Dana Mentink - Act Of Valor

“How did he know you were leaving with me?” he mused. “Seems unlikely he would stick around to tail us.” It wasn’t coincidence, either. LaGuardia had multiple police parking areas, both outdoors as well as the garage, so it hadn’t been a fortunate guess on the part of Brown. They might have been followed from the terminal, but he probably would have noticed that and no one had tracked them into the elevator.

Violet frowned and he knew what she was thinking.

“Your boss knows you left with me?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“So it would be easy for him to pass that on to Brown...”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Violet said, but she didn’t sound convinced. He wasn’t, either.

Carter’s text buzzed in his phone.

Anyone hurt?

Violet’s okay.

You?

Just my pride.

He put the phone away before Carter got a chance to snap off a snarky reply.

Violet was pulling at his wrist, turning him to face her. “No matter how they found out, they’re gone and you’re bleeding. Stay still.”

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“Yes,” she said in the overly controlled voice she used when he was driving her to distraction. “You are.” She pointed to the side of his head.

He felt then a trickle of warmth and swiped at it, his fist coming away with a smear of red. “I’m not hurt,” he repeated, hoping he didn’t sound like a cranky child.

She grabbed a tiny packet of tissues from her purse and pressed one to his temple, pulling it away to show him the blood. “Not-hurt people don’t bleed on other people’s clothes.”

He noticed another spot on the front of her uniform.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I must have hit the door handle on the way down. I’ll wash it.”

“No, you’ll have it dry-cleaned, you big oaf,” she said, but her smile was soft as she dabbed at his cut. “Doesn’t look deep. Cops will send a unit to check on you, or an ambulance, right?”

“Told ’em not to. Need every cop out looking for Brown.”

She heaved out a sigh. “And you say I’m stubborn.”

“You are. Way more stubborn than me.”

The rumble of an engine caught her attention. “Fortunately, it looks as if someone didn’t listen to you, though.”

Carter pulled up in his squad car, Frosty pacing in the backseat. “Get in, Zach.”

Zach shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m taking Vi back to her apartment.”

Carter used the same tone he did when his young daughter Ellie was refusing to cooperate. “No, you’re getting into this car until our people process this scene, and we’re taking Vi to Griffin’s. Everyone’s there and waiting.”

Violet took Zach’s hand, put it over the tissue and pressed both to his head. “Do as you’re told.”

He wanted to snap at her and his brother, to vent some of the tension that threatened to explode. Instead, he forced out a long, slow breath. “Fine.”

Carter jerked his head. “You’re sitting in the back with Frosty. Vi gets the front seat.”

She cocked her head and flashed that smile again, but there was something forced about the brashness, as if she was trying a little too hard to hide her fear. It made him crazy to see it.

Don’t worry, Vi. I’m gonna get these guys no matter what it takes.

Hauling himself and Eddie into the cramped backseat of Carter’s vehicle, he heard the echo of another promise, the one he’d made to Jordy’s widow, the promise that he’d catch Jordy’s killer no matter what it took. As the days spun into weeks with no progress from the cops working the case, his frustration was building to epic levels. At least the rabid press coverage had eased a bit, his brother’s “suicide” taking backseat to various other big-city stories.

Everyone who worked with Jordy already knew it wasn’t a suicide, but given the suicide note that had been planted and the lack of outward trauma to his body, that didn’t keep the press from their speculations. He realized his jaw was clamped like a vise and he made an effort to relax.

Maybe it would be good to have Violet to focus on while they continued to try and unearth a lead on his brother’s killer. The fatigue of many sleepless nights crowded the adrenaline from his muscles. Wearily, he stroked Eddie, threading his fingers through the fur, allowing himself just for a moment to wonder if Jordy’s dog, Snapper, might still be alive. There had been blood found in Jordy’s SUV, animal blood, but not a single trace of Snapper anywhere. If the German shepherd was wandering loose, lost, injured, how long could he survive?

A wave of despair washed over him. Zach used to believe there was nothing he couldn’t do, that God was watching over the Jameson family and the people they loved.

I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety. The psalm was inscribed inside the Bibles his mother had given each of them the day they were sworn in as cops. Now he couldn’t even read the words without choking on them. With Jordy’s death, there was no more peace or rest, and now with Violet facing a different threat, there would be no fairy-tale promises of safety, either.

I’ll do it without You , he silently promised, the stone where his heart used to be hardening with each syllable. I’ll keep her safe. It felt good to direct his anger at God, who’d taken the very best friend he’d ever had .

You won’t take anyone else from me.

Carter shot him a look in the rearview mirror as they turned onto 94th Street and passed the K-9 headquarters, eventually pulling up in the tiny lot behind Griffin’s Diner. Violet got out and beelined for the door.

Carter cut the motor and turned to stare at Zach. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He shifted Eddie on his lap. “Why?”

“Because you look like you’re ready to take on an army all by yourself.”

“Maybe I will.”

Carter shook his head. “That’s not smart. We’re a team. Don’t go rogue on us.”

Zach didn’t speak, but his gut filled in the answer.

If that’s what it takes to protect Vi, bring it on.

“Zach,” Carter started again, but Zach was already out and following Violet into the comfort of the diner.

* * *

Violet breathed deeply of the familiar aromas, the rich tang of coffee, the scent of the freshly waxed floors her father insisted on, the tantalizing fragrance of simmering soup with glistening homemade noodles and shredded chicken, never diced. It was the smell of home, of comfort, of safety. The place had been unchanged for decades, obstinately resisting the pressure of the encroaching neighborhood gentrification of Jackson Heights. Her father would inevitably turn red in the face when he passed the two new luxury rental buildings and the artisanal cheese shop that had replaced the old mom-and-pop stores. Griffin’s was rooted in the history of Queens, standing defiantly against the so-called progress, preserving the character of the people who had built the neighborhood brick by brick, block by block.

Sucking in a lungful of diner smells, she put the fear behind her and automatically snatched her apron from the hook by the door.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” her mother said. Barbara Griffin was still tall and straight-backed in spite of the lifetime of sweat and tears she’d put into the diner and raising Violet. Some silver threaded her brown hair, which she wore wound into the trademark braid. She’d never know how her mother survived losing Violet’s brother at age five to meningitis, but Barbara was strong, and she’d passed that strength down to her daughter.

Sometimes you build a wall around today and you don’t climb over it , her mother had told her. Violet was determined to build a wall around the frightening events of the morning and keep them behind the bricks, away from the rest of her life.