Don't Call Me Hero (12 page)

“Fucking Julia.” I flung my long hair back over my shoulder, hiding the fresh bite. Twenty-eight years old with a hickie. Awesome.

When I left the bathroom, I heard a soft knock at my door. I didn’t feel like company, but maybe Grace Kelly had made more baked goods. I pulled on my jeans from the previous night and refastened the belt. Another knock, this time louder, rattled the door.

“Coming!” I yelled.

I jerked open the door and nearly gasped at the woman standing in the hallway.

“Julia.”

She was dressed for work, her grey trench coat over another immaculate outfit. She seemed to have a penchant for crisply pressed Oxford shirts, unbuttoned to the third button. Her dress pants hugged at slight curves, although I would have described her as more straight than curvy.

“Hello, Detective,” she greeted in that low rasp that made my knees wobble every time. “I hope this isn’t a bad time. I didn’t want to visit too early in case you were still sleeping.”

“N-no,” I stuttered. “It’s fine.”

I felt her gaze sweep over me, and her eyes lingered at the gold badge at my hipbone. “I’m glad to see my words didn’t fall on deaf ears.” Her lips pursed knowingly.

Deaf, no. Burning, yes. I could feel the embarrassed redness enflame my pale cheeks and creep up to the tips of my ears. “I was just too tired to change it back this morning.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed.

“What, um, can I help you? Do you need help with something?”

“Surprisingly, no. I simply thought it was about time I welcomed the newest member of the Embarrass police force to town.”

I noticed the potted plant in her arms for the first time. She shifted its weight from one hip to the other.

“I thought you’d already welcomed me.”

Her red, painted lips thinned, but she didn’t take the bait. “Then consider it a housewarming present.” She shoved the plant into my waiting arms.

I hefted the ceramic pot and inspected its contents. A plant with long, yellow-green leaves shot out of the fresh dirt. “I’m not very good with these things.”

“I suspected as much. Luckily, spider plants are resilient. I doubt even you could kill this plant, Detective.”

Not waiting for an invite, Julia pushed past me.

“You can call me, Cassidy, you know.”

“I like to keep things professional.”

I wondered at that. How professional was it for a police officer and the city prosecutor to hook up? I didn’t think I had an anti-fraternizing clause in my contract like we had in the Marines, but to be honest, I hadn’t really read my new contract all that carefully.

“Do you always push people away?”

Julia’s mouth opened and closed. I wondered if anyone had ever called her on her shit before.

“Yes. It’s what I do best.”

“Maybe second best,” I said, grinning mischievously.

Her eyes narrowed. I imagined her as an annoyed cat, long tail flicking back and forth in agitation.

“What do I feed this thing?” I set the plant on the kitchen island. It looked like a cross between something out of a Dr. Seuss book and a horror film, like it might crawl out of its container at any moment and suffocate me. I poked at the long, spiked leaves with uncertainty.

She carefully removed her black leather gloves, but she kept on her long trench coat. “Water.”

“That’s it?”

“I can assure you that it requires no blood sacrifice.”

“What about sunlight?”

“Yes, it’s probably better if you left it near a window and not hide it away in a closet.”

I continued to stare at the green stalks of the plant. The last time I’d been entrusted with a living thing had been a goldfish in the fourth grade. It hadn’t lasted the night.

“It’s a plant, Miss Miller, not my first born. If you somehow manage to kill it, I won’t be angry with you.”

It wasn’t the plant that was making me nervous; it was her.

“Don’t bite your nails, dear.”

I jerked my hand away from my mouth. I hadn’t even realized I’d been doing that. “I can’t help it.”

“Sure you can. You just need to give your mouth something else to do.”

“Are you offering?” I flashed a cheeky grin. The first and only time she’d been in my apartment, our mouths had been occupied, but it hadn’t exactly been in conversation.

Julia wrinkled her nose. “Hardly. I was going to suggest chewing gum.”

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” I stumbled the few steps to the refrigerator and opened the door. It was embarrassingly bare. I had little to offer other than half a gallon of skim milk and a ketchup bottle.

“No, thank you. I can’t stay. I have to prepare for court later this afternoon. I just wanted to drop off the plant.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks.”

“It’s nothing.”

I chewed on my lower lip. “You’re different in this town. Different than the woman I met in Minneapolis.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Julia coolly replied.

“You’re harder, I guess. More guarded.”

“Have you ever considered that I just don’t like you, Detective?”

I leaned my hip against the kitchen island. “I don’t know why not.”

“Perhaps I don’t take kindly to being drowned.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “When did I…” I blinked in confusion until I realized to what she was referring. “Spilling my drink on you is hardly
drowning
you.”

“
Four
drinks,” she reminded me. “I’m half a mind to send you the bill for my dry cleaning.”

“What were you doing in the Twin Cities?”

“Why do you want to know?” Julia countered. “Is it part of an on-going investigation?”

“Let’s say it is.”

“It was a reunion of sorts. I was meeting up with some friends from college.”

“You have friends?” I teased.

Julia’s expression was unreadable. “Shocking. I know.”

I instantly regretted the jab. I didn’t know this woman well enough to be teasing her. Yes, we’d shared a bed once, but that didn’t mean we were on friendly terms.

Julia’s dark eyes regarded me. “Why are you in this town?” she asked. The question seemed as if it had been weighing on her mind for some time. “Certainly a war hero like yourself has more job prospects than working the nightshift in a town where nothing happens?”

“Chief Hart is an old family friend. It’s … it’s a favor.”

Julia seemed to let my words roll around in her head as if deciding if it was an adequate answer. “How very charitable of you.”

I didn’t bother to correct her.

CHAPTER Nine

The back room in the police station wasn’t much larger than a generous closet. It doubled as the evidence locker and the ammunitions storage. The crackle of the police radio was like white noise, and I let out an exhausted breath as I settled onto the canvas cot. It wasn’t any more comfortable than the bed in my apartment, but the room benefitted from its basement location and central air. Surrounded by boxes of rifle shells and incandescent light bulbs, I was finally able to fall asleep.

+ + +

Afghanistan, 2012

He says his name is Amir, and I have no sympathy for him. He complains of thirst, but we’re all suffering from lack of the baser human necessities. Because of him, my friends are dead and Pensacola might as well be. He’s not the mark. I don’t even know if he’s going to be of any use to the mission. But whatever information he can share certainly won’t be worth the loss of lives.

I pretend I don’t speak his language, so he tries again in very broken English. Still, I ignore him. Why the hell should I care if he has to take a piss? He should consider himself lucky that I haven’t stuck the dangerous end of my M16 into his complaining mouth.

I’ve never killed anyone—not directly by my own hand, at least—but it doesn’t really matter. I’m a part of the war machine. People die all the time in battle—terrible people, but also good people.

I bet his stripped flesh would dry up in this heat just like jerky. I’ve already cannibalized my foxtrot to get a signal to call for help. What’s one more act of cannibalism?

+ + +

I woke up to the sound of a muffled conversation. I recognized Chief Hart’s voice right away, but the other voice was less familiar. The backroom was completely dark, and it took me a moment to remember where I was.

“I’m giving you a direct order to drop this,” the second male voice declared.

I fixed my ponytail, which had worked its way loose while I slept. I tentatively pushed open the door and I winced into the light that crept through the doorway.

Chief Hart stood by himself outside of his office door, looking over notes on a yellow legal pad. I looked around the station for the owner of the second voice, but he had disappeared. I scratched my head. Maybe I’d imagined it all.

“Morning, Chief.” My voice sounded like a bullfrog’s croak. I cleared the sludge from my throat with a cough.

Chief Hart visibly flinched. “Jesus, Cassidy! What were you doing back there?”

“Taking a nap,” I yawned. “It was too hot to sleep in my apartment.”

“I should tell the Mayor he doesn’t have to spend money on an apartment for you; you can just live in the back room,” he chuckled. 

“Speaking of the Mayor, has he talked to you about those mobile fingerprint readers?” I asked.

Chief Hart frowned and shook his head. “I told you we don’t have the budget for that.”

“I know. But I told the Mayor it would be really beneficial if we had them.”

“You talked to William Desjardin?”

“Uh, yeah.” I realized how bad it looked that I’d gone over his head to continue to pursue this.

Chief Hart folded his arms across his broad chest. “No. He hasn’t talked to me about it. But I suppose if he changes his mind, he’ll talk directly to you, since I’m just taking up space.”

I held up my hands. “Chief, no, I … I.” I didn’t know what to say. He’d been so generous in offering me this position, and how had I repaid him? My stomach turned in disappointment at myself.

“I’m going to be late for court,” Chief Hart grumbled. “David’s getting sued. We can talk about this later.”

“Wait. He’s what?”

“Being sued by one of the local business owners. It’s really nothing to worry about; it’s more of an annoyance than anything.” Chief Hart looked distracted. “The city prosecutor is a real ball buster, but you’ll be happy to have her on your side if you ever need her.”

“Julia Desjardin, right?” For some reason, saying her name out loud felt taboo.

Chief Hart nodded. “She represents the city, but also the police force if we’re ever sued as a department, or like in David’s case, as individuals.”

“Can, uh, is anyone allowed to go to the trial?” I asked.

“Yes, but I don’t know why you’d waste your time.”

“I’d like to go to support David.” That much was true, but it would be a lie if I didn’t admit that I was curious to see the city prosecutor in action.

+ + +

On the third floor of City Hall, the county courtroom served as a catchall for every phase of criminal justice from arraignment to the trial to sentencing. I thought the courtroom was impressive in size with about ten rows of seats for observers on either side of the central aisle. The juror box on the right hand side of the courtroom was currently empty as the presiding judge, not a panel of peers, would decide David’s fate. I hadn’t realized it, having been a police officer for less than a year, but getting sued wasn’t that unusual, and it was even more frequent in small towns where police officers and civilians were on a first-name basis.

I almost didn’t recognize David out of uniform. He sat by himself at a long wooden table at the front of the courtroom. He’d gotten a haircut since I’d last seen him, and his light brown hair was buzzed even shorter than I was used to. Instead of the brown and yellow police uniform, he wore a dark suit and a light blue tie that matched the color of his eyes. The boyish smile that was a regular fixture on his face was missing that day.

The plaintiff, Gregory Espinosa, was the owner of a local bar that served food on the side. I hadn’t yet patronized the establishment, but its reputation preceded itself. If the stories I’d heard from both David and Grace Kelly were true, it was a miracle the place hadn’t been shut down by the liquor commission or the health department. Espinosa claimed that David had unfairly targeted his bar and had been harassing him, his employees, and his patrons while on duty. It was Julia’s job to prove that the plaintiff was full of shit.