Break, p.7
Break, page 7
“For the love of God, Walt… go potty. Come on,” I urge him again, and this time he lifts his 135-pound body from the cushion that’s been designated as his spot and stretches. I didn’t think it was possible for a dog to groan like a 60-year-old man, but this fucker does it every time his naps are disrupted.
“So sorry to disrupt your beauty sleep,” I tell him as he pads his way past me and out the door. I’ve trained him to use only one area of the yard for his bathroom needs on the far side of the lawn. It only takes him a few minutes to do his thing before he’s trotting back to where I’m waiting in the door, more energetic now that he’s up and moving around. “Good boy,” I praise with a pat to the back of his neck. Throwing a few cups of dry food into his bowl and changing out his water, I leave him to his lunch and head out the door.
Ethan is already waiting for me in his truck, arm hanging out the window. He’s scrolling through his phone when I hop into the passenger seat. I barely have my door shut when he backs out of the driveway and sets off toward the police station.
“Any issues with the Whitlocks?” I ask. An email came through from Sharon Whitlock, whose apartment location was found out by her ex-boyfriend, and needed to be moved to a different area in town. She has two little girls as well, so the move was particularly stressful for her. I had Ethan stick around for the first evening in their new place to make sure her ex didn’t show up and cause them any problems.
“No issues. Those kids of hers were little psychos for a while and got in the way of some of the movers, but once they were gone, the girls settled down. I think Sharon was just relieved to be done with all of it.”
“Perfect. I’ll check in with her caseworker and make sure they’ve got what they need. Sharon has court next week, so hopefully they’ll have some sort of resolution with this guy. Then she and the kids can finally move back home.”
He nods his agreement, turning his attention to the traffic-congested street of downtown. Ever since he came home, he’s been quieter than usual. Not that he’s dealing with the aftermath of what happened overseas. More like he’s just reflecting on the changes in his life.
We quietly sit for a few minutes, Ethan tapping his thumb on the steering wheel, when he breaks the silence. “Danny called me.”
Interesting.
“Oh yeah? What’d he want?” I’m surprised Ethan, of all people, heard from him. He kept in touch with me and Vincent while he was gone, but not regularly. Danny even less than the two of us. The past few years, we’ve all grown fairly distant from Danny, rarely seeing him. Our communication has been limited to a few texts and a phone call here and there, so it’s strange that of all people, he called Ethan.
“Don’t know. I didn’t answer, and he didn’t leave a message. Just thought it was weird.”
“If it was important, he’ll call back. Do you know where we’re going for lunch?” I ask, changing the subject. Danny isn’t interesting enough for me to continue any discussion with him as the topic.
Shrugging, he flips on the turn signal and weaves his way through the packed parking lot of the police station. “Some mom-and-pop place over on Hudson. Vince’s partner’s wife runs it, and he promised we’d go check it out.”
“Perfect, because I’m fucking starving.” My stomach growls loudly after my declaration, and Ethan chuckles.
“You’re a big boy. You can handle twenty minutes.”
Once we’ve parked near the back of the lot, I send a text to Vincent.
Me: Here. Want us to come inside?
Vincent: Just wait out front for me. I’ll only be ten minutes.
Me: Hurry up, I’m fucking hangry.
Vincent: lol don’t think of juicy burgers or cheese fries.
Me: Five minutes asshole.
“He said to wait out front for him,” I inform Ethan, but he’s focused on something in front of us and doesn’t acknowledge that he’s heard me.
Following his line of sight, I see a woman practically running down the front steps of the station. She’s clutching a thick, blue folder to her chest with knuckles white from how tightly she’s gripping the paper. It’s clear that she’s aggravated or unhappy because her shoulders are tucked up almost to her ears, like someone or something has embarrassed her.
As soon as she hits the bottom step, she turns and heads our way, directly in our path. Cocking my head to the side, I take in her appearance. There’s a familiarity about her, but I can’t put my finger on why or how I could know her.
She’s wearing black leggings, a pair of plain white sneakers, and an oversized thin sweatshirt. Odd choice since we’re in the middle of summer right now and it’s already in the mid-eighties. Although her legs are thin, it’s easy to see that she has some small definition in her muscles. Most likely from regular work either on her feet or exercise. I can tell that her shoulders and arms are sharp, even though she’s smothered under so much cloth. She seems frail.
Looking up at her face, my first thought was is that she’s cute, but it quickly corrects to fucking beautiful. Chestnut thick brown hair hangs around her face, some strands having sprung free from the clip that holds back the rest of her mane. Her skin is porcelain white and, from this distance, looks blemish free. She looks young, but how young is unclear. I know this girl… how the hell do I know who she is?
“You know her?” I ask Ethan under my breath.
He shakes his head subtly no, but he doesn’t seem confident. “Don’t think so.”
A few more strides bring us to her attention as her peripheral vision catches our movement.
The woman jolts to a stop and her eyes widen as she looks between the two of us. I’m no stranger to catching the attention of women, so I let an easy smile lift my lips as I internally consider what line I could use to draw her into conversation.
My smile falls away just as quickly when it’s not reciprocated with one of hers. Instead, she presses her lips together and furrows her brows.
Ethan stops me from walking toward her and dips his head in her direction. “Ma’am.”
This skittish, fairy-like woman’s eyes fly over to look at my friend and her lips turn into a deeper frown, forcing her to bite her lip like she’s holding back her words. She tightens her hold on her folder and takes half a step back, away from us.
Clearing my throat, I give her another friendly smile and say hello. Maybe she just didn’t hear Ethan. “Good afternoon, miss. You doing alright?”
It’s like my voice is a physical blow to her body and she jerks to the side. Instead of answering me, she shrinks in on herself and rapidly takes another few steps back from where we’re blocking the sidewalk.
Opening my mouth to ask her again if she’s alright, Ethan grabs my arm and pulls me off the concrete and a few paces onto the grass. He then holds his hand out, showing that the path is clear for her.
“What the hell?” I ask him under my breath, but he just squeezes my arm before letting it go.
She takes a few hesitant steps while eyeing us. When we don’t move, she picks up her pace and hurries past before veering off toward the bus stop toward the road. The woman never looks back.
Snorting in irritation, I watch her disappearing form and say, “Well, that was fucking rude.”
Ethan simply sighs at me. “Considering the line of work you’re in, you can be a real idiot. That woman was walking out of a police station and was clearly terrified. It has nothing to do with you, dumbass.”
I know he’s right, but it still bothers me. I pride myself on being approachable, especially considering it’s taken me years to get my anger under control.
“Maybe, but it was still fucking rude,” I grumble.
“Let’s eat, you lazy bastards!” Vincent yells from the steps of the station and my answering stomach is enough to distract me from my irritation of the past few minutes.
“Finally,” I growl out at him, another stomach groan almost as loud to match.
I jog past Ethan and catch up to Vincent, who hasn’t slowed down to wait on us, smacking his shoulder in greeting.
“Vince…” Ethan says once he catches up.
“Ethan…” he responds, snickering after he mimics Ethan’s pause.
“You meet with a woman just before coming out here? Holding a blue folder?”
“Umm, no? Why?” he asks, checking for traffic before we cross the street.
Ethan grunts instead of answering. He’s always fucking grunting ever since he came back, like using his words is too much work.
“Why do you want to know?” I ask him.
I catch his shrug as he passes the two of us to walk in front. “No reason, just curious.”
Deciding not to try to figure out what’s going on in his head, I stay silent for the rest of the walk and finally feel my shoulders relax when we’re seated at a table and looking at the menu. I really am fucking hungry.
Chapter 10
Turning Gears
Max
~ Present Day ~
Groaning, I roll over in my bed to pick up my phone that’s still emitting a high-pitched ring. I just silenced the damn alarm ten minutes ago. I had planned to take advantage of snoozing for an hour this morning since I have nothing on my schedule until later this afternoon.
Picking it up, I squint my eyes and read the familiar numbers of the police station. I sit up quickly, flicking my thumb over the ‘answer call’ button.
“Hello?” I croak out. Clearing my voice of sleep, I add, “This is Maxwell Bennett.”
“Hey Max, this is Jenny. Listen, we’ve got a woman down here that’s just come from the emergency room and Cooper thinks we’re going to need your services. He asked me to give you a ring and see if you would stop by this morning.” Jennifer Kim’s gentle voice greets me and is filled with concern.
Jennifer’s a new officer in training, working with Kevin Cooper, a lieutenant that’s been with the department for over twenty years now. He’s a decent guy even though he comes across as being rough around the edges. He’s gruff and doesn’t deal with bullshit; one of those ‘tell ‘em like it is’ kind of men.
Sitting up and swinging my feet off my bed, I scrub the tiredness out of my face. “Yeah, I’ll come down. Let him know I’ll be there in thirty.”
“Sweet, I’ll tell him.” She hesitates, then asks, “Is Ethan around this morning? Coop didn’t say, but I think he’ll want you to bring an extra body for this one.”
“Not sure, but I’ll pull him if I can. What’s the situation down there?” I ask, pulling on a pair of jeans with my phone pressed between my ear and shoulder. I fish through my laundry basket for a clean shirt, smell one that looks clean, and then place my phone on speaker and drop it to my bed to pull the t-shirt over my head.
“25-year-old female was beat to hell last night. Hospital staff reported it because it looks like a domestic situation, but she wouldn’t confirm it. They pulled her in for questions and to take her statement, got her to spill about her husband and the shit he’s been doing. It doesn’t look good, especially for us. Someone fucked up around here because she tried to report it more than once, but someone dropped the ball. Coop is taking this one and wants to make sure we can get her into a safe place as soon as possible,” she explains.
“They arrest the husband yet?” Moving into the kitchen, I nudge Walter in the side to get him moving. “Come on Walt, outside.”
“They’ve got a team heading to the house to pick him up now.”
I fill Walter’s bowl of food and pat him on the head, pick up my keys, and lock up my house. “Let me get off the phone. I’m heading over now, and I’ll text Ethan on the way.”
Jenny breathes out a relieved sigh. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
Sitting in my SUV, I let it idle as I message my partner. Ever since Ethan joined Breaking Barriers, the company I founded less than a year after my sperm donor assaulted and killed my mom, we’ve seen fewer complications during our relocations.
Me: Can you meet me downtown in 15?
Ethan: Police station?
Me: Yeah, Jenny called - Coop has another one for us.
Ethan: I’m just checking on Allard’s location. Can be there in 30.
Tyler Allard has been stalking a senior high school student. The student has only been 18 years old for less than two months and used a fake ID to go clubbing where he met Tyler, and the infatuation began. Allard became obsessed and assaulted the student outside his home. His parents are negligent at best, and don’t seem to care about the trouble following their kid around town. He came to us asking for help and we’ve got him holed up in an apartment near his school until he graduates while Allard is investigated.
Me: Updates?
Ethan: Nah - all good for now. I’ll be there soon.
Me: Thanks
It isn’t until forty minutes later when Ethan and I are escorted toward the back of the building where the interview rooms are located. They’re kept away from the main office spaces for privacy and safety for both victims and staff members.
Jameson Grant, another officer who works in the precinct, is droning on about something he found hilarious on a call last night, but I’m only half listening. “Where’s Vince?” I ask Grant, changing the subject the moment he’s done telling his story. It wipes the smile from his face as we approach the only closed door in the hallway of interview rooms.
“They sent him out with Singh to pick up this chick’s husband,” he informs us, and I catch Ethan’s scowl at Grant’s use of ‘chick’ regarding an abuse victim.
“Has the woman given any more details since I got the call?” I ask him, stressing ‘woman’ so he catches on that he needs to be professional around us.
Grant simply waves me off like my comment was unimportant and I clench my hands to get my frustration with him under control. “I’m not sure of all the details she’s given to Lt,” he says, referring to Coop as the letters ‘L’ and ‘T’. “She’s pretty fucked up, but it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. Am I right?” He holds his fist up for Ethan to bump, who only stares at it, the scowl still firmly ingrained on his face.
Letting his hand fall away when he realizes Ethan isn’t going to reciprocate, he steps up to the door and knocks twice, then backs away. “Lt will be out in a minute. You boys can go into the next room and listen if you want. She’s already been informed that you all were coming and signed off on releasing all the details so you can work together.”
Nodding my head, I follow Ethan into the neighboring room and flip on the speaker so we can hear inside. Stepping up to the one-way glass, I note Coop is already moving toward the door to step out, leaving Trina Knox, one of their seasoned female officers, in the room with our victim.
With her back to us, it’s hard to gauge much about her, but it’s obvious that she’s young, fitting the 25 years that they informed me of. She looks a mess as well, which is understandable if she’s had the kind of night I assume she experienced. She has thick, chocolate brown hair hanging in tangles and waves, the tips brushing the lower portion of the chair she’s sitting in. It’s partially tied back, but most of it is hanging free.
Her frame is small, too thin in my opinion, but I don’t know her full backstory yet. It’s not uncommon for women in violent relationships to find they have difficulty eating because of stressors surrounding them. She seems somewhat relaxed as she fidgets with some paper on the table in front of her with her right hand, since her entire left arm is wrapped up in a sling, from wrist to shoulder.
There’s a notepad of paper with a pen laying on top next to a thick blue folder, which has something niggling in the back of my mind. Most likely her written statement, but I can’t be sure. There’s also a half empty bottle of water, which looks like it’s taken quite a bit of abuse from her hands. I’m proved correct when she picks it up to take a sip and she crinkles the bottle in her shaking grip.
I turn away from studying the back of her when I hear the door open. Ethan steps away from the window and stretches out his legs once he sits in one of the empty chairs furnishing the room.
“Gentlemen, thanks for coming so quickly,” Coop says, giving us a smile in greeting.
“No problem. What do you have for us?” Ethan nods hello as I answer.
“Take a seat.” Coop holds his hand out for me. I don’t feel like sitting down, but I do as he asks. Dropping into the cold metal chair, I’m immediately annoyed when it tilts to the side. I look under me to see that the chair is missing one of the footpads. Great. This is going to drive me insane.
A folder slaps down loudly on the bare table, and Cooper pulls out the last remaining chair. “This one is a fucking mess, guys.” He starts, then goes silent a moment, tapping his pen on the file before continuing. “We’ve got an officer on unpaid leave pending a performance review, and a woman who’s been stuck in a situation much longer than she should have been.”
“Why was he put on leave?” I ask, surprised to hear of the dissention within their own ranks.
“It would seem that he’s good friends with her husband. Turns out, she’s reached out for help three times in the past year, and when Olson got wind, he volunteered to ‘handle it’. Gave her shit advice and didn’t file the reports because he was assured by her husband it was just an argument gone wrong, nothing to worry about.”
“Bryce Olson?” Ethan asks, and I’m taken aback that the officer under the microscope is an acquaintance of ours. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but he’s shown up here and there when larger groups of us would all get together.
“You know him well?” Coop asks him.
Shrugging, he leans back in his chair. “Not well. We went to school with him, and we see him around here when we’re called in.”
