Protect and Serve (9 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

It
had been days since I’d last seen Nathan Hale in person, and yet I couldn’t stop seeing him in my dreams.

My guilt-inspired nightmares no longer just involved my dead mother and sister. Now I saw Nathan with them too, the back of his head missing, brain exposed from a gunshot wound I might have prevented if I’d just stuck around.

“Are you happy?” he would ask me every time I closed my eyes for more than a few minutes. “Did you save yourself, detective?”

I’m the only one I actually can save,
I thought as I slipped into the driver’s seat of my police cruiser. I normally drove a less obvious vehicle, but today, I was acting as part of the escort crew moving Nathan to his final destination before the trial began. It was a hotel downtown right near the courthouse with much nicer accommodations than the Peachtree Overlook had to offer, and probably better than the next safe house they’d moved him to after I’d left. At least he’d get one night in a comfortable bed out of this.

“Hey, Marco,” I called out through my open door, referring to the officer coming around the side of the building. My eyes almost immediately fell to his hand as he tried to stuff a white envelope into his pocket. I knew exactly what that was. Every cop did. There was a team of reporters just around the corner, and they would pay cash for the right kind of information for their next big story. A few bills in a plain white and everybody ate just a little better at night.

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me with the faintest flicker of fear. I frowned. “Marco—you’ve been talking to the press? We’re about to move a witness. What the hell did you tell them? If you put this move in jeopardy, I swear…”

The flicker died out. “Relax. I… uh…” he said, then held his finger to his lips. “I just spilled a little sugar for the nine o’clock news, that’s all. Nothing serious, though. Nothing about the witness. I swear.”

I nodded and watched as he walked back into the station through the revolving door. I knew a lot of cops were hard-up for cash these days, and I tried not to judge, though I thought talking to the press about anything usually did more harm than good. There was a part of me that wondered what little police secret he’d just sold, but I supposed I could just wait a few days to see it on the front page. Journalists no longer cared about integrity—they were paid to sell headlines. I was sure we’d hear all about it in the next department meeting, and I couldn’t tell which annoyed me more: the fact that Marco had sold us out, or knowing that I’d have to hear the captain bitch about it.

But why did I care? Even if Marco told the press about Nathaniel Hale, maybe he deserved it. Nathan’s reputation was no longer any of my business. I wouldn’t out him for the secret he’d told me, as I could only imagine how that would detract from the prosecution’s case, but I also wouldn’t worry about whether or not he walked out of that courtroom looking like a saint. Everybody wanted the scoop on who was testifying against Mr. Wallace, and if that meant Marco could afford a few new pairs of shoes for his daughter, I wasn’t going to get in the way.

Still, I couldn’t help but shift uneasily as I thought about the witness transfer taking place today. It wasn’t just the bulky Kevlar vest that was making me uncomfortable. There’d be plenty of cops around to protect Nathan, but what if it wasn’t enough? What if he got hurt and couldn’t testify? What if he got hurt
period
? Wallace wasn’t known for being kind to witnesses. I was angry with Nathan, sure, and angry at myself for thinking a rich white boy could ever change his stripes, but I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, either.

I convinced myself that was all it was—a healthy, professional obligation to an innocent—as I turned my engine and heard the cruiser stutter to life. I put on my shades to block out the glare of the sun just as another officer hurried out of the station’s doors.

This was a guy I didn’t recognize. I knew Captain Pierce had hired a few rookies recently, but something about him—maybe the way he walked, or the scar on his face—set off warning bells. I was about to get out of the car when I saw him shake hands with Officer Kimball, a man I
did
know pretty well. From the expression on Kimball’s face, there was nothing to worry about.

You’re being paranoid, girl,
I told myself, letting out a breath to get rid of the jitters coursing through me.
The department’s done everything right. You’ve made some mistakes, but getting out of there was the right move. You probably saved Nathan’s life, and you definitely saved your career.

But somehow, that didn’t feel like enough. It didn’t quell the part inside me that wanted to be
part
of his life, not just the woman who’d made it possible for him to have a shot at living it.

How could I ever be with a man so out of touch with reality?
I thought to myself. There was no way I commit myself to someone who put their selfish needs above everyone else’s.

Maybe you should’ve given him more than seventy-two hours to change his entire personality.
I took a moment to try and silence the little voice in my head as I shut my door and put my cruiser in reverse.
Maybe you weren’t being entirely fair.

But that wasn’t an issue I could contend with today. That was something that could be dealt with later after the transfer was complete. Until then, I needed to focus on keeping Nathan alive and putting Peter Wallace’s sorry ass away for good, and then maybe finding the guy who’d waltzed into Nathan’s mansion with a gas can and four groupies ready to kill me to get their way.

“Sounds like a plan,” I muttered out loud, blasting my A/C as I followed the other cruisers onto the highway.

There was no rush today. We were making good time, and Nathan was secure with two officers at the safe house. In fact, we’d been ordered to keep our lights and sirens off so as not to announce the fact that we were picking up the most valuable witness this trial had to offer. No need to broadcast our intent to any unsavory characters who might be waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

That was why when Kimball turned on his lights, broke left into the emergency lane, and took off ahead of us, I felt the hairs on my nape stand up.

Something isn’t right.

I picked up my radio. “Kimball,” I said, tuning into his frequency. “What’s up, man? I thought we were coasting, K.”

A voice crackled through the speaker that I didn’t recognize, probably the rookie with the scar. “Change of plans. Captain Pierce’s orders.”

I frowned, waiting on him to end transmission. “K” was what we said to let the other officer know we were done speaking. It was simple protocol, something every officer knew. It was practically reflex, even for the rookies, and I felt a twinge of fear rising inside me.

“Really? I didn’t hear anything about that, K,” I said into the CB.

“It’s no big deal,” the man assured me over the crackling radio. “The undercover officers are just feeling a little on edge, is all. They want the process expedited. The more guns, the better.”

No “K.” No “over.” And why wouldn’t Captain Pierce have told the rest of the officers what was happening? Was it to keep the rest of us from getting twitchy, too?

That made some sense, and seeing as Officer Kimball was driving the car, it seemed reasonable enough not to question it. I shrugged and clicked the button on my radio again. “Ten-four, K.”

I still couldn’t shake the feeling like something didn’t quite add up, though, and as minutes passed, that sense of impending doom rose up my spine, breathing on the back of my neck like some dark and lethal menace until I couldn’t take it anymore. Call it a detective’s intuition, call it my black girl’s bullshit detector, but I had to be sure.

I dialed the captain’s direct line on my cell phone and waited for him to pick up.

“Captain Pierce.”

“Captain, it’s Detective Williams,” I said, maneuvering into the far left lane. “I just talked to the rookie riding with Officer Kimball. They took off ahead of us with the lights and sirens on. Said they were headed up to the safe house to play back up to the undercover officers on your orders.” I paused, trying to think of some excuse for prying. “…should I help?”

The captain was quiet for a moment. In that silence, I read his thoughts loud and clear, but my stomach still lurched when he finally voiced them. “I didn’t send them, Detective, and I didn’t assign any rookies to escort Mr. Hale to the hotel.”

My blood ran cold. I hung up immediately and got back on my radio. “All units, we have a possible breach of security at the safe house. I repeat, a possible breach of security at the safe house.” I flipped on my lights and sirens and hit the gas as hard as I could. “Officer Kimball may have been compromised. He’s got a seven-minute head start. Full speed ahead, K.”

But just as the other cars lit up around me, I saw Kimball’s cruiser coming down the opposite side of the highway, lights off but doing at least ninety. There were bullet holes along the side and one of the taillights was shot out.

“Shit!” I snarled, turning the wheel hard into the grassy median and spraying dirt and grass all over the road.

The cruiser bounced over the ditch and scraped hard on the incline. Her back end tried to fishtail, but I got her back under control as I forced her up over the shoulder and onto the road. Her engine screamed as I put my weight on the gas, shifting gears until I was hitting a cool ninety-five miles an hour even as I dodged between the scant few cars littering the four lanes.

“Car nineteen in pursuit,” I reported over my radio, shifting again as the single taillight of Kimball’s car came into view. “Got ‘em in my sights.” I squinted past the sun glaring off the tinted back window. “Witness is in the car. I repeat, they have the witness, K.”

“Ten-four, car nineteen,” dispatch replied in that even tone of voice they all had down to a science. “Can you see his condition, K?”

“Negative, but he’s alive.” I had no idea why. They could’ve just killed him at the safe house. My heart thudded so hard I was sure it would crack my ribs. “I need backup, K.”

“Sending units. What’s your position, K?”

“Headed southbound. Just passed mile marker one-twelve approaching the mid-town exit. K.”

Please don’t turn, please don’t turn,
I prayed. If they got off there, it’d put us in the traffic-heavy streets filled with civilians, and dispatch would order me to back off.

But they probably knew that, which was exactly why they swerved at the last second and barreled straight down the exit ramp into the warehouse district.

Motherfuckers!

I cut off at least three other cars crossing lanes to follow and narrowly missed clipping the exit sign as I took the same path. Kimball’s cruiser was nosing past the truck stopped at the light, and I took the shoulder to get behind him, hoping to cut him off before he blew the intersection.

“Suspects took the mid-town exit. Car nineteen still in pursuit, K.”

“Halt pursuit, car nineteen,” dispatch predictably ordered. “Civilian concentration is too high, K.”

I shook my head, hot tears burning the corners of my eyes. Goddammit, they weren’t going to walk away from this. Not again.

Peter Wallace had killed enough people. I wasn’t going to let him add Nathan to that list.

“Negative, dispatch. Car nineteen still in pursuit. About to head eastbound on Fontaine Boulevard. Requesting backup, K.”

The dispatcher sounded a little rattled now, as though they weren’t sure how to respond to resistance. “Car nineteen, halt pursuit—”

“Negative,” I repeated. “Send backup, K.”

And then, lowering the volume down to a dull chatter, I watched as Kimball’s cruiser surged into the intersection and followed suit.

It was harder for both our cars to maneuver here. Sure, they’d slowed me down, but they weren’t faring much better. Fontaine was busy this time of day, and traffic tended to bottleneck up ahead at the Carthage intersection. The only advantage either of us had was that we were in police cruisers, and the lights and sirens were enough to convince most cars to move out of the way.