Hearts Crossing (Woodland) (4 page)

“My treat, remember?” Daveny said. “Easing my guilty conscience for putting you to work so shamelessly.”

Collin looked into her eyes and a sensation of warmth slid right through her. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

“I want to. Really. If you hadn’t asked me, I promise you this: I would have.”

Daveny absorbed that comment in a moment of silence. Collin didn't release his hold on her hand. In fact, he stroked her wrist with the light, automatic touch of his thumb. Tingles, like soft sparkles, danced against her skin.

“When can I see you again? I’ve got dinner with my family tonight, but...”

“I’ve got a movie night planned with girlfriends. Sunday is church, and then we're taking advantage of the weather and continuing our landscaping job Monday and Tuesday night.”

“Maybe I could come back. Help out.”

“Oh...I get it now. You’re a glutton for punishment.” He didn’t swallow the humor. Instead his regard was intent. Serious. “If you’re sure you're game, I’d certainly love the help. And your company.”

His answering smile picked up the pace of Daveny's pulse.

“Consider it done.”

He slid the bill from her grasp, taking possession.

4

Dinner with the family was always noisy, crazy, boisterous…and fun.

Collin loved spoiling the kids, and being the youngest, and probably youngest at heart because of his job and single status, he wore the mantle of favored uncle with pleasure.

He ate perfectly prepared pork loin accompanied by fruit salad, biscuits and corn. When his parents put on a feast, they left no base uncovered—right up to the New York style cheese cake for desert.

After that came a baseball game played in the back yard, then Collin watched NBA playoff action with the guys while the women gathered in the kitchen and chatted.

His mom had plenty to chew on after asking him earlier about his supply delivery to the church. As soon as Collin mentioned staying for a few hours to help, she had jumped all over the topic, grilling him like a Marine sergeant. His three sisters were then just as bad, quizzing him endlessly on things like “chemistry” and “interest” and “potentiality” with regard to a certain landscape architect.

So, walking into his ranch-style condo after all was said and done felt like entering a soft cocoon full of peace and quiet. Collin toed off his sneakers and nudged them to the edge of the entryway, sighing with happiness to be home and able to fall flat on his back and rest.

My back.

The thought left him taking stock of his body. Ibuprofen. He needed ibuprofen. Desperately. Collin padded to the master bath that adjoined his bedroom and swallowed back the pain reliever, inwardly sighing over the fact that as he let himself relax and slow down, his body reacted with muscles that now screamed. In a few days, he was in for more of the same.

Pain or not, the idea left him smiling, but first things first. Rest and recovery were in order. He clicked off the lights after performing a cursory check of snail- and e-mail. Bed called, and he was exhausted.

****

“Seriously? You want to do a ride-along?”

“Absolutely! It’s for that senior level sociology class I'm taking. We’re supposed to interact with caregivers or service providers, and study their relationship to the world around them. It’ll be great because of the extraordinary circumstances you come across. Would it be OK?”

Lance sat behind the scarred wooden desk of the squad room. Collin loved seeing him here. It was late afternoon, but his blue uniform still looked neatly pressed, so official. Collin was insanely proud of him. The sergeant’s insignia and silver badge hadn’t come easy, but for Lance, his life as a police officer was a vocation. Collin waited, earnest and enthusiastic about seeing his brother on the job, and chronicling what he saw.

Lance grinned at him and Collin knew he had won. He started to grin, too.

“Well, first of all, my job is far from extraordinary there, Joe College,” Lance said. “Plus, there’s waivers and releases, and not to mention the fact that Mom would kill me, kill me, then do some
serious
harm if anything happened to you. Then there's Sandy, who I'm quite sure hopes you survive long enough to graduate and make good on that ring you put on her finger.”

Joe College. For three years running, ever since Collin started attending Oakland University, it was Lance's favorite nickname for him. Collin loved it, though of course he'd never let Lance know that. Collin realized the endearment stemmed from pride.

“Don't worry about either issue, bro. Didn't you just say how far from extraordinary your job is? It'll be no problem.”

Collin's shot at sarcasm and needling did the job. Lance stood, adjusting the belt at his waist, which held a night stick, cuffs, pepper spray, and his gun. He was thick muscled and tended toward stocky, but only because he was built like a solid wall. Thick brown hair was worn regulation short, and his hazel eyes
—
like their dad's
—
were dark and intent, except when in the company of his family. Then they sparkled with mischief and life
—
vitality. Affection deeper than an ocean.

He was Collin's hero. Period.

“You'll be bored outta your mind,” he warned. But at the same time he grinned. Lance left his desk behind, saying over his shoulder, “Hang tight a sec. Lemme get the forms. I assume since you're sitting here with a notebook you want to go tonight.”

“May as well get it over with, right?” Collin replied, heavy on the bland and bored.

Lance just laughed.

A half hour later they were on the road, Collin riding shotgun, Lance at the wheel of a St. Clair Shores patrol car, taking in everything around them with a gaze that never rested for long. Collin stood by as Lance answered a robbery call at a gas station, settled an escalating bar fight at a somewhat seedy-looking bar. But the time passed mostly in the squad car, and that was fine. Collin talked and joked with his brother like always. Still, Lance's vigilance while on patrol was absolute, and impressive. He was a protector in its truest sense.

Humm...good observation. Collin jotted it down in his notebook and looked at the darkened, empty streets, trying hard to see it through Lance's eyes.

Meanwhile Lance explained the radio connection both in the car, and on the shoulder unit clipped near his right ear. Collin was confused by the verbiage.

“What's that mean? That Ten-Seven code?”

“Returning to the station. That's Tim Thompson. He's ending his tour for the night.”

Collin nodded, jotting notes.

“And the other one that came in right after that from someone else? Ten-Eight?”

Lance chuckled, still watchful and vigilant. “Means he's back on duty. Ready for the next call.” He reached to the storage compartment at Collin's knees and clicked it open, quipping, “Rookies. Take out that top laminated card. Keep it. I've got more.”

It gave a run down of 10-Code and its translation.

“Cool,” Collin replied, studying it.

“Pretty dull night. Not much for you to go on for your paper.”

Collin shrugged, sidled him a look. “I could always come back.”

Lance gave him a glance. “Yeah. You could I suppose. Rookie.”

The radio crackled and dispatch came through. “Unit 23, 415 in progress, 824 Lattimore.”

Lance picked up the receiver and clicked on. “Ten-Four. 824 Lattimore.”

“Four-Fifteen?” Collin asked.

Lance went all business, his eyes glinting hard, his jaw line set, but he answered: “Domestic disturbance.”

Lance picked up the pace, moving the car smoothly and quickly to a quiet neighborhood, most of its lights gone dark for the night. Not this house though. He parked in front of an older, time-worn bungalow with lights ablaze. As soon as Lance opened the car door, Collin could hear the shouting, the crash and bang of a heated fight taking place.

“Stay put. Pay attention and keep your head down if anyone comes out. Hear me?”

Collin nodded, going tense inside.

Lance shut the door soundly and moved to the doorway with a brisk, authoritative stride. Collin cracked the window open a couple inches.

“Saint Clair Shores PD. Open the door.” He spoke into the radio as he waited, a hand resting lightly on the butt of his gun. Collin watched, engrossed. No one answered, so this time Lance banged hard on the door. The cacophony of sound just increased. “Police. Open up.” He cast a quick glance back at the car then Collin saw him glance up and down the street and speak into the radio again.

He trotted back to the car, opening the door. “I've got a bad feeling about this. I'm calling for back up.” Lance was laser focused. “Stay where you are, and keep alert.”

“Yeah. Got it.” Collin frowned as Lance barked into the car radio for backup and activated the roof top light bars. He left the car to return to the front door.

This time his pounding was answered. The door was yanked open, and a hulking, angry man filled the entrance.

“Step outside, sir.” Lance directed, hand at the butt of his gun.

Instead of answering the man pushed open the screen door and in the process shoved Lance out of his way. He took off.

Lance shouted, giving chase.

What passed through Collin in that instant was an instinct driven desire to help his brother. To help put away a bad guy. That instinct overrode any safety concern as well as common sense. The man closed in on where the car was parked, cursing as he attempted evasion and escape.

Something small and silver glinted in his hand.

A gun.

Collin opened the car door, intending to slam it into the guy.

Lance tore toward him, shouting. “Get in the car. Stay down!”

Both men were now distracted. Lance had focused on Collin, worry creasing his face. The man looked back at Lance
…
and he stumbled.

The gun went off, its report filling the air like a lethal lightning circuit.

The man tumbled to the ground and cop cars began to squeal and peel, sirens flashing, strobe light filling the air. Lance went down like he'd been flattened.

Responding officers swarmed the scene quickly, cuffing the perpetrator and pulling him into a patrol car.

“Lance! Lance!”

Collin fell to Lance’s side. Responding officers called frantically, “Ten-Double-Zero! Ten-Double-Zero...”

There was a hole in Lance’s crisp blue shirt. Right at the heart. Collin stared at the ripped opening, a red stain coloring the fabric.