Chapter 9 #3
“Yes, the heart attack couldn’t have been prevented, but if the kid had been paying attention to driving, he’d still be alive. It’s been hard on the whole Crossroads community.”
“Is Holly still at the ranch?” Asher asked.
“No. She’s on her way back to Dallas as we speak. And I need this shit over with so we can get on with our lives,” Gunner said.
Asher felt like he was failing him. “Since this has all gone to the Feds, I don’t have access to much of anything now. If we discover anything else, it will be because of Nora. I’ll be in touch. Please don’t get yourself killed, kid.”
“Don’t plan on it. I have a woman to love, and a buttload of money to cushion the blow of early retirement,” Gunner said, and he could hear Asher chuckling as he disconnected.
He sat gathering his thoughts for a few moments, glanced at the time, and as he did, noticed the date. Birthdays were synonymous with his mother’s suicide, and he’d never been able to work up an interest in that celebration since.
“Well, hell. It’s my birthday. Maybe I’ll just pick up a cake to use as an excuse for a visit.
Might even be inclined to strike a few matches and see what sparks,” he muttered, then made a quick call to the bakery at his local deli, told them what he wanted, and was soon on his way to pick it up.
He was armed up with everything but the bulletproof vest as he settled his hat on his head and headed for the garage.
It was time to take a ride down to the precinct.
* * *
Lieutenant Andy Samuels was having lunch at his desk, as were the detectives still in the office. They were all kicked back, eating and chiding each other back and forth across the room when the door opened.
Gunner Kingston came striding in carrying a sack and a large, rectangular box that looked suspiciously like something from a bakery. The room went to an immediate uproar, with everyone asking questions and welcoming him back, all at the same time.
He put the box down on his desk, removed the lid, took paper plates and plastic cutlery out of the sack, and stepped aside.
“Yes, I’m here. No, I’m not coming back on duty yet. Today is my birthday; help yourself.”
Samuels came out of his office in the middle of the noise, saw who’d caused it, and came toward him with a big grin on his face. “Good to have you back, Gunner.”
“I’m not back. I’m just here celebrating my birthday.”
Samuels looked down at the cake and burst into laughter. “Are you kidding me?”
Everybody crowded around to see the cake, expecting to see a Happy Birthday greeting on it. But all it said was BULLETPROOF in big red letters.
“Enjoy,” Gunner said, then gave Frankie Adams, their lone female detective, the side-eye as she sauntered up beside him.
“You should have the first piece!” she said.
“So, today your hair is green?” he said.
“Little sister’s latest lesson at beauty school. The better to notice me,” she fired back, and then saw the writing on the cake.
She frowned. “What? Is this like a money-back guarantee that comes with a product you’re buying?”
“More like a statement of fact that I’m not for sale,” he said.
His emphasis on the word did not go unnoticed.
Frankie wasn’t fazed. “Then let them eat cake!” she cried. “I want the piece with a B on it. B for bitch has to be mine,” she said, then she laughed at her own joke, took her cake and a little plastic fork, and winked at Gunner as she walked away.
“Do you want to talk?” Samuels asked.
Gunner shrugged. “I don’t think so. Enjoy the cake.” He turned to walk out.
“Cliff will be sorry he missed you,” Samuels said.
“Then save him a piece of cake,” Gunner said.
“So, you don’t know when you’re coming back?” Samuels asked.
“Did you talk to Internal Affairs about my concerns?” Gunner asked.
Samuels’s face flushed in sudden anger. “I can’t go to IA with just a suspicion or gut feeling.”
Gunner nodded. “Then I guess it’s up to me to do the dirty work, because I’m not coming back to work until I know whoever sold me out to Dixon is gone. A cop has to know who’s got his back, and for me right now… That’s an unknown.”
He walked out, letting the door slam behind him.
One detective eyed Gunner’s exit and then looked down at the cake. “He’s really pissed. I suppose this cake is still safe to eat?”
A nervous laugh ran through the room, but a cop never turned down free cake. They cut themselves a piece and took it to their desks.
Samuels frowned. He’d just been called out in front of his detectives. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t fault the man for being leery.
“Somebody save Beale and Rowdy a piece of cake,” he said, picked up a piece for himself, and went back to the office.
* * *
The hair was standing up on the back of Gunner’s neck when he turned his back on everyone in the room and walked out. This game of taunt and test was a little like playing Russian roulette, and it didn’t feel good.
He got back in his car, ordered a catfish dinner from an area restaurant, then picked it up on the way home. He’d poked the bear with no way of knowing what would happen. Likely, he’d soon find out.
* * *
When Holly saw the Dallas skyline in the distance, she breathed a sigh of relief. Another forty minutes or so, and she’d be home. She was tired and hungry, and she knew whatever leftovers had been in her refrigerator would have to be discarded, but she just kept driving.
As soon as she got into her neighborhood, she took a side street to a fast-food place and picked up some food to go. Finally turning the corner in her residential area and seeing her residence was her finish line.
She went up the drive as the garage door opened and she drove straight in, then lowered the door before getting out—something she always did for safety’s sake.
After disarming her security system, she went in through the utility room and into the kitchen, set her food on the island, then began turning on lights as she went.
She had lived in this two-bedroom, two-bath townhouse ever since she moved to Dallas, and even though the primary was upstairs, she loved it.
Once she was satisfied her house was as she’d left it, she went back to get her bags, dragged them up the stairs to her room, then washed up and sat down to eat.
The burger was good. The onion rings were better. While she was eating, she sent a text to Gunner.
I’m home, having a burger and onion rings. I’ll go back to work tomorrow. I hope you haven’t stirred up a wasp’s nest for yourself. I’ve been holding on to all the precious things you told me like my life depended on it, because it does. Hope to see you soon.
She hit Send, then picked up an onion ring and dunked it in ketchup before taking a bite, wondering what fresh hell was waiting for her at work.
Whatever it was, it was obviously stressing the boss that it wasn’t done, and if it wasn’t done, that meant there was a deed that hadn’t been cleared from one owner to the next.
She ate what she wanted of the food and trashed the rest, then went to unpack.
A short while later, she had everything hung up and was getting ready to store her luggage in the closet of the downstairs bedroom when her cell phone rang.
When she saw Gunner’s name pop up on Caller ID, she dropped the bags in the hall and answered.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey, darlin’. Did you have any trouble on the road?” Gunner asked.
“Not a bit, but I’m tired from the drive. What about your situation?” she asked.
“Well, it’s a situation, for sure. I will say, this is probably the best and the worst birthday I’ve ever had.”
She groaned. “Today is your birthday?”
“Yep. I took cake to my workplace and left them with egg on their faces. Now I have to see how it all plays out.”
“I don’t like the sound of that, but I know you are confident in what you’re doing, or it wouldn’t be happening. I promise I will not bug you or give you grief about any of this, but any time you feel like reassuring me that you’re okay will be just fine with me,” she said.
Gunner leaned back in his chair with a big grin on his face. “Why do I feel like I just got a pep talk from that kid who fielded our bats and foul balls?”
“So, was that too much go get ’em?” she said, then shivered when the soft laugh in her ear made her ache.
“You are never too much. I just need to make sure I am enough for you. I want this over. I want you in my arms. The end.”
Holly sighed. “No, that will be the beginning. You have my address. Just let me know you’re coming. And you can call me whenever you want. Personal calls are allowed on the job.”
“I will, but for the time being, when you contact me, text. I might have my phone on mute from time to time,” he said.
She frowned at the implication of caution he had to take. “Heard and understood. Happy birthday, Roadrunner. Goodbye for now.”
“Bye, honey. Get some rest.”
Gunner pocketed his phone and then went to his laptop and ordered enough groceries to get him through an undetermined stretch of isolation.
And Holly went back to stow her luggage, then sent a text to her boss, letting him know she would be at work tomorrow. Then she made a grocery list and ordered groceries online to be delivered today. She was too tired to shop for herself, and she didn’t even have milk for cereal.
Ready or not, it was back to her usual routine.
* * *
There was one homicide cop who went home that night uncertain what the next move should be. Gunner Kingston had thrown down a warning that couldn’t be ignored. The man was relentless. They all knew it.
But being made as a dirty cop was as good as being dead.