Authors: Virna DePaul
“So. Funny that your first attempt at teasing me involves going on a date with DeMarco. Is that called verbalizing an unconscious desire in your line of work?
She blinked dramatically. “Why, Detective Granger, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous.”
He grunted. Then shrugged. “I do, don’t I?”
When he said nothing else, she shook her head in amazement. “Straight shooter, right?”
“What can I say? I hate lying, even to myself. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Just like I didn’t like DeMarco flirting with you. Maybe I’m just old-fashioned. We have kissed, remember? And despite your stated feelings on the matter, well, as far as I’m concerned, the jury’s still out on whether we’ll be doing more.”
She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it.
“No comment?” he asked. “No insisting that our kiss got me out of your system like you were hoping it would?”
“How about I change the subject and say DeMarco’s lucky to have you.”
He looked at her chidingly, but gamely responded, “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“It’s obvious you’re friends and he looks up to you. But it’s also obvious he uses his humor as a mask. What you do, it’s hard. You must rely on each other to stay grounded.”
Simon thought about it. Although he didn’t ask for help often, he’d never doubted the other SIG members would be there for him if he needed them, but did they feel the same about him? Did DeMarco? DeMarco’s flirtations with Nina aside, he’d been quieter lately. More engrossed with his work. Maybe even...troubled?
Was that why DeMarco had asked to have drinks with him? Did he need to talk some things out?
He made a mental note to check in with his friend when they got back.
“So...when I saw him the other day, Commander Stevens commented that you’ve got your eye on a management position. Is that—is that right?”
“Sure. It’s a promotion. More responsibility. More pay. Why not?”
“You seem to love what you do right now. You seem to be good at it.”
“Can’t stay in one place too long or a person will grow complacent. I made the move last year, but got bored. Transferred back. It—it probably wasn’t the wisest choice.”
“How come?”
Simon glanced at her. “Are you psychoanalyzing me again, Doc?”
“Not at all. I’m just...trying to get to know you better. You intrigue me.”
He grinned. “Yeah? Well the feeling’s mutual.”
They stared at each other for several seconds before he looked away and concentrated on the road again.
“So you got bored and wanted back on the streets, but what changed? You want to be bored again?”
“Maybe,” he said, clearly surprising her. “What? You weren’t expecting that answer?”
“Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to answer at all.”
“As we’ve already discussed, Lana dying has had a huge impact on me. I suspect you already guessed that. I cared about her. I loved her. And I hate that I couldn’t save her. Of course I don’t want to be that helpless again. I want more control in my life. Control I’ll have a better chance at maintaining if I’m a captain rather than a detective. For example, the fact that we’re having to work together right now? That wouldn’t be happening if I was management.”
“Good point. Although one subject to debate. Commander Stevens indicated this would give you a better idea of what management was actually like.”
Really? Simon thought, wondering which one of them was right. But in the end it didn’t really matter. The fact was, even though he hadn’t wanted to work with her at first, he was enjoying her company immensely now. And that included the conversation they’d just had about his career decisions and how they’d been affected by Lana’s murder, no less. How the hell had that happened? When had he decided that Nina wasn’t an opponent, but a smart, beautiful woman whose company he enjoyed enough to let down his guard. When had it become so natural for him to tell a woman he barely knew that he liked her and was thinking about kissing her again?
It had begun when he’d visited her home, he realized. When she’d joked with him about their “doing it.” And his respect for her had been growing by leaps and bounds ever since.
Fortunately, before he could think about it too long, a call came through on his radio. He listened to the dispatcher’s communication with the patrol officer. Then he switched lanes. “We’ve got our first call,” he said abruptly.
* * *
S
ITTING AT HIS DESK,
DeMarco was supposed to be working some leads in a carjacking case but he was growing more and more frustrated with each minute that passed. He’d felt fine when he’d been talking to Simon and his doctor friend, but now for some reason his mind kept wandering. And not to Nina Whitaker, the woman who’d just walked outside with Simon. Hell, that would have been understandable. She was a damn good-looking woman. Smart, too. If he was merely thinking that or about getting her in bed, he wouldn’t be worried. Distracted, but not worried.
Instead, DeMarco kept thinking about the murder of that homeless man, Louis Cann, and how he and Simon must have missed something even though he knew damn well they hadn’t. And what was worse, DeMarco kept thinking that the Cann case file was calling out to him.
He didn’t mean that his instincts were urging him to look at the file.
He meant the file was literally calling out to him from the file cabinet across the room.
“Hey, DeMarco,” it was saying in a voice eerily reminiscent of Bill Cosby. “Come and get me. Open me up and I’ll show you what you’re missing.”
DeMarco gritted his teeth and willed the voice to go away. Instead, it continued calling to him. He felt a fine sheen of sweat break out on his body.
Abruptly, he whirled around, wondering if Jase Tyler, their resident jokester, was messing with him. Jase was at his desk all right, but he was talking to Carrie. They both looked up at his sudden movement.
Jase raised a brow. “Hey. You okay, DeMarco?”
DeMarco swallowed hard. “What? Yeah, of course I am.”
He turned back to his desk. Blinked rapidly and tried to focus on the papers he’d been reading. The letters were all swirling around. And that damn voice was still calling to him.
Get the fucking file,
he told himself. Then the damn voice will shut up.
Slowly, DeMarco stood and made his way to the file cabinet. Acutely aware that Jase and Carrie were watching him, he opened the right drawer, found the file and reached for it. His hand hovered over the file almost fearfully, as if he expected the damn thing to leap out and bite him. He forced himself to pick it up.
A sudden clanging across the room made him jump. He whirled around and shouted, “What the fuck?” Automatically, he reached for his sidepiece.
“Whoa, DeMarco,” Carrie said, holding up her hands. “I just tossed my soda can in the trash.”
“Jesus, Carrie. You startled me.”
When she and Jase just stared at him, he shook his head.
“Damn it, I’m sorry. I think—I think I should go home for a little while. I’m not feeling well.”
“You want me to drive you?” Jase asked.
DeMarco shook his head. “No. But thanks. I’ll be fine.”
But even as he said it, DeMarco knew he was lying. Because he was holding the Cann file now. And it was still calling to him. This time, however, it wasn’t taunting him about a dead homeless man named Louis Cann.
It was taunting him about Billy Dahl, the teenage boy DeMarco had shot six years ago in New Orleans.
* * *
W
HEN
S
IMON AND
N
INA
arrived at the modest little house off of Mission Street, the patrol car was already parked outside. Simon explained that he’d assess the situation first and would return for her only if he determined it was safe. Even so, he said, “Stay here,” before exiting the car and entering the residence. To her surprise, he returned a few minutes later and got back in the car. Silently, he started the engine and reached to put the car in gear. She stayed him with a hand on his arm.
“What’s going on? Is the situation already over?”
He gave a curt shake of his head. “Officer Harrison has it under control. At least, he will.”
“But you don’t want me to go in,” she confirmed. “Who’s the suspect? Is he exhibiting signs of mental illness like the dispatcher thought?”
“It’s a she. And yes, there may be a mental health issue involved.”
“Then why shouldn’t we go in?”
The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Look, I just think it would be better if we wait for the next call.”
When she merely continued to stare at him, he finally sighed. “It’s a teenage girl. A suicidal teenage girl.”
“Oh.”
He nodded. Said softly, “We’ll take another call.”
Because she’d told him about Beth. And he’d read about Rachel. And he didn’t think she’d be able to handle it.
Was he right? The minute he’d said the words
suicidal teenage girl
her heart had nearly exploded out of her chest. Now her mouth was dry and her hands clammy.
Keep it together, Nina. This isn’t about them and it isn’t about you. It’s about a different girl who might need you.
Or one down the road who might benefit if the MHIT program got the green light.
She cleared her throat. “No. It’s okay. If this is clearly a mental health call, it’s best I—I see how Officer Harrison handles things.”
He turned to look at her, his eyes grim. When he made no move to exit the vehicle, she did it herself. She heard him curse lightly before opening his own door again. They followed the sounds of voices through the front door and the adjacent hallway. A middle-aged woman wearing a pink housecoat and turquoise flip-flops stood in an open doorway. They could hear the low murmur of a male voice in the bedroom and hysterical female sobs getting higher and higher.
“This is Anne’s mother,” Simon said and although Nina nodded at the woman, she couldn’t help wondering what the officer and Simon were thinking, letting the woman stand there in full view of her daughter. For all they knew, the mother had upset the daughter and her presence was continuing to do so. When they peeked inside, Nina immediately stiffened.
The uniformed officer was talking to a teenage girl, telling her everything was going to be okay. The girl, however, had backed herself into a corner, a sure sign that she needed space, but Officer Harrison hadn’t gotten the clue. When he took a step closer, his hand on his weapon—maybe his Taser—the girl flinched and shifted, giving Nina a good view of the long-bladed kitchen knife in her hand.
Anne’s mother moaned as her daughter stabbed repeatedly at her thigh, nicking herself so that her light Capri pants grew spotted with blood.
“What’s he doing?” Nina asked. “He needs to back off.”
He looked at her like
she
was crazy. “She’s harming herself. He’s going to disarm her so we can transport her to a hospital under a 5150 watch. Standard procedure.”
“He’s only making things worse. She’s a wall walker. He needs to back away.”
“He can disarm her easily enough.”
“And risk someone getting hurt in the process? Trust me, Simon. Ask him to back away.”
Simon looked at her, seemed to struggle with himself, then said to Officer Harrison sotto voce, “Officer, return to the hallway, please.”
Officer Harrison looked confused but backed toward them. Immediately, the girl stopped stabbing herself.
“Leave me alone,” she screamed. “I just want to die. I can’t live like this. Can’t live—” She jabbed the point of the knife in her thigh again. Now the blood trickled down her leg instead of dotting her capris. The situation was escalating as Anne’s mind took her further and further into a deep, dark place.
“Can I talk to her?” Nina asked Simon, pushing back the constriction in her chest.
He nodded, his lips so tight they lost color, but he didn’t take his eyes off Anne.
“Anne,” Nina called out gently, “I’m not with the police. I’m a doctor and I just want to help you. Will you talk to me?”
It took her a few tries, but within minutes she had the girl’s attention. Anne’s breathing started to slow and she inched closer toward Nina. Suddenly, however, she froze.
“I don’t want to talk to them. To the men. You come in and I’ll talk to you.”
Nina glanced at Simon, who this time met her eyes. He shook his head.
She turned back to Anne and said, “My friend is afraid you might accidentally cut me with your knife. If he stays in the doorway, will you put it down?”
Shakily, the girl did as she asked, placing the knife on a small television console.
Nina moved forward, but Simon grabbed her arm. “The knife’s still within her reach.”
“It’s okay. She’s calmed down. She’s not going to hurt me.”
“You’re not going in there. Have her come out.”
“She wants me to come in. As a show of trust. It’s okay. She’s calm. Willing to talk. I know what I’m doing, Simon. I do this for a living, remember?”
“So do I. You’re not—”
A loud thud emanated from the front of the house and Simon automatically glanced that way. Praying she was doing the right thing, Nina pulled out of his grip and walked inside the room with Anne.
Simon’s low but vicious curse made her wince, but she put all her attention on Anne and calming the girl down. She’d made progress and was moving toward the doorway with her when a man’s harsh voice drifted inside the room.
Anne let out a guttural cry, a low moan that started deep in her throat and carried through the room, ending with Anne screaming, “Don’t let him near me!”
A man, overwhelmingly large and with a face full of rage, tried to push past Simon, who held him back. Quick as a snake, Anne grabbed the knife with one hand and Nina with the other.
The young girl was much stronger than she’d looked. Her grip was tight as she held the knife at Nina’s side.
“I can’t let him near me,” Anne choked out.
When the blade pierced fabric and the cool metal met her skin, Nina fought to keep her knees from buckling.
* * *
S
IMON’S HEART THUDDED
in his chest at the sight of the frail, desperate-looking teenager holding a knife to Nina.