the rest, making a couple of notes. She was nearly finished when Darlene held up her hand.
‘Oh, honey, I almost forgot.’
The hint of warning in her voice made Harper look up.
‘The lieutenant wants you to see him in his office.’
‘Now?’ Harper’s brow creased. ‘Did he say why?’
‘Not exactly.’ Darlene leaned closer. ‘All I know is, everyone’s talking about the shooting last night. They say you got involved.’
Her heart sinking, Harper slid the stack of paperwork back across the counter.
She should have known the lieutenant would hear about it.
‘How pissed off is he? Scale of one to ten.’
‘Oh, you know what he’s like.’ Darlene busied herself straightening papers. ‘He likes having something to complain about.’
For a tantalizing second, Harper contemplated slipping out the door and back to the newspaper, but she didn’t want the lieutenant tracking her down. He’d done it before. Once, when she’d ignored his summons, he’d sent motorcycle police to pull her over and escort her back, blue lights flashing.
‘Damn.’
Reluctantly, she trudged to the security door leading to the back offices. With a sympathetic smile, Darlene pushed the button releasing the lock.
The shrill buzz it emitted was a sound-blade in Harper’s hungover head, repeatedly stabbing her cerebellum. Wincing, she pulled the door open.
On the other side, a long corridor stretched the length of the building. Windowless and shadowy, it was lined on either side by offices. She passed the 911 dispatch room with its glowing bank of computers. Then several sergeants’ offices – each small and crowded, all of them empty at the moment.
She was halfway down the corridor when two detectives in lightweight summer suits approached her, talking quietly. Spotting her, one nudged the other.
Detective Ledbetter’s smile took up his whole, round face. Next to him, Detective Julie Daltrey was grinning mischievously. She was ten years younger and a head shorter than Ledbetter, with dark brown skin and endearing dimples.
When Harper reached them, the two stopped, blocking her way.
‘Oh hello, Officer McClain,’ Detective Daltrey said, as Ledbetter snickered. ‘I hear you’re joining the force.’
‘Oh, fuck me running.’ She glared at them. ‘Is this how it’s going to be?’
‘Do me a favor,’ Daltrey goaded her. ‘Say, “Stop or I’ll shoot.” I want to judge your technique.’
‘No, that’s not what she said,’ Ledbetter reminded her. ‘It was “You’re surrounded”.’
They guffawed. Daltrey bent over double, clutching her ribs.
Harper had heard enough.
‘Will you please get out of my way?’ Lowering her shoulder she shoved her way past them with such force they had to jump aside to avoid being knocked down. ‘Don’t you have murderers to catch?’
‘Yeah, but you can do that for us,’ Daltrey said. ‘We’re taking the rest of the day off.’
Their laughter followed her all the way down the hall.
Harper knew this was only the beginning. Nobody on the planet enjoys ridicule more than a cop. They never tired of it. Last night she’d basically pinned a bullseye on her back.
She was grateful when she reached the door at the end of the hall where the name ‘Lieutenant Robert Smith’ was written on the sign outside.
Taking off her sunglasses, Harper stuffed them in her bag. Then, letting out a deep breath, she tapped her knuckles against the door.
‘It’s Harper.’
‘Get in here.’ The voice was a low, baritone growl.
Steeling herself, she opened the door, already launching into her defense.
‘Look, Lieutenant, last night wasn’t my fault.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
Lieutenant Robert Smith was about fifty years old, with thick, graying hair and a square jaw made to take a punch. He was six foot two and, even sitting at a desk, he dominated a room. His charcoal suit looked expensive, as did his dark blue silk tie.
He was one of those men who, even when no cigar was present, looked as if they ought to be holding one.
As she approached the desk, he listed the charges against her in an icy voice.
‘So you called out three armed men, while wearing no Kevlar and not carrying a weapon. You then impersonated a police officer when those three criminals threatened you. Am I summing this up correctly? And if I am, how is any of that not your fault?’
‘I was improvising.’ Dropping into one of the faux leather chairs in front of his desk, Harper pressed her fingertips against her pounding forehead. ‘I thought they were going to kill that stupid cop.’
‘That stupid cop is an experienced officer of the law.’ Smith’s voice rose. Harper winced. ‘He is trained to carry and use a standard, police-issue semi-automatic firearm, and to defend himself in dangerous situations. He was wearing a government-approved bulletproof vest. You were carrying a notebook.’
‘True,’ she conceded. ‘But they were about to blow your highly trained officer’s stupid head off.’ His face hardened, but she plowed ahead stubbornly. ‘Lieutenant, he was looking in the wrong direction. It is true that I could have yelled, “Hey, idiotic cop. They’re over here.” And they would have shot at me anyway. So I tried to buy time until your inexplicably delayed backup arrived on the scene to keep the residents of Thirty-Ninth Street safe from three wanted killers.’ She held up her notepad. ‘By the way, do you have any comment on the reason for that delay?’
The lieutenant opened his mouth and then shut it again.
‘Dammit, Harper. How do you always manage to turn everything around so I’m the bad guy?’
He still sounded a bit heated, but the edge had left his voice.
Harper flashed him an apologetic half-smile.
‘I learned from the best, Lieutenant.’
‘Flattery won’t help you today, young lady.’ He shook his finger at her. ‘In all seriousness, you could have got yourself killed. Walker told me everything.’
‘That narc,’ Harper muttered.
‘He is paid to narc,’ he reminded her tartly.
Before she could argue, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
‘Why’d
