Damaged Goods (Don't Call Me Hero Book 2) (26 page)

The corner of my mouth began to twitch when I finished my soliloquy. I wasn’t known to be a great speechmaker, and my words—although true—surprised me.

The Inspector released a long, loud breath. “The university president is riding my ass about that little incident with the football team yesterday. How did you manage to break their All-American Center’s right hand?”

I internally cursed. I had worried that was the reason for our impromptu meeting. “He took a swing at me and missed,” I explained. “Instead of hitting my face, he hit a wall.”

Inspector Garnett rubbed at his temples. “Christ on a cross,” he mumbled.

“I wouldn’t be too worried, Inspector. Those kids are gonna get better legal representation than they deserve. I bet they get off with community service that’ll look good on their resumé instead of actually being charged with assaulting a police officer.”

Assault and battery of a police officer, even when under the influence of alcohol, was considered a felony offense, which could include mandatory minimum jail time. I had no doubt, for better or for worse, that Julia wouldn’t let it escalate to that.

Inspector Garnett’s features remained unchanged. “Your FTO contacted me last night. He’s recommended you be taken off active duty affective immediately.”

I had expected to be chastised for engaging in the fight at the nightclub, but I certainly hadn’t anticipated this. “Wh-what?”

“FTO Mendez believes that in light of recent events it’s in the department’s best interest not to continue your re-evalutation process.”

“All because of a bar fight?” I asked incredulously.

“Your superior, Officer Mendez, gave you an order to wait for backup. You defied orders and the chain of command,
and
put both you and your partner in danger.”

“With all due respect, sir. What I’m hearing is it would have been better for me professionally if I had let those kids bash each other’s brains out.”

“I can see how you would think that.”

I stood up from my chair, my body humming with emotion. “This is bullshit, and you know it.”

“Officer Miller, sit back down.”

Despite my urge to storm out of the room and not look back, I obeyed the Inspector’s command. I gripped the arms of the chair and proceeded to wait for whatever else he had to say.

“You’re a valuable member of the department, Miller.” Inspector Garnett steepled his fingers. “I’m not taking this situation lightly, nor without consideration of all the hard work you’ve put in these past few weeks.”

“According to the San Jose model, I’m allowed one screw up, sir. It’s only when I receive a score of unacceptable two days in a row that you’re supposed to be brought into this.”

“I know protocol perfectly well, Miller, but it’s not an easy time to be a police officer.” The Inspector closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you were to have another … an
incident
that brought unwanted attention to the department, there would be a paper trail that indicated I knowingly allowed you to be on active duty despite FTO Mendez’s recommendation otherwise. It’s not a good look for the department
or
the Armed Services if one of their own loses it while on duty.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my disapproval to myself. “So what now?” I asked. “That’s it? I can’t try again or appeal this decision?”

“There’s an appeal process,” he said, “but you’d have to go through the police union for that. I’m not sure of the exact procedure.”

I had no idea who would know those details either. Maybe Rich could help me out with his Internal Affairs connections.

“Cassidy.” The Inspector’s use of my first name broke through my thoughts. “I asked for this meeting because I do feel badly about all of this. Anyone else would have received a form letter in the mail or an equally dispassionate phone call. Now you’re more than welcome to pursue the appeals process, but I’m hoping you’ll keep an open mind about a potential new assignment. It might be a loophole we can use to get around your active duty ban.”

“I’m not gonna be a D.A.R.E. officer or a community liaison,” I bristled. Most of the female cops I knew had filtered into one those areas. They wore a uniform and had a badge, but most of the guys in the department didn’t consider them
real
cops. They still did good for the city, but I didn’t want that for me.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” the Inspector assured me.

I leaned forward in my chair, hands clasping my knees. “Then what is it?”

“It’s probably better if I
show
you rather than trying to explain. Do you have a little time for a field trip?”

“Sure. It’s not like I’ve got a job to go to.” My comment was unprofessional and borderline disrespectful, but I couldn’t help adding in the extra dig.

Inspector Garnett looked unaffected by my comment. He stood from his chair and tugged at his gun belt. “Follow me.”

Inspector Garnett left his office and I followed close behind. We traveled down a few hallways until we reached a stairwell. I thought we would go upstairs, but Garnett surprised me by going down instead. I’d never been in the basement before. I hadn’t even known the building had a basement.

The rubber soles of the Inspector’s shoes made no sound on the speckled linoleum floor. We walked a few hundred feet before he stopped in front of a closed door. The window cutout on the door was frosted, prohibiting any view of what was behind the barrier. When the Inspector moved to the side I saw the words printed on the outside of the door.

“Cold Case Division?” I read out loud.

“Remember: keep an open mind.”

“You want to transfer me from active duty to an office down here?” I was sure he could hear the disbelief in my voice.

“You’d still be active duty; you just wouldn’t be a patrolman anymore with a regular beat.”

“Do I get to keep my gun?”

“Yes. But most people working on cold cases don’t wear a gun unless an arrest is being made. And speaking of that,” he said, with an awkward cough, “once we get back upstairs, I’m going to need you to surrender your weapon to me. You can keep your badge for the time being, but I’ll need the glock.”

I clenched the muscles in the back of my jaw. “Right.”

“So what do you think? Are you interested in the job?” he asked.

“Can I think about it?”

The Inspector nodded. “Of course. This is a big decision. I’d expect nothing else.”

+ + +

I had a six-pack of Pauli’s Girl in one hand and a large mushroom and pepperoni pizza in the other when I let myself into my apartment later that afternoon. By the time Julia came home from work, the pizza had been eaten and I’d drank all but two of the beers. She found me lounging on the couch in front of the TV with the empty pizza box on the coffee table and the empty bottles toppled over on the floor.

“I see you had a party without me.” She didn’t comment or nag at me about the mess.

“You wouldn’t have liked it,” I remarked. “The pizza was covered in cheese and grease.”

She sat down on the couch and the cushions sank beneath her slight weight. “That high metabolism of yours isn’t going to last forever, my dear,” she remarked. “I suppose I should enjoy this body while it lasts since you’re determined to ruin it.” She tugged my t-shirt up and licked my bare abs.

“I had a rough day,” I grunted in explanation. “I needed to eat my emotions.”

“What happened?”

“I got fired.”

Julia’s head snapped up from my torso. “You’re kidding.”

“Mendez told the Inspector to remove me from active duty because of what happened at the nightclub.”

“I’m going to castrate that little imp,” she growled. Her dark eyes flashed, but her anger quickly transitioned to concern. “Are you okay?” She cupped my cheek, causing me to lean into her touch.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I admitted. “The Inspector said I could appeal the decision—.”

“Which is exactly what we’re going to do,” Julia interrupted. “I’ll have the president of your police union’s balls in a vise before the end of the week.”

“I think he’s a
she
,” I corrected.

“Even better.”

I recognized the look on her face. She was going into lawyer-mode.

“Can we slow down? Maybe pump the breaks a little?” I suggested as I sat up. “I don’t know if litigation is what I want to do.”

“You can’t let them dismiss your hard work, Cassidy.” Her hands began to flail as her emotions bubbled over. “You’ve done everything they’ve asked of you—and more—in order to return to active duty.”

I trapped her hands in mine. “I know. And it sucks,” I affirmed. “But let’s just take this one step at a time. I only got this news a few hours ago. And the Inspector said I’ve got some other options.”

“Such as?”

“Retirement. It’s not unheard of for injured cops to go on disability and retire even this early in their careers.”

“But you’re not injured.”

I arched an eyebrow at her, and her face fell when she realized what she’d suggested. “I’m sorry. That was highly insensitive.”

“It’s okay,” I grunted. “You don’t get a Purple Heart for PTSD.”

“Cassidy—”

“The Inspector wants me to transfer units and work on cold case files,” I said, quickly re-guiding the conversation. “He said it’s a loophole; I can’t be a beat cop, but I could still be doing some good.”

Julia pursed her lips in thought. “Would you be happy doing that?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. I still had a lot of thinking to do. “To go from G.I. Jane to Nancy Drew? It’s a bit of a let down.”

“We could go after MPD and the Marines. I could be your lawyer,” she continued to insist.

“And you’d win, I know,” I acknowledged. “But I don’t know if it’s worth the hassle.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not in therapy anymore. I can’t afford it, and it’s starting to make me feel like a ticking time bomb. Maybe it’s for the best that I got pulled off my beat before a flashback got me or someone else hurt.”

“Will you let me help you get back on track with your therapy?” she gently asked.

I bristled at her question. “You’re not paying my bills.”

“I’m not suggesting that,” she shook her head. “I contacted the folks at Lawyers Serving Warriors and they’re appalled at what’s happened. You should be receiving much better care than what the military has offered so far. With your approval, I can set up an appointment for an independent evaluation.”

I hesitated.

“Come on, Marine,” she coaxed. “Do this for me and I’ll give you that coveted second date.”

“That’s not fair,” I scowled. “Don’t you know it’s against the law to bribe a cop?”

“We all know I’m not above breaking a few laws to get what I want.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A few days later, I found myself sitting in the waiting room of a new psychologist, one not associated with the police department. Julia sat beside me, silent and stable, flipping through a glossy magazine. The bottom hem of her pencil skirt had crept up her thighs, but I was too anxious to concentrate on anything but the ticking of an unseen clock. My left knee bounced up and down in agitation.

Julia and I were the only people in the room. We’d signed in with a receptionist on the ground level and had taken the elevator up to the eleventh floor. The waiting area was a small room with no windows to the outside. There was a second door besides the one through which we’d entered, which I assumed led to the psychologist’s office. There were no motivational posters adorning the walls, no instrumental music filtering through the air—there was nothing special about the space to signify we were in the right place.

I hopped out of my seat and began to pace the perimeter of the room. I raked a shaking hand through my loose curls. I was nervous—palpably so. This therapy session was more important than any other I’d participated in before. My previous therapist, Dr. Landsen, had been a piece of the puzzle to get me reinstated on the Minneapolis police force, but this time around felt like I was fighting for something vastly more important—my mental health—my mental stability. I needed to be convincing enough that Lawyers Serving Warriors would support my case.

Julia looked up from her magazine and watched me stalk around the small room. “Do you always get this nervous before therapy?”

I stopped my pacing. “No. But this is different. I’m not here to tell someone my sob story. This is an evaluation.”

“It’s not a job interview, dear. Just be yourself and try to answer the doctor’s questions as honestly as you can.”