Jumping at Shadows (14 page)

“Fuck,” he muttered, glancing irritably at the side-view mirror as his hand slammed on the turn signal. Moving into the turning lane got the lights out of his mirror, and a glance in the side mirror gave him his first real look at the car behind him.

It was a dark, late-model sedan.

Sheer surprise made him slam on the brakes, and the ice in the turn lane sent his truck sliding as it crossed the lines to the opposite side. The reaction of the car behind him was a panicked swerve that sent the sedan into a wide fishtail as it careened past him, nearly clipping Eric’s bumper with his own. Eric heard the skid of rubber on ice as he watched the driver fight for control and finally gain it. With wheels spinning, the dark-painted vehicle tore straight through the intersection.

It was a Lexus.

“Shit!” Eric hissed out, slamming his truck into gear and releasing the clutch as the taillights of the Lexus wavered on the road in front of him. His own tires spun as he fought to get back into the lane behind it, and the car had almost half a block on him when it gained control in the road. Eric clenched his jaw. He was a Minnesota boy, born and bred, and he was driving a truck well suited for icy conditions. That asshole in the Lexus in front of him didn’t stand a chance.

The driver of the Lexus showed his inexperience when Eric’s Ford F-150 pulled up behind him close enough—fast enough and dangerously enough—to startle him with his presence. In a wild turn to avoid collision, the Lexus lost control, its back end spinning across the lanes until the back tires hit the curb on the other side, bringing its motion to a sudden and abrupt halt in front of a fast food chicken restaurant not yet open for business. Eric’s pulse hummed as he maneuvered his truck easily around it, spinning it expertly and bringing it back to block any hope the Lexus had of escaping. He released his seatbelt with a snap, had his gun pulled and checked in record time. T.J. had issued another warning when Eric had strapped on the holster that morning, but right now Eric was glad he hadn’t listened. He could see the figure of the driver through the windshield as he pushed himself out of his truck.

“About fucking time,” he muttered to himself as he stopped with a clear shot at the driver through the windshield. The barrel of the gun was already pointed.

“Get the fuck out!”

“
A
RE
you out of your fucking mind?
” Capt. Ben Carroll was livid, his eyes almost bulging through the purple hue of his face, and neither was due to the biting winter air. “You just ran
civilians
off the road because you got some harebrained idea that you were being followed by a
Lexus
instead of a
Buick Lucerne
! We’ll be lucky if we’ll be able to pay for paperclips when they finish suing us!”

Eric let out a heavy sigh from his perch in the back seat of the unmarked cruiser the captain had driven here. His legs hung out the open door, his left foot thrumming against the ground as Ben Carroll paced in front of him, three steps left, three steps right.

He had been sure—very sure—that he had caught his stalker—one of them at least—until the moment of stunned disbelief when the driver’s side door of the vehicle had opened and a man well into his retirement had climbed out, hands raised, face pale, eyes wide and terrified. The old man’s plea that Eric take his wallet and his watch but please don’t hurt them was nearly lost in the sounds of his wife in the passenger seat, equally as ancient, just as terrified, and crying helplessly as she prayed for God to deliver them. Black and white police cruisers—two of them—came skidding to a halt before Eric could explain or apologize, lights flashing even after the sirens were cut. Officers sprang from the doors with guns drawn.

“Freeze! Drop your weapon!” were the next words Eric had heard, and any answer he tried to give was cut off by a repeat of the orders, until at last he complied and was forced to stand with his hands raised as he was surrounded and nearly cuffed before one of the officers recognized him.

“
Geller?
” It was incredulous and disbelieving. “What the hell are you doing?”

His numb mind barely acknowledged the rest of what happened. He was led to a cruiser, ordered to sit, and forced to wait until Capt. Carroll himself arrived on the scene. The brief by the officers was quick, and the move to the captain’s car was silent. Then the captain’s fury let loose.

“I should have your badge for this, and I still might!” he raged on. “
What the hell were you thinking?
Terrifying innocents is not a practice of this department, and you damn sure know better than to pull your gun under any circumstances save for immediate danger! A gun which,
by the goddamn way
, you were under direct orders not to remove
from you own damn house
! And don’t tell me it was necessary because some jackass has been taking pictures of you and your boyfriend! What
the fuck
is wrong with you?” He paused for the breadth of a full pacing circle, left and right. “You’re one of the best goddamn detectives on the force, and then you go and pull something like this! Reckless driving and endangering the public are the least of the charges I could press against you, and that is in
addition
to the property damage that may very well come out your paycheck! You better fucking hope Kilane can calm them down before they and every goddamn media hound in the state butcher every one of us over this!”

Eric had remained stoically silent during the outburst but risked a glance up at the mention of Kilane. Officer Jason Kilane was fairly new to the department, not quite a rookie but still in the ranks of beat cops where detectives cut their teeth. Looking like a sun-drenched surfer despite the police-issue coat over his standard uniform, he currently knelt in front of the old man seated in the front seat of his Lucerne. Kilane was a natural-born charmer who was now using his talent in hopes of calming the old man and his wife by playing down the fiasco that Eric had created. If anyone could talk them out of a lawsuit, it was Kilane, and Eric was sure that mistaken identity played into the explanation. Promises that the repairs on the Lucerne would be covered, with perhaps a little additional compensation to boot, would go a long way to help, even if the latter was a form of bribery. Eric didn’t doubt that the “additional compensation” would also be coming out of his ass.

It really wasn’t the old man and his wife that Eric was worried about, though. It was the manager of the fast food chicken restaurant they had stopped in front of who could cause the real headache. Eric had already learned that it was the early arriving manager who had called the police, and even if the old man and his wife let the matter go, there was no guarantee that the manager would do the same. It was more likely that he would want his fifteen minutes of fame in front of a news camera. No one had spoken to him yet to determine which way he leaned, though Eric could still make out the shape of his body behind the promotional posters advertising a three-piece grilled lunch special. Whoever he was, he was watching with rapt attention.

“Go home, Geller. Your day is finished.”

Eric’s head whipped up, meeting the glaring eyes of his captain and seeing the dare to challenge the order written in them clearly. The mustache on the captain’s lips twitched when Eric slowly rose to his feet. Capt. Carroll cut him off before he managed to say his first word.

“Going home is your only option if you plan on keeping your job,” he told Eric, low-voiced and serious. “Officer Kilane will relieve you of your firearm before he escorts you to your residence.”

“
What?
” Eric blurted out, moving forward unconsciously until the narrowing of the captain’s eyes pulled him up short.

“You heard me,” Capt. Carroll repeated bluntly. He hadn’t stepped back or removed his hands from the pockets of his coat, but his tone was at least civil now. “We may be able to play this off as mistaken identity, but the newspapers will want our balls over it. Keeping your badge will be enough to ensure they get them, but allowing you to keep your gun will have them deep fried and served on a silver platter.” He sighed, finally breaking eye contact. “I’ll take a chance on the first. The second—not in this lifetime. So pay attention, Geller.” He straightened to face Eric again. “You will hand over your firearm to Officer Kilane, and you will concede to an escort to your place of residence. And you will not be present at the station until the investigation into this incident is completed.”

“You’re suspending me?” Eric felt the blood drain from his face.

“You’re lucky I’m not
firing you
!” the captain bit out; then his face eased just a touch. “Don’t fight me on this, Eric. You know the rules, written and unwritten. Go home and get your head on straight. Maybe consider a vacation. Since the operation with McKennon has been closed, you should already be on it.”

Eric was stunned, but even the less formal use of his first name didn’t take away from the slap of the captain’s orders. Suspended. It was almost like being fired.

“Captain,” he began, almost desperately.

“Go
home
, Eric. Don’t make this worse than it is.”

A threat this time. That much was clear, and the captain wasn’t wavering. Eric let out his breath in a disgusted sigh, and he glanced at the old man and his wife, still in their car, still listening to Jason Kilane. The man was retired, and just his luck that the position he had left was as CEO of the Breten City Journal, one of the smaller papers in the city but well regarded. Although a former CEO now, he had never quite given up the feel of the newspaper’s pulse and was known for popping in from time to time just to check on things. Eric had already learned that the newspaper’s office was where he had been going this morning, and his wife had been tagging along to make sure the short visit was just that, short. His association with the paper no doubt contributed to the captain’s issuing a suspension. Letting Eric keep his badge—discreetly—was his compromise between what the media would demand and what Eric’s record on the force meant. Eric should have been grateful for that, but he still couldn’t get past his disbelief. Suspended.

“Go home, Eric,” the captain said again. “Let this blow over.”

“What about my team?” Eric demanded suddenly. “What about the pictures I have on my camera? I’m not letting a chance for a break get thrown aside because of this.”

Capt. Carroll scowled and looked on the verge of reminding Eric exactly what “this” was, but instead he gave a long-suffering sigh as he scanned the empty streets and slid his eyes over the still-watching restaurant manager. “Turn the camera over to Kilane and let him take it to the lab.” He avoided looking at Eric as he moved his gaze to the former CEO. “What you do on your own time and off federal property is up to you.”

Eric stilled. It wasn’t overt permission to continue digging into what had happened at the courthouse, but it was veiled permission nonetheless. And since his digging was little more than computer hacking and stalking, it could be done virtually anywhere that had an Internet connection. Eric was speechless. It meant this wasn’t a major setback, and in fact was barely a setback at all. Eric almost voiced his thanks at the concession but halted his words as Officer Kilane stepped up. Kilane nodded at Eric before addressing the captain.

“I don’t think he’s going to press charges, sir. His newspaper has covered enough crimes and police investigations that he knows the job we do, and he understands that mistakes come with the territory.” Kilane had probably reminded him of the crime stories the Journal had covered over the years, and played it to their favor during his talk. “But he is considering doing a story on the stress of the job. He thinks it will bring law enforcement into the sympathies of the average citizen and create understanding between the two.”

Eric felt his lips tighten. That last part was probably a direct quote from the retired CEO himself. Frank Bellview had always loved putting human interest stories in his paper.

“If cooperating for his story will get us off the hook, we’ll cooperate,” Capt. Carroll muttered under his breath. “We may even luck out and have his reporter turn this to our favor.”

And make law enforcement the victim. Eric hated that, and hated that the captain might be forced into embracing that perspective. That law enforcement
was
sometimes the victim wasn’t in question, but
playing
the victim publicly was a different ballgame. The captain regained his stern composure before Eric could say anything on the matter, however. He looked at Eric directly.

“Geller, surrender your firearm.”

Another ploy to soothe the Journal, demanding it be done publicly and in front of the Journal’s former CEO. Eric knew that, but he did so willingly enough, carefully handing his gun to Kilane butt-first in full view of Frank Bellview. Kilane unloaded it and, at the captain’s nod, gestured toward Eric’s truck. It was a relief that neither Kilane nor the captain followed him to it, and Eric returned the favor by waiting until Kilane’s black and white was behind him before he pulled away. It was another relief that Kilane didn’t engage the flashing blue lights on the trip back home, or stop to escort him into the house. Only a pause to receive the camera from Eric’s hand and a few words through the window before the black and white drove away.

Eric let out a weary sigh as he closed the back door of his house behind him, glancing about the kitchen that he had only recently cleaned. T.J. had told him that the pictures Victor had dropped on their doorstep were freaking him out, and as he leaned his back against the closed door, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe he was right. And it had nearly cost him his job.

Coming so close to being fired was still sinking in as he moved to the bedroom, undoing the button of his jeans as he prepared to change into sweats. The window shade was still down, and a glance around it into the gray haze of the backyard still showed nothing moving, even when he leaned farther to get a better look out the window. Not even a bird in the stark branches of the trees. He let his exhaled breath fog the windowpane, then let the shade fall back into place as he straightened to continue changing clothes. He couldn’t go to the station, but he could continue digging, and meeting his team outside the precinct would be just as effective as inside. It was stunning to realize that, save for his gun, he had actually lost nothing.