Mitch

“I hadn’t expected that,” I said for at least the fifth time as Ken and I sat a red light waiting to cross the Northpointe Bridge. The drawbridge was up and the timing couldn’t be worse. We were bumper to bumper in all four lanes after the memorial ended.

“What, you telling me you wouldn’t have done the same damn thing if anybody other than you got benched like that? Those men love you. And they’re your friends.” Ken thumped his fingers on the steering wheel. I resisted the urge to remind him that I was the one currently in anger management therapy.

“Yeah. I know.”

“You’re a good cop, Mitch. You fuck up sometimes. Actually, you fuck up a lot, but not because of this.”

“You gonna vouch for me if it comes to it?” I kind of meant it as a sarcastic dare. But Ken turned to me, his face grave.

“I absolutely will. But it’s not going to come to it. Jesus, I saw what you looked like in the hospital last week. No reasonable member of that review board is going to think you used excessive force on that Russian meathead. This one’s going to be fine. But you’ve got a problem in Judge Pierce. A worse one than I thought if he’s behind the push for this investigation. I really, really want you to take some of that vacation time you’ve got coming. Get out of town and off his radar for a while. It’ll blow over.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t tell you this, and he knows he probably shouldn’t have even talked to me about it, but Stan thinks there’s a chance it’s going to be okay.”

“A chance? Swell.”

The drawbridge finally lowered and traffic started moving again. My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Huck telling me he’d gotten Stella to her car and she’d made it out ahead of the crowd. I squeezed the phone and tapped it against the dashboard.

“Everything okay?”

I rested my chin on my fist as I looked out the window. A late summer haze darkened the riverbank as we finally crossed. The fat, gray stacks from the east side oil refinery belched out smoke that spiraled into the sky. The color matched my mood. Grit and gray with the heat of the August sun beating down on the hood of Ken’s red Jeep Grand Cherokee.

“I’m good. I’m just done for the day.”

“How do you feel about all of it? You had a lot to process this morning.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I shifted in my seat to look at him. “We’re done now, remember? The last session’s over. I graduated.”

Ken laughed back. “God help us all. But yeah. We’re off the clock, if you want to be, Mitch. I can’t force you to keep seeing me. But you might want to think about it anyway. It wouldn’t be the worst decision you ever made.”

No, I thought. The worst decision I’d ever made was letting Stella walk out of my hospital room. The truth of that slammed into me with the weight of an anvil. I missed her. Seeing her up on that dais next to Huck gutted me and I hadn’t expected it. I tried not to stare at her. But she’d found me in about a half a second flat. It caused her pain that made me ache. Maybe it would have been better for the both of us if I’d just stayed home. I owed it to Brian to be there though.

“You wanna go somewhere and get a beer?” Ken asked.

“What, like a date?”

Ken smiled and shook his head. “You could do worse. No, asshole. This is me being a friend. You get it? All the frayed ends of your life just kind of converged an hour ago. I just want to make sure you have the support you need so you don’t jump off this bridge. Plus, you’re not a half-bad guy to watch a ball game with. The Yankees play the Tigers today, I think.”

“You know, I appreciate the offer, Ken,” I said as he made the turn off toward my own private peninsula. “But I’m really okay. And I think I may just follow your advice and turn this mandatory suspension into a week or two vacation. I haven’t seen my sister in almost a year. Her kids are growing like weeds and they still have a little bit of time before they start school again. Maybe I’ll fly out to Denver and teach them how to fish before the summer’s over.”

“That, my friend, sounds like a perfect plan. Give me a call when you get out there.”

I nodded as Ken pulled up my gravel driveway. He smiled and reached over to shake my hand as I got out of his car. I stood and waved as he backed out. Then I turned and walked back up to my empty house.

I hadn’t made it into the kitchen when my phone buzzed again. God help me, my heart lurched for a second before I checked the caller ID. I still wanted it to be Stella. Even if it was just her checking in to tell me she’d made it through the day in one piece just like I did. A number came up that I didn’t recognize with a Cleveland area code.

“This is Gates,” I answered.

“Mitchell Gates?” a female voice came on after a series of clicks.

“Yes?”

“This is Trina from Armor Security. I have you listed as the emergency contact for one of our customers, Stella Terry. Is that right?”

Liquid heat seemed to fill my chest, the air grew thick. “Yes. Stella has a home security system. Is there a problem?” God, I’d all but forgotten. When Stella was staying with me, I had her landlord install a home security system for whenever it was safe for her to go back.

“Her silent alarm tripped a few minutes ago. The override code was entered within sixty seconds, but she has instructions on her account that a call should be placed to you anytime the alarm goes off.”

“Yeah. I’m with Northpointe PD. I set it up that way.”

“Thank you, sir, would you like us to call local police to check on the premises?”

It was probably nothing. Stella would have been weary like I was when she finally got home. It might have just taken her extra time to realize the alarm went off and get to it. Still, the hairs rose on the back of my neck. Where Stella was concerned, I wouldn’t take any chances.

“I’ll handle that,” I said. “I can call it in myself. Thanks for calling, Trina. Have a good day.”

“Yes sir. Thank you for choosing Armor Security.”

Seven minutes give or take a few seconds. That’s how long it would take to get from my place to hers. With lights and sirens, probably five. I slid behind the wheel of my Ford Edge and peeled out the driveway. As soon as I hit Secor Dr., I pulled the bubble light out of my glove box and turned it on. I kept a radio under the seat. Reaching for it, I turned it to Channel 7 to keep the call off the scanners. In light of my suspension, I was about to break four or five departmental rules. All fireable offenses. But as I pressed my foot on the gas, my pulse accelerated with it. Something was wrong. I felt it in my marrow.

“Central dispatch? This is Detective Mitch Gates.”

“Go ahead, Detective.”

“Can you send a squad car out to 5232 Drummond. It’s Stella Terry’s house.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Maybe nothing. I just got a call from her alarm company.”

Static crunched over the airwaves. “Unit 235 can respond in about five minutes.”

I turned on Holly Boulevard. I was about a minute out myself. “That’s good. I’ll meet them there.”

I clicked off with the dispatcher and pressed the gas harder. An asshole in a rusted-out pickup didn’t see the flashing light, weaved in front of me, nearly running me off the road. Next tune-up, I was getting a damn siren installed for the good it did me now. I flipped him off and made the turn down Drummond, forgetting about the first speed bump. Pain shot up my spine as I hit it going almost forty. But I screeched to a halt in Stella’s drive and got out, not bothering to shut the car door.

I didn’t call out to her. Something didn’t feel right. Her garage door was still open. I could see the utility door slightly ajar. Stella was religious about her air conditioning. It wasn’t like her to shut just the screen door.

The smart, calm thing to do would have been to wait for backup. But I heard a crash and breaking glass. I drew my weapon and carefully opened the screen door, praying it wouldn’t squeak.

I cleared the utility room and moved into her kitchen. Her dining room was ahead of me and the landing to the upstairs was coming up on my right. I froze as my foot pressed against a creaky floorboard. Pressing my back against the cupboards, I edged closer to the landing. I could see the dining room, but her wooden China hutch made a blind spot leading into the living room.

Stella screamed. My blood turned to ice. Adrenaline shot through me. Gun drawn, I leaped over the landing stairs.

Stella was face down on the living room carpet. I blinked twice. The Russian meathead had a knee into her back. No, not my Russian meathead, but another one that could have been his twin. He pulled her hair up and would have sliced her throat with the hunting knife he held in his right hand a second later.

“Drop it asshole,” I shouted.

I shouldn’t have. For as big as he was, the guy moved fast. I swear he let out a growl that made him sound like a damn grizzly bear. I saw a flash of metal and threw my body to the right just as he drew down. Plaster exploded next to my head.

“You should drop it,” he said, his thick accent telling me I’d guessed right about where he came from.

“Mitch!” Stella screamed. The Russian still had a fistful of her hair and hauled her to her feet. He kept the knife to her throat and pointed his 9 at me.

“Listen, Sergei,” I said. “You need to check with your boss. She’s not your mark.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Stella’s Sunday paper unfolded on the kitchen table. I reached back and grabbed it. At Stan’s and Stella’s lawyer’s insistence, they did a feature story today about the State Police identity theft ring. Stella’s picture was plastered all over it. It was supposed to help keep her safe. Son of a bitch.

“Look!” I said. “You speak English? Read it.”

“Mitch?” Stella pleaded with me. The terror in her eyes twisted my heart.

Stay calm, baby. I willed my thoughts to her. Then realized I needed to follow my own advice. My pulse quickened. My finger twitched against the trigger. I wanted to blow this asshole’s bald head open like a watermelon. It would be so easy. Rage swirled through me. Of all things, I heard Ken fucking-Bardwell’s voice in my head. Slow. Easy. Let anger go. One false move and he’d slit her throat.

He must have seen something in my eyes, because with a simple flick of his wrist, he pointed his gun at Stella’s head and smiled at me. He held her neck in an armbar now; the knife dropped to the ground.

“Let her go, you fucker.” My voice hissed through my teeth. “I told you, you’ve got the wrong girl.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he said. “Boss wants her cut up. But this will have to do.”

White rage blinded me. But Stella, my brave girl. She bit down hard on his forearm. God. It could have ended differently. For the rest of my life, I’d have nightmares that it had. But through my blinding rage, I saw him shift his weight, his attention drawn to the pain as Stella bit down.

I squeezed the trigger.