You know I love you,” she groans. “But it’s six o’clock in the fucking morning, Bri. Jesus!”

“I need you,” I whine into the phone.

“Bri, what’s wrong? Where are you?” Her tone does a one-eighty, turning from scolding me for calling her too early to whose ass do I need to kick—just like Alana. She’s my best friend, big sister, and mom all wrapped into one. Alana and Jackson, my brother, are both five years older than me and both are protective as hell.

If I weren’t as exhausted as I am, I’d make an effort to laugh.

“At home.”

“Home?” she shrieks. “What the hell are you doing at home?” She doesn’t allow me time to answer that question. “You’re on-call for another hour. Oh, God! Tell me you didn’t get shot or something worse.”

“What’s worse than getting shot?” Dying. Definitely dying, but obviously I’m not dead if I’m talking.

“Brianna Claire!” she yells, making me yank the phone away from my ear for a second. I’m still able to hear her loud mouth. “Are you okay or not?”

“Breaking out my middle name? Really? I’m not Carrie, you know.”

Even though she won’t admit it, me being a cop scares the shit out of Alana. She’s my biggest supporter, but deep down I know she hates it the same as my brother and father do.

“Sometimes, you’re worse than she is. At least she has an excuse. She’s sixteen.” Her breath comes through heavily over the phone. “What’s going on? You are okay, right?”

“Yes. No. Yes.” It’s not that easy of an answer. “Look—”

“What does that mean? Yes no yes,” she mimics me in rapid irritation.

“I need you, and I need you to come to LA. Today. Now! Right now. Please,” I beg.

“Well, tell me what the fuck is going on? You haven’t said shit. Just caused me undue stress. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I don’t need this at my age.”

“At your age?” I laugh at that. “You’re thirty-five. Jesus, woman, when did you start thinking like a grandma?”

She huffs, not liking my choice of words.

“Brianna,” she bites out. She rarely calls me Brianna. In fact, she’s the one that started calling me Bri when she and my brother started dating in high school. “Are you planning on enlightening me as to why I need to drag my ass out of my comfortable bed to drive a miserable six and a half hours to LA?”

It’s nearly an eight-hour drive from her house to mine. But Alana isn’t most people.

“It’s . . .” I pause, glancing over at a now sleeping Gabriel. “Just too much to get into on the phone. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t seriously need you.”

“I know.” She sighs, then I think I hear what sounds like a door slam closed. “That’s why I’m already on my way.” There is a beeping sound that comes through the phone. I know that sound. It’s the sound of her Mercedes unlocking. “I’m getting in the car now. See ya in a few.” The line goes dead.

Alana is my savior.

I set my smartphone down on the nightstand then look back at the baby lying in my bed. So far so good. Maybe I have time for a quick shower. A long, hot bath would be so much better though.

The piercing sound of a cry rips from Gabriel’s lips.

I bend over, my forehead landing on my knee, and then I let out a sigh of my own. It looks like the shower is going to have to wait.

I haven’t slept.

He’s barely slept, and I’ve done everything I know to do.

Alana will fix this. She’ll know what to do for him because everything I’ve tried has been wrong. So wrong, and I don’t know why.

---

Hearing a key being inserted into the lock on my door, I take my eyes off the re-run episode of “The Big Bang Theory” I’m watching on the TBS channel to glance at the clock on the wall.

It has been seven hours since Alana hung up the phone on me to drive down to Los Angeles from where she and my brother live just outside of San Francisco. I’m not surprised; she hauls ass in a car except for when her kids are with her.

She’s the only person I allow to have an extra key to my condo. It doesn’t bother me she’s letting herself in rather than knocking. We’re close like that. I let myself in when I come to her house too.

“Traffic to LA was a bit . . . ch . . .”

I look over from my spot on the sofa. Alana is looking from my face to where I have Gabriel laid, face down, across my chest.

“Where’d the baby come from? You keeping a friend’s or something?”

She knows better than to ask a question like that. I usually tell her everything over our daily calls; even some of the things I shouldn’t divulge. She knows I don’t have any friends close enough—besides her—that I’d consider babysitting for. Sure, Stephanie and I are work friends, but we’re not the kind of friends that know each other well enough for that type of favor. The thought doesn’t elude me that maybe I need to change, but I doubt Gabriel will be here long enough, so what would be the point?

Connie, like me, is married to the job. She doesn’t have a spouse or kids. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend that I know of. I’m pretty sure she’s still fuck-buddies with one of the beat cops from another precinct.

“Or something,” I breathe out a tired breath. Alana raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Of course not,” I concede, trying to keep my voice a soft whisper.

Gabriel begins to stir in my overly tired arms, letting out a quiet whimper. Glancing down, I check to see if he’s going to wake. So far, looks like I’m in the clear, so I gaze back over to Alana watching as she finally eases the door closed.

“It’s a case. Sort of.” I toss the remote to the other end of the couch.

“What kind of case would cause you to end up with what I’m guessing is a newborn?” she bluntly asks.

Before I can answer her, I take notice of the brown stain covering her white, long-sleeve t-shirt. My eyes glide farther down, taking in the black UGGS over a pair of black leggings. It’s mid-September and much cooler in the Bay area than SoCal but this . . .

“Let’s start with you first.” I point up and down. “What’s with the non-Alana style getup?”

“Bit . . . ughhh,” she stops herself from calling me a bitch, but her loud dramatics causes another whimper to come out of the baby. For that, I cut my eyes at her.

If there’s one thing I can commend Alana on, it’s not using foul language in front of children. Not even babies who have no idea what’s being said.

“You called me, asking me to drive all the way to LA for an emergency that you’ve only given me a fraction of the details, and you’re going to call me out on my attire?”

“Yep.” Sure am.

“They’re Carrie’s.” She walks over to the small dining table setting her purse down before turning back to face me. “I didn’t realize I grabbed clothes from her laundry basket until I was in the car. I was half-asleep when I was on the phone with you. You’re lucky I’m here, so get off my case.” She points to the shirt she’s wearing. “This is a coffee stain. In my haste to get here, I spilled most of the café latte on me driving out of the parking lot. Good thing I always order the kids temp or I’d be at the hospital nursing burns instead of here.”

She’s in a pissy mood.

Good thing I know what’ll solve that.

“Alana,” I sigh. “Thank you for coming all the way. I do appreciate it, and I do need you here. I really do. But you need a long, hot shower and fresh clothes.” I jerk my head toward my bedroom down the hall. “Take a minute. You know it’ll put you in a better mood. When you get out, I’ll explain in more detail why I called.”

Her eyes glide to Gabriel, remaining on him for a few seconds before she looks back at me.

“I’ll be out in ten.”

Nodding, I let out a yawn, but as soon as I do, Gabriel breaks out in a full-on cry. Jeez, I can’t get a break.

Alana arches one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me, again.

“Go, I got this. You shower, find something of mine to change into, then we’ll talk. I’m going to feed him while I’m waiting on you.”

Alana and I aren’t the same size but she’ll be able to fit into my shirts and shoes. We differ in looks and height. I have a tan complexion where she’s fair. I have long, dark brown hair, and her blonde hair is cut at the nape of her neck with layered strands going upward and longer ones in the front. She’s taller than me at five-foot-eight. I’m on the short side at five-foot-four-inches tall.

Alana spins, disappearing quickly down the hallway. When I hear my bedroom door close, I get up, standing with Gabriel in my arms. His cries have died down some, but he’s still letting me know he isn’t a happy camper.

Nothing I’ve done for him seems to make him content. Is this boy not a normal baby? I don’t think I had these problems with Alana’s kids. Sure, I wasn’t playing the guessing game on what to do. Alana and Jackson had everything laid out for me anytime I kept them.

Maybe I’m overthinking this.

I don’t know, though. I’ve fed and changed him several times. He’s spit up his formula every single time. I know I didn’t give him too much, and I did the burping thing. I remembered that, too. I even gave him a bath thinking it might soothe him. It did not. He didn’t like the bath one bit.

On the flip side, I’ve become good at doing almost anything single-handedly in the last twelve hours, like mixing formula and water in a bottle.

When I walk into the kitchen, it takes less than two minutes to prep his bottle and then store everything away again.

I grab a clean dishtowel on my way back to the living room for spit up. This kid is bound to have some—or a lot in his case.

I bounce him lightly as I make my way back over to the sofa.

“Let’s hope this time’s a charm, little guy.” I sit down, bringing my legs onto the couch and tucking them under me, crisscross style, for comfort. “You need to eat and keep your food down. You’re too tiny as it is.”

This boy doesn’t feel like he weighs even ten pounds. He’s long, probably two feet if I’d have to guess, but I think he should weigh more. At least a couple of pounds more. Not that I’m an expert. Obviously, I’m not if I had to call my sister-in-law to help me with him.

Movement catches my attention about the same time Alana enters.

“That was quick,” I comment.

“Yes, well, call me curious.”

She heads my way as I place the bottle in Gabriel’s mouth. It’s automatic with this baby. He attempts to push it right back out as if he doesn’t want anything to do with it.

Alana sits next to us. My condo isn’t big. I have a couch against the wall and one high-back chair next to it that’s directly in front of the TV screen I have hanging on the opposite wall. There’s a glass coffee table in front of the sofa and the chair as well as a matching glass end table that’s shared between the couch and chair.

“Ew.” Her nose crinkles. “One of you stinks, and I don’t think it’s him.” She inches away from us.

“Yes, it’s probably me. He had a bath a few hours ago. I haven’t seen a shower since yesterday morning.”

There’s no telling what kind of baby goo I have on me—or where.

“Hand him over and go wash up. I don’t want to smell you.” Alana extends her arms in my direction.

“How do you know he’s a boy?” I ask as I lean forward, placing Gabriel in her hands.

“He’s wearing blue.” She shakes her head. “No one puts blue on a baby this young unless it’s a boy. Now, go bathe. You’re holding up telling me why exactly it is I am here.”

“Fine.” I get up, and as I walk past her, I hold the dishtowel out for her to take, which she does, and then cradles the baby in her arm. “His name is Gabriel,” I add before going down the hall.

“Got it,” I hear her tell me.

Not wanting to waste time, I head to my closet, doing a quick rummage, locating a cotton tunic and pair of blue jeans. I place them on the bed then move quickly into the bathroom to shower.

Long, hot showers are great, and the occasional lengthy soak in a tub with smell-good bubbles is amazing. This isn’t one of those times. More like a rush to the finish line instead.

My mad dash into the bathroom lasts less than five minutes. I’m a wet mess, but I’m clean, and that’s the point. The room is still steamy from Alana’s shower, so I don’t bother with wiping the residual steam off the mirror once I’ve toweled off. It’s the weekend, and I’m too tired to mess with applying any makeup. I don’t see the point when my plans now consist of baby duties until Monday morning.

I toss my towel in the hamper then open the door that leads back into my bedroom.

Once dressed, I slip on a pair of flat sandals and I’m finished.

With nothing left to do, I head out of my room and down the hall. Alana’s voice is sweet. I hear her as I near the living room. She’s a sucker for babies. Loves them. She may be a force to be reckoned with in the business world from what I’ve heard, but when it comes to her children, she’s a great mom—a loving mother.

I walk in to find Alana strapping Gabriel in his car seat.

She glances over at me.

“Oh, good, you’re finally done.” She takes a step back then loops her arm under the handle, pulling the seat and Gabriel off the table.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“What does it look like?” Her free hand comes up, and my car keys jiggle. “We’re going shopping, let’s go.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” she deadpans; her expression turning agitated. After a beat, she sighs before sitting the baby back on the table. Turning, she steps into the kitchen, grabs something and then returns. “See this?” She holds up the dishtowel I gave her earlier.

“Yes,” I nod.

“It’s covered in puke. I’d bet you have several more just like it, am I right?”

Yep. She is. But what is she getting at?

“I’ll take your non-answer as a yes.” She smiles coyly knowing she is right. “You or someone has him on the wrong formula. He needs another type. Let’s go.”

She picks the baby back up then turns, heading toward the door without waiting for me.

“Alana!” I call after her. Her response is to jiggle my keys again.

“You coming or not?”

The door opens, but she doesn’t bother shutting it. She knows I’m coming with her.

Stubborn ass is lucky I love her. No one else would get away with pulling that type of shit with me.

With a huff, I let out a breath of air as I march the few steps toward the kitchen where I snatch my purse off the counter then follow.

Without my keys, I have to lock the door handle lock instead of the deadbolt. But since it’s a rather safe complex, it’s no big deal to me.

---

Of course, she would be in the driver’s seat of my black, Audi A7 when I make it down to the parking lot.

The car was a present from Jackson and Alana when I received my promotion two years ago to detective. I consider it my birthday slash Christmas slash moving up in the ranks on the force present, but that’s what I tell myself even though I know it was just them buying me an expensive gift. One that was too expensive even if this was the cheaper version of the model.

My brother knows me well. He knows if they would’ve gone all out I would have refused the car. But I can’t lie; I love my car. There is not one thing cheap about it to me, either.

Opening the passenger’s side door, I sink into the seat, then place my purse on the floorboard of the backseat and lastly put on my seat belt.

“So, where are we heading? I can’t spend too much money,” I add.

Her head swivels around to me, eyeing me as though I’ve lost my mind as she pushes the start button next to the gearshift to bring the car alive.

“Who said you are going to spend a dime?” She doesn’t give me time to speak. “And by the sound of your tone, if you need money, all you have to do is tell me, and I’ll give you whatever you need. You know this, Bri. We’re family.”

I grit my teeth and face forward.

I don’t want her and Jackson’s money. I’m an adult with a job. A twenty-nine-year-old, independent woman who does not want anyone, including her big brother and best friend, coming to her every need.

You’d think they would understand this by now.

They don’t, and I doubt they ever will.

At least one to two times a year I have money mysteriously deposited into my checking account. Always when I’m low on funds. Makes me wonder just how much Jackson or Alana, know about my finances. I doubt it’s Alana. She’d expect me to ask. Jackson, on the other hand, does what Jackson wants without regard to others. Just like another man I know—our father.

“No, Alana, I don’t need money from anyone,” I stress my point to her. “I’ve got me just fine, thank you.”

“No need to be snippy. I was just letting you know.”

“Well, I know. End of it. Okay?”

“All right.” She pulls out of the parking spot. The exit is straight in front of us, and with no traffic she doesn’t stop, instead, easing out then making a left turn.

“So where are we going?”

“Target, but only because I don’t want to drive an hour away up toward Glendale to the baby store. Target should have everything you need anyway.” Her speed increases. “Now spill it.”

Twisting in my seat, I look in the back to make sure Gabriel is fine, but I can’t see him with the seat facing backward. He isn’t fussing, so I take that as a sign he’s okay and turn back around, then launch into more detail of everything that happened last night starting with Gabriel’s mother’s story.

I’m not supposed to divulge police information to anyone outside of law enforcement. We have rules. Code of ethics. I follow both, for the most part. I’m not a rule breaker or a bad cop. At least I don’t consider myself one. I’m certainly not a member of The Dirty Blue. That’s a word LEO’s—Law Enforcement Officer’s—use to describe fellow officers who’ve become bad cops, dirty cops, cops that don’t do things by the books anymore. They’re cops that take bribes “to” overlook certain things, and in turn receive money on the side. But it doesn’t stop there. I’ve heard of officers who have turned a blind eye, pretending they didn’t find guns, money, or drugs in places they’ve searched. I’ve even heard that some have destroyed actual evidence resulting in a criminal being set free rather than pay for the crime he or she committed. It’s assholes like them that give good cops a bad reputation.

I take my job seriously, and I would never do any of those things. Ever.

Alana is my soundboard. She listens. Sure, she offers an opinion even when that isn’t what I’m looking for, but most of the time hearing myself out loud helps me see it differently and helps me make better decisions.

The biggest hurdle I had to learn to get over as a rookie and young cop was to not act on my first thought. To stop, take everything in, and then react or make the call. There are times, though, that luxury isn’t afforded to us. There are times that call for in the heat of the moment reaction, and that’s when you pray you make the right call, not only for yourself but for the person you’re apprehending, helping, or both. Every situation an officer walks into is a potential hostile one; so making the right decisions are crucial.

After full disclosure, Alana despised Chasity, and she agreed with me that going off what I told her, something was off with the girl’s story.

My screw up is when I tell her the possibility that Gabriel will go into some form of witness protection rather than child services. Knowing that if I told her CPS refused to take the infant, it would have caused her unnecessary anger I’m harboring for the both of us. So, instead, I choose to tell her the partial truth that Mike wanted to wait for the chief’s directions on this delicate situation.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You know not everything is like what you see on television. They’ll make arrangements and accommodate whatever he needs.”

“What he needs is to be in a family environment.”

“I never said that wasn’t a possibility. I’ll know more once I talk to Tom Monday morning. This is new. Something I’ve never had to deal with before.”

I decide to change the subject. If I don’t, she’ll never let this go.

“So, what’re the plans for Care’s birthday?”

My niece, Carrie, will turn seventeen on Thursday. No doubt, the troublemakers—Carrie and Caleb—have plans that Alana and Jackson know nothing about. My niece and nephew are not only ten months apart in age, but also in the same grade in school, so they share the same friends. But they’ve been the troublemakers since diapers. They stick together on everything. Neither will rat on the other, and they both have each other’s back always.

“Nothing huge,” she sighs as she makes a right turn at the red light. “Not like last year.” I snort a laugh thinking about the over-the-top luau bash at their house for her sweet sixteen. It was crazy. Way too many teenagers in one place. “Jackson is leaving the city early to pick her up from school as a surprise. Then we’re planning a family dinner at Seven Hills followed by a few hours down at Fisherman’s Wharf. You know how she loves to just hang out down there any chance she gets.”

Wonder where she gets that from—her mom. Alana loves live music. It’s never seemed to be about the bands, though. She enjoys the atmosphere. We used to go all the time when I was a junior in college, back before work became a higher priority for her and my brother. Back when they were more fun.

It’s not that she isn’t fun now; just a lot less relaxed—more uptight. And I’m not even sure she realizes it. Jackson, on the other hand, stopped being fun as soon as he opened his own business right out of college. Both Jackson and Alana are lawyers.

“Nothing next weekend . . . when I’m off?” I sound bummed. I know I do, but I can’t help myself. I’ve been at every birthday the kids have ever had.

“Not unless you can talk your brother into coming down to LA. But you know he hates it here and won’t come.” She lightly laughs. My brother does hate Los Angeles with a passion.

I turn my head to look at her.

“Where are you going to be then?”

Her eyes flash for the briefest of moments. If I weren’t staring right at her, I would’ve missed the look. Fear or dread. One of the two, I’m not sure which, though.

She quickly smiles to cover what I’m thinking was a slip-up.

“The city.” There is too much forced pep. Alana doesn’t do pep. “I have a lot to catch up on from all the kids’ extracurricular activities this year. I’m staying at the condo all weekend so I won’t have to commute to the office. It’ll be easier.”

The way she says, easier, gives me the chills.

I want to ask her what’s going on, but I don’t know the right question to ask her. My family is a different story; I can’t read them as easy as I can strangers. Maybe I’m too close. Maybe deep down I don’t want to know. Once you know things, you can never forget them again.

An incoming text message kills my thoughts. And after retrieving my cell phone from my purse, I see my partner’s name light up the screen.

Connie: What’s this I hear about you taking a kid home Friday night?

Me: Who told you?

Connie: Megan. So, what’s the deal?

Megan is the resident gossip queen around the station. Sometimes I think she still has a seventeen-year-old girl mentality even though she’s in her mid-thirties. She’s dispatch on the dayshift, so how she came about the information, only God knows.

Me: Jeez. Shit carries quick.

Me: Long story. I’ll tell you about it Tuesday.

Connie: Well, yeah. You know there isn’t shit that stays secret in that place long.

Connie: I can’t wait that long. Tell me now.

Me: That’s less than three days from now.

Connie: DUDE!! Throw a dog a bone?

Me: Some bitch left her baby at the station. It’s a long story and one I don’t have time to get into over text.

Connie: So call me, bitch.

Me: Can’t. I’m with Alana.

Me: I promise to fill you in later.

Connie: I hate you.

Me: You love me!

Connie: Not right now I don’t.

Me: See ya, Monday.

I smile when the last text pops up with an emoji flipping me the bird.

“We’re here.” Alana’s voice breaks my distraction, so I stuff my phone away.

I look out the window as Alana pulls into the parking lot of Target. A packed one at that, with cars and trucks tucked in most of the respected parking spots. A couple of cars—assholes—I see are taking up two spots. Alana parks in the back and I decide to leave the conversation alone . . . for now.