if he knew. But it felt urgent. Like his life depended on it.
He had to give Blanding some explanation. “She must be my lucky charm. I opened my eyes after I was shot, and what did I see? Her face.”
“Not a bad face, either,” Blanding said, sounding as if he was getting all worked up just thinking about Rydell.
“Go screw yourself, Blanding. And her, too.” Now, why the hell had he said that? It only made him wild to think his friend might even consider getting it on with that gorgeous, sexy woman whom he now had one hell of an urge to talk to.
“I’ll leave that to you, sir,” Blanding said with a laugh as he hung up.
Blanding’s remark peeved Trevor even more, but it gave him a sudden surge of strength, which made it possible for him to pick up the remote and push the button to turn on the TV news.
“Easy,” Skye whispered to Bella, whose head kept turning as more people entered the roll call room. Captain Boyd Franks had called a late-afternoon debriefing after yesterday’s warehouse situation. Everyone who’d been on duty yesterday was to attend, except for those patrolling beats right now.
Skye, still tired but functioning, sat uncomfortably on a chair at the end of a row. She had chosen a place in the middle of the room, which was now filled with the pulsing hum of dozens of conversations.
Ron slipped in beside her and lifted his hand in greeting to a couple of the guys.
It looked like her pal was fitting in well—maybe even better than she was even though she’d been in Angeles Beach for about eight months. Skye hadn’t spent a lot of time getting to know her fellow cops. Getting too chummy with them might make it harder to do what she had to, when she had to do it.
Bella whined, and Ron gave her a rough pat. “How you doin’, girl?”
Skye smiled. “Her or me?”
“Both.”
As the rush of people into the room slowed, Captain Franks took his place at the wooden dais at the front. Skye guessed he was nearing retirement age, with silver hair adorning a long face whose dourness and deep wrinkles suggested he’d experienced plenty of bad stuff in his time with the department. He wore a lot of stripes along the arm of his blue uniform, each signifying five years of service.
“Listen up,” he bellowed to get everyone’s attention. The buzzing stopped abruptly. “Thanks. We’re here to go over the events at that auto parts warehouse yesterday.”
“How’s Owens?” shouted someone near the front of the room.
Skye’s heart started to race.
“Wanna give us an update, Blanding?” Franks called, looking into the sea of uniforms seated in front of him.
“I visited him at the hospital, just talked to him, too. The guy’s one tough bird. Most of the bullets hit his vest, but one got him above it, in the neck. Don’t know how, but it managed not to do a whole lot of damage. He’ll be sore for a while, but he’ll be okay.”
A cheer erupted throughout the room, and Skye joined in. She was as pleased as anyone that Owens would survive. Maybe more than most. She knew exactly how the bullet failed to do permanent damage, but she wasn’t about to mention it.
“Let’s not forget about Danver,” Captain Franks said, pouring icy water onto their brief celebration. A low, grief-filled rumble ensued.
“When’s the funeral?” called someone.
“Next week. We need enough time to make sure everyone who wants to get here can make it.” The captain’s voice rasped now, and Skye again felt tears rush to her eyes.
She’d done what she had to and made dying at least a little easier for Danver.
But it still hurt, and she hardly even knew him.
“Anyone spotted Marinaro?” someone else shouted. The rumble turned into a roar of fury.
“Not yet,” the captain admitted. He looked as enraged as everyone else in the crowded room. “But we’ll get him.”
Shouts of agreement echoed off the walls.
For a short while, the captain went over what was being done to track the suspect. A special team was being formed to follow up on any leads—assuming some came in.
The person who’d called in with the initial tip that had led them to the warehouse had apparently disappeared. It wasn’t clear whether she’d fled in fear…or whether Marinaro had found her first.
Soon, the meeting adjourned, and rows of uniformed officers filed out, rumbling and swatting each other on the arms, obviously glad to be alive despite their anger about their fallen comrade.
“You on duty this evening?” Ron asked as they waited for the others in their row to leave. “I am—I’m patrolling downtown.”
“No, soon as I finish my report Bella and I are through for the day.” She needed to rest. This meeting had made Skye feel…well, helpless—as if she’d initiated something important, yet left it undone.
It wasn’t up to Bella and her to locate Marinaro now, yet she itched to find the suspect and bring him down.
“You okay, Skye?” Ron asked.
“Just fine,” she said. “I was only thinking of what the captain said, and wondering how, with all of us around like that, Marinaro was able to get away.”
“You’re not the only one,” Ron said, straightening in his uniform.
They’d reached the end of their row. Ron edged out first, but as Skye and Bella started to leave, their way was suddenly blocked.
SWAT Officer Greg Blanding stood there, his shaved head emphasizing the breadth of his slightly misshapen nose. “Skye, hope you don’t mind, but I have a special request for you.”
And when he told her what it was, she worked hard to maintain a straight face and nonchalant air despite the inappropriate cartwheels her insides had started to turn.
“Sure,” she said. “I’m just happy Officer Owens survived. And I’d be glad to visit him in the hospital.”
Chapter 3
“Want me to come with you, Skye?” Ron asked as they walked out of the roll call room door with Bella.
“Hey, Gollar, joining us for dinner?” one of the other guys called, punching his shoulder good-naturedly. “Your turn to buy.”
“Yeah, yeah. Like you need it.” Ron grinned at the taller and rounder cop.
The other guy was also smiling. “I’ll let you try to beat me up one of these days.” He went on ahead.
“I’ll be fine on my own,” Skye told Ron. “It looks like you have things to do.”
“If
