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Chapter One

7 July 1982: 2345:

Rookie officer January P. Farrell slid a glance across the police car at her companion, Senior Patrolman Thaddeus X. M. Gunn. Since he drove, at least she couldn't see his eyes. The man had the strangest, spookiest eyes, pale grey irises almost invisible, colorless in the dark.

Cold too, like an iceberg in the North Sea. Almost two hours into my first shift and I've already had it, right up to the eyeballs. Ugh, why did I choose that particular phrase? Can I handle six to eight weeks more of this? If I didn't want to be a cop so bad I could taste it, I'd be outta here in a heart beat.

She'd already had a bellyful of his supercilious, sarcastic lectures, his rules and his attitude. It hadn't taken an hour to discover he was cynical, arrogant, and sadistic. How could she be so lucky?

Well, I won't quit. I made it through boot camp, twelve weeks bordering on hell. I made it through the Arizona Law Enforcement Training Academy, another tough course. Damned if I'll let this ghoul-eyed geek run me off! But it's not going to be easy.

January sighed softly, concentrated on her first night's lessons. Even at the Academy, she'd heard Gunn was good although hard, tough, and cold. She had to glean the wisdom from the sharp words he had thrown her way, maybe learn by example. What did he do? How did he act?

The first time he'd given her that wide-eyed stare, she'd damn near crossed herself. It took her back to her Irish grandmother's tales of banshees and black magic, the power of the evil eye. She couldn't let that distract her, though, nor the fact he was otherwise one good looking hunk of man.

Tall and lean, he moved with the controlled grace of a gymnast or a dancer. His face had been carved by a master sculptor, every line balanced and perfect, just craggy enough to be masculine. Dark hair and brows contrasted with his fair complexion and those haunting eyes. In the dark blue Riverton PD uniform, he could pose for a recruiting poster and get half the eligible females to sign up right off, 'specially the back view or the profile...

As they cruised down a nearly deserted street, January began to relax a bit. Suddenly Gunn pulled to the curb, stopped the car and shut off the lights. What's he up to?

"Huh?" January frantically scanned both sides of the street. She couldn't see a soul for a couple of blocks.

Gunn glanced her way. "Look above your eyebrows, Farrell."

She jumped in a guilty start before beginning to search the roof tops. For a minute, she didn't see anything. Then out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement. Focusing, she discerned a head silhouetted above the roof line of a single-story building about four doors ahead, across the street. The head disappeared, then bobbed back up.

"I see a head--on the roof of that little store across the street."

"Well bravo for you, bright-eyes. Better late than never."

When did God go on leave and put you in charge, Gunn? She clenched her fists, biting her tongue to keep it in check. Sassing a superior was not smart, especially on your first shift, but she sure was tempted. He seemed to ignore her completely as he reached for the mike, disregarding what he'd said earlier about her being the communicator.

Thad sensed Farrell's glare as he reached for the mike. I know I told her that she was the communicator, but I want to get the ball moving without having to tell her what to say. He keyed the mike. "Eight, Peter Six."

<Go Peter Six.>

"Peter Eight, we have someone on the roof at Carlings, on 9th. We're out front, across the street and four doors east."

<Ten-Four, Six. I'm two away. I'll come in on the alley.>

"Ten-Four, Eight. You have that, Two-Eight-Three, possible burglary at Carling's on 9th?"

<Ten-Four Peter Six. Six and Eight with possible burglary. Twenty-three fifty. KTR Two-Eight-Three.>

Okay, Dispatch has it. Thad turned to Farrell. "Log us at twenty-three fifty, on sight, possible burglary in progress at Carling's Silver Boutique, 9th Street." He watched her pick up the clipboard and jerk a pen out of her shirt pocket. "You know 'on sight' means we discovered the call, instead of getting it from Dispatch?"

"Yeah, I went to school once." Farrell wrote on the log sheet.

She's miffed. I think I'm getting to her. We'll see how many shifts she'll last. "I took over the radio to expedite things instead of telling you what to say." Farrell nodded as she wrote.

<Peter Six, David Five. I'm in on Carling's two away.>

"Ten-Four David Five. Come in slow and easy. We don't want to alert the lookout on the roof." Thad handed the mike over. "That's a detective car. His name's Shapiro." Farrell nodded. She isn't talking. She's miffed, big time. Too bad. This is reality, no time to play games.

<Peter Six, KTR Two-Eight-Three. Carling has been notified. He'll be in route with keys in fifteen.>

When Farrell looked at him, Thad nodded. She answered dispatch. Damn, we've got to get in there before Carling roars up and gives everything away. Eight reported he was in the alley, and David Five arrived. A car without lights came ghosting around the corner and pulled to the curb, just west of the store front.

While glancing at his watch, Thad heard Dispatch answer the other cars. Almost midnight. How are we going to handle this? Having this damn rookie trailing along is like trying to sail into the wind with an anchor dragging. What can I do to keep her busy and out of the way?

<Six, is the guy still on the roof?>

"That's Eight isn't it?"

After Thad nodded to Farrell, she responded affirmatively to the other car.

<There's nothing back here. Doors and windows okay, no fire escape on the building. They must have come across from one of the other buildings.>

"Tell him to sit tight."

Farrell relayed the message.

<Ten-four, Farrell. You sure sound better than the ol' Spook.>

Damn! Thad started to grab the mike. Oh Hell, she'll hear it sooner or later anyway. It's no time to jump Goldman. "Farrell, when's the last time you fired the M-16?"

She hesitated, obviously trying to remember. "Over two years ago. Probably closer to three. But I have an AR-15 and I shot it last week, on the two-hundred meter line at Centennial Range."

"Even better. What were your scores?"

"Slow fire, prone and sitting possibles, all 'Vees'. Kneeling, a possible but only eight 'Vees', off hand, dropped one but had six 'Vees'. On rapid fire, standing to prone a possible, all 'Vees'. Standing to sitting, a possible with nine 'Vees'. I didn't shoot kneeling or off hand, 'cause they didn't have any silhouettes, only bulls eyes. I'll bring in my score book tomorrow night if you want to see it. I'm NRA Distinguished small bore and center fire rifle rated."

Farrell gave him a sweet, innocent-looking smile. No wonder she's smirking. That's damn good shooting. "That's shooting at paper. Could you shoot a human?"

"Yes."

He heard no hesitation.

"When I went to the range in boot camp," she continued, "I realized there might come a time when I'd have to shoot a human. I prepared myself for it then, did it again when I pulled my first duty as an MP, once more at ALETA and again tonight. Yes, if it's necessary, I can and will shoot to hit center of mass." Farrell was not smiling now, but she looked steadily back at him.

Thad nodded. "Okay, here's what we'll do. There's an AR-15, sighted for one hundred meters, center hold, in the trunk. Also a handy-talkie radio with a head set and sound-powered mike. Take the radio and the AR-15, loaded and locked, with one magazine, and move down to that tree, with the deep shadow. Try not to alert the lookout by raising the trunk lid too high, or when you charge the rifle. Keep your eye on the lookout, but don't shoot him, unless he tries to shoot an officer. Can you handle that?"

Farrell nodded. "You bet."

I wonder. Thad looked at her a long minute. I hope I'm doing this right. "On the brick, you'll be Peter Six Boy. You sure you can handle this?"

"I told you I could." Her gaze did not waver. Even in the dim light, Thad could see the green of her eyes, the firm set of her lovely unpainted lips. The strong urge to kiss those lips gave him a rude jolt. Instead he pressed the trunk latch button on the dash.

"Okay, go!" Thad watched her ease out of the car. If Andy Smirkanich saw that ass he'd say it was a "real yabaka". Like a Delicious apple standing on its stem end. She's too good looking to be a cop. The irrelevant thought flashed across his mind, a momentary distraction.

It didn't take long for Farrell to get the radio and rifle. She started down the street in short rushes, keeping to the shadows. Well, she remembered what the Corps taught her in Scouting & Patrolling and Individual Combat classes. I bet she was a good NCO. She's smart, but she is getting fed up with me already. Maybe, getting her to quit won't be so hard, after all.

8 July 1982: 0005:

Once in position, January spoke into the sound-powered microphone in front of her lips. "Peter Six Bravo in position." I'll be damned if I'll be 'boy.' "I can see the subject clearly. It looks like he's using a hand-held radio."

<Ten-Four, Six Bravo. I'm moving out of my car, curb side, and up to the front. Let me know when the subject's not looking.>

That was the detective in David Five. Shapiro?

"Ten-four, Five. He just ducked." January caught the detective's darting movements out of the corner of her eye, but she continued to concentrate on the roof line.

<Six, there's two guys inside. Looks like they're drilling holes around the dial in the vault door. Probably planning on blowing it.>

Great, the safe is where it can be seen from the street. They say a lot of businesses help burglars by trying to conceal their safes. Only gives burglars a place to hide while they work.

<Peter Six, Peter Four. I think we need more man-power on this. When the owner arrives, he's going to alert the guy on the roof. We don't know how he got there and we might lose him.>

<Ten-four, Sarge.>

That was Gunn who answered. Scanning the roof top, January suddenly saw it. Wasn't that two ropes hanging down from the roof of the building to the east? Remembering a trick she'd learned in a Scouting and Patrolling class, January focused her eyes slightly to one side of what she thought were ropes. Yeah, that's it!

She heard the Sergeant giving instructions to Peter Seven and Tom Twelve. As soon as he finished and the two units responded, January spoke into her mike. "Peter Four, Peter Six Bravo. I see rope hanging from the roof of the building just east of Carlings, maybe for rappelling."

<Ten-Four, Six Bravo.> The Sergeant's voice boomed in January's ear. <Eight, is there a fire escape on that building?>

<Ten-Four Sarge.>

The Sergeant queried Eight and Seven about rappelling. Both answered him in the affirmative. He then instructed Peter Seven and Tom Twelve to proceed to Eight's location in the alley. He gave the officers new instructions. Two were to climb the fire escape to confront the lookout on Carling's roof. Then they'd have him notify his partners to come out the front door and surrender.

January caught movement in the shadows across the street about two doors from the corner.

"Six, movement in the shadows across the street and behind you. He's moving west."

<Peter Four is on the south side moving west, on foot at Mayberry's.>

"Ten-Four, Sarge." January felt a twinge of chagrin. She'd forgotten where everyone was supposed to be.

<Peter Six, join me when I reach Carling's and Six Bravo gives the green light.>

Gunn answered affirmatively.

January was up, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Stay loose Farrell, stay loose. She took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. She repeated the exercise two more times. She didn't really come down but she knew she had dampened the effects of the adrenaline.

A radio patrol unit with lights out rounded the corner, sliding to the curb behind the Detective unit. <Tom Thirteen, Ten-Ninety-Seven with Mr. Carling.>

<Ten-Four Thirteen, sit tight,> the Sergeant responded.

Minutes ticked by. When the Sergeant reached the east corner of the silver shop, January sent Gunn across the street. God, he's fast and not a sound. He really is like a ghost. She wiped the sweat off first one palm and then the other. A slight breeze ruffled her hair. It felt good, finally doing what she'd studied for, what she wanted to do half of forever.

<Peter Four, we're at the edge of the roof and it's a doubled rope for rappelling. They've chopped a three-foot hole in the roof.>

<Ten-Four, Eight. Challenge the look-out. All units, it's about to hit the fan.>

January took a better stance, her left shoulder braced against the tree. Clicking off the safety, she raised the rifle to her shoulder, keeping her finger out of the trigger guard.

"POLICE OFFICERS."

Even expecting it, she jumped at the boom of the loud speaker. Two powerful spot lights illuminated the man on the roof.

"TELL YOUR ACCOMPLICES TO GO TO THE FRONT DOOR AND SURRENDER."

January saw the look-out put something to his face. The lights helped her line her sights on the man.

"DROP IT! YOU HAVEN'T GOT A CHANCE."

January slipped her finger into the trigger guard, took a deep breath and let half of it out. Her front sight centered on the man's chest.

"GET YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR. TURN AND WALK TO THE FRONT PARAPET."

The man moved to the roof edge, his hands held high. One of the lights went out. January caught the movement on the wall behind the man. She'd begun to shake. She took another deep breath and let half out.

She centered the front sight on the man's torso, silhouetted in bright light. Another figure appeared on the wall. Then two figures suddenly appeared on either side of the man. January slid her finger out of the trigger guard as she let out her breath. She watched the brief struggle, keeping her rifle at the ready. Then she heard the next call over the radio,

<Okay, we got him and he's cuffed.>

<Ten-Four. Yell down the hole and tell those inside to come to the front door with their hands up. Thirteen, bring Mr. Carling's keys but have him stay in your car until we get these birds sacked. I don't want him to get hurt.>

Thirteen answered. <Ten-Four Sarge.> January heard the officers on the roof yelling at the burglars inside. She started the breathing exercise again. She needed the extra oxygen to keep from shaking apart with surging adrenaline.

<Peter Six Bravo. Put the rifle away and come across the street and join Gunn and Me.>

"Ten-Four, Sergeant." January couldn't help grinning. Wow! Almost like television. I'm glad that part is over. I guess we'll have to go into the store and get the others. That's scary. At the car, January put the rifle and magazine in their proper places.

The sergeant didn't say to put away the brick. Maybe I'd better keep it. I don't know the Department policy yet, but I think this calls for a loaded pistol. She took her pistol from the holster, pulled back the slide then let it slip home, putting a round in the chamber. Setting the safety, she returned the weapon to the holster. Closing the car trunk gently, she jogged across the street to join Sergeant Wilson and Gunn.

Wilson studied January for a minute, then nodded and smiled. "Farrell, you did okay there under the tree, spotting the rappelling ropes and me coming down the sidewalk. I hadn't given my location, so you couldn't have known it was me. Boy, I felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I should have informed everyone of my location. You handled it like a pro."

Jan felt her face warm, and knew she was blushing. The Sarge is a great guy. He's letting me off the hook and making me feel good. I'll work hard for this man. "Thanks Sarge. I should have known it was you."

"Not for a while, Farrell, until you've seen me walk enough to recognize my gait." He chuckled. "Hey, this is your first night on the job. Nobody expects you to walk on water, leap tall buildings in a single bound, or get in a pushing match with a locomotive. Rookies can make mistakes, just not too many. So lighten up, right now you're batting close to a thousand."

"Thank you, Sergeant Wilson". January glanced at Gunn to see if the Sergeant's manner was getting through to him. Gunn was standing there relaxed with an enigmatic smile on his handsome face. What's this big lug thinking? He acts like he's sitting on the right hand of God.

Thad watched the byplay between Farrell and the Sergeant. She's getting her ego inflated. Soon be time to pop her balloon. She may be bright and beautiful, but she's a rookie, and needs to be treated as one. She's going to have to learn sympathy is a luxury rookies don't deserve or receive.

"All right," Sergeant Wilson spoke up. "This is our game plan. We've gotta go inside and dig those turkeys out. Gunn, you'll search the right side of the store, I'll take the middle and Alvarez the left. Shapiro will cover Alvarez and me, while Farrell will cover you and me. I'll go in first, then Alvarez, you next Gunn, Shapiro and then Farrell."

Nodding, Thad saw Farrell do the same. Her expression was serious, but he could discern no panic. Maybe she'll do.

"We'll go in loaded and unlocked, about five feet and stop. Gunn, you, me and Alvarez will move together. Farrell, as the last one in, close the door as you move to the right. Don't silhouette yourself in the show window. Watch the spaces around me and Gunn. Don't use your flashlight, unless you have a target. Gunn and I don't need to be back-lighted. Anyone not in uniform in front of you is a target. But don't shoot unless there is a clear danger to me, Gunn or yourself. Can you handle it?"

"Yes sir." Nodding, Farrell again looked at Thad.

Damn, her eyes sparkle. She's up and excited. My back is already starting to crawl. I hate this kind of deal. Thad moved his shoulders in a slight shrug.

"Farrell, I don't know you yet, so I have to ask you this question." Sergeant Wilson's tone and expression were serious. "Do you think you can shoot a person?"

Like she had with Thad in the car, Farrell looked directly at the Sergeant. "Yes sir. As I told Officer Gunn, I reconciled myself to the possibility a long time ago, when I started carrying a firearm. I can handle it."

Gunn looked at her, still not completely sure. "How about under the tree tonight?"

"I had the safety off, finger on the trigger and sights on the center of mass until the two officers on the roof took the lookout down. I was ready to shoot if I had to."

I think she really was ready. Thad nodded at the Sergeant.

"Okay, you two wait here, while I brief Alvarez and Shapiro. I'll signal when we're ready to move. Don't make targets of yourselves when you approach the door." Sergeant Wilson turned and scuttled to the other side of the store front.

Thad found himself watching Farrell watch the Sergeant. I'm a sucker for dark red hair and green eyes. It's going to be hard to stay impersonal. "Got a round in the chamber? There won't be time to charge your pistol once inside."

"Yes. It's cocked but the safety's on."

"Good." That's a surprise. Most rookies had to be told to carry their pistols with a round in the chamber. She didn't learn that in the Marines. Must'a been at ALETA.

"How about your flashlight?"

"Brand new bulb and batteries today. I checked it out before I came to work."

Damn! I can't believe this. He glanced at her, one eyebrow cocked in surprise.

"Hey, I've had flashlights go out when I needed them most. It's difficult to go crashing through the woods in the dark looking for the potty when you're out camping. Been there, done that. I'm a big girl now. The Captain told me I'd be working from 2200 to 0600. The sun doesn't come up until around 0530, so I figured I might have to use my flashlight."

I must've given myself away or she can read minds. Hey! Are you reading my mind? Farrell didn't blink an eye. Guess not.

"Most rookies show up with cheap flimsy flashlights, but you have a 'Kel-Light', why?"

"You don't remember the flashlights the Corps issued? I got mine the same way you probably got yours--I was top scorer on the range at ALETA."

"Yeah, I remember those plastic excuses the Corp issued. You had to use a match to see if they were lit."

Farrell laughed, remembering to mute the sound with her hand. God, she's lovely when she laughs. With her looks and brains, she doesn't need to be a cop. She could do a lot better in some other line of work. I'm going to do my damnedest to get her to quit. The sooner, the better.

"Okay, There's the signal. Follow me." Thad squatted to duck-walk to the door.

January followed Gunn's lead. Nice buns. Just as I suspected, he wears jockey shorts. Maybe that's the source of his attitude--they're too tight. She struggled to stifle a giggle. Oh God, here we are, going into a dark store full of burglars and I'm thinking about that big lug's buns. Better get back to business.

January could feel the butterflies starting their dog-fights in her belly. She renewed her deep breathing regimen. Gotta get the adrenaline under control or I won't be worth anything.

They were all crouched close together in front of the door, pistols drawn and flashlights in hand. January sensed the odor of the men, a mixture of sweat, aftershave and masculinity.

Can they smell me? Is this the odor of fear? January Farrell, you're scared! God, yes I'm scared. I don't want to screw up and cause one of these guys to get hurt. No, I'm trained. I can do it. I can do it!

"Everybody ready?" Sergeant Wilson looked back over his shoulder. Each answered in turn. Wilson put the key in the lock and turned it. "Okay, let's do it!" He shoved the door open and sprang forward.

January waddled in at Shapiro's back until she, too, was inside the door. She hooked the door with her right elbow and shoved it closed. Moving to the right, she crouched, her pistol pointed at the ceiling, her left hand holding the flashlight away from her body. The single light above the safe threw a lot of shadows. Swinging her head slowly, she kept her gaze constantly moving back and forth as she tried to control her breathing. Her heart pounded in her ears as she watched the sergeant and Gunn inch forward.

Careful guys, I don't want to see anyone hurt. Easy does it. January peered into the shadows, afraid of what she might see. Her eyes stung from the strain, but she didn't dare relax, even for a second.

Sergeant Wilson, Alvarez and Gunn started creeping towards the back of the shop, peering into the shadows and behind display cases. January felt the tension building. She kept sweeping her gaze in an arc from the center to the right wall.

They're moving like they have done this together a thousand times. It's almost as if the sergeant was counting cadence. I didn't know cops worked like this. They sure didn't mention it at the Academy.

She heard a slight rustling noise to her right. Searching in the direction of the sound, she saw a figure rise slowly from behind a display case. "Freeze!" January snapped on her flashlight and brought her pistol to the point without a pause. "Get your hands up! Face the wall!"

"Okay, Farrell." Gunn's voice, just above a whisper, sounded calm. He appeared beside the burglar and shoved him around to face the wall. January flicked off her light and raised her pistol to point upward.

"Freeze! Drop it! Drop it!" Shapiro's sharp commands came from behind her. Almost simultaneously, three deafening explosions sounded.

January froze. My God! Shots! Gunn and the burglar disappeared. A piece of plaster fell from the wall not far from where they'd been. She heard sounds of a scuffle behind her. Where's Gunn? Did one of those shots hit him? January inched toward where she had last seen her trainer.

"Gunn?" Her voice came out in a squeaky whisper.

"Code four, Farrell. You okay?"

Thank God, he's okay. "Yeah, Code Four, Gunn." What the hell happened? I heard three shots. My ears are still ringing."

"Everything is Code Four here." That was Sergeant Wilson. "Gunn? Farrell?

"Code Four, Sarge," Gunn answered. "We have a prisoner."

"Good. Let's get some lights. Alvarez, can you find some light switches?" January heard Wilson ask. She watched intently as Gunn stood, pulling up the burglar, now handcuffed.

Sergeant Wilson used his brick to call dispatch. He informed them an officer was involved in a shooting and a burglar was wounded. He requested an ambulance and the Fire Department with EMTs and a ladder truck. When the lights came on, January put her pistol on safe and holstered it.

Gunn was grinning as he approached, pushing his prisoner ahead of him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I told you, I'm fine. It's going to take awhile before my ears quit ringing, though." January released a breath she suddenly realized she'd been holding. "It scared me when you went down."

"Combat reflexes. Go to ground when there's incoming."

"Oh!" Wipe that smirk off your face. Hell yes, I was scared. I damn near peed my pants when those shots went off. "The Corps didn't see fit to give me that kind of experience. I guess I'll have to get it here in Riverton."

The grin vanished. "Not if I can help it." Before January could frame a suitable retort, Gunn shook his head. "Later."

Once they had everything under control, action seemed to happen in a blur, now fast, now slow. January diagnosed her sensory distortion as a delayed reaction to the past hour's stress. As the officers gathered on the sidewalk outside the shop, she breathed slowly and evenly, striving to regain her senses of balance and control.

Too much, too fast, but wow, I made it. Didn't lose control, pee my pants or anything! And no officers were hurt. A heady glee filled her for a few moments.

The EMTs and a ladder-bearing fire truck arrived. The firemen got the lookout and the two officers off the roof, while the EMTs bandaged the wounded burglar's shoulder. Alvarez took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Hesitating only a moment, he offered it to her.

January managed a crooked grin. "Thanks, I could use one." Her hands shook a little as she lit her first cigarette in three years. Wrung out, she'd almost reached the trembling stage. The faint stir of breeze chilled her as it evaporated the moisture from her sweat-soaked shirt.

Sergeant Wilson looked at her with a paternal smile. "Farrell, you sure lucked out. A lot of cops work twenty years before they get a burglar on the premises, but you got it your first night. Congratulations."

Before she could reply, another vehicle pulled up, stopping at the curb just behind the EMT's truck. January turned to see who else had arrived. Squinting a little in the uneven light of revolving spots, she made out the logo on the van's side--"WRVT TV, bringing Riverton's news right home." Behind her, Wilson muttered something that sounded like "Aw, shit."

In a moment, Jan understood. The first person out of the van, a woman, was dressed to the nines. Her skirt was too short for the exit to be ladylike, while dangling earrings, spike heels and heavy makeup completed her flashy look. Her blonde hair, in the latest windblown frizz, looked brittle. She approached the officers with a toothy smile. A shark homing in on blood. Oh boy.

"Well, well. Some of Riverton's finest...what's going down here tonight?"

"Just a routine burglary. Nothing newsworthy, Ms. Rafferty." Wilson spoke in a flat, final tone. Then he deliberately turned away.

The blonde swung toward January. "I haven't seen you before. You must be new. What can you tell us? I understand shots were fired."

January fought the urge to snap a caustic remark. "Sorry, ma'am, I've got nothing to say. I'm not a spokesperson for the PD, just a rookie officer learning the ropes. You'll have to get your statement from someone else."

The ambulance arrived, creating enough confusion so no one could speak for a moment until they loaded the wounded burglar and left the scene. Officer Goldman went with them, guarding the man who didn't seem to be seriously wounded.

January hoped she'd escape from Ms. Rafferty's clutches, but no such luck. Obviously none of the other officers would speak to the newswoman, so she returned to January. Shoving her microphone in January's face, she maneuvered so the young man with the video camera would shoot her profile as they spoke, and the lights would be in January's eyes rather than her own.

"You're an attractive young woman, too pretty to be hiding behind a badge and gun. What motivates you to become a police officer?"

"I have my reasons," January said, "And my gender has nothing to do with it at all."

"Oh, but it does. Women moving into new fields always interest the public. We want to know what their agenda is, what they hope to accomplish."

January clenched her teeth, took one more deep breath and then spoke--slowly and distinctly. "Well I might ask, since most women have enough sensitivity they don't get off on stripping bare personal tragedy or victory to the public eye, what motivates you to be a newswoman?"

For a long moment, January held the other woman's gaze, watching the rage build in the unnaturally blue eyes blazing at her. "Get that microphone out of my face. I've got work to do."

She turned, striding over to join Wilson and Gunn, leaving the newswoman sputtering in incoherent wrath.

"Atta girl," Wilson said. "Sophia Rafferty is no friend of the Riverton PD. She's always trying to catch us short, embarrass us for violating citizen's rights or using unnecessary force. I'd say you made a personal enemy tonight, though. In fact, I'd lay a bet she'll now be out to get you, especially."

"I hate people like that! The media seems to thrive on scratching the scabs off every wound to show the public as much gore as they can. They make me sick!" I'll never forget the TV crew, when Dad died in the rice mill accident. God, they were like vultures. January shook her head, banishing the unwanted memories.

"Like I was saying, you lucked out, but you did real well tonight. A person would almost think you've done this before." Wilson studied her as he spoke, an assessing look in his eyes.

"Thanks Sergeant, but it was Gunn who spotted the lookout."

"I know. Everyone knows rookies never look above their eyebrows. All the same, you handled yourself a lot better than some rookies have in a tight spot. And Farrell, regardless of who did what, every officer here gets credit for the job. We're a team. When everyone plays their positions right, we score. So take my congratulations. You did your part, right Gunn?"

"Yeah, Sarge. Farrell did a lot better than I expected." Something in Gunn's drawling tone made his words sound insincere. As he spoke, he grinned at January with that wide-eyed stare.

In a fey mood, January grinned back. "Thanks, Spook." Sergeant Wilson and Alvarez broke into guffaws. Gunn glared at them all.

"All right!" Alvarez, still laughing, turned to January. "Gimme five, Farrell."

While January slapped hands with him in a high five, Gunn kept glaring. She had just made points with a fellow officer, her first step in winning recognition on the department, where counting coup could be significant. To hell with Gunn. Call this one for me.

To Thad, the familiar jab seemed sharper than usual, maybe because he registered January's triumphant grin. I'll overlook this now. She's on an obvious high, but I'll bust her bubble soon. "Okay, Farrell, we're primary on this call, so we get to book the other two. Shake 'em down and put them in the car."

January nodded and turned to the lookout. "Spread 'em."

"No way! No dyke's gonna feel me up."

"We know your preference for men, Bunny, but Officer Farrell searches you, or we do a strip search right here on the sidewalk. Got that, Bunny the Queen?" Thad kept his eyes wide open as he grinned at the unhappy burglar.

Bunny glared at him. "Screw you, Spook". But he turned around and spread his legs. Farrell did a slow, careful pat-down. Bunny didn't say another word.

January ran her hands up the second burglar's leg. "Go ahead and cop a feel, girly, find out what a real man's like." She continued the search without a rejoinder. "Which one of these stud field mice you humping, honey?"

"Shut your filthy mouth." Alvarez started forward, but Gunn stopped him.

"You doing the beaner, girly? Grab hold of Willie and see what you're missing."

When January straightened up, she looked at Gunn. "Didn't find anything. This'un must be a Texan, big mouth, big belt buckle, and a teeny weenie." Farrell turned back to the burglar. "Sorry fella, but I got a six-year-old nephew hung better than you. You probably disappoint your main squeeze Bunny."

"You bitch!"

"That's right, scumbag. You got it and don't you forget it." January pushed the prisoner toward the open back door of Peter Six. "Move over and make room for this stud pismire." Closing the door, January turned back to Gunn, a wicked smile on her face. "Mission accomplished, sir."

She's handling the flak better than I expected. She's salty. In fact she's performed near perfectly, tonight. But being a cop is not a job for a woman, especially one as good looking as she is. She can do better. I'm the one to convince her she needs to. Gunn went around to the driver's side of the car.

The drive to the jail and the booking were uneventful. Thad did the first burglar, while Farrell watched over his shoulder. Then she did the other one with no trouble. Gunn noticed she was coming down well from her high, though she looked tired.

After they completed the booking, they walked back out to the car. Thad glanced at Farrell. Only a hint of strain showed in her face and carriage. "Could you use some coffee?"

"For sure. Caffeine is just what I need now." Farrell stretched, arching her back. "Whew, I was up tight."

"Okay, let me make a phone call, and then we'll take a coffee break." At Farrell's nod, he turned and went back into the jail.

When he returned and got into the unit, Farrell checked them back on the air.

Chapter Two

8 July 1982; 0240:

Six blocks from the jail, Gunn turned into an alley. In the middle of the block he drove up to the back door of what appeared to be a residence. "Tell Dispatch we'll be ten-ten at the Roost."

January obeyed, got out of the car and followed Gunn to the door.

When he knocked, a tall, middle aged African American woman wearing a bright Hawaiian muumuu answered the door.

"Good evening, Garnet. This is Officer Farrell. Farrell, Garnet Ledeux."

The woman looked January over thoroughly before she gave a gracious nod. "Good evening Thaddeus. My pleasure, Officer Farrell." She offered January her hand, her grip firm and business like. "Come in, come in, please. Mama Good baked a nice German chocolate cake today. Would you care for some, with your coffee?"

Garnet led them into a parlor-like room that looked straight out of the Gay Nineties, red velvet curtains and all.

"Cake sounds fine." Gunn glanced at January.

"Yes, thank you." January murmured her acceptance in a vague tone as she scanned the florid room. What kind of place is this? It looks like a cat house...but he wouldn't do a thing like that--would he?

"Sit down, please, I'll be right back." Garnet left the room.

"What kind of place is this, anyway?" January's knew her puzzlement showed in her tone and expression. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"I think you'll figure it out soon."

I don't like that smirk. Something is fishy. I feel like I'm being set up. Damn, what's this guy's problem?

A black waitress in a crisp uniform glided in with a laden tray. She placed cups and saucers in front of both Gunn and January and a third set opposite them, adding a plate with a generous slice of cake in front of each officer. She put a sugar bowl, creamer, and silverware on the table before filling all three cups from a large carafe, which she left on the table. "Enjoy." The waitress beamed at January before she left the room.

Garnet returned to sit across the table with the two cops. "Well, Officer Farrell, you're new to the Department, I believe."

"Yes ma'am, this is my first shift."

Garnet shot a sharp glance at Gunn before she turned back to January. "What is your first name, if I may ask?" Her smile glowed with warmth, somehow gentle.

"It's January, and no, I was not born in that month. My father just happened to like the name."

"How delightful. My people often name their children with fanciful or whimsical names. Everyone should have color in their lives, and what could be better than a colorful name? May I call you January?"

"Yes, of course."

"You're quite lovely, January, and your hair is a beautiful color. I'm surprised such an attractive young woman would choose police work as a career." Garnet continued to study her, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow.

"Thank you for the compliment. As for career, I have my reasons. I was in the Marines for six years as well. Again, with what I thought were good reasons."

"It was no compliment, my dear, but the simple truth." Garnet turned to Gunn. "Was the cake all right? Thaddeus, I know about your reputation as a gourmet." Garnet paused to chuckle. "You eat so fast, you couldn't possibly taste anything."

"Yes, Garnet, the cake was fine. Tell Mama Good she can bake cakes for me anytime." Gunn turned his ghoulish grin toward Garnet.

"You are a humbug, Thaddeus Gunn. Don't try your spooky business on me." Garnet frowned briefly at him, then turned back to January.

"January, the girls want to meet you, if you're through eating."

"I'm through. The cake really was delicious." Wait...girls? Geez, it really is!.

"Good." Garnet clapped her hands. Six young women trooped into the room. Five wore sheer night gowns and negligees, while one was in a scarlet strapless sequined mini-dress. All had on too much makeup, and a common hardness aged their youthful faces.

Hell, it is a whore house! What is Gunn up to? This is crazy. Cops don't take breaks in whore houses!

"Girls, this is Officer Farrell." Garnet nodded towards January. "And for you who have not previously met him, this is Officer Gunn."

One of the girls sidled up to Gunn, scarlet lips spread in a suggestive smile. "Drop back when you aren't on duty, Handsome, and I'll show you a good time."

He looked up at her. January recognized the instant the girl saw his eyes. She blanched, gasped and stepped back. "Er, never mind." She made a quick gesture, as if for luck or to ward off evil.

A chubby, baby-doll faced blonde edged closer to January. "You're real good looking. What you wanna be a funky cop for?"

"I have my reasons." January's tone was ice cold.

"You a dyke?" That was another blonde, tall, horsy-faced, with a number of tattoos showing through her flimsy gown as did her nipples, which were pierced with gold hoops.

God, I thought I'd gotten away from the weird ones. "No!"

"You sure? You really are delicious looking." This from a girl with bottle orange-red hair and black roots showing.

"I said no! This isn't my lifetime for girls." January's gaze darted from one to another of the prostitutes, disgust souring the cake and coffee in her stomach.

"That's too bad, honey," A tall, black-haired girl smiled. She was by far the best looking of the six. "You and I could burn up the sheets." January opened her mouth to retort, but no sound emerged. "You oughtta try it--you'd never go back to men. I'd love to teach you real love."

"Yeah, make it a threesome and we'd turn the air blue." Orange hair grinned at January. "You'd howl at the moon."

Jan stood up and faced the girls, hands on hips. "Look, I'll say it once more. The answer is a big N O. For two damned years I was an adult probation officer in San Diego County, California. I had them all, whores, pimps, dope heads, child abusers. You name it, I had it. If you think you're shocking me, you're not. I'm just disgusted. As far as I'm concerned, you are about the sorriest examples of women I have ever seen."

She turned to face Gunn. "As for you, this is a damned cheap shot. You know I'm coming down off an adrenalin rush and you pull a stunt like this. What kind of kinky pervert are you?"

While January was telling Gunn off, Garnet had waved the girls from the room. A faint flush darkened her cafe-au-lait cheeks when she paused, visibly calming herself. She turned back to January, "My apologies, Officer Farrell. I regret your discomfort. If you ever return, be assured you will be treated as befits a lady and a police officer. Sit down, please, and finish your coffee."

When January sat down, she was trembling. I wasn't prepared for this. After all that's already happened tonight, he has to pull this stunt. The turkey is sick, vicious and sick.

Shaking her head slightly, Garnet sent a chiding look at Gunn. "Thaddeus Gunn, don't you realize your new partner is a lady?"

Gunn was red-faced. He had lost it and he knew it. At a loss for words, he sat there staring at his coffee cup.

"Thaddeus Gunn, I have never liked this little charade you pull on rookies, but what could I say? I can't afford the enmity of any police officer, so I allowed your nasty game. This was the last straw, though. Never again."

Garnet Ledeux stood. "You may finish the coffee, if it pleases you. Miss Farrell, I am deeply sorry you were discomfited. You can be sure of my respect for you as a lady and a police officer. I hope someday I might make amends for tonight. Good evening, January Farrell." She turned and stalked gracefully from the room.

"I think you sold the outhouse, Officer Gunn. It will be an extremely cold day in Hell before I trust you again." January stood. "Go ahead, finish your coffee. I'll wait outside."

When Thad came out to the patrol unit, Farrell was sitting in the passenger seat, her face tight with anger. There's no sign of tears. I'm surprised she isn't crying. She's beautiful and right now she's as regal as a queen. I've misjudged this one. An adult probation officer? I didn't see that on her resume. How did I miss it?

As soon as the car started, and the radio came on, Farrell checked them back on duty, without instruction. She made a notation on the log and then simply stared out the window.

What's she thinking? I expected a tirade by now. He had to fill the icy silence. Maybe she did deserve some explanation.

"You have to realize that place is totally illegal. Every time it gets raided, before we can get the girls mugged and finger-printed, somebody has to put up bail. The girls disappear and a new batch is there the next night. So the only time it gets raided is right before elections, when the County Attorney and the Sheriff are trying to drum up votes."

Farrell remained silent. Not going to take the bait, eh? You will eventually.

"Pull in to that convenience store." Farrell pointed at an all night market just past the intersection.

"Why?"

"I want to get something." Her tone was as coldly impersonal as her set face.

In spite of it, he couldn't resist needling her. "You're on duty. You're supposed to come to work prepared. That's what you have a brief case for."

"Damn it! I don't need any more of your bullshit. How in Hell was I supposed to know you're a sadistic, supercilious boor and it wouldn't take four hours with you to make me sick? Just pull in, I won't be five minutes."

Gunn turned the radio patrol unit--RPU--into the lot, pulling up to the front door. He watched as Farrell got out and walked to the door. Though her uniform was obviously tailored to subdue her femininity, he noticed the movement of her buttocks and visualized how she'd look in tight jeans. At the image, he started becoming aroused. Then his attention turned back to the storefront.

"What the..."

Farrell was tussling with a male just inside the door. Thad jumped out of the unit. By the time he got there, she had the guy face down on the floor and was setting a six pack of beer on the counter.

"Boy, you guys are fast, I just hung up the phone." The clerk shook her head. "This is the third time this turkey has grabbed a six pack and run. When I saw him come in the door, I called the station, but I didn't expect you guys to get here so fast."

As Thad watched, Farrell efficiently handcuffed the shoplifter.

"Okay Farrell, I'll handle him. Go tell Peter 9 everything is Code Four." Without a word, Farrell left the store. Thad was too busy shaking down the suspect for weapons to pay attention to her ominous silence. When she came back in, taking a notebook out of her left shirt pocket, he had the suspect on his feet. She walked straight to the counter.

"What's your name, miss?"

Damn she's not waiting for me to tell her what to do.

"Imogene O'Leary." Farrell wrote it down, her face a smooth, bland mask.

"Address?"

"1436 17th Street, Apartment 9B."

"Phone?"

"I don't have a telephone in the apartment. My ex-roommate ran up too big a bill and the phone company cut me off." Farrell continued to take down information.

"Imogene, you say this guy did this twice before?"

"Yes, both last Friday and Saturday."

"Did you call the police?"

"Yes, both times. He was one of the officers who came both nights." Imogene pointed at Gunn.

Farrell turned her head and looked at him, arching her right eyebrow.

God that's sexy. Thad nodded, "Yes, Voukovich was the primary officer and I was backup."

Farrell nodded and wrote it all in her notebook.

"How did you recognize him tonight?"

Now why did she ask that?

Imogene hesitated a moment. "Well he's wearing pretty much the same clothes as the other two nights, black tee shirt and jeans, but I recognized his face."

"You're sure it's the same guy?"

Imogene nodded, "Positive."

"Excellent. Imogene, you're a good witness." Farrell smiled at the clerk. Then she turned to Thad. "Gunn, why don't you take him out to the car and I'll take care of the business I came in for?"

Damn, she's giving me orders, now. I won't argue with her in front of witnesses, but just wait until we are in the car alone.

He propelled the handcuffed suspect out the door, put him in the car and was standing by the driver's door when Farrell came out of the store carrying a couple of packs of cigarettes in her left hand, and a burning cigarette in her right. She wore a slight smile.

Farrell stopped at the car door. "You plan on booking him?"

"Yeah, if it's all right with your majesty."

"Whatever you say Senior Patrol Officer Gunn. Whatever you say." Farrell got into the car and started writing on the log sheet. When Thad got in, she picked up the microphone. "KTR Two Eight Three, Peter Six Ten-Eight, Ten-Eighteen with one male Ten Fifteen. Two-Eight-Three, could you give me time of call at the Night Owl Mart?"

<Ten Four Peter Six, time of call Oh One Five One.>

"Ten Four, Two Eight Three and thanks."

<We try to please, Ma'am, KTR Two Eight Three, Oh Two Oh Three.> Farrell chuckled to herself as she hung up the microphone.

She's pleased with herself. Right now she needs to go through one of a mall's garbage boxes looking for evidence. We'd see how enthused she'd be then about being a cop.

At the jail, Farrell went about the booking without instruction. She hesitated at the offense line, glancing at Gunn quickly.

"Make it City Ordinance Six-One-Seven, Shoplifting." Farrell nodded and wrote. When they were through, Farrell smiled at the jailer and thanked him. She's trying to get my goat. I know that and it makes me angrier because she's succeeding. What's happening here?

She followed him back out to the car.

"All right, I thought I told you to observe and only do what another officer told you." Thad turned the car into the street from the jail parking lot.

"There wasn't time to turn and say, 'Patrol Officer Gunn, there's a shoplifter running over me, what should I do?' So I took what I was trained to do--proper police action. If I hadn't, I'd have his dusty foot prints up the front of my brand new uniform."

"What about you questioning the clerk? I didn't tell you to do that."

"No, you were too damned busy being macho and preening yourself in front of her. Somebody had to do the work and you had me tell Voukovich to buzz off." Farrell took out another cigarette and lit it.

"I thought you didn't smoke."

"I didn't, not for three years, but four hours stuck with you is enough to break anyone's good intentions. I'll probably become a drunk before the week is out." Farrell looked out the window for a moment. He could see her shoulders rise and fall with her deep breaths.

Then she turned back. "No, I won't become a drunk, and I'll stick it out until my probation is over. Maybe by then, I'll go deaf so I can't hear your braying, you sadistic egotistical jackass. Oh yes, and you're wasting your time with your phony evil-eye. Garnet has it right. You're pure humbug, Gunn."

What could he say? What could he do? God, no rookie ever dared talk to me like that. She's female and knows I won't hit her, but I'll find something to jerk her up short. She's too saucy--sassy--for her own good.

* * *

8 July 1982: 0630:

January glanced around as she stepped out of the Police Station, heading for her car. My God, the sun's up and another day's started, even after a night like that. Should I be elated at having survived my first shift or dejected thinking how many more are yet to come?

"They said everybody meets at the Chuck Wagon... Let's see, that's on Centennial and eighth." She spoke aloud, the sound of her own voice helping re-establish her sense of reality.

When January entered the twenty-four hour restaurant, she found Ray Goldman and three other officers, whose names she could not recall, already there. They sat toward the rear where they'd pulled two tables together.

"C'mon Farrell. Saved you a seat."

She sank gratefully onto the chair Ray pulled out for her.

"Whew, I don't know if I'm upside down or inside out. That was some first shift."

"Yeah, I was just telling Phil, Dan and Andre about the burglary." Ray re-introduced Phil Hunt, a lanky blond, Dan Voukovich, husky, swarthy and dour-faced, and Andre Banks, a burly black officer with a ready grin.

"You won't have all the names and faces together yet. Hunt works Sleepyville, out on the Mesa, Voukovich patrols area three and Banks has four."

Phil grinned. "Hear you caught the doers on-scene. You must be Irish having that kind of luck."

"Yeah, I'm Irish, but I also have Gunn for a training officer. That levels out a whole lot of good stuff." The other officers laughed.

The waitress sauntered over, plopped a coffee pot on each table. Her name tag said "Maye." She looked January over before she smiled. Something in her bright hazel eyes and freckle-faced smile seemed to say "I think you'll do."

"So you're the new rookie. I hear Gunn's your training officer. If that's right, you have my sympathy, honey."

After January nodded, Maye went on. "I dated him a few times, a couple years ago. When he's not in uniform, he's almost human, but as soon as he puts on that blue suit, he changes one-hundred and eighty degrees. He's a good dancer, can be a lot of fun, but I couldn't see a lifetime with those spooky eyes." She shuddered. "Imagine seeing them first thing every morning. Good God!"

Maye winked as she turned away. "You hang in there and don't let him get to you."

"He took Jan to the Roost, her first night," Phil offered. "Right after they busted a burglary at Carlings."

"That bas..." Maye flushed. "Sorry, but that takes the cake. What was he thinking of?"

"Harassment, plain and simple. He told me he was going to do everything he could to convince me not to be a cop." January's outrage flared anew as she repeated his statement. In this day and age! Who does he think he is?

"Honey, you tough it out. If it gets too bad, you can cry on my shoulder anytime. I liked Thad, but I never liked the way he treats rookies. We argued about that. He'll hardly speak to me any more, but that's okay. Got me a good man and a pretty baby girl now. I don't need Thad Gunn and neither do you." Maye patted January's shoulder before she moved on to serve her other customers.

"Maye's all right. She helped me deal with Gunn's bull. You can talk to her. She's a real good listener." Phil picked up his cup, blew across it, bending the rising steam. "Did any of the girls at The Roost grope your crotch?"

"No, they didn't touch me, but the way they looked me over was enough. And some of their remarks..."

Phil set the cup down after a sip. "Every one of them groped me. I'm just a ranch kid--did a hitch in the Army, but nothing like that ever happened to me before. Willie and I hadn't been married a year. It made me sick enough to puke, and I wouldn't touch Willie, not even a peck on the cheek, until I scrubbed down with green hospital soap. I love my wife and I didn't want any of that filth near her."

Phil took another sip of coffee while January lit a cigarette. His gaze turned hazy with recollection. "I made Gunn take me back to the Roost the next night--to the front door. When I walked in, a couple of girls started toward me. I said, 'Any whore who touches me will get her damned arm broke, and if any of you meet me on the street, you cross over to the other side. The next time I come in here it'll be for the express purpose of putting you all in jail.' Then I turned and walked out. I heard later that Garnet almost refused to let Gunn bring in another rookie."

"Garnet's all right. See her somewhere else, you'd think she was a real lady," Andre said. "But some of those girls are tough customers."

"Too bad she didn't stop Gunn sooner, but she has now, as of last night." The bitterness in Jan's voice almost shocked her as she heard its echo. I'll tell him someday, after I've made the grade, just what I think of him, the sadistic bastard.

Within a few minutes all the shift had arrived except for Gunn and Sergeant Wilson. Included in their easy banter, January felt part of a big, good-humored family, something she'd missed more than she realized.

"You must be the new rookie."

At the sound of another feminine voice, January looked up to see a tall, beautiful blonde in crisp white standing beside their table. Smiling warmly, the woman offered her hand. "I'm Wilma Hunt, commonly known as Willie."

January stood to accept the handshake. "Jan Farrell."

"I know. I work the ER. When Goldman brought that burglar in, he told me all about you." Willie's grip was firm, her smile warm and genuine. January knew at once she and Willie were going to be friends.

Over the years, she'd met other wives of men she'd worked with. There'd always been a hint of jealousy, a trace of resentment or envy. Willie exhibited none of that. I'm no threat and she knows it. She's confident in her husband and his love. That would be wonderful... No, I don't need that, don't need a man to make me whole. I'm not my mother.

January sat again while Willie slid into the bench seat beside Phil. They exchanged a look, the kind needing no words to say volumes about the bond between them. Before Willie could turn up her coffee cup, Maye appeared, flipped it over and filled it, then took their orders. The rest all said, "The usual", but January ordered French toast and a big glass of grapefruit juice. Maybe the citric acid will wash last night's bad taste out of my mouth.

After she greeted each of the other officers by name, Willie turned back to January. "So you're Gunn's latest victim. When Phil was training with him, I was ready to kill that sorry sucker more than once. Has your hand itched for the pistol yet?"

January had to chuckle. "You know him, then."

"You could say that." Willie's tone held a load of meaning. "Let me give you an example. I'd only been working at the hospital about six weeks when he came in with a guy who'd been cut up in a brawl. I guess Gunn was going to put the guy in jail after we patched him up. Anyway, I went over to see if this cop needed anything. After he said he didn't, I made a comment about the night being hot. He gave me one of those fish-eyed looks and said, 'When I'm on duty, I don't waste time on trivial conversation.' I wanted to smack him up alongside the head! Of course that isn't exactly professional conduct...so I didn't, but damn, I wanted to!"

Ray broke in. "He took Jan to The Roost last night, her first night, right after they busted that burglary at Carlings'."

Willie's mouth shaped a shocked, silent 'o'. "He didn't!"

"He did. I--it wasn't as if I hadn't seen prostitutes before or dealt with lesbians, but damn it, I needed a real break, some coffee and a chance to wind down a little, but he springs that on me."

"Typical Gunn. Oh, he's clever, probably a genius, but he's sure diabolical. Those eyes--makes you wonder what's going on in that brain behind them." Willie's full lips pulled down in a grim bow. "I'd kill the sorry sucker the first week, if I was in your shoes."

"I thought maybe it was just me. Is he always a sarcastic, supercilious ess-oh-bee?"

"Yeah, he makes a profession of it." Dan's words sounded almost as bitter as January felt. All the officers agreed.

After a moment, Andre spoke, his tone serious. "Gotta give the devil his due, though. He's one heck of a cop. Has a sixth sense about burglaries, what to do and when to do it. Always comes out unscathed, smelling like the proverbial rose, too. Back in Louisiana, folks'd say he had the hoodoo."

Willie shook her head. "Hard man to understand." She reached over and patted Phil's knee under the edge of the table. "But you learned a lot from him, didn't you, Hon?"

Phil nodded. "Yeah, if you can survive, Jan, you'll have more experience and know-how stored away than a lot of ten year veterans, but he won't cut you any slack."

"I was wondering whether to take it all personally or not. I mean, is he a woman hater? He seems adamant about making me quit."

"No." They all spoke together, then Phil continued.

"No, he dates different women, off and on, nothing serious but he's definitely not gay, anyway. But he's not a womanizer, either." He paused, as if searching for words. "He's rough on all the rookies, almost like a compulsion about toughening them up, making them bullet-proof, but I don't know why he'd single you out."

"He dates just about every eligible lady in town. Never misses the Marine Corp birthday ball, either," Willie added. "We usually go too, and he's always there in dress blues, looking like a recruiting poster. Never twice with the same lady, though. He took Maye once, and last year it was that lawyer, what's her name?"

"Karen Calloway?"

"Right. She and Dr. Sanford just got married."

January's attention wandered for a moment. She pictured the tall, lithe man in dress blues, dancing like he walked, effortlessly and with total control. The image sent a slight shiver fluttering through her, one she could not explain. Oh yeah, he's a former Marine. Well, that's part of the attitude, I guess. Maybe he had problems with women Marines, something real serious. Yeah, that's probably it.

When the group broke up to head home, she felt a twinge of regret. Now she'd have to face that bleak apartment, solitude, and the tangle of impressions, images, and events buzzing in her mind like a swarm of disturbed bees.

She slept badly, bothered by the daylight seeping in around the drawn drapes, the heat of the boxy little room, and a mare's nest of dreams in which the six prostitutes burglarized a jewelry store, the foul-mouthed burglar served her coffee and Thad Gunn hovered at every turn, grinning at her with his pale eyes wide.

Finally, at 8:00 p.m., she got up, showered and ate a quick meal. For an instant, she contemplated not going to work, maybe calling in sick or simply packing up and leaving town. But she couldn't.

I'm not a damn quitter. I can stick it out. It's not as long as boot camp. I can deal with it. I've got to. I'm not alone, anyway. Maye and Willie can be the kind of friends I haven't had in years, and some of the other officers are already rooting for me. The little pep talk made her feel better.

Before she put on her uniform, she went through her whole Tai Chi routine. That made her feel better too--calm, centered and able to cope with whatever the night might hold. She did enjoy putting on the dark blue uniform, buckling the black basket-weave gun belt around her waist, and brushing a hint of dust from the bronze Riverton Police Department badge. Wasn't this what she'd wanted for a long time?

Still, Gunn continued to haunt her, awake as well as asleep. What would he do for an encore? He surely hadn't exhausted his bag of tricks this quickly.

I can't second-guess him--yet. But I did get one on him last night, and if I pay attention, I'll find more chinks in his armor, enough to let him know I'm not lacking in defenses.

January didn't want to make Gunn really angry, but she'd never been one to let people run over her rough-shod. She wasn't about to start now.

Chapter Three

28 July 1982: 2130:

Thad entered the squad room with some reluctance. The last three weeks hadn't been the best of his career with the Riverton PD. Farrell was the first rookie who had ever argued with him. He'd already begun to feel he wasn't holding his own with her. There she is, relaxed and laughing at one of Banks' quips. Getting her to quit is going to be harder than I thought.

After he found a chair, Thad accepted the shine board from Gil Thorn. At least we have a full crew tonight. Maybe I'll have some time to get through Farrell's thick head. He started reading the reports.

"Listen up, people." Sergeant Wayne Rogers held up a sheaf of papers. "The S.O. had a kidnapping-rape last night. The victim, 19 years old, was abducted from the vicinity of the college library around 2130. A rag saturated in something pungent was held firmly over her nose and mouth until she passed out. When she regained consciousness, she was naked, trussed on the ground out in the desert. The doer used her three times, rather brutally. He then tied her, face down, with her feet drawn up to her wrists, gagged her and left.

"About four o'clock this afternoon, a man hiking about three miles south of the freeway and west of town, found her. The girl is in bad shape with dehydration and sun burn, so the deputies didn't get much from her, but she described the doer as white, about 25, five foot ten to six foot, dark hair, clean shaven, dark t-shirt and jeans. She thought he was driving a fairly new dark-colored pickup, possibly with Arizona plates. No further at this time, though I hear the deputies got some foot prints and tire tracks. They're asking us to check any dark pickups we stop for women's clothing. Any questions?"

Thad considered a moment, fishing for a memory. "Sarge, wasn't there a similar incident about a week ago, over at Yuma? Maybe a possible connection?"

"The S.O. doesn't know, but they've contacted Yuma for details."

Sergeant Wilson stood up. "Okay, gang, it's time to go fight crime."

As the shift filed out. Farrell walked beside Goldman, her head angled, listening intently to something he was saying. When Thad followed the rest into the locker room, he noticed Farrell, Hunt and Goldman talking. As he approached, their conversation ceased. He walked up right behind her, spoke almost into her ear.

"Farrell, you having nightmares about me yet?"

"No, Officer Gunn. I haven't had one dream about the Zombie from the Swamp, sir." She turned to favor him with her sweetest, most innocent smile, as she came to a very military posture of attention.

He snorted. "Farrell, anybody ever tell you you're a smartass?"

"Yes sir, Patrolman Gunn tells me that at least five times a shift, which works out to about seventy-five times, sir." She continued to smile.

"Are you trying to get my goat?"

"No sir, I don't have any interest in livestock."

Thad could hear Hunt and Goldman snickering. Damn, I'm losing it again. "Ye know what I mean." He growled the words, feeling a pang of dismay when his burred accent came through, stronger than normal. That only happened when stress got the best of him.

"No sir, I don't know what you mean. You'll have to be more lucid. However, if it has nothing to do with police functions, I suggest you wait until another time. We are now officially on duty and Officer Gunn does not permit casual, trivial conversations while on duty, sir."

"I'll see you in the car, Farrell." Thad turned, stalking out of the room. He hoped she winced at the slam of the door behind him.

* * *

January barely listened as Gunn continued to rant while they cruised down Centennial. He seemed to be repeating himself, anyway. The skin on her neck still tingled where the warmth of his breath had brushed it. She'd had a hard time not jumping when he came up and spoke in her ear.

Damn him, anyway! If he doesn't get off his freakin' high horse, I'm going to remind him of his rule concerning not talking about anything but police matters in the car. I don't need this bull.

January idly watched the approaching lights. As the car passed, she noticed something strange. "Hey, that car didn't have a driver! The one we just passed." She turned in the seat to look back.

"Huh?" Gunn glanced into the rear view mirror. "Saldana!" Turning on the emergency lights, he made a screaming U turn in the middle of the block. January had to brace herself with both hands and feet, even though her seat belt was tight. An oncoming car made a panic stop, slamming into the curb. "What the hell are you doing?"

Gunn didn't answer, but in less than two blocks had the RPU right behind the 'driverless' car. He flipped on the spotlight, bathing the interior of the other car with white light. January still could not see a driver. Picking up the loudspeaker microphone, Gunn ordered the other car to pull to the curb and stop.

The car slowed, veered towards the curb, hit it with a glancing blow and bounced to a stop. January had her seat belt unbuckled and the door open before two hands atop skinny wrists emerged above the seat back.

"Take it easy, Farrell. It isn't what you think."

January scrambled out, darted forward and to the right, taking up a position at the right rear corner of the car. Her hand hovered near her pistol. Unbelieving, she watched Gunn, with casual unconcern, walk up to the driver's door and open it.

"Okay, Paco, come on out and get up on the curb."

"Sure, Meester Gunn." A diminutive Mexican boy emerged, hands still held high and a smirk on his narrow face.

"Put your hands down and get up on the curb." Gunn continued to smile as the boy did what he was told.

As the boy reached the curb, he openly eyed January. Then he whistled. "Hey, they've started making better looking cops!" He turned towards Gunn. "Man, you got it made, riding around in the dark with that. Wow!" He made a gesture with both arms that January recognized as a Mexican sign signifying sexual intercourse. She could feel a blush heat her face and neck.

"It's not like that, Paco." Gunn's tone was surprisingly gentle. "Meet Officer Farrell."

The boy shook his head, as if in disbelief, before he turned to January with a smile, sticking out his hand. "A sus ordenes. Me llamo Francisco Philippe Jesus Saldana y Estrada, but you can call me 'Paco'." Taking January's hand, he made a courtly bow and touched his lips to her fingers. "Usted es muy bonita, senora."

"Gracias senor, pero soy una senorita." January had to smile at the antics of the solemn-faced little rooster.

"Hey, Mister Gunn, you better marry her. She can teach you Spanish. 'Sides, she's too beautiful not to be married."

"Not on your life, Paco." Though she spoke to the boy, January smiled inwardly at the play of emotions on Gunn's face. She'd never expected to see him so nonplussed.

"Why? He make the spooky face at you?" Paco twitched his mobile face into a humorous caricature of Gunn's evil-eye stare.

"That's enough, Paco." Gunn's voice turned sharp. "Where did you get it?"

"Ripoff Roberts'. That Cheevy es no bueno por nada. I had to goose it to get it in second and it won't go into third or you no catch me. He wants fifteen hundred for that piece of sh... junk that ain't worth a hundred fifty."

"You hot wire it?"

"Ah, no. Some bozo left the keys." Paco winked at January. "I think I want a Cheevy, so I test drive it before I buy it." He said 'Chevy' as if it began like church rather than like 'shift' and with a long 'e' sound, she noted, the typical Mexican accent.

She watched as Gunn suppressed his smile. "You know better than that. At thirteen you can't get a driver's license or register it. And you haven't got a hundred fifty, much less fifteen hundred. You're a rascal, Paco."

"Si, Mister Gunn, but I'm good at it."

January laughed aloud. "Amen." This kid could con anyone. He's even got Gunn acting civilized. I didn't think I'd ever see Mr. Macho Gunn behave so sympathetically. Maybe he is human after all.

"Paco, turn around and lift your shirt, please." The boy did as Gunn asked. At the sight of the welts and dried blood on the boy's back, January gasped. "Okay, Paco. When, with what and how far down?"

"This afternoon, down to my knees with a glass casting rod." The boy shrugged, dropping the ragged shirt-tail.

"The same one as last time?"

"Ah si, the same one."

When Gunn turned to January, the pain reflected in his expression shocked her. She almost thought he'd suffered a beating right beside the boy. "Farrell, I'm going to use the radio. It'll go faster if I don't have to relay through you, all right?"

"Sure, go ahead. I understand. What I don't understand is the boy's back, this whole scene."

"It's a long nasty story. I'll explain later." Gunn spoke over his shoulder as he got in the car.

January stood close, trying to hear what Gunn said. He told dispatch to get hold of the Chief County Juvenile Probation Officer and to request placement of Paco either in a temporary foster home or the Juvenile Detention Center. When he described the injuries on the boy's back, she heard the tension in his voice, saw it in his face and noted a tremor in the hand holding the mike.

January turned back to Paco. "Why were you whipped?"

The boy shrugged. "Same old thing, a cop took me home."

"You mean you've been beaten this way before?" The boy nodded. "You're telling me someone beat you because a cop took you home? What had you done?"

"Nada. I was standing in the parking lot of the Chinaman's talking to a couple of girls. Sure, we were smoking, but it was tobacco, not marijuana. Benny Meyer drove in. He says the Chinaman said I was in his store shoplifting. I hadn't been in the store all day. The girls they told Meyer, too, but he don't listen. He put me in the car, took me home and told the old lady I was shoplifting. She whipped me 'cause I got a police car parked in front of the house. Scares off her customers."

"Your mother whipped you?" January could not contain her shock.

"Nah, ella es mi tia, creo que."

"You think she's your aunt? Don't you know?"

Paco shook his head. "She tell me so, but I don't know. She get welfare money for me. Maybe, maybe no." He shrugged one thin shoulder.

January found the whole incident disturbingly mystifying. She wanted to learn more. "Why did this officer who took you home tell her you were shoplifting? Did he search you and find some loot?"

Paco shook his head. "No, but I'm Mexican and a juvenile delinquent with a record. Meyer, he no like Mexicans. He no like me, 'cause he's too dumb and fat to catch me. So, when he can, he grabs me and takes me home. He knows la vieja will beat me."

"That's hard to believe of an officer, Paco, but I'm new and I don't know them all yet."

"Es verdad, ask Mister Gunn." Paco nodded towards the car.

When Gunn got out of the car, he looked angry. "Paco, did Meyer take you home again?" Paco nodded. "That tears it!"

Gunn looked at January, scowling, though she felt this time it was not directed at her. "Okay, you drive the Chevy back to Roberts' lot. I'll lead the way. Park it and leave the keys in it. We're taking Paco to the Station. I want photographs of his back. Afterwards, we'll take a meal break and get him something to eat before we go to the emergency room to get that back treated. Those stripes are ripe for infection. Okay?"

"Sure." I don't know what this is all about, but for now, I'll go along with it. Gunn's acting awfully strange, and there's too much I don't understand. January walked to the recovered car, got in, and started it, sliding the seat back so she could straighten her legs.

At the used car lot, Paco showed January where the Chevy had been parked. She backed it into place. I don't like this. We're covering up a crime, but I'll see where this goes before I make any decisions. I suppose I could get fired, but if I go, Mister Thaddeus Gunn goes too. That thought put a grim smile on her lips. She had another one on him now.

The atmosphere on their ride to the station was definitely chilly. Gunn didn't say a word which left January feeling more wary than ever. Even Paco remained silent.

Downstairs in the photo lab, Gunn told Paco to take off his clothes so he could get a full length picture of the injuries on his back. He asked January to go up to dispatch to find another officer to serve as a witness.

"Hey, Mister Gunn, I don't mind if la Dona sees me, if it don't bother her." Paco looked pleadingly from Gunn to January and back.

More mysteries. Why doesn't Paco want another officer here? "Okay, I won't be embarrassed if that's what Paco wants."

"Gracias, mi Dona." Paco smiled, turned his back to them and shucked his tattered t-shirt and cut-off jeans, which were all he wore. Gunn shrugged as he gave January a wan smile.

This is really bothering him. I don't understand. A tough cop, former Marine.... He's surely seen worse.

The boy was skinny, shoulder-blades sticking out like small wings and ribs making ladders along his knobby spine. His back, from shoulders to hips, was a mass of lacerations and welts, some bloody and raw, others purplish or livid scars.

My God, some of those are old! How often has the poor kid been beaten? I've seen a lot of bad things, but this is about the worst. Somebody needs to pay for abuse like that. January blinked against her sudden tears. No child should be subject to that kind of brutality.

She watched as Gunn had Paco stand in front of a light green screen while he set up a camera and lights. He acts as if he knows what he's doing, like a pro that does this every day for a living. He's infuriatingly good at everything he does. What's worse, he knows it and rubs my nose in it.

After he finished the photographs, Gunn had the boy put his clothes back on. January turned away to give the youngster some privacy. Gunn nodded at her, smiling slightly. "Thank you. I just wish I had some clean clothes for him."

"When are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Soon." Gunn's voice held a ragged edge. He turned away, busied himself with putting up the equipment, removing the film from the camera, tagging it and dropping it into a slotted locked box at the darkroom door.

He glanced at Paco with a forced-looking smile. "How about we go get something to eat?"

Forty minutes later, they pulled up to the emergency entrance to Harquehala County General Hospital. Gunn turned to look at Paco, alone in the rear seat.

"Paco, the only way I'm going to get those wounds taken care of without calling your aunt for permission is to take you in as a prisoner. That means handcuffs. I won't put them on tight, okay?"

"Sure Mister Gunn, if la Dona puts them on." The boy winked at January.

"What ever you say, sport." This time Gunn's grin looked genuine. "Do the duty, Farrell."

January wondered what she'd missed. "What's so funny, Gunn?"

"You've got a devoted admirer. I'm surprised he doesn't call you 'mi Reina'. On the way to the car lot, he said you looked like a beautiful queen and should be wearing regal robes and a crown, instead of a funky cop suit."

January looked at Paco, torn between wanting to reprimand and hug him. She shook her head.

"Es verdad, mi Reina." He grinned from ear to ear.

"Men! For that, scamp, I'm squeezing the handcuffs tight." January chuckled. Paco only shrugged.

Inside, Gunn laid on the flattery and bull to the clerk-receptionist and the ER nurse, not Willie Hunt but an older, plainer lady. When the doctor arrived, he turned out to be an officious young wimp, already starting to get a belly. He insisted the handcuffs be removed and the officers leave the examining room. Gunn put on a good act, to which January quickly caught on, but they complied.

As they headed down the corridor, Gunn turned to January. "Idiot's lucky he's not dealing with a real criminal. Just because it's a kid doesn't mean he isn't dangerous, but Paco won't try anything. Let's go down to the staff lounge for some coffee and I'll explain."

"Okay, I guess we've got some time to kill." January fell into step beside Gunn. It's about damn time! Now maybe I'll find out if I'm about get fired or go to prison for misprision of a felony, grand theft auto.

* * *

28 Jul 1982: 1145:

Thad pointed at a round table near the rear of the room. "Go ahead and sit down at that table. It has an ashtray so you can smoke. I'll get the coffee." He filled two mugs from the big urn, then turned back to Farrell. "Want a doughnut? They've got cake and glazed."

"No thanks." Farrell shook her head.

Thad reached into his pocket, pulled out some change and dropped it in the coffee can near the urn. He picked up the mugs and carried them to the table where Farrell sat. She wore a bemused expression, clearly puzzled by all she'd recently witnessed. Good, I want to keep her off balance.

"The coffee is free, but the nurses pay for it, so it doesn't hurt to make a donation." Thad smiled as he sat down. "Now, about Paco." He looked at Farrell for a moment. "He was out after curfew, so we have a legitimate charge against him. He's got a juvenile record as long as your arm, but he really isn't a bad kid."

Farrell just looked at him, her expression flat, then dropped her gaze.

I'm not mollifying her. She's still upset.

Farrell continued to frown, gazing into her cup as if it held the answers to her many questions. He could tell she was listening, though.

"We don't need to add the joy riding to his troubles. He only did it to get our attention. The car wasn't damaged, and that thief Roberts can afford a little gas. Nothing will come of it. Nobody but you, me and Paco know about the car. We didn't put out anything about it on the radio. Dead issue."

Farrell shook her head, as realization clearly registered. She'd been too shocked to call the incident in when he didn't tell her to. "I don't know.... I'm a probationary officer and this worries me."

Thad nodded. She's got a conscience--but I knew that. "I realize that, but I do have some discretionary leeway. You just followed orders." He forced himself to smile again. "Let me tell you about that boy. He really is the nephew of the woman he's living with, but she hates him and doesn't want him around. Oh, she likes the money she gets from the state for fostering him well enough, but if he isn't home at meal time, tough, he doesn't get fed. If his clothes get washed, it's because somebody else does it. And he never got any new clothes in his life. The old lady beats him for the slightest things. He gets into trouble with us at night because he knows we'll try to help him, at least see he gets fed. No boy needs that kind of life. I know because I lived about the same way for ten damned long years."

He read the shock on Farrell's face. Well, that surprised her, but maybe she'll understand now. "That's right. My mother died when I was seven and my father was lost at sea a year later. I was shipped off to a foreign country to live with a brother of my mother's who hated the name Gunn. I wasn't wanted. In fact I was hated. The superstitious fools made me sleep with iron in my bed, because they thought I wasn't totally human."

Farrell shook her head slightly. Her face had that 'you're kidding' expression. "Just what country did they send you to?"

"The United States of America." He gave her the full power of his ghoulish grin. "That's right, I got my citizenship after I was in the Marines. I'll bring my naturalization papers tomorrow night so you'll believe me." Hearing himself, he felt a jolt of shock. Why is it important that she believes me about this? Hell, I don't need her sympathy.

Farrell lit a cigarette, turning from him for a moment as if studying the featureless room. "Okay, I believe you. But what about Paco? And what's my part in it?"

"You did your part when you witnessed my photographing his back. All you have to do now is write a short statement about that and that only. This time I'm going to by-pass the Juvenile Probation Office and go see Judge Beltran. He used to be a Riverton cop, and we can go see him at home if we don't make a habit of it. He's the presiding judge and also handles juvenile. When he sees those pictures of Paco's back, he'll go ballistic. Particularly when I produce the record of that Cuban bastard in juvie not doing anything about the abuse."

Farrell chewed on her lip a moment, a frown tightening her forehead. "What about the cop, Meyers I think his name is?"

"Benny Meyer is everything a cop shouldn't be. He's ignorant, fat, and lazy. He refuses calls, but every time a chief tries to fire him, the City Council puts the screws on. Benny does a lot of dirty little jobs for some of the Council members."

"Then there's nothing that can be done about him." Disgust colored Farrell's tone.

"No, I didn't say that. Something can be done, but it has to be completely outside the system. There are people working on it, but I can't say who or how. Besides, if you don't know, you can't get hurt if it back fires. Just don't have anything to do with Meyer."

"Not if I can help it! Anyway, I've heard about small town politics all my life--one of my dad's pet peeves. But since we're kind of off duty right now, answer me a couple of personal questions. Where were you born?"

Oh, oh, she's not about to let me forget my little lecture on separation of personal and police business. Still, it would be best to answer in a manner as matter of fact as possible. "On the northeast coast of Scotland in a small fishing port village."

"And where in the states were you raised?"

"Pennsylvania, a steel town, in a neighborhood full of superstitious Irish, Scots and a few Poles. You've noticed my eyes?"

Farrell nodded. "A time or two." Though it held sarcasm, her voice somehow sounded gentle.

"My father had eyes like this. Some people thought he was not totally human--a selkie."

"Ah, roanish."

"You speak the Gael?" My God, can it be? Is she fey?

"No, but Grandmother Farrell called the selkies or seal-kin, roanish." Farrell smiled, a gentle, wistful expression softening her face. "She told me a lot of stories when I was small, before she died. She was Irish as Bridey Murphy."

"That's how you tumbled to the evil-eye?" I'm beginning to understand how she caught on so quick.

"Yes, she told me of the Sidhe." Farrell's face lit. "That's the reason for the iron in your bed! The faire folk could not touch iron. It sapped their powers, even burned them."

God, she's quick. Of course, she's been fed the lore. Thad nodded.

"That explains a lot of things but I still think you need a shrink, and I'm not comfortable about this business with the car."

A shrink? The hardheaded wench! I'll show her shrink. Damned if I won't. When a nurse walked in, Thad looked up. Oh, no, not her.

It was Wilma Hunt. She approached January, smiling, completely ignoring Thad. "Hi, Jan, your prisoner is ready."

Farrell returned the smile. "Oh, hi, Willie. How's things?"

"Slow, until you brought that kid in. He asked me if I knew you. I told him we were friends. Then the little con artist asked me if I was a queen, too. I haven't had anybody flirt with me like that since I met Phil." Wilma chuckled. "I'd have been flattered if he was a day over thirteen."

Thad stood, fighting a flash of irritation at being ignored. He knew he wasn't one of Wilma Hunt's favorite people but did she have to be so obvious about it? "He's a charmer, all right. Learning to push the right buttons has meant survival for him." When neither woman responded, he picked up their cups and the ash tray and marched off to the sink.

"What's with him?" Wilma spoke under her breath. He knew he wasn't meant to hear but he did.

"Later," Farrell answered, starting for the door. Wilma followed.

"I'll meet you at the car, Farrell. I don't think Paco'll give you any trouble."

She halted and glanced back at him, not smiling. "We'll be right out." She wheeled around and hurried on.

"Whoa, Jan. Where's the fire?" Wilma laughed, half-trotting to catch up with her.

When Willie spoke, January almost jumped, recalled from her deep thoughts. "Oh, sorry. I was thinking..."

"Like my old Kentucky grandma would say, you look plumb flummoxed. What's happened?"

Willie's face bore an expression of sympathetic humor as she studied January.

"I guess I'm a little confused, the way Th...Gunn acted with this kid. Sometimes I'd swear the man is a schiz. I never know what to expect next, but he obviously has plenty of empathy for abused children. From what little he told me, it's a case of having been there."

Willie nodded. "I've guessed as much. Working in ER like I do, I've taken some classes in trauma counseling. You get a feel for it after awhile." She fell silent for a moment, as if unsure how much to ask or to say. "We've had Paco here before, but I think this is the worst I've seen him. What did he get whipped with this time?"

"A fiberglass fishing rod, he said. Gunn took pictures. I think he's going to try to get the boy out of his aunt's custody." January sighed. "One of the better parts of being a cop, I guess, but not all fun and games. I worked probation out in California, but I didn't get involved with juveniles. It's one thing to read and hear about child abuse, but when it's up close and personal..."

"I know." Willy's reply was gentle. "We see a lot here, and we're obligated to report suspected abuse. Sometimes it's hard to know how to call it, but a case like this doesn't leave much room for doubt. If you think it will help, I'll see that the doctor and Mattie Grover do a report."

"I...maybe for now we'd better let Gunn handle it his way. He talked like he had it all figured out."

Willie nodded. "Okay, I'll sit on Doctor Wilson-Hughes if I have to, at least for tonight. He tends to get wild hairs...." She flashed a wicked grin. "No, I'm not in awe of doctors. Maybe we're supposed to be, but they aren't all so high and mighty. Anyway, this one is a wuss."

January stifled her giggles as they entered the examining room where Paco waited. His face lit up when he saw them.

"Ah, be still mi corazon! Two beautiful ladies! If I was just a leetle bit older..."

"Come on, Paco. Let's get those cuffs back on. Officer Gunn is waiting outside, and he doesn't like to be kept too long."

"Aw, Dona..." The youth pulled a long face but turned obediently and held his thin arms behind him.

January put the handcuffs on carefully, leaving them just snug enough not to slip over his bony hands. She winked at Willie over Paco's shoulder, took his arm and steered him down the hall to the rear door.

Though she was sure Gunn would be waiting, motor running, when they emerged, she couldn't quite believe they'd take Paco either to jail or juvenile detention. So, where do we go from here? Maybe I'd just as soon not know.

* * *

29 July 1982: 2115:

When January pulled in behind the Station the next evening, she didn't see Gunn's car in the parking lot. Damn! Where is he? He's always early. I want to know what went down at the judge's. After locking her vintage Mustang, January walked into the station and down to the squad room. Ray Goldman was the only one there. He greeted her then handed over the report shine board.

"Thanks, Ray." Taking the board, January moved to a seat up near the sergeants' desk, where Gunn usually sat. She read the reports from the previous twenty-four hours, glancing up as each officer entered the squad room. Where is he? I gotta know what happened.

After passing the shine board to Phil Hunt, she lit her second cigarette. Both sergeants entered together and took seats behind the desk.

"Farrell." January jumped at Sergeant Wilson's voice. "Do you know where Gunn is?"

"No, Sergeant." Shit, I'm just his trainee, not his keeper. Damn him, I want to know if I'm in trouble or not. Where is he? She smiled wanly at Wilson. He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment before he smiled back. As Sergeant Rogers said something, January took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

The short briefing was almost over when Gunn came in. He didn't look his normal spit-shined self, sporting red eyes and a piece of tissue on his chin where he had cut himself shaving.

"Glad you could make it, Officer Gunn. We wouldn't want Farrell having to take back-up by herself." Rogers' voice dripped sarcasm.

January suppressed a grin. Good. What goes around comes around!

Gunn handed Sergeant Wilson a log sheet and sat down next to January without saying a word.

Wilson set the sheet on the desk before he spoke.

"The S.O. got some more info on the rapist. They got some good photos of the doer's tire and foot prints. The victim filled in some more physical ID, and his voice. She's going to be all right and the doctors are releasing her to her family tomorrow. The S.O. has sent out this fact sheet."

Wilson held up another piece of paper. "There's one for each of you. Pick it up before you go on patrol." He stood. "Let's go fight crime."

Gunn turned to January as they got up. "Jan, you drive tonight, okay?"

January stopped, turned sharply, gaping at Gunn's soft-spoken words. "Unh, yeah, sure." What's he got up his sleeve now? He didn't even call me Farrell! They started up the stairs.

"I didn't get much sleep today, but what I did get was good. I flat overslept, and if it wasn't for a full bladder, I'd probably still be sawing logs. I don't think I've slept that contented since my mother died."

They went through the door and out into the parking lot, moving easily in step. We could make a good team. The sudden thought gave January a jolt.

"I'm still groggy. That's why I want you to drive."

"Okay, I understand. I take it everything went well today?"

"Ach, aye. T'was a braw bonnie day." Gunn laughed out loud. "Nae sae mickle gude did I ere this day." He stopped in his tracks, hanging his head. "I'm sorry, got carried away."

"Oh, no need to apologize. I understood every word. It was a bright good day and you have never done the good you did today."

January ignored Gunn's sharp look, knowing she'd surprised him. Opening the trunk of Peter Six, she put her brief case away. Moving on around to the driver's side, she got in and started the engine, turned on the lights including the warning lights on the roof and at Gunn's sign, turned on the turn signals.

Acting almost on autopilot, she checked the gauges. The gas tank was nearly full, the oil pressure had come up, and the temperature was normal. She turned off the warning lights and turn signals, tested the horn and siren. It felt like an hour before Gunn completed the walk around and got in.

"You're still upset?"

So he noticed I'm a bit impatient. Surprise. "Make that concerned. What happened? I've got a stake in this, too, you know."

"Well, Judge Beltran went through the roof. As of now, Paco is living with a family on a farm south of town. A warrant for aggravated assault and child abuse was issued and the aunt is in jail. The Juvie Probation Offi