The Badge (Redemption Ranch #1)

1. Val

ONE

VAL

“Pushing those veggies around the plate isn’t going to make them go away any faster,” said Eric, his rumbling voice sounding behind my back.

Shooting my partner the side-eye over my shoulder, I continued to poke and prod my dinner around the sagging cardboard take-out container.

It may have been well after midnight, but when you worked the midnight shift on the police force, two a.m. meant dinnertime—usually in the form of shitty takeout from Uncle Mao’s Chinese Restaurant.

Giving the repugnant vegetables one last scowl, I dropped the chopsticks into the container and pushed it over the edge of my desk and into the trash.

“You have the eating habits of a five-year-old,” Eric teased as he approached my desk in the bullpen of the police station. The years had been kind to my partner and his salt and pepper hair and slight paunch were the only signs of his long tenure on the force.

“Well, the best thing about not actually being five is I can choose not to eat my vegetables. You ready to roll out?”

Eric and I had been partners in the Eleventh District of the Chicago Police Department for the past three years.

Notoriously dangerous—ironically the district with the youngest and most inexperienced police officers—an assignment in the Eleventh District meant that a break for dinner lasted only fifteen or twenty minutes before we had to be back on patrol, doing whatever we could to keep innocent people alive.

Only six miles north and my job would have meant a cushy patrol learning from twenty-year veterans, but that wasn’t all that appealing anyway. I loved the thrill, the challenge of solving a case and keeping my city safe.

I stood, adjusted my utility belt and vest, and slid my chair beneath the desk. I scanned my desk to ensure everything was in place before I was ready to go. “Let’s do it.”

I tucked myself behind the wheel of our squad car.

Eric never minded that I preferred to drive—my need for control and order.

Usually on quiet nights, I had to make sure his ass didn’t fall asleep on the job.

Eric was a lot like the older brother that teased you, but you knew always had your back.

He had a decade of experience on me—but he’d also lost the hunger.

The hunger to maintain justice and order amid the chaos of the city.

Mostly, he looked at his job as a cop as just that—a job. To me, it was a calling.

Sensing the seriousness in my mood, Eric cleared his throat. “You should find out any day now, right?”

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and willed my breath to steady. “I’m hoping. So far it’s been a waiting game.”

Eric shook his head. “Man, I can’t believe you’re going to leave me to kiss ass with the ATF. You tell your folks yet?”

I huffed. “Are you kidding? They’re horrified enough that I carry a gun every day. ”

He shrugged. “The ATF may not be all it’s cracked up to be.”

I rolled my eyes in his direction. Applying to be a part of the elite Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives unit, more commonly referred to as the ATF, had taken over a year, and there still was no guarantee I’d be accepted to become a federal agent.

Women made up less than twenty-five percent of the entire Chicago Police Department, and even fewer had aspirations to become a special agent.

As a first-generation Mexican American woman, if that was my future, I'd have to blaze the trail myself. None of those things meant anything at all to my parents, but I could show them what it meant. Make them proud.

“You’re just pissed you won’t have someone watching your ass while you nap,” I teased.

Eric sank lower in the seat and pulled a baseball cap farther down his brow. “Well,” he grunted as he got comfortable, “you’re not wrong there. Don’t fuck up while I’m out.”

I laughed and shook my head. I’d learned in the academy that to be a female police officer, you had to develop a thick skin and handle a certain amount of ballbusting to have a chance of surviving.

It didn’t matter that I had proved my skills; if you weren’t one of the good ol’ boys, you were other .

I glanced out the window and up at the passing streetlights.

The rain was a slow, dreary late fall precipitation that kept everyone shuttered away from the damp cold.

The twilight hours—known as witching hours by the most superstitious cops—could be so calm they almost made your skin crawl.

City streets were all but abandoned. Some houses were so run-down with broken windows and peeling paint it was hard to tell which ones sheltered civilians and which hid away criminals.

Sometimes the answer was both.

Adjusting the volume of the pop music thumping out of the car radio, I turned the squad car for another long loop through our section of the city. Quiet chatter on the police radio became my company while Eric dozed beside me.

Dispatch: Squad 9522 to dispatch.

Me: 9522. Go ahead.

Dispatch: We have a reported 650 in progress. Intersection of Kilbourn and Maypole. Possible 4210.

650, home invasion. 4210, kidnapping. Shit.

I pushed the button on my vest walkie to respond as I hit Eric awake with the back of my hand.

Me: Officers 842 and 1732. En route.

The computer to my right lit up with information from dispatch.

Apparently, a neighbor had called with complaints of shouting and glass breaking.

One witness reported seeing a white male with a gun enter the home.

After flipping on the lights and sirens, I whipped hard down a side street and barreled toward the address on my screen.

Tension curled up my spine and gripped me at the base of my neck. I bumped my partner again. “Wake up, E. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Eric rubbed his eyes and swung the computer his way to get up to speed. I chanced only a glance in his direction as he read through the information and relayed it aloud to me.

Eric’s voice got low, muttering to himself as he scanned the words again. I couldn’t catch all of what he said. “Kilbourn and Maypole. I know that house. Fuck ...”

“What?”

Eric shook his head. His lips were in a hard line, and I’d learned his body language well enough to know he was amped.

My heart hammered as I sped through the city toward the run-down residential area.

Duplexes and apartment buildings encroached abandoned storefronts and were shoehorned between industrial buildings.

The dilapidated, deserted buildings were nestled between streets of residential housing.

Even knowing the neighborhood, it was difficult to know which were which or what alley led to a courtyard versus a dead end.

Approaching the given address, the commotion outside pointed us to exactly where we needed to go. Two additional squad cars came flying in as I parked. Eric and I exited the car, readying our weapons.

With a series of hand movements, Eric instructed me to fall behind him.

The officers behind me began their search on the east side of the looming brick building.

As we pushed past the gawkers already forming on the front lawn, I could see that the front door had been kicked in.

The frame was splintered around the lock, and chunks of decaying wood hadn’t stood a chance from a boot or a stiff shoulder.

Once inside, I swept right and left, the light on top of my service weapon illuminating the cramped space.

The room was musty and damp. More than the rain outside, the wetness clung to the air, coating the walls, ripe with mildew.

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth to ignore the smell of mold, piss, and dirty laundry.

The only sound was my heartbeat, hammering between my ears as my eyes scanned the rooms. Extensive training ensured my movements were efficient and my senses were keyed into my surroundings. The house appeared empty, but it didn’t feel empty.

The clawing sense of unease prickled my skin as goose bumps coated my arms. The groan of a single loose floorboard had me whipping my weapon to the right. A shadowed figure ran across the narrow hallway, through the kitchen, and shouldered out the back door.

“Freeze!” I commanded.

“Police!” Eric bellowed at the same time.

I called into my radio. “Suspect fleeing. Dark hoodie, denim pants. Dark sneakers.”

Eric burst through the back door. I scanned the room, and instead of following him out, I halted as my eyes landed on a dark, crumpled figure in the corner.

A body.

Instinct took over, and I toed the body with my foot. A pair of wide, frantic eyes stared up at me.

I crouched. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. We’ll get you out of here. Stay behind me.” I pulled the young girl up, and she huddled behind me. Her dark hair was matted and hung in tangled clumps. I moved forward through the house, still unconvinced the place was empty.

When movement through the kitchen caught my attention, the young woman pushed past me, nearly knocking me over, and ran toward the door.

“Stop!”

As I reached for her, the girl glanced back and didn’t see the closed patio door.

The old glass splintered and crashed around her.

She tumbled forward, landing in the shards.

I rushed to her. Disoriented, the girl shoved an elbow against my hands, and I turned her over, assessing any injuries.

I called into my radio for medical assistance.

Shards of glass pierced her forearm, and deep crimson was rapidly staining the front of her rumpled beige T-shirt.

I pulled at the neckline to reveal a deep slash that spread beneath her collarbone and up toward her delicate neck.

I pressed my hand into it to try to stop the bleeding, and she called out, crying and fighting against my help.