Her Only Hero

Chapter One

Police and Forensic Complex, Cedar Key, Ohio

When I offered to work overtime, my lab colleagues were more than willing to leave early on a Friday afternoon, and with no plans, and no life, I was more than willing to stay. I stood by the humming centrifuge, waiting for DNA samples to spin down. I slipped off a shoe and wriggled my toes. My mind wandered back to two years ago today, this last day of August.

I reached into my lab coat pocket and removed a folded, time-worn note and reread it for the umpteenth time. Emotions squeezed inside my chest, but no tears came. Beautiful promises had been reduced to just words. I ripped the sheet into two, four, eight pieces and let the bits flutter into the trash can like radioactive fallout.

The cavernous lab had become my safe place, work my focus. Unlike relationships, the lab was organized, controlled, and predictable. Though as of late, I wondered what it would be like to venture out to crime scenes and collect evidence myself.The centrifuge shut off with a click. One at a time, I removed test tubes and put them in a rack.

The main door swung open.

Officer Patrick Verbeek.

In his black uniform, he walked with smooth, deliberate strides and impeccable posture. Secretly, I found his presence, and the way he moved, highly attractive, though he had many other positive qualities as well. He held up a green plastic bottle of my favorite aloe beverage.

His ever-assessing gaze held me—an expression that had intimidated me when we first made our acquaintances well over two years ago. But now I knew a witty personality lurked beneath a stern exterior. Still, a “smart” crook wouldn’t dare lie to him.

I hobbled toward him as I slid my shoe back on and took a couple of bills from a drawer.

“Hey, Officer. You’re working late too?” I handed him the money for the bottle. “Thank you for this. I needed a boost.”

He glanced at his palm and then back at me. “Why won’t you allow me to buy you a drink?” he said softly. “It’s just aloe juice, not a cocktail.”

He was right. I hadn’t let him treat me to anything—not a donut, not a coffee, and certainly not a date—though he had tried, often. His dark brows furrowed over his sapphire eyes.

“Here,” he said and leaned close to me. Only my diaphragm moved as I inhaled a fresh scent of lime. He touched my hip as he slipped the money into my lab-coat pocket. I took a step back.

“Please, let me do this,” he said.

I stood transfixed, still feeling the tingle of his touch.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I hesitated before shaking my head. I didn’t add that the tough part was resisting his manliness. Was that a word? My pulse quickened, and my body became a radiator. Damned primitive biological response.

He looked around and leaned against the counter. “Did everyone bail on you again?” The corner of his mouth turned up—mischievous and mocking.

“I wouldn’t say that.” My voice sounded hoarse, and I cleared my throat. “Overtime is optional. I chose to stay.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and the cuffs of his short-sleeved shirt tightened around his biceps. My insides continued warming. I’d been single and alone for some time, and every subtle nuance of Patrick’s physique affected me, despite my efforts not to react.

“Don’t you have a radio? It’s too quiet in here.”

“Yes, there is a radio, and no, it’s not too quiet. I prefer the silence.” I put my drink on the counter. “So, Officer, are you working on any new exciting cases?”

“Just traffic detail today, if you want to call that exciting.”

“Haha. Definitely not.”

He pushed away from the bench top. “If you’re almost finished, I can give you a lift home.”

“Thanks, but no. I have a bus pass.”

“Your car finally gave up the ghost?”

I half-smiled and put some paperwork aside. For safety reasons, Patrick had tried to talk me into getting a four-by-four. “My hatchback is great. I’m just giving the old girl a rest.”

“So, seriously, how about a ride?”

Solemnly, I pressed my lips together.

He lowered his head and sighed. “All right, June Harber. I get the hint. I’m usually not this thick, but I finally get the message.”

“I’m sorry.” I wanted to explain, but there was no point. It would sound lame and trite if I told him I’d been hurt too deeply to trust again. I had to stand by my decision to not let a man touch me again, physically or emotionally.

“I guess I’ll see you around.” He gave me a last glance before leaving. I returned to the rack of samples and heard the door close. This was for the best. I knew I was messed up letting a guy like that walk out without giving him a chance. But I had to keep the pieces of my heart together. The glue hadn’t set yet, and I didn’t know if it ever would.

I put the specimens in the fridge for the next workday, hung my lab coat on a wall hook, and washed my hands. I unclipped my ID badge from my collar and slipped it into the back pocket of my scrubs. With my purse and drink in hand, I headed out, ensuring the steel door locked behind me. The occasional squeak of my rubber-soled shoes was the only sound as I walked down the deserted hallway to the exit.

Without a sweater, the drop in temperature gave me a shiver. Fall seemed to be coming in with a vengeance. I stepped onto the sidewalk as my bus sped by. I waved and ran after it but only succeeded in being doused with gritty exhaust.

“You’re early,” I muttered in frustration. In the evenings, buses only ran once every hour. I dug into my purse for my cell phone to call a taxi, but the darn thing wouldn’t power on.

What next?

I turned to go back to the bus stop, and in the parking lot I noticed Patrick leaning against a squad car, looking in my direction. He didn’t wave or gesture for me to come over—I had made my resistive stance perfectly clear. He stood immobile with his arms crossed over his chest.

An empty stomach hindered my better judgement. I walked toward him, and his expression lightened. He opened the passenger door. He didn’t gloat or smirk, he just said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said and got in. I’d never sat in a police car before and had to admit it was kind of cool. The dashboard glowed like an amusement park at night.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said, even though my stomach threatened to rumble.

“All right then.” He turned on the ignition, shifted into gear, and drove out of the lot.

“You didn’t ask me where I live,” I said.

He glanced at me as he changed lanes. “No, I didn’t. Where do you live? The west end?” he asked, pretending he didn’t already know.

I giggled. “Good guess, Officer.” I clutched the handles of my purse. I enjoyed Patrick’s company and casual banter, so why was I nervous?

A woman’s voice from dispatch squawked on the loudspeaker. “Attention sectors 45-43, 45-42. Possible disturbance at 109 Landry Road. May be an animal.”

Patrick glimpsed at his watch. “I’m off duty in a few minutes, but Landry Road is only a couple of blocks away. Would you mind if we swung by?”

“Sure.” I think I managed to keep a calm, casual demeanor, but my insides felt like they were dislodged by a roller coaster.

Patrick responded via speakerphone. “Affirmative, 45-43 en route.” He turned on the flashing red and blue lights, and the engine roared with acceleration.

My heart thumped harder, and I tightened my seat belt. It surprised me how he hadn’t pulled over to drop me off at a roadside. “Are you sure I’m allowed to tag along?”

“You are a civilian member of the police force. It shouldn’t be an issue.” He made a right and then a quick left and stopped in front of a one-story home. Along the right side of the property, a hedge lined an alleyway. Patrick parked and stared at the house.

“Stay in the car, June.” I recognized the same authoritative cop tone from the infamous night we first met. Before I had worked at the forensic unit, he had responded to a call at my house. At the time, he hadn’t been very nice. All the more reason it amazed me how we were here together today.

“Yes, Officer sir,” I said and noticed the corner of his mouth turn up before he shut the door. He scaled the wooden porch steps and knocked. No one answered. He looked in the front window and then walked to the side of the house, disappearing from view.

I tapped my fingertips on my thigh as I watched the house. No lights were on. About twenty feet away, a square blue dumpster sat near the alley entrance. Empty plastic bottles and other trash littered the ground. And then I noticed something distinctively out of place. Something brown and white, or was it red and white? The sun was setting. Was I seeing what I thought I was seeing?

Patrick still hadn’t emerged from around the house. I opened the car door, stepped out, and looked around. Everything seemed okay. An occasional car drove by, and a dog barked in the distance. Whatever disturbance had happened was probably over. Not sensing any imminent danger, I approached the dumpster. The object in question became clear, and I stared at it in disbelief. It looked like a wad of paper towels soaked with blood. I’d analyzed specimens such as this, but I’d never found or collected them, until perhaps now. Of course, my speculation could have no significance at all, and this could end up being acrylic paint from a sloppy painter.

A racoon darted out in front of me. I jumped and let out a scream as it scampered into the hedge. When assured it was gone, I bent down to pick up a corner of the towel.

Like a battering ram, something, or someone, propelled me forward. My knees landed hard on the concrete, and my head thudded against the metal dumpster. Spears of pain shot through my skull, and my knees and palms burned. Dazed, I caught a glimpse of a guy running down the alley before disappearing into overgrown shrubbery.

“June!” Patrick bolted from the side of the house. “Fuck! Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” I tried to steady my voice, but it quivered. “He ran that way, into the brush. Go!”

Patrick raced down the alley with sprinter’s strides before hurdling the hedge and disappearing from sight.

I touched a tender spot on my forehead. Blood beaded on my scraped palms, and both knees of my pants were ripped. I stood on shaky legs, adjusted my clothes, and looked around. The potential evidence I found was gone. The guy who shoved me had to have snatched it.

Patrick emerged from the alleyway and jogged over. “He’s gone. Did you get a look at him?”

“Yes,” I said.

“How tall would you say he was?”

I pictured him running away, but on my knees, it was hard to judge. “Medium height, I think.”

“And his build?”

“Thin, no wait. He seemed muscular, maybe.” I cringed at how little I remembered. I tried to line up my thoughts. “He wore a long-sleeved black hoodie, though the hood slipped off when he turned to look back.”

“You saw his face?”

“Yes, but he was too far. He had a buzz cut though, blond hair, or maybe it was brown. Oh my God, why can’t I remember?”

“It’s ok. Come on.” He cupped my elbow and guided me to the cruiser. I angled away from his touch.

“That guy,” I said, trying to focus. “I think he stole evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“On the ground, I saw what looked to be a blood-soaked paper towel. He must have knocked me over to grab it.”

He cursed under his breath. “I shouldn’t have answered this call. Please, get in the car.”

“What’s going on?” I said and slid in.

“There’s a dead man inside.”

My body trembled.

Patrick bent down to look at me. “I’m calling this in, and as soon as back-up arrives, I’m taking you to St. Eugene’s Hospital.”

“No,” I said. Troubled memories of when I had worked at that hospital flooded in.

He got in the cruiser. “You could be concussed, June. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Please, don’t make me go back there.” I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath to stave off the irrational racing of my heart and mind.