decide whether or not they were justified. The 4-40 form documented her side of the story along with the board’s findings and recommendations. Richards continued to stare at her for a few moments before speaking again.

“It was a good shoot. Witness accounts were able to corroborate your report. The bullet holes in Sanford’s shirt didn’t hurt either.” He cracked another humorless smile, and she returned it. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he said out of nowhere, throwing her off balance.

“Sir?”

“Sanford. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Instantly, she understood what Nickels was doing in Richards’s office so early in the morning. “Nick needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut.”

“Wasn’t just him. Lloyd, Tagert, McMillan, Davis … there’s been a steady stream coming in since you filed for a transfer. Nick was just the latest,” he said. The names of her SWAT teammates closed her throat. Suddenly she missed them almost as much as she wanted to kill them for getting into her business and dumping it on Richards’s desk. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. “You want to tell me what happened after the raid?”

She thought of that day, of the ride back to the station. Kevlar stopped bullets, but that didn’t mean getting shot didn’t hurt like a bitch. Taking two to the chest had Sanford laid out in the back of the wagon. All she could hear was the excited buzz of the other team members. Her actions and the fact they’d saved Sanford’s life were all anyone could talk about. She didn’t have much to say, just endured the shoulder slapping and knuckle bumping with a vacant half-smile while Sanford glared at her through the slits cracked in his eyelids.

He’d said nothing to her after she dropped the banger, just lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. Someone yelled her name. More shouts sounded from unseen rooms. The heavy tread of pounding boots shook the floorboards under her knee, getting heavier and louder. The guy she had cuffed and pinned to the ground with her knee in his neck threw up all over her boot. She barely noticed. She stood and rushed forward. She knelt, first in front of the kid she’d shot—he couldn’t have been more than twenty—to check his vitals. He was dead. She kept her gun trained on him while she removed the 9mm still in his grip and jammed it into her waistband. It took only seconds, and when she looked at Sanford, he was watching her.

“Are you hit?” she said. She moved to run her hand along his chest and sides, checking for possible wounds.

“Get the fuck off me.” He practically snarled at her, shoving her hand away while he struggled to sit up. She looked up to find Nickels in the doorway, a look of sickened relief plastered all over his face. She stood and shoved her way past him. The rest was a blur.

On the way back to the station, Nickels watched them both, his temper showing plainly. “You’re an asshole,” he said to Sanford,
his voice loud enough to quell the incessant chatter that filled the small space. “She saved your life, and you practically shit on her.”

Sabrina felt her stomach hit her boots. The last thing she needed right now was a confrontation.

“Nick—don’t,” she said quietly, but they both ignored her.

“Fuck her and fuck you. Just because you got a hard-on for the unit dyke doesn’t mean I have to kiss her ass.” Sanford tossed her a snide glare. Before she knew it, Nickels hauled Sanford off the bench and the two of them were tossing each other around the back of the wagon.

Without thinking, she dove in and wedged her shoulder between them to pry them apart. Sanford took the opportunity to punch her in the mouth with a sharp jab that snapped her head back. It took the entire unit to drag Nickels out of the wagon when it finally pulled into the station lot. She’d had a busted lip she blamed on a takedown during the raid, and she’d expected the rest of the unit to back her story. Apparently, her expectations had been too high.