OFF LIMITS: Chapter Three
Emma pushed through the station house main doors and
slowly headed to her desk, still mulling over Halloran's last words to her: I
can't seem to care...
It wasn't so much what he'd said, though that was
disturbing enough, but how he'd said it that bothered her. Not angry or loud
with puffed-up bravado. Not defensive, or even a careless, unemotional
brush-off.
No, he'd sounded painfully weary, almost...resigned? Emma
couldn't put a finger on the exact shade of emotion in his voice, but she
couldn't stop thinking about it, either, or shake off this sense of unease and
worry.
Dammit, she wanted to put as much distance as possible
between herself and that man, not feel sorry for him. And the sooner she
prevented any softer emotions from undercutting her instincts for
self-preservation, the better.
Giving free rein to emotions led to nothing but grief.
She'd seen it, over and over, in her parents' deteriorating relationship, in the
selfish, nihilistic attitudes of the losers she dealt with on a daily basis,
month after month, year after year-even in her own late, unlamented, and
pathetically naive quest to see justice served, no matter what the personal
cost.
And in the end, it had cost her plenty.
As she approached her workstation, Emma took a deep breath
and strode briskly past the other occupied desks. That way, she wouldn't have to
acknowledge the speculative looks, suspicion, judgment, or even flashes of pity.
She'd been working hard and keeping to herself for over a week, and yet wisps of
silent disapproval still trailed after her wherever she went.
On the positive side, it wasn't as bad as in L.A., where a
lot of people had been downright hostile. She'd accepted that the fallout from
the scandal would inevitably follow her no matter where she moved, but going
home to the city where she'd grown up had appealed to her need for comfort and
familiarity, her itch to wipe the slate clean and start over. With luck, a
little time, and distance, she'd soon ease back into her old routines and get
back to what she did best: locking up the bad guys.
Closing the Mitsumi case was exactly what the doctor
ordered. If nothing else, focusing on that would keep her from obsessing too
much about what people where whispering about her.
She sat at her desk, crowded with hand-me-down case
reports, thick procedural manuals, her computer, phone, coffee cup, another
half-empty pack of Dentyne gum, and a small vase of limp flowers with its
"Welcome!" card still attached.
After opening Delgado's report, she tried rereading the
notes and examining crime scene photos, but she couldn't concentrate. She was
too distracted by a prickling awareness of being watched, even as she wondered
if maybe, out of knee-jerk habit, she was seeing hostility and distrust where
none existed.
"Frey. You're back already. How'd it go?"
Emma turned to see Strong, coffee cup in hand, perched on
Halloran's desk. Despite his polite smile, she sensed he didn't much like her,
but she respected him, if for nothing else than after twenty-five years of
working his way up through the ranks, he ran an efficient department. He struck
her as a pragmatic, reasonably fair man. In his early fifties, he was trim,
attractive, and still married to his wife of thirty years.
For a cop, that was damn near miraculous.
"It went well."
Judging by the look on his face, he'd expected a different
answer. "No trouble?"
She was tempted to ask a few blunt questions about her
"partner." Instead, she avoided his gaze--and the actual implication
in his question.
"We still haven't located the victim, but she
contacted her employer this morning to ask for time off, so she's around. I've
left messages for her to call me. Whoever trashed her place was after something
in particular, and I'm hoping she has the good sense to come to us before they
find her again."
Strong nodded. "That's what Delgado thought, too. By
the way, where's Halloran?"
"He said he had a few appointments and would check in
later." She hesitated, curiosity still warring with caution, then casually
asked, "Does he have a drinking problem?"
"No more than anybody else in this department."
Strong didn't appear concerned, or surprised, by the question. "As far as I
know, anyway."
"It's just that I wasn't sure." Even to her own
ears, she sounded overly defensive.
"Hey, it's okay. He was looking a little rough this
morning, and I don't blame you for wondering. But you say you two hit it off,
then?"
This time, Emma met his gaze. "Did you think we
wouldn't?"
"I wasn't sure how you'd mix. He can be bullheaded,
and you've got this sharp edge..."
He trailed off in a leading way, and Emma realized he'd
handed her the perfect moment to request Halloran's removal from the case.
Do it; get it over and done with, quick and easy...
Emma hesitated, then said evenly, "Thanks for your
concern, but we did fine."
Strong quirked a brow, and after a moment, he nodded.
"Stay on top of this one. I don't like the sound of it. Keep me
updated--and find that woman."
As Strong walked away, Emma slumped back in her chair,
already doubting her impulse to keep quiet.
And where had that come from, anyway? She sure hadn't held
back to protect Halloran. No, it had been about pride, stubbornness--or, most
likely, a reluctance to stir up even a speck of trouble so soon after her
arrival. With any luck, none of this would come back later to bite her on the
ass.
Luck? As if she'd had any of that lately.
A wave of good ol' self-pity washed over her, tempting her
to jump right in and wallow, if only for a teeny bit. What had she done to
deserve this long streak of bad luck? She paid her taxes on time--and didn't
even cheat--and sent cards out promptly for holidays and birthdays, flossed her
teeth daily, always wore clean underwear, defrosted her freezer, changed her oil
regularly, didn't kick puppies or pinch babies -
"Hey, girl. What's the matter? You look like you just
lost your best friend."
Emma jumped, startled, but when she saw who stood next to
her desk, she relaxed again and smiled.
Alycia Chatman was one of several detectives who'd made
her feel welcome from the start. She was a small, slender black woman with broad
shoulders, a lot of hair in tiny braids, thickly-lashed dark eyes, and a
generous mouth that smiled a lot. She was also happily married to a patrol cop
in the Fifth District, and had two teenage kids.
"I was just thinking that my life sucks right
now," Emma admitted sheepishly. "Bad me. I know."
Alycia quirked a brow. "It didn't go well, huh?"
Figuring a number of nearby ears were tuning in, despite
appearances to the contrary, Emma lowered her voice. "He's crazy. And way
too pretty."
"That sounds like Bobby, all right." Then, her
amusement fading, Alycia leaned closer. "Got a minute? There's something I
need to talk to you about."
On a renewed sense of dread, Emma sighed. "I'm going
to hate this, aren't I?"
"Most definitely. Which is why we're going outside. I
need a cigarette break anyway."
Emma followed Alycia outside, where the earlier sunny
weather had given way to a gray, bleak sky, and she buttoned her blazer at the
first touch of cool air.
The North Rampart building was relatively new, so the
"no smoking" rule was enforced with some diligence. A number of cops
loitered outside in the brisk January breeze smoking, but Alycia walked past
them. Finally, a few blocks away, she stopped and leaned against a street lamp,
backed by a long line of cars parked curbside. She fished a pack of cigarettes
from her jacket pocket, tapped one out, and lit it.
Emma watched the ritual with mild fascination. "I
feel this overwhelming urge to point out that smoking will kill you."
"Yeah, but not before this bleeding ulcer in my gut
gets me first. Or high blood pressure blows out the old ticker."
"Gee, I love being a cop. We're such an upbeat
bunch."
"Ain't that the truth." Grinning, Alycia blew
out a stream of smoke. "So let's talk about Bobby."
Not about to make the first move, Emma only raised a brow,
waiting.
"Okay. I'll go first." Alycia's grin widened.
"I'll be honest here. Blond, blue-eyed Southern boys don't generally trip
my trigger, but I have to say he is one fine-looking man."
"No arguments from me."
"And he don't go too long between girlfriends,
either." Alycia took another long drag. "Though they don't seem to
stick around for long."
Ah, gossip: the most treasured pastime of every police
department, large or small.
Although hugely curious, Emma did her best to act
nonchalant. "His love life really isn't any of my business."
"It is when there's a betting pool based on how long
it'll take him to get in your pants."
At first, she didn't think she'd heard right. But there
was no mistaking the faintly disgusted expression on Alycia's face. After a
brief spurt of anger, the sheer absurdity of it hit her, and Emma burst out
laughing.
Alycia flicked away her cigarette ash. "Okay, that
wasn't exactly the reaction I was expecting."
"Oh, I'm pissed, all right, but please. Are
they crazy? It's not as if a man like that is ever going to give me a second
look."
"You're an attractive woman, Emma, so don't you go
disrespecting yourself, or -"
"I'm not, but let's be real here. Halloran strikes me
as a guy with a definite 'type,' and I'm not it."
Alycia fell silent, for so long that Emma started
fiddling, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her blazer, suddenly aware she
had nothing to do to keep her hands busy.
"Let me tell you something about Bobby." After a
final drag, Alycia stubbed out the butt and tossed it aside. "Despite what
you might hear, he's a good cop, and a good guy. He's always been decent to me,
so I have no issues with him. He just naturally gets along with women, and that
bothers some people. I've been around him long enough to know he's the kind of
man who wears his heart on his sleeve. When he's happy, you know it. When he's
messed up, he tries to hide it, but you know it anyway."
This wasn't anything Emma hadn't already figured out for
herself. "I'm not sure I'm getting your point."
"My point is, you could do worse than having him
covering your back. Don't let a few ignorant assholes make up your mind for you.
It's not Bobby's fault some of the guys resent how women are always checking him
out, or think he dresses like he's queer, and so they tell stories about him to
make themselves look better."
"When we were over at the projects this morning,
Halloran kicked in a door and threw a man into a wall. Just because he felt like
it, as far as I can tell. I'm thinking he and I are going to have a few...trust
issues."
"That's Bobby. He pushes it hard to the limit
sometimes, I know." Alycia nodded, her expression growing thoughtful.
"But you might want to give him the benefit of the doubt."
"Why? Just because he's a cop?"
Alycia sighed. "I don't need to tell you police work
can be a dirty, nasty business. We deal with shit most people can't even begin
to understand, and I'm not saying wearing a badge gives us the right to do
anything we want. I sure don't have to tell you that a few cops sometimes go too
far and make the rest of us look bad."
No; that was one subject Emma understood loud and clear.
"But we're only human. We have bad days. We get sick
and still go to work. Our boyfriends cheat on us, and we still stop a guy from
smacking his girlfriend around. Our kids drive us nuts, the dog next door keeps
us up all night...and we still gotta deal with some pissant creep who just beat
on a baby." Alycia's voice stayed calm, and even. "Can you honestly
tell me you've never said something you shouldn't have to an asshole you're
arresting, or gotten a little too rough because, just for a second or two, you
got so much disgust in you that you can't keep it back?"
"No, I can't," Emma admitted. "I understand
what you're saying."
"Good. It helps to remember none of us are
perfect."
Emma rubbed at her forehead, trying to ease the steadily
rising tension. "Can I ask one more question?"
"Sure."
"Will Halloran hold back on me?"
"As much as he can get away with."
"Meaning?"
The other woman arched a thinly plucked brow.
"Meaning when he's in a mood, he tends to run with scissors and not play
nice with others."
"Wonderful." Emma tipped her head back, staring
up at the sunless sky, then blew out a breath, cheeks puffing. "Is he
dangerous?"
"Usually only to himself. A few years back, he got
shot."
A chill prickled just under her skin, raising goose bumps.
"I'm not sure I want to ask this, but how?"
"He got caught up in a private vendetta, and by the
time he figured out what was going on, it was too late to do more than ride it
out. It caused him a lot of trouble at the time, and he was suspended for six
weeks for failing to follow proper procedure."
"He seems to have that problem."
"Yeah, but not always." Alycia shifted.
"And in case nobody's told you yet, the guy that shot him was Jacob
Mitsumi."
"Uh-oh." In an instant, her already worrisome
case took on a deeper, darker significance. "My mysteriously missing
victim's brother."
"Uh-huh. I thought you ought to know." Alycia
pushed away from the lamppost. "You ready to go back in?"
"My blood pressure's getting a pretty good workout
today, but I think it's mostly back to normal."
As the two of them strolled back toward the building,
Alycia said, "I sure don't envy you having to deal with all this shit, but
if you ever need to talk about it, you're welcome to come to me. Sometimes it
helps to talk."
A sharp, icy breeze cut through Emma's wool blazer and
cotton shirt, and she shivered. "I still can't believe somebody would be
stupid enough to bet money on Halloran noticing the color of my eyes, much less
getting me in bed."
"Are you gonna talk to Strong about it?"
"And tell him what, that a few of the guys are being
mean to me?" Emma gave a rueful laugh. "I don't think so."
"That's exactly what those morons are counting on.
You know that, right?"
Emma nodded. "But thanks for the support, and the
heads-up. I really appreciate it, Alycia."
"In a lot of ways, it's still a man's world out
there, and believe me, being black and a woman, I know how hard it can be. We
have to work long hours, deal with all the bullshit that comes our way, and
still go home and be wives and mothers, housekeepers and chauffeurs."
Catching the commiserating look Emma sent her way, Alycia
smiled. "It's not right that we have to work harder and prove ourselves
more, and maybe someday things will change, but for now it's how we earn
respect. So I get why you don't want to say anything, but remember it's not
everybody giving you a hard time, okay? My best advice is to ignore it.
Eventually, these guys will get bored and find somebody else to pick on."
All good points; theoretically, she had every right to
register a complaint. Ten years ago, or even five years ago--when she'd been
younger, more idealistic, and less patient--she would have complained. Now she
chose her battles. Maybe she'd grown more cynical and pragmatic over time. Or
maybe she'd finally wised up enough to realize not every fight was won by
charging headfirst into the opposition, full of all the sound and fury of
righteous indignation.
Some fights weren't worth the hassle in the long run,
either. Reputations were hard to live down--as she'd painfully learned--and
difficulties with coworkers and frequent transfers looked bad on a personnel
jacket. Promotions often depended on staying on the good side of the desk cop
who happened to be your supervisor, and since she believed success was the best
revenge, she intended to achieve exactly that.
And besides, a few guys acting like Neanderthals were
nothing compared to what she'd endured before hightailing it out of L.A.
"You're awful quiet," Alycia said as they
approached the main doors. "Are you thinking, or getting mad?"
"Not as mad as I probably should be," she
admitted. "I think I'm all angered out for the day--it's actually kind of
funny, if you think about it."
Seeing Alycia's narrow-eyed skepticism, Emma couldn't help
smiling. "Really. I mean, in just one morning, I've been handed a case with
no suspects or motive, and a victim who doesn't want to be found; the guy I'm
working with is all testosterone and trouble; I'm stuck with this hazing nobody
will ever admit to; and now I'm the star attraction in a betting pool on when
I'll get screwed by my so-called partner. Literally. But you know what? I don't
care."
And, boy, didn't that sound oddly familiar?
"Good girl." Alycia briskly patted Emma on her
back. "Never let the bastards get you down."
Flushed with a renewed determination, Emma swung the door
open with more force than necessary, but it felt good anyway. "What's done
is done. I'll deal with what I can't avoid, and blow off the rest. I'm going to
clear my case and show these pricks exactly what I can do. I'm going to be a
good little cop and do my job with a big, sharp smile."
Alicia let loose with a rich, full-throated chuckle.
"Now you're talking. Go get 'em, tiger."