Fighting for Tawny (Laguna Beach Cops #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Fists flew as Tawny Westfall traded vicious blows with her attacker. She threw a fast right hook that connected with Yolanda’s nose. Blood spurted. Yolanda grabbed a fistful of her red hair and yanked her head back while landing punches to her kidneys. In a defensive move, Tawny flipped the other woman over her shoulder, but Yolanda was quick and wiry and back on her feet in an instant. Tawny executed a series of jabs that caused her adversary to stagger, but Yolanda refused to surrender. With amazing strength, she came at Tawny and swept her legs from beneath her in a low roundhouse kick. She stomped on Tawny’s knee, wrenching a cry of both pain and fury. Tawny wrapped her arms around Yolanda’s legs, and she toppled to the ground. She jumped on Yolanda and pounded her face and ribs. Her own blood dripped on Yolanda’s mangled face. One punch knocked out a couple of Yolanda’s teeth.

None of the ground guards intervened. Chants of “Kill her! Kill the bitch!” filled the air. The fight ended when Yolanda lay still and unmoving in the dry brown grass. Tawny’s chest heaved. She gasped for breath and fell to the ground next to Yolanda.

Every part of Tawny’s body ached. She sat on a hospital bed in the infirmary as the prison doctor wrapped her bruised midsection to keep her broken ribs stable. She’d already set her broken nose for the second time in two months since Tawny had gone undercover as a prisoner at the California Institution for Women to find out why inmates kept disappearing or dying from drug overdoses. So far, she’d been too busy surviving to start sleuthing. No one trusted her.

Dr. Sadler rarely spoke to the inmates when she treated them, but today she said in a soft voice tinged with a midwestern accent, “If you keep this up, Tawny, you won’t live long. You were busted up pretty badly today. Do you have a death wish?”

When Tawny went undercover, Special Agent in Charge Jiena Cofield and Chief of Police of Laguna Beach Justice McQuaid, for whom she worked, agreed that she should keep her real name. Her friend and colleague, Lieutenant David “Hutch” Hutchinson, along with computer genius John “Tex” Keegan, hid her identity online in case anyone did a search for her.

“No. I’m not looking for trouble, Doc. It keeps finding me. And the guards don’t care.”

Dr. Sadler treated the scratches and cuts on Tawny’s face, arms, and hands with antiseptic, sutured those that required stitches, and bandaged them.

“I know you’re educated. I’m aware of the intelligence you’re hiding in your eyes. How did you end up here?”

Tawny shrugged, though the movement hurt. “Hooked up with the wrong guy. He planted drugs on me and split when I got caught. Of course, the cops didn’t believe me. Neither did that asshole of a judge, Judge Cohen. They assigned my case to a useless public defender who didn’t give me the time of day or offer any kind of defense. So, here I am.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am. I’m on the five-year plan, and time keeps getting added whenever I get in trouble.”

Dr. Sadler helped Tawny lie back on the hospital bed and covered her with a sheet and a light blanket. “I can protect you for twenty-four hours before you’re taken to solitary.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Tawny had become a light sleeper since her incarceration, but here in the infirmary, she felt safe enough to fall into a restful sleep. No one could get in or out of the infirmary without the proper credentials. Exhausted from the fight in the yard and the constant need to stay alert for trouble, Tawny closed her eyes and slipped into a comforting dream about being home with her loved ones, especially the man who gave her the inner strength to carry out her mission. LA SWAT officer Marcus Finnigan. Their instant dislike of each other hid their powerful attraction until it couldn’t be denied any longer. It erupted into a fiery confrontation one night shortly after Tawny had been released from the hospital after an attempt on her life. Finnigan demanded an admission of her true feelings, or he would leave her alone and not look back. She chose him and never once regretted her decision.

A hand shook her shoulder. Finnigan’s smiling face and twinkling eyes filled with mischief disappeared, and Tawny groaned his name.

“Hey, wake up, Ginger,” a voice hissed in her ear.

“Yolanda. Haven’t you gotten us into enough trouble? We’re both spending a week in solitary because of you.”

“No one has ever given me a smackdown like that. We shed blood together. Now you’re my blood sister.”

“I don’t need your protection.”

“It ain’t about protection. It’s about family .”

“I’m not interested in joining a gang.”

“It’s not like that. The gangs in here…well, they’re vicious like rabid dogs. All I’m sayin’ is, I got your back, Ginger.”

Yolanda hobbled back to her bed. Tawny pondered what she said. It would be helpful to have someone on her side. Yolanda could be a source of useful information.

So far, Tawny had heard a few of the inmates grumbling about Judge Cohen holding arraignments over the weekend when they were less likely to be represented by a lawyer, a clear violation of their civil rights, and from her own experience, she believed it to be true. She’d been watching the news on TV in the common room of her unit in the institution when D. A. Mallory Hayes was arrested for the murder of her husband Bentley. Mallory had been on her way to CIFW when the transport van had been attacked. According to the news, she’d escaped unharmed with Detective Luca Martinelli’s help. Two of the other women in the van with her who survived the explosion never made it to CIFW. If she had to guess, Brielle McQuaid’s famous father, Cameron McAdams, probably had something to do with it. Tawny had learned bits and pieces of the bizarre story, and though most of it was muddled, one aspect remained clear. Judge Cohen had arraigned Mallory and five other women on a weekend and sent all of them to CIFW.

A trustee brought Tawny’s unappetizing dinner, and after swallowing as much as she could of it, she left her bed and found Yolanda. The twenty-something, dark-haired Mexican American woman glanced up at her in surprise. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I got your back, Yolanda.”

She offered a lopsided smile. “Blood sisters?”

“Yeah. Blood sisters.”

They spit into their palms and shook on it.

Early the next morning, Dr. Sadler examined Tawny and told her that a guard was waiting to escort her to the warden’s office.

“What does he want with me?”

“I don’t know. But want my advice? Play nice and watch your attitude.”

Tawny nodded, and Dr. Sadler let the guard into her cubicle. She climbed from the bed, and the guard handcuffed her.

“Is that necessary?” Dr. Sadler asked.

“Warden Stoltz’s orders.”

Tawny noted the concern in Dr. Sadler’s eyes and understood it. Being handcuffed left her in a vulnerable position, easy to become a victim of assault. But the guard had handcuffed her in the front, and she knew how to defend herself if necessary. She’d trained with Justice and Jiena for several weeks to prepare for eventualities like this.

She smiled at the doctor. “I’ll be okay, Doc.”

Outside the infirmary, the guard apologized. “I’m sorry, Tawny, but I have my orders.”

Like a computer, Tawny pulled information about Terrence Pomeroy from a file in her brain. Thirty-five years old. A former cop who’d quit the force after nearly being killed at a routine traffic stop. Married with three kids, a dog, and a modest home with a white picket fence. Good father and husband. Clean record. She wanted to trust him, but Jiena and Justice had drilled into her head that trusting anyone would be a fatal mistake.

“Not trusting Hutch almost cost you your twin Jadah,” Tawny had argued.

“And I regret it. But I had my freedom. You won’t.” End of discussion.

“No hard feelings, right, Terry, my man?”

She expected to be disciplined for her impertinence. A slap across the face or a punch to her broken ribs. Instead, he replied, “Don’t try that smart-aleck shit with anyone else, or you’ll pay for it.”

“And we both know how I’ll pay for it, don’t we, Terry?”

His face darkened with anger from the insult. Everyone knew which guards to avoid, the ones you never wanted to catch you alone, but Terrence Pomeroy wasn’t one of them. Tawny had witnessed his professionalism and acts of kindness to help some of the women, but now he shoved her forward with unnecessary roughness, which caused pain to radiate through her. She bit back the cry rising in her throat and blinked away the water filling her eyes.

“Shut your mouth, Westfall. Let’s go.”

She wanted to apologize, but in this place, contriteness equaled weakness. Remaining strong and unbreakable had to be her primary focus as she navigated the system every day.

The warden’s office was a good distance from the infirmary, almost to the other side of the campus in the administrative building. Tawny had memorized the blueprints of the prison. She knew every corridor, every cell, every unit, and every area. More importantly, she knew how to maneuver through the duct system to get to the laundry facilities, where an inmate had the best chance of escape by hiding in a large canvas laundry bag. The guards stopped this by thoroughly searching every bag before it left the facility, but Tawny had learned how to avoid detection.

The warden’s aide, whose position had been approved by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, sat at a small wooden desk outside Stoltz’s office. Tawny’s brain clicked with details. Wendy Corrigan. One hundred ten pounds. Twenty-two years old. Bachelor’s Degree in Criminal Justice. Enrolled in law school courses online. Working as an aide at CIFW to get real-life experience in the justice system and to pay for law school. Described as smart and savvy, though in Tawny’s opinion, too young and inexperienced to be in an environment like this. Smiling at Tawny, for instance, was a mistake. Maybe she thought the inmates needed to see that friendly, reassuring smile, but it made her vulnerable to deceit and trickery.

Wendy’s smile faded when Tawny shot her with a menacing look. “Warden Stoltz is expecting you, Tawny.”

Tawny noticed that the inmates were always addressed by their first names, the prison philosophy being to remind them of their identities and their humanity. It didn’t work when they were often treated without any regard for their humanity by certain guards.

She braced herself to meet Warden Stoltz. Since she’d gone undercover, two more women had vanished, and one died of an overdose. At least, that was the rumor. Tawny had wanted to question Dr. Sadler about it, but until yesterday, she’d been closemouthed. Or better yet, now that she and Yolanda were “blood sisters,” Tawny might be able to persuade her to confide in her.

Wendy opened the door, and Tawny and Pomeroy stepped across the threshold. The office was a comfortable size but sparsely furnished with an L-shaped desk, a laptop and printer, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and two hard chairs. An artificial plant in one corner softened the austerity of the space.

Warden Stoltz offered a charming smile. With his bald head, athletic build, and dark, beady eyes, he reminded Tawny somewhat of the old TV actor, Telly Savalas. He did not inspire trust, though that was his goal. Pomeroy shoved her into the nearest chair.

“Uncuff Tawny,” he ordered, still with a smile on his face, shining with oil from his pores.

“Warden, I don’t think?—”

“Uncuff her and give us some privacy.”

Pomeroy pursed his lips, clearly uncomfortable with the warden’s command. As he obeyed, he murmured to Tawny, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Straightening up, he turned toward the warden. “I’ll be right outside, Warden.”

The warden nodded. Pomeroy left and shut the door behind him. The soft click sounded as loud as a firecracker. When he and Tawny were alone, he dropped all pretense of charm.

“You’re a troublemaker, Tawny, and I don’t like troublemakers.”

Tawny sat rigidly and crossed her arms over her chest in a protective and defiant gesture. “Trouble finds me . I don’t invite it.”

Warden Stoltz effected a concerned yet puzzled expression. “It would appear so.” He paused, deliberately creating dramatic tension. His eyes flicked over her well-toned body beneath her dull gray jumpsuit with the word INMATE emblazoned in huge black block letters on the back. The initials CIFW were embroidered on the front.

“I don’t like troublemakers,” he repeated, “but I’ll make an exception in your case. I have big plans for you.”

Tawny didn’t blink or move a muscle. “Forget it, Warden. I’m not interested in being your?—”

His eyes blazed with sudden fury, and Tawny believed he might strike her when he clenched his hand. “Do not insult me, or I might change my mind.”

She relaxed a little. This could be the break she needed to figure out what was happening here. “So, talk. What kind of plans?”

“You’re going into solitary for a week for fighting. After you get out, you’ll be enrolled in fire school.”

Tawny frowned. Fire school? Before Warden Stoltz took over the position, CIFW had a thirty percent success rate of inmates graduating from the program, earning early release, and becoming full-fledged firefighters with Cal Fire. Since she’d been incarcerated, she hadn’t heard of a single woman who’d made it all the way out.

“Make a spot for Yolanda, and it’s a deal.”

Warden Stoltz scowled. “You’re in no position to bargain with me or strike deals.”

“Well, then, you can take your big plans for me and shove them up your ass.”

Heat flared in his eyes and face again. He didn’t like her insubordination, but Tawny sensed she was integral to his “big plans.”

“All right,” Warden Stoltz conceded. “If you and Yolanda avoid any further trouble after you are released from solitary, I’ll send both of you to fire school. In the meantime, you can keep tutoring the women who need to pass their GEDs.”

“Shall we shake on it?” she asked caustically, spitting into her hand.

The sour expression on his face suggested he would rather suck on a lemon than touch her. She laughed. “I guess that’s a no .”

“Officer Pomeroy!” the warden called.

Tawny knew better than to leave the chair and waited for Pomeroy to burst through the door. She held out her hands, and he snapped the handcuffs around her wrists. He helped her stand on her feet and led her toward the door.

“Take her to solitary,” Warden Stoltz commanded with a wave of his hand.

Tawny’s mind ran rampant on the way to solitary. She hated it. No shower for a week. Only an hour of exercise a day in a yard hardly larger than a dog run, and times were staggered so no one could socialize. Meals were cold by the time they were delivered. Her biggest concern was developing an infection. And the rats. She heard them scratching in the walls, and once, she felt one scurry across her feet as she lay on the hard metal cot with a thin mattress and a threadbare blanket. Tawny wasn’t squeamish, but rats terrified her. She imagined herself in Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum” or Orwell’s Room 101 in 1984 .

When the iron door slammed shut behind her and the bolt slid into place, despair and helplessness threatened to take her down a dark path. She fought against it by focusing on Finnigan. She conjured the grin on his gorgeous face when he learned she’d be attending fire school. His father, Marcus Finnigan, Sr., had been a well-respected firefighter and died in the line of duty. Finnigan hated being asked why he hadn’t followed in his father’s footsteps. Wasn’t being a member of SWAT far more dangerous? His answer was typical of Finnigan. He told them to fuck off; it wasn’t any of their damn business. She let out a small laugh at the memory and whispered his name.

“Tawny, is that you?” Yolanda’s voice sounded faint and far away.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay? Did that SOB make you do him?”

“Nah. If he had, we’d both be dead. I would have killed him, then they would have killed me.” Tawny paused. “What about you? You ever get forced to do somebody?”

“Yep. More than once.”

Tawny’s stomach tightened with anger. “Did you report it?”

“Sure did. Others, too. The old warden cared about us. He protected us. Those goats who used us got fired. He made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate that sort of thing, even between inmates. But this new warden, he don’t give a shit about us and turns a blind eye.” Silence for a moment, then, “What did he want with you?”

“He said he had ‘big plans’ for me.”

“That don’t sound good.”

“I’ll tell you about it after we get out of solitary.”

“Okay. Let’s keep talking before I go batshit crazy.”

They traded stories, most of which Tawny created on the spot. When she wasn’t exchanging punches with anyone, Yolanda showed her vulnerability. She’d grown up poor and left home at sixteen. Life on the streets hardened her—turned her into a fighter. She’d learned to live by her wits, stealing and running cons until she’d been caught. The previous warden took an interest in her and ensured she earned her high school diploma. Yolanda owed him.

“When he announced his retirement, we were stunned. He was only in his forties, you know?”

That piece of information about the former warden bothered Jiena and her team running the op, too. They investigated his sudden departure but didn’t discover anything unusual, like huge, unexplained deposits in his bank account. Though they harbored suspicion, the team eventually conceded that the man just wanted to retire. Certain jobs made people old before their time, and being the warden of a prison was one of them.

“Maybe he just wanted to retire. Get away from all the shit,” Tawny suggested.

“Maybe. But he was a man on a mission, and men like him don’t quit.”