Page 8 of Falling for Her

I was just unlocking my front door when he called. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies, but something about his tone makes me think things are actually not okay.

“I’m supposed to meet with a potential nanny in about twenty minutes. Can this wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not. There are people here waiting for you.”

“People,” I repeat his word. “Okay, let me change, and I’ll be right in.”

“Gotcha.”

“Captain,” he waits for me to continue, “that sounds like trouble?”

“We’ll talk when you get here.” I toss the phone on the table by the door and head up to my bedroom.

When I moved in, the first thing I did was hire contractors to gut the house and renovate it. The electrical needed to be redone in the entire house, and let’s not talk about the plumbing. The renovations went about eighty thousand dollars over budget, and then I decided to convert the garage into an apartment, thinking that if I needed to hire someone to watch Asa, they would want a private space. That took the rest of my spare cash.

I turn right as soon as I reach the top of the stairs and enter my bedroom. The big king-size bed in the middle and two side tables beside it fill half the room. The thick dark-gray comforter is rumpled from my waking this morning and not making my bed. The black sheets are half on the floor. I walk to the side and end up in my walk-in closet, grabbing a white shirt and a pair of dark-blue jeans. Tossing the uniform in the overflowing basket, I make a mental note to start a load of laundry tonight when I get back. I text Theo before getting into my car.

Me:

Hey, had to go back into the office for an emergency meeting. Can you get in touch with the girl and ask her to be on call for when I’m done?

I get into my truck and head to the station, the text coming in as soon as I park.

Theo:

Yeah, sounds good. She just got here, so she’s in the shower. Let me know when you’ll be home, and she’ll come on by.

I grab my phone, putting it in my back pocket before I pull open the station door.

Cathy sits at the desk, her eyes coming up from her computer to look at me. “He’s waiting for you.” She motions with her head toward the hall that leads to his office. Cathy has been the front desk dispatcher for the last ten years. She makes sure this place runs smoothly and deals with everything.

“Is he in there alone?” I ask her, and she looks around.

“No, got company.”

“Fuck.” I nod at her as I walk to the rear of the building. The bullpen, where we all gather before shift, has about six desks, each assigned to someone. My desk is in the corner, and I swear, I spend maybe ten minutes of my shift sitting at it. The rest of the time, I’d rather be in my car patrolling. The door at the back of the room is closed and has the word Captain across it. I look over to a couple of guys, who give me a chin-up as I knock.

“Come in,” Captain’s voice booms out. I turn the handle, pushing my nerves to the back.

He’s sitting behind his desk with his hands folded on top of it. The vein in the corner of his temple pulses. “Burke,” he says. “Come in.”

The two chairs facing his desk are occupied by a man with jet-black hair and a woman, both dressed in jeans, T-shirts, and work boots.

“Hey,” I say, looking at the guy who is closest to me. “I’m Burke.”

The guy gets up a bit from his chair to shake my hand. “Martinez.” He sits back down, and I lean over him to the woman.

“Johnson,” she states, reaching out her hand to shake mine. Her brown hair is on the top of her head in a ponytail. Her light-green eyes give me the once-over, and I turn to Captain.

“What’s up? I got here as soon as I could.”

“These are Detectives Martinez and Johnson,” he says, introducing them as if I didn’t just meet them. “DEA from Groveton.” Groveton is a larger town about an hour from us. “I’ll give the floor to Martinez.”

“Thank you. It’s come to our attention”—Martinez leans back in his chair and crosses his hands over his chest—“that we have drug runners using Highway 25.” That’s the big highway that runs north and south and has another highway that crosses it, going east and west. “They’re getting the drugs by boat right under the highway, unloading the goods, and then distributing them across nearby states.”

“It’s a great spot.” I look up at the map Captain has on the side wall. “They meet up in the middle, and they can get maybe ten, or if they are smart, twenty cars and have them distribute out in all different directions.”