Chapter 4
Follow your ‘fuck yes’ not your fears.
—Quincy to a colleague
QUINCY
4 hours earlier
“Please, please, please?” my brother, Quaid, begged.
Istared at him long and hard, hoping that without words, he’d get the hint.
Buthe didn’t.
Hekept begging like the little bitch he was.
“I’ll help you build that deck,” Quaid offered.
Inearly rolled my eyes but caught myself in time.
Isighed. “You would’ve helped me build that deck anyway.”
“True.” Quaid frowned. “What’ll it take?”
A miracle.
Ithought about it for a long moment, wondering what, exactly would be enough for the task he had for me, then grinned. “You take my shift for me next week.”
I’dalready been begging all of them to take it. I needed more than just a single day off. In fact, this could work out perfectly…
“But that’s my only day off,” he whined.
ButI was already shaking my head. “You know my price.”
Hesighed. “Fuckin’ fine.”
Grinning, we shook hands, and I walked out, only to be stopped with the reason for the day off.
“Hey!” the new rookie chirped, looking so goddamn chipper and gung-ho that I wanted to rip the smile off his face.
Didn’the know today was going to fucking suck?
“It’s so weirdly quiet today,” the rookie said. “Is that normal?”
Thelieutenant at the desk we were passing next to groaned, slamming his pen down onto the desk and glaring at the rookie.
“What?” the rookie asked, sounding blissfully ignorant.
“What?” the lieutenant crowed. “You just said the Q word. You never say that word out loud.”
Thatwas true.
Youdidn’t.
Itjust wasn’t done.
Copswere a superstitious lot.
Especiallywhen it came to someone saying ‘quiet.’
Itwas never ‘quiet’ at a police station.
Infact, it was always everything but ‘quiet.’
Therewere some days that were calmer than others—like today had been—but it was never just quiet.
“What are you…” the rookie asked, but the mic at my shoulder sounded, signaling not one, not two, but six calls all coming in at once.
Igroaned and walked toward my assigned cruiser.
Notall cops had their own cruisers.
Ina department the size of DPD, it was nearly impossible for us to have as many cruisers as would be necessary to equip all of them, but like my brothers, we were special. All of us had our own personal cruisers.
Hell, I practically lived at the damn police station—hence the need for two days off in a row.
“Let’s go,” I grumbled to the rookie.
Therookie fell into step beside me and took the passenger seat with nary a word.
Wewere driving out of the lot seconds later.
“I would’ve gone…” the rookie said, trying to explain why his way would’ve been faster.
Iignored him and the construction that caused me to go this way in the first place, and kept driving the way I knew was necessary.
“Oh, look at that. They have that road closed down.” The rookie snorted. “This would’ve been the faster way.”
Itook a left onto the feeder road and prayed for patience.
Ahorn honked when I picked up speed and merged over before there was a clear opening. The woman I cut off changed lanes, then passed me with her middle finger up high in the air.
Iignored it.
Ideserved it, too.
“Can you pull people over for flipping you off?” the new recruit in the seat next to me asked.
Iglanced over at him, momentarily forgetting about the gorgeous brunette with the delicate middle finger, and said, “I don’t know. Can you?”
“Sure?” he guessed.
Ishook my head. “No. You can’t just pull them over because they’re flipping you off.”
“Unit one-nine-three,” the dispatcher came on the mic. “Eighty-six the previous call. Child was found.”
Ibreathed a sigh of relief.
Thatwas one thing I wouldn’t have to worry about today. I hated missing children cases.
“Well, I mean…” the rookie started, but I was already shaking my head.
“She’s allowed to flip me off. I did cut her off.”
I’dneeded to cut her off, or I would’ve hit the person in front of me when they slammed on their brakes for a fucking paper bag flying in the air.
Thewoman was definitely driving defensively, too.
Inher little ’99 brown ToyotaCorolla with ski racks, she had more dings and dents in it than a discarded soda can.
Italso looked vaguely familiar.
Sheswitched lanes, and that’s when I saw the large scrape down the side, indicating an accident that had happened only today.
The car from the hospital.
Afterissuing the Corolla a citation, and a few hours of desperately needed sleep, I’d picked up the new recruit, HansTador—what a name that was—and had started driving him around the city to get him integrated into the life of a beat cop. Now we were getting the one-finger salute from the same car.
Iwasn’t normally a beat cop, or a person who dealt with new recruits, but my brother, Quaid, was. He was the person in charge of the entire street division, and the man was stressed to the gills.
Therefore, I was doing him a favor.
Thefavor was going to kill me, though, because HansTador—Jesus, that name sucked—was driving me up the freakin’ wall with his endless questions and what if scenarios.
Thebrown Corolla turned off at the exit for the stadium, and I wondered if the two women in the car were heading to the comedy show that was taking place there.
Ittook me all of three seconds to forget about her, though, because the dispatcher came back onto the mic with another call. Jesus, I hated running the beat. That was why I was a detective. Detectives didn’t have to make all these bullshit calls, dealing with the public at large.
“Unit one-nine-three,” the dispatcher called over the mic. “We have a possible three-five-alpha at the Citgo on Second and Young.”
“Fuck,” I grumbled.
“Oh, that’s a robbery, isn’t it?” Hans asked excitedly.
Jesus, new kids.
Theyjust had no clue.
Sixhours later, we’d run four total calls, and I had paperwork out the ass to finish, and still two more hours in my shift.
“Wow, this is exciting,” Hans said.
Ilooked over at him as we pulled up to the front of a nicer apartment building.
Itwas a lot like mine. In fact, my own building was just seven blocks to the north of this one.
“This is a suicide call,” I said to Hans. “This is not exciting. This is terrible, and you need to control your words the moment we step out of this cruiser.”
Hansblinked. “But you’re not sure it’s a suicide. It could be a murder.”
Iwas already shaking my head. “The mother found her. She’s been home all day with her. Trust me when I say that is likely exactly what it is.”
Hans’slip curled. “Let’s go.”
Wegot out.
Arrivingat the door, I nodded at the other two cops who had arrived before us.
Ididn’t know their names, because I wasn’t in their department usually, but they looked familiar.
“What do we have?” I asked calmly.
Inside, though, I was a mess.
Ifthere was one single call I hated going on, it was suicide calls.
Ihated dealing with distraught people at the best of times, but dealing with family of the people who killed themselves was somehow even worse.
Theconfusion and the knowledge that something had happened to their loved ones, that they’d somehow missed? It was torture to see.
“Female, twenty-seven,” the cop closest to the door said. “Took a bottle of pills and locked herself in her room. Mom went in to check on her and found her dead.”
Inodded and walked in the door, finding the mom at the table with bloodshot eyes and a look of utter defeat on her face.
“Ma’am,” I said, “I’m detective QuincyCarter with DPD.”
Thewoman stood and offered me her hand. “DenitaJones. My daughter, Keda…”
Killedherself.
“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked.
Thoughthe signs for the suicide were there—suicide note, motive, etc.—I wouldn’t treat this like a suicide until I was one hundred percent sure.
Consequently, I listened to her tell me about Keda. She told me about the awful accident that she’d suffered from a year and a half ago. She told me about the struggles Keda had since then. Then she told me about the previous night when she had gone to a comedy show and I cursed the comedian who’d unwittingly played a part in the woman’s final straw.
Peoplejust didn’t know.
Theyhad no clue what other people were going through.
Yet, they still acted like assholes, and didn’t care about anyone but themselves.
Thiscomedian had just ruined someone’s life with just a few short, teasing words.
Whata waste.
“Thank you,” I nodded at the woman. “Let me take a look around?”
Itwas over an hour later that I was once again heading toward my car, talking to my own superior officer.
“Definitely a suicide,” I said. “She left a note. She had the history. No signs of forced entry. Mother is for sure on board with her daughter doing this. There’s history.”
“Okay,” BradleyCooper, my superior, said. “Thanks for running out there.”
Afterhanging up with him, I gestured at Hans. “Can you go get the cruiser and bring it closer?”
Earlierthere’d been too many firefighter, ambulances, and other police vehicles to park close by.
“Sure thing,” Hans said as he walked away, looking a whole lot less chipper about being here.
Suicideswere hard.
Andhe’d just witnessed firsthand why.
Acommotion at the police line had me looking that way.
Isaw her walk up—no, run—and hoped this wasn’t the one I was waiting for.
Thiswoman walking toward me? She was in a pair of thin as fuck black shorts—likely sleep shorts—a black tank top, and those rubber boots that people wore in the mud.
Andmy God, did she fill out the little clothing she was wearing.
Hips.
Ass.
Tits.
Thighs.
Therewasn’t a single thing about her thick body that I didn’t want to put my mouth on.
IfI could’ve dreamed up a perfect woman for me, it would’ve been her.
Garrett, my brother, shifted at my side.
He’dgotten there sometime after I had and had been outside doing crowd control. But when I’d come down, we’d had a small chat about the stuff going on upstairs, and I’d told him I was waiting for a woman to arrive that the mom asked me to talk to for her.
Andthere she was.
“Whoa,” my brother, Garrett, said. “She’s exactly your type.”
Evenmy brothers knew my type.
Darkhair. Curves.
Shehad it all.
“Please don’t be her,” I muttered under my breath.
Butmy luck wasn’t that great.
Ofcourse it would be her.
Sheall but ran up to me, her eyes huge in her face—eyes that were the color of TennesseeWhiskey—and frantically asked, “Are you OfficerCarter?”
Well, fuck.
“Yes,” I answered. “DetectiveCarter with the DallasPoliceDepartment.”
Shemoved into the light of the building, and I recognized her from earlier.
Thewoman with the Corolla.
I’dhad the same visceral reaction to her then, having seen and tried to convince her to move her car for all of three minutes. But she’d been holding down a two-year-old with two broken wrists, and I’d let her be.
Itwas either that, or get mad she wasn’t acknowledging me, and I’d been too damn tired for that. I’d been running on four hours of sleep, a hope, and a prayer.
Earliershe’d been in scrubs with her hair up, and partially blocked by the table she’d been holding that kid down on. She’d been wearing a thick vest that was supposed to help with the radiation, and a lethal scowl that let me know she didn’t want to deal with any of my shit.
Now, her hair was cascading down her back and looked like it’d been artfully styled instead of her just rolling out of bed like I knew she did.
Iwas going to fucking hell.
ThereI was, checking out this woman in her short shorts, tank top, and boots, and she was having the worst day of her life.
Butgoddamn, there was only so much a man could take.
Iwas going on a four-month dry spell, and obviously it was affecting my work now.
MaybeI needed to look up an old friend…
Theboots stomped, and I looked down at them.
Theywere encasing a thick leg, and it was jiggling with each tap of her boot.
Muckboots.
Whywas she wearing muck boots?
“Are you even listening to me?” she asked snidely.
Ilooked up at her face to see her staring—no, glaring—at me.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” I asked.
Becausehad she said something and I hadn’t listened, that would be par for the course tonight.
“No, she didn’t,” Garrett offered helpfully.
Angrygirl whipped her head in his direction. “And who are you?”
“I’mGarrettCarter, this one’s brother,” Garrett explained.
“Hmmph,” Angry girl said. “Can you tell me what’s going on here?”
That’swhen my stomach sank.
Halfan hour ago, Keda’s mother said that she needed to call Keda’s best friend, Hollis.
Butshe’d been too distraught to call.
Therefore, I’d been the one to call.
Andnow the woman was standing there, and I had to tell her that her friend had just taken her own life.
Fuck.