First Offense (4 page)

“Stay calm,” she could hear her father say. He’d told her that right after she graduated from the police academy and had seen her first dead body—that of a child. She’d come home and told her father she couldn’t do it, wanted to resign. She was too young, too sensitive to be a cop. “Everyone is sensitive to death. If you weren’t sensitive to death, you wouldn’t be human. Take some deep breaths and call on your inner strength,” he’d said firmly.

Ann suddenly found herself fully upright. Her vision was blurred and distorted, perspiration streaming from her forehead into her eyes, but she was standing. She knew now what she had to do. She had to make it across the street.

“Are you hurt?” a concerned voice said from behind her. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m…I’ve been…” She tried to hold on, to turn around, to speak. Help was here…it was going to be all right now.

Ann felt her strength evaporating. As soon as she felt an arm brush against her side, felt the comforting warmth of another body against her own, she allowed the person to lower her back to the ground.

“You?” Ann mumbled as a disembodied face floated in front of her. Gentle, caring eyes looked down into her own, the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

“Get an ambulance,” a voice yelled so loud she was startled, “Quick, she’s hemorrhaging. She’s going into shock. And…blankets. Get blankets. Look in my trunk.”

The next second, the voice was calm and soothing, and Ann saw a man leaning over her body, his shirt brushing against her face. “We have to apply pressure. The bullet struck an artery. Be still and relax. The ambulance is on the way.”

The man moved to the other side of Ann’s body, and she felt his hands on her. She kept watching his face, lost in his eyes. From somewhere far away Ann remembered them, knew she had seen them. She was swimming now somewhere between consciousness and blacking out, awake but not really awake—a murky, wavy world, almost as if she were under water. She heard other voices, heard other feet pounding in her direction. All she could see was this face, hear this reassuring voice, feel the warmth of this person’s touch on her body.

Through the fog Ann heard a shrill siren piercing the night. With his free hand the man stroked Ann’s forehead, gazed down into her eyes again. Hair brushed across her face. “Your hair…” Ann said. It was like a soft blanket.

“You’re going to be fine,” the voice assured her. “The bullet entered near your shoulder.”

Ann strained to see, hear. The face was becoming distorted. She felt a rush of emotion—love—mixed with a feeling of complete peace. “Hank,” she whispered. “I knew you’d come back.”

Her eyelashes fluttered and then closed involuntarily. She felt an unknown force pulling her down into the darkness. She desperately held on to the image of the man in front of her, refusing to let it go. It was the only thing between her and the nothingness that was calling. Then she was sinking, unable to hold on. She heard Hank’s voice, smelled his body next to her own, recognized his firm touch. Hank was here. Her son would have his father. She could let go.

A few seconds later, she let the darkness take her.

Chapter
2

A
t fifty, detective sergeant Thomas Milton Reed was still a fairly good physical specimen, even if he did say so himself. At six one, two hundred pounds, he had all his hair and only a few strands of gray. He bared his teeth in the mirror. Most of the stains were gone now that he’d kicked cigarettes. Watching Lenny Braddock die of lung cancer had finally done the trick. But the lines in his face would remain. Too many years in the California sun. People said it gave a person character, anyway. If he didn’t have anything else. Reed laughed, he certainly had character.

He gave himself this little pep talk a few times a day in the can at the Ventura police department. This year he’d passed the big five-o, and it was every bit as bad as they say. He sucked in his stomach and vowed to go to the gym tonight. There were a lot of younger cops out there, though none of them necessarily tougher and certainly not better. Anyway, he said to himself, tossing the crumpled-up paper towel in the trash can, that’s the way I see it.

As soon as Reed cleared the door, he saw Noah Abrams heading down the hall with an alarmed look on his face. Reed almost ducked back in the can, but then he stopped. No gym tonight, Reed thought, knowing he was about to catch a hot call.

“Here,” Abrams said, throwing the keys to a police unit at the older detective. “You drive. I know you won’t let me drive anyway. Ann Carlisle’s on the way to County General. Gunshot wound.”

The keys hit the linoleum floor with a ting. All the color drained from the detective’s face. By the time the younger officer had gone three feet down the hall, however, Reed had leaned over sideways in one fluid motion, scooped the keys up, and was flat-out sprinting down the corridor leading to the parking lot. “Where?”

“Government center parking lot. Don’t know much…just came in,” Noah gasped, running alongside Reed now.

“What’s…her condition?”

“Dunno. Here’s the car. It’s the green one.” They both ducked into the unmarked police unit. Abrams slammed the portable light on top of the car and Reed gunned it, screaming out of the parking lot, skidding around the other police units while Abrams flicked through the police bands trying to get the fire department frequency so they could monitor the paramedics who were transporting Ann Carlisle.

Tommy Reed was distraught. This was no ordinary person who had been shot. Ann’s father had been his training officer when he was a rookie, his mentor since the first day he’d become a cop. On his deathbed Lenny Braddock had called Reed in and made him promise he would look after his daughter, make certain no one ever harmed her. Ann was impulsive and headstrong, Lenny had always said. One day she was going to get herself hurt. Well, Reed thought, biting down on the inside of his cheek, her father had been right. He slapped the steering wheel, almost losing control of the speeding car, feeling that shaky, hollow feeling inside, the way he felt when things were beyond his control.

“There they are,” Abrams yelled over the siren, hearing the medical lingo on the radio. “Watch it. Reed, you’re busting a hundred. On your right,” he quickly called out, advising the detective he had a side street coming up, a dangerous situation at this speed. If someone was approaching the intersection and didn’t hear the siren, there would be no way to avoid a collision and there would definitely be no survivors.

The radio was blasting as the paramedics relayed information to the hospital. Once they cleared the intersection, Abrams killed the siren so they could hear. A few moments later. Reed let up on the gas and his speed dropped down to a more cautious seventy.

Ann was alive.

The bullet had struck an artery but bypassed her vital organs. She’d lost a lot of blood and would more than likely require surgery, but it didn’t look critical.

“Siren on or off, Sarge?” Abrams asked, looking over at his partner.

“Off,” Reed said. “Is patrol on the scene?”

“Five of them and a lieutenant. They were right on top of it when the call came in. The radio room said there’s even a D.A. on the scene. They’re already calling it a drive-by.”

“Fucking animals,” Reed barked, cutting his eyes to Abrams and then back to the road, his relief turning to outrage. Ann and her son had become Reed’s family, particularly since her husband’s disappearance. No one played target practice with people Reed called family. Acid rose in his throat. Reaching in his pocket, he found a Rolaid and tossed it into his mouth.

What had begun as an obligation to a dying friend had ended up filling a void in the detective’s own life. Even though he’d dated many women through the years, Reed had never felt strongly enough about any relationship to marry. He’d yearned for a family, however, and in many ways he now felt he had one.

Picking up the microphone, he raised the lieutenant at the scene. They were waiting for the forensic people and taking statements from witnesses. No one had seen a suspect or vehicle. All they had seen was Ann down on the ground and bleeding. By the time the paramedics arrived, she had been unconscious. “Make sure you get in touch with Claudette Landers ASAP,” Reed barked into the radio. “Get her to pick up Ann’s son. He’s probably at the house alone right now. Are the press there?”

“What do you think?” Lieutenant Cummings said. “Like fleas on a dog.”

“Take care of the situation with the kid fast, Pete, or he’ll see it on TV. Not the best way to hear your mother’s been shot.”

Reed dropped the microphone. He was torn, thinking he should go to the house and pick up David himself. But Claudette was a woman with kids of her own and a very close friend of Ann’s. Women were better in this type of situation.

“Look, Sarge,” Abrams interjected, “why don’t you go to the hospital and check on Ann and I’ll pick up the kid and drive him to this woman’s house? Turn around and take me to the station, and I’ll pick up another unit.”

“We’re almost at the hospital,” Reed snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. “As soon as we know Ann’s stable, I’ll let you get started on the paperwork.”

Having put Abrams firmly in his place, the detective rolled down the window to get some fresh air. Noah had been wanting to get in Ann’s pants ever since her husband vanished. If her name so much as fell off Noah’s tongue, however, Reed felt like snatching his head off. Why Noah was interested in Ann he had no earthly idea. She was appealing in a fresh-faced way but clearly no raving beauty, and certainly not the type of woman Abrams preferred. He went for flash in a big way: big breasts, stylish hair, sharp clothes. He also had three failed marriages under his belt, and Reed didn’t want him within ten feet of Ann Carlisle.

At thirty-seven, Noah Abrams was a handsome man with chestnut-brown hair, hazel eyes, and a scattering of freckles across his nose and forehead. He had a penchant for hand-painted silk ties. He’d wear the same suit for ten years straight, but he’d cough up a hundred bucks for a single tie. Today he was wearing one with the image of Marilyn Monroe on it.

“Let me ask you something, Noah, now that we’re on the subject,” Reed said, coming out of his thoughts. “Why are you always circling around Ann Carlisle like a damn shark? She’s not your type. I’ve seen the kind of women you take out.”

“I resent that. Reed,” Abrams said. “Maybe I haven’t always had the best taste in women, but I’m not a total jerk. You seem to forget that I’ve known Ann almost as long as you have….” His voice trailed off and he gazed out the passenger window. When he continued, his voice was low and sincere. “I really care about Ann, Sarge. Hell, I used to work with her when we were both police cadets. We had some good times back then. Maybe one of these days I’ll settle down. If I do, she’s the kind of woman I want.”

“Oh, really?” Reed said, shifting around in his seat. “She’s seeing someone anyway, so you can put that out of your mind.”

In reality. Reed thought as little of Glen Hopkins as he did of Noah Abrams. Hopkins was too fast for Ann, with his fancy Rolls and his motorcycle. And the man was a damn cowboy, always bragging about his rodeo days as if anyone really cared. “After all this with her husband,” Reed said, “and now someone puts a slug in the poor woman. Isn’t life a bitch?”

Abrams hadn’t heard a word. He was sitting forward in his seat, bracing himself against the dash, “Who’s Ann seeing? I thought she wasn’t dating yet. Why didn’t you tell me she was going out?”

“Forget it,” Reed said. He turned into the parking lot for the hospital and cut the engine.

“Will you just tell me who it is, Reed?” Abrams persisted.

“Some D.A.,” Reed mumbled, exiting the vehicle and walking rapidly toward the emergency-room entrance.

Abrams hurried to catch up to him. “What’s his name? How long has she been dating him? I mean, is she serious about this guy?”

Reed stopped cold in his tracks, spun around, and grabbed the other detective by the collar. “Keep your swarmy moves off Ann Carlisle.
Comprende?
The woman was shot. Can I deal with that right now, huh? Can we forget about your wife-hunting problems? Hell, you’ve had three already.”

Abrams jerked away, his face flushed. “Fuck you,” he said. “I can’t even have a conversation with you. I thought we were friends.”

Reed’s lips compressed as he stepped onto the mat for the automatic doors. “After you,” he said to Abrams once the doors swung open. When the younger officer stepped through. Reed gave him a swift kick in the ass and promptly broke out laughing. He was actually quite fond of the younger man.

“What the hell?” Abrams squawked, his hand on the seat of his pants. “Why’d you do that?”

Smirking, Reed said, “Just felt like it. Good way to let off tension.” He reached in his pocket for his shield, flipped it, and hung it over his belt.

“Great,” Abrams said sarcastically. “Maybe I need to let off a little tension too.” He made a move like he was going to kick the detective in return and then stopped. Not on his life. Reed was as tough and as predictable as they came. If Noah retaliated, Reed would knock him down. And it wouldn’t even break his stride.

The two detectives leaned against the wall, their toes an inch behind the line that delineated the sterile, restricted area of the surgical section of the hospital. They were staring down at the different-colored floor tiles and wondering if they should leave and come back later.

“What’s going to happen,” Abrams said, “if I step on the green tiles? Will an alarm go off and a gang of nurses jump me?” He chuckled. “That might be kind of fun.”

Reed looked over at Abrams and growled. Just then a surgeon in a green paper gown, the front of it stained with blood, burst through the swinging double doors.

Reed sprang off the wall and flashed his badge. “Sergeant Thomas Reed,” he said, then, nodding at his partner, “Detective Abrams. How is she?”

“She’s doing very well,” the young surgeon said. “The bullet struck a branch of her axillary artery or she would have been up and around already. It didn’t strike bone or any other vital organs. We repaired the artery and stopped the bleeding. She’ll be fine in a week or so, barring any complications.”