My apartment is in the northwest valley by an old high school that once had two acres of rolling grass where students sat and ate lunch. A few years ago, the grass was changed to the customary desert landscaping—rocks—and now high fences separate the school from the road. Passing through a metal detector is also required to enter the building. I never worked this district as a cop. In Phoenix, you don’t live where you work. You travel as far as possible. The last thing you want is to run into someone undesirable when off duty. Home should be your sanctuary. I, like most city officers, varied my route when leaving the department and heading home. You always check to be sure you aren’t followed. It’s the life of a cop and these lessons begin at the academy.
Gomez pulls into my apartment complex, which is kitty-corner from the school. He travels toward the back and I wonder if he helped return my car. The clock on the dash shows it’s been more than five hours since I took dick pics of Mr. Dandridge. We turn toward the back corner of the parking lot and I see my car in its spot. Sally is a 2008 white Nissan Sentra. I picked her up so I had an unassuming vehicle for surveillance. Or at least that’s what I told myself. She has more than one hundred and fifty thousand miles on her, a few small glitches in the upholstery, a dent on the back right fender, and an air conditioner that barely cools the car ten degrees less than the outside temperature. This means ninety plus degrees on a mild summer day. Bottom line: the price was right.
I bite my lip to hide a smile as I think of Gomez driving Sally in his full suit. He deserves the buckets of sweat that likely came with that ride. Though, unless he changed into another spectacular thug suit, I see little evidence of an adventure in my car. I open the door before we stop rolling. My driver growls, which is kind of comical in a big man-bear kind of way. At least the knock to my head didn’t ruin my sense of humor.
“Are you forgetting something?” he says before I can run off and enter the safety of my apartment where thugs and crime bosses don’t invade.
My magazine. I stand and wait as he walks around the Caddy and reaches into his pocket. I’m surprised when three items land in my palm—the magazine, my beat up iPhone, and a shiny new iPhone. What the hell?
“Moon wants you to have the phone so he’s able to contact you.”
“What the hell?” I say it out loud this time and get another pompous smirk as my answer.
Gomez closes my door and heads back around to the driver’s side as I stand looking down at my hand. Over the top of the car he stares in my direction and says, “Go to your apartment, Miss Kinlock. I won’t leave until you’re inside.”
“I don’t want calls from Moon,” I say in a voice that’s gone embarrassingly whiny.
He’s silent and his dark shades give nothing away. My headache moves to a medium throb as so many things roll through my brain—what and why being at the top. So, like the good little PI I always try to be, I walk away, cell phones and magazine in hand, and head to my first floor apartment. At the door, I realize I have no keys. I try the knob and it turns. I’m in too much turmoil to scream when another tall thug is standing inside. He tips his chin, and I should add his face displays a fine sheen of sweat. He hands me my keys and exits the front door. I stand to the side in stunned silence.
The fucking assholes have invaded my home.
I check everything. There’s not so much as a mail-order catalog out of place. It doesn’t matter; I feel victimized while more than one scenario runs through my head. Did he or they search my private papers? God, did they go through my underwear drawer? What about planting a hidden camera or listening device?
Assholes! And the biggest one being Moon himself.
After my apartment thug walks out, I immediately remove my gun, jam the magazine home, and load a round in the chamber. The gun remains in my hand as I check the apartment. Moon’s phone and my camera remain on the counter in my tiny kitchen. I slipped my phone into my back pocket at the beginning of my search.
Now I’m finished, though still angry. I walk to Moon’s phone, holster my gun to keep it close because I’m still unnerved, and start examining the iPhone. No contacts, no old text messages or voicemails—it’s clean. Hell, I can tell it’s brand new. I go through the apps to see if there’s anything on the phone that I need to worry about. Then I check for hidden apps and discover nothing. Last, I turn off the location feature.
Damn him. I don’t want a phone so he can contact me. I owe him nothing and don’t want him to call.
The phone in question buzzes in my hand and I jump. No, that wasn’t a small screech, I swear. I look down and see that it’s a text message.
Private number
Nothing in your home was
touched or examined. The
possibility of Dandridge
finding you was slim but
I felt it important to protect
your home until you arrived.
This phone will not track you
if you turn off the tracking
feature. I’m a very busy man
but I will take the time to
call you.
Lovely. Just what I need. And dammit I shouldn’t trust that Moon didn’t have my apartment searched or bugged. It kills me that I do. Stupid but true. My headache is reaching greater heights, so I down a few over-the-counter pain relievers. The ones Moon gave me helped a bit and I have no wooziness so I know they weren’t a narcotic. Possibly acetaminophen, better known as Tylenol. My choice is ibuprofen so I don’t risk acetaminophen overdose, not a pretty death. I release a long breath into the warm apartment air after swallowing the tablets and walk to the thermostat. I turn the air from ninety to eighty-four and gaze around my small living room.
It doubles as my office. I have a loveseat that I bought at a thrift store, a forty-two inch flat-screen bought on super clearance, and a $10 end table from a garage sale. They’re the only items that give the room an actual “living room” quality. A large desk with a cheap desk chair sit against the far wall and two, three-foot, locked filing cabinets stand to one side. While conducting my apartment search, I checked that the locks weren’t tampered with, but I didn’t check for the hidden keys. No cookie jar or coat pocket for me. For $5.99, I ordered a wall outlet safe that fits perfectly behind the wall plate. It looks like a wall electrical outlet and takes a specifically designed hexagon screwdriver key to open. The screwdriver is in my kitchen junk drawer along with several Philips and flat heads. I walk to the drawer, grab the hexagon, and snag my camera before I walk to the small wall safe. I push my emergency cash aside and grab the cabinet keys. I unlock the cabinet closest to my desk and pull out the file I need.
Penny Dandridge is written at the top. I sit down at my desk and open my laptop so I can d******d the pictures from my camera. They’re good and complete the job. I copy them to a thumb drive that I’ll give to Penny after I make an appointment with her. I should do that now, at least call her, but I need to lie down. I head to my loveseat and curl up, resting my head on a small throw pillow and close my eyes.
Sometime later a buzzing noise from my kitchen rouses me. I stand and the room tilts. It takes a moment for my equilibrium to return. My headache is thankfully gone. I touch the knot at the back of my head, which is still sore. I’ll live. I head to the kitchen counter and see that Moon texted me again, but this time his number isn’t blocked.
602-555-3142
You have a slight
concussion and need
to be woken throughout
the night. I’ll be checking
in every hour and expect
a return text or you’ll
have one of my men at
your door.
Oh yea? I should make him send one of those men. I refuse to think that this is compassionate or any kind of sweet. It’s control. I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do about it.
I decide to pick my battles. First, I program Moon’s number into contacts under the name aka Criminal.
Thank you for your
concern, unnecessary
but I’ll text back.
He doesn’t bother responding. I head to the bathroom, remove my clothes, and take a lukewarm shower using just the designated cold water. It’s a Phoenix summer thing. Cold water is lukewarm here, so why bother with the hot setting? After I’m washed and feeling better than I have since waking up in Moon’s compound, I head to my bedroom with my dirty clothes, gun, and phones. I pull on my favorite night shirt that I won in a radio contest a few years ago. It’s white with black lettering that says, “Rock-n-Roll Desert Nights,” and has the radio station logo below the words.
I place Moon’s phone, my phone, and my gun on the nightstand beside the bed and then push back the cotton comforter and climb between the sheets. Although it’s after eight at night, the sun continues shining outside. No problem. I’m asleep in minutes, my rackety ceiling fan creating the background noise I’ve grown accustomed to.
I groggily reply to Moon’s texts every hour throughout the night. I type only one word, Alive, and then instantly fall back to sleep.
It doesn’t matter that Moon woke me every hour; I’m a new person in the morning. All his texts but the last were on point and only asked if I was okay. The last one is making me grit my teeth, and this time it doesn’t hurt. aka Criminal Tonight, dinner. My reply is again short and to the point. No. aka Criminal I’ll pick you up at seven. My growl is louder than the one Gomez gave me. If Moon thinks I’ll be here at seven, he’s insane. Am I running away? Damn straight and that pisses me off even more. I don’t run away from trouble, I run toward it. But this trouble is of an entirely different nature. It’s colossal trouble with a capital T. I hit the shower again. This is what we do in the Valley of the Sun. We cool down in a shower at least twice a day and sometimes more. Hitting the pool counts too. Practically everyone has their own swimming pool or access to one. I plan to work out this afternoon after I’ve finished the business with Penny Dandridge, and I’ll shower again bef
Terry’s office door is closed, which offers another clue. “Spill it, lady,” I say to Brenda. “He’s in there with his attorney.” She points toward Terry’s door. I’m stunned. “Attorney at Law Terry the Fairy has an attorney?” Her grin widens at the use of Terry’s nickname. She has worked for Terry for more than ten years. I like her, even though she carries true affection for Terry. In my opinion, he doesn’t deserve her. This, however, does not mean she lacks a sense of humor. “Apparently, he took the wrong woman for a ride and she’s filed a lawsuit and made a complaint to the state bar.” I don’t like Terry, but I’ve never heard that he forces women. A lawsuit means she wants money. Now, I get the humor. Filing a lawsuit for something outrageous is something Terry would do. Today, he’s getting back some of his own medicine. “I’m dying to ask what he did, but I’m almost afraid.” She bites her lip before releasing it and replies, “I’m horrible for even smiling.” She laughs into her
“Exactly.” Terry steeples his fingers on the desk. “You know there’s a good chance this isn’t bullshit, Mak.” So many things whirl through my head. I do not like Craig Kennedy, never have. He has his own code as far as street ethics are concerned. I was warned early in my police career to stay clear of him. That was before he made my life a nightmare whenever he was around. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. No, I wouldn’t go out with him. No, I wouldn’t let him cop a feel, and no, I wouldn’t fuck him. I refused to date the cops I worked with is what I told him. And especially not married cops like Kennedy. Just no! When I finally threatened to go to a supervisor, he backed off and gave me the stare-down whenever he could. I’d just roll my eyes. I heard rumors from other officers that Kennedy walked a thinner blue line than the rest of us or that he often straddled it. Most of these rumors related to him getting aggressive during arrests. I stayed out of the gossip and away from Ken
I blast through my workout in record time and head back to my apartment for a quick shower. After washing my hair, lathering all my body parts, and drying myself, I take an hour to style my hair, apply makeup, and doll myself up for Fiddlers Bar and Grill. It’s located outside Sunnyslope’s Wendell district and outside the Cactus police district. It’s also where both groups of cops gather in plain clothes to unwind. I want to look my best and get a feel for what’s happening in the blue world. I park Sally in the side lot with five other vehicles and enter the dark and cool interior of the bar. After completely ignoring the sign on the door that reads: No Guns Permitted, I take a booth in the back corner. I guarantee everyone in here is carrying and not just the cops. I scout out the crowd and see only a few vaguely familiar faces. The majority of the police crowd will start drifting in shortly. I came a bit early so I could take the back booth and see who enters the bar. The cops I k
He’s certifiably crazy. Through gritted teeth, I warn, “I don’t like repeating myself and I won’t press charges if you leave. Now.” His smile disappears. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, pull your gun.” I close my eyes in frustration and then realize what I’ve done and open them again. My gun isn’t the problem; his damned guns aka ripped arms, are. No one involved in crime should have a body like Moon’s. His cologne drifts over me and I inhale deeply. Somehow he’s found that perfect match that accents his natural man-smell. Add in his blue eyes, which capture everything going on around him, and I’m having heart palpitations that have nothing to do with my apartment being broken into. I pull in another long breath to gain a small semblance of control. I’m unwilling to stand and point a damn gun at him now, and that pisses me off. He removes his cell from his pocket, backs a couple of feet away, and speaks to whoever’s on the other end. “Order for two from El Tiempo and pick
The chime of Moon’s phone stops him from answering my question. He places his glass on the small side table, twists up a bit, and takes his cell from his pocket. He checks the screen and like a teenage pro, sends a message. He looks up at me after sending it. “Alex is here with our food.” At the thought of El Tiempo, my stomach rumbles. Moon cocks an eyebrow. Hell even that’s sexy. I stand up when I hear a soft knock at my front door. “Sit. I’ll get it and bring everything over here,” he says as he heads to my door, like he owns it, and opens it for Gomez. Moon takes the food and I see Gomez peer at me over Moon’s shoulder. I can’t identify the exact look he gives me, and I tell myself that I don’t care. So what if Gomez is impressed with the way I handle myself. That and a dollar will buy me an ice-cold Slurpee. Moon closes the door with his elbow while holding the bag in one hand and a six-pack of Corona in the other. It reminds me that I was being observed inside the bar. It’s s
I stare at the dark television for ten minutes. This solves nothing. I check the sliding glass door that leads to my very small patio. It has a broken broomstick in the bottom rail so it can only slide open after removing it. The locking mechanism, which I check too, is a piece of crap. I head to the front door and lock it. I walk to my bedroom to go through my pre-sleep ritual. After a quick shower, I slip into one of my large shapeless tees. Brushing, flossing and moisturizer are next. I lie down in bed and turn off the lamp. When I close my eyes, I picture Moon—his reticent smile, his intense eyes, and his sexy as hell bod. My girl parts are ramped up and it’s all Moon’s fault. With a groan, I roll over and grab the purple wonder from the drawer beside my bed. I hit the switch and then lift and spread my knees. I place the vibration against my clit. The purple wonder twirls and vibrates, hitting the spot perfectly. I slide it through my folds and back to my clit while imagining Mo
Sweat drips down my brow and my tee is soaked. My brown BDUs are damp too. I need water, so I walk back to Sally for my water bottle. It was completely frozen when I left the apartment earlier. It’s lukewarm now. I take a healthy swallow. I search for Mama Kane for an hour, but I can’t find her. A homeless man I’m unfamiliar with tells me she’s at Veterans hospital. Her goat went with animal control. I head to the hospital and receive bad news. Someone assaulted Mama Kane and she’s in critical condition. A nurse tells me that no one has visited her and that I’m the first to ask how she’s doing. It’s so incredibly sad. As a cop, I was limited in what I could do. The homeless are considered a problem. It was my job to keep them in line. Don’t get me wrong, I helped where I could. It’s never enough, though. The nurse tells me that the cops want to know when she dies. This should make me angry, but I know it means the detectives have a suspect. If Mama Kane dies, the charges will chang