Hers to Protect
Auteur
Catherine Lanigan
Lezers
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Hoofdstukken
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Chapter One
VIOLET PEERED THROUGH her binoculars at the shower of apple blossoms fluttering onto the hood of her unmarked Ford Taurus squad car. Though she listened to satellite radio through an aux jack, she was waiting anxiously for a call from her superior, Detective Trent Davis. This was Violet’s first stakeout—though only an innocent-looking old farmhouse, it represented her superiors’ trust in her.
After six months on the ILPD force, she’d been handed every rookie assignment the chief couldn’t pawn off on one of the veteran cops. She was the greenie kid fresh out of the academy. Every one of her superiors had dodged giving her a real assignment. Until today.
She’d been walking past the chief’s office—okay, she’d been purposefully loitering there, eavesdropping on the conversation between Trent Davis, Sal Paluzzi and Chief Williams about a Chicago-based drug dealer moving into the area. She heard Chief Williams say, “All I’ve got is that this guy is in the area, drives an expensive sports car and a name. Miguel Garcia.”
Violet choked on the coffee she’d been nursing. Trent looked up and saw Violet on the other side of the open door. “Officer Hawks?”
Violet didn’t shy away. “Yes, sir.” She boldly walked across the threshold, but as she opened her mouth, an image of being fired for her impertinence invaded her thoughts. Risks were something an officer of the law faced every day. She took the shot. “It’s likely an alias. Miguel Garcia is a very common name. It would take more than searching databases to get a bead on this guy. Which would be the reason it was used.”
Trent folded his arms over his wide chest. The chief narrowed his eyes, while Sal sought refuge in his coffee mug. He was waiting for her to trip up. Again.
“You’re correct on that, Officer Hawks,” the chief said. “Any suggestions?”
Fast thinking, intuition and the ability to piece together unrelated clues and fragments of information had served her well since the first time she played board games, or watched television mysteries with her siblings. “Over Easter dinner at my mother’s house, which is out on the north side of the county, Mom said she’d seen an expensive sports car racing down 1000 North. She said it came out of nowhere and had to be going over one-fifty. It was so fast she didn’t remember the color. For my mother, an architect and designer, who sees every tone and hue of color, that’s fast.”
“Your point?” Trent challenged.
Her thoughts fell into place like lightning strikes. “It’s been ILPD experience that drug dealers around here tend to have fast, expensive cars. They also comb the county roads around Indian Lake because that’s how they traffic their shipments and avoid us. Er, the authorities. I’ve lived in the north of the county all my life. I know every road, farmer’s access road and gully. I’ve picked strawberries at Paulson’s Farm and peaches at Brown’s Orchards. The tourists don’t usually head out that way. Superfast cars aren’t the norm out near my mother’s house. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to say that speeding car belonged to someone who was up to no good, someone who might be part of this new dealer’s network or even the dealer himself.”
Her mouth had gone dry. Had she done the right thing? This wasn’t her meeting. She’d been hired as a traffic cop, though all she’d ever dreamed about was becoming an investigative detective on a major city’s police force such as Chicago or New York.
The truth was, Violet wasn’t good enough for big city forces. She’d applied in Indianapolis, Evansville and South Bend. They’d all turned her down. Being the second youngest Hawks kid, she’d wanted to get out of Indian Lake and make her mark elsewhere. Anywhere. But since drug use and trafficking in small towns and rural areas throughout the Midwest was on the rise, towns like Indian Lake needed cops. Trent Davis knew her sister, Isabelle, and Isabelle’s husband well, so he recommended Violet to the chief. She got the job.
Violet knew she had dues to pay. She was okay with that. Still, she would have rather done so in Los Angeles or Chicago where her detective skills would have been tested nearly every day and advancement would have been faster. Or so she thought. Trent Davis’s Drug Task Force had made significant inroads and arrests last year. Isabelle’s husband, Scott, had written a prize-winning newspaper article on his eyewitness report to Davis’s bust bringing down the notorious and elusive Le Grand gang. Now a new gang was taking over. If she could contribute to this investigation, she could become a permanent member on Davis’s team. After that? The possibilities were endless.
Trent rubbed the pleased smile off his face and turned to Violet. “Did your mother have an idea what kind of car it was?”
“She said Maserati. My brother Eric always had posters of Italian race cars in his room. She said it was something like that.”
“It could be anything,” Sal interjected.
Trent unfolded his arms. “How many Maseratis have you seen around here? Even in tourist season, Sal?”
“None.”
Chief Williams pointed at Violet. “Hawks, I’m ordering you on a stakeout. Davis, you get her outfitted with what she needs. If something is going on up there on or around 1000 North, I want to know about it. This makes sense. It’s close to the Michigan state line. The interstate is a stone’s throw away. Those county roads up there are a spiderweb. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve missed my turn and ended up in Three Oaks, Michigan.” He cleared his throat.
Trent rose and walked toward Violet. Sal was behind him. He lowered his voice as they headed toward Trent’s desk. “Congrats, Hawks. But, while I’m ordering up a car for you, I want you to search that database.” He pointed to the computer on his desk. “Don’t look for Garcia. Look for Maserati sales in the tristate area.”
AS SHE SCANNED the early May orchards, she savored the sweet taste of satisfaction on her lips. She’d stepped up to the plate, and finally, she felt she was part of a team.
The radio chirped.
“Hawks?”
She grabbed the square shoulder mic. “Sir?”
“What have you got?” Trent asked.
“Nothing.” She sat up straighter. Her ears pricked as she heard the sound of an engine. This wasn’t a tractor or a slow-moving old truck taking fruit saplings out to plant. It was something she’d never heard before.
Holding the binoculars again, she saw a streak of blue through a blind of windbreak trees to the far south.
“Are you still there?” Trent asked.
“I got something.”
“What?” His voice pitched with interest.
“I don’t...know...but it’s moving like a bullet train.”
“Use your radar gun. How fast?”
She snatched the radar gun from the passenger seat, aimed and tagged the vehicle, whose make she still couldn’t identify. “Holy crap. Sorry, sir.” She turned on her car’s engine already anticipating the chase. “Two zero two.”
“Talk later. Go!”
“Roger. Out.”
She flung the radar gun and binoculars to the passenger seat, stomped on the gas pedal and shot dirt from under her tires. The blue bullet was streaking down the country road as if the devil was on its back. As Violet sped the Taurus over seventy, then eighty miles an hour, she knew she’d never outrace her prey.
She’d have to outsmart him.
Knowing that Jasper Brown had bisected his enormous orchard years ago with a dirt path wide enough for his truck, she headed for that familiar dirt alley that separated the apple trees from the pear trees.
Turning sharp right, she tore down the bumpy trail that seemed a lot more hazardous today than it had ten years ago when she used to ride her bike home from apple picking. She tightened her seat belt and hit the gas. From the right, she could see the blue sports car approaching. It would pass her, but she’d have it within her sights.
As she burst out of the farm’s dirt path and up the slight bank, the blue bullet screamed past her. The driver was a blur.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Violet’s squad car nearly leaped onto the pavement and made chase. She turned on her light bar and siren. “Officially, you’re mine.”
Expecting the blue sports car to slow down now that her lights and siren were on, Violet was shocked when it kicked up its speed. Convinced she had the drug dealer dead to rights, she wasn’t about to let up. She plunged the gas to the floor. The Taurus could do up to one-fifty, but this sports car was out of her league.
Just then she heard Trent’s voice. “Officer Hawks, keep this line open.”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
“Report.”
“I’m coming up on 350 East. I’m in pursuit. I’ve never seen this car make. I’ll shoot the license. It’s over two hundred miles an hour. I can’t overtake. I need backup.”
“County deputy sheriffs are on their way.”
“Ten four.”
“Stay with him. You got something.”
In the background over the radio, Violet could hear Trent speaking to the county sheriff’s dispatcher.
Trent’s voice was stern. “County is close. They’re forming a barricade two and a half miles from you. Back off.”
She smiled. “Ten four.” She turned off her radio. Violet kept her foot depressed. This was her perp. Her collar. She was going to see it to the end. When the county sheriff barricade stopped this drug dealer, she would be there and she would make the arrest. Glory was within her reach. And possibly a promotion.
Gold-and-brown Indian Lake County sheriff cars and SUVs were strung across the county road with lights flashing. The blue bullet slammed on its brakes, tires squealing and black rubber smoking streaks across the concrete. Violet let off the gas and braked, bringing the Taurus to a quick but safe stop. She couldn’t unbelt herself fast enough. It was all she could do not to run up to Miguel Garcia and drag him from the luxurious sports car. If her brothers were here, they’d be whistling over this car. She still had no idea what it was, but she was sure “expensive” didn’t come close to describing its price.
Before she got to the blue bullet, the door was flung open and a tall, lean, blond man exited. Violet halted. He was killer handsome, dressed in expensive black slacks, a dark blue knit shirt that stretched over his broad chest, its fine material lying over cut muscles. The long sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, exposing taut forearms. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He glared at her. She noticed his eyes were sky blue.
“Aw jeez. A country cop.” He spat the word from between pursed, angry lips.
“ILPD. City cop.”
His anger vanished as he flashed her a blazingly charming smile. “What a coincidence.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m from Indianapolis. It was a joke.”
“I’m not smiling.” This man was likely guilty of nothing more than speeding. And her reaction to him vied with the realization she’d left her stakeout, where the drug dealer might even now be driving by.
She felt she was right back where she started, giving out speeding tickets on Highway 35.
“Sir, I clocked you at over two hundred miles an hour.”
He glanced behind him at his car. He patted the hood. “That’s all?”
Violet gaped at his audacity. Who did he think he was?
The scuffle of boots against the pavement alerted her to the audience of four county sheriff’s deputies watching the scene.
Violet reached to her back pocket for her ticket pad. She pulled a pen from her breast pocket. “I’m citing you for speeding and reckless driving.”
“You’re kidding. Right?”
She glared at him. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” She lowered her eyes to the pad and wrote. “The speed limit here is fifty.”
“I never saw anything posted.”
“Well, it is,” she replied, still not looking into his startling blue eyes. “But then you were going so fast, how could you see it?”
“I see a lot of things. If there was a sign posted, I would have seen it. I’ve been all over these country roads.”
“You have.”
“I know people here. Austin and Katia McCreary.”
Violet also knew Austin and Katia. A little. Some said Austin was the wealthiest man in town. He owned the antique car museum, and, according to Isabelle, he’d been a recluse for years until he married Katia. Violet had worked a couple charity events with Katia.
How did this guy know Austin?
She heard the deputies snickering at her, so she pressed on. “It doesn’t matter who you know in town. I need your driver’s license and registration.” She held out her hand.
At that point the deputies broke into guffaws.
This was too much. She took a step away from the car and shot a laser look at the tallest of the four deputies. “What?”
He broke from the barricade as the other deputies walked back to their cars hooting to themselves. “You don’t know who this is, do you, Officer...?”
“Hawks,” she replied officially. “I’m about to find out once I get his driver’s...”
“Josh Stevens,” the deputy sheriff said. “He’s just about the most famous race car driver to come out of Indiana. I saw him race.”
Violet felt herself flush. She imagined she’d gone from red to crimson to deep purple. Of course she knew who he was. You couldn’t grow up in the Hawks house and not know names like Danica Patrick, Fernando Alonso and Josh Stevens. Violet’s brothers had spent nearly every Memorial Day weekend in college seated in the bleachers in Speedway, Indiana, watching the Indianapolis 500.
All she could do was follow through with her job. If she didn’t, the deputy would report it to the county sheriff, who would report her to the chief. She may have egg on her face, but she was in the right and she knew the law. Violet wrote Josh’s name on the top of the ticket.
“I still need your license.”
Josh looked at the sheriff, who shrugged.
“Apparently, you don’t need us anymore, Officer Hawks.”
“No. I don’t.”
Josh pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I don’t believe this.” He pulled the license out along with the car’s registration.
It was all Violet could do to keep her hands from shaking as she finished writing the ticket. “Court is two weeks from Friday. Be there.”
“I will not. I’m in training.”
“Excuse me?”
He waved the ticket at her. “This is ridiculous and so are you for giving it to me. I’m not a criminal, and I won’t be treated like one.”
Violet felt her ire sail to the top of her skull.
“You broke the law,” she countered.
“You don’t want to take me on, Officer Hawks. I’ll have your job for this.”
“Is that a threat?”
“A promise.”
“You’re under arrest.”
“I refuse.”
“I’ll gladly add resisting arrest to the charges.”
“This isn’t happening,” he spat.
“It is,” she replied, feeling that same rage she’d once felt when she was bullied at school, the day Billy Pope had knocked her to the ground. Violet had vowed never to look up into the face of an assailant and feel powerless again. “You have the right to remain silent...” She began reciting his Miranda rights.
Before Josh could say another word, Violet had flipped handcuffs around his right wrist and had spun him around to clasp his hands behind his back. She tightened the handcuffs.
“You can’t do this to me!” he snarled. “This is ridiculous. I won’t let you arrest me. My lawyer will tear you apart.”
She continued reciting. “...and if you have no lawyer, the court will appoint one to represent you.”
“Trust me, I have the best.” Josh cracked a harsh chuckle. His smile spread across his face, but his eyes glinted icily.
The remaining deputy sheriff had stopped walking and was recording the scene on his iPhone. He stopped, lowered the phone and asked, “You need help?”
“I got this,” Violet said.
Josh shook his head and laughed. He turned his back to the deputy sheriff and flipped his keys onto the pavement at the man’s feet.
Josh was still laughing as he said, “Drive my Bugatti back to town, will ya?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” the deputy said with a grin, then picked up the keys and gave Josh a little salute.
Violet rolled her eyes. The admiration she saw in the deputy’s eyes was killing her. She steered Josh toward her Taurus, putting her hand on the top of his head. “Watch your head. And those long legs of yours are going to smash up against my seat.”
Josh spun to face her. They were nearly nose to nose as his angry eyes bored into hers. “You have no idea what you’ve just done. You’re going to regret this till your dying day.”
“I doubt that seriously. The way I see it, you’re a danger to others.” Violet somehow managed to keep her voice steady, despite her rage. She’d come out here today to gather information on a drug lord. She despised drug dealers, pushers and the traffickers who preyed on kids.
So Josh wasn’t a drug dealer, but he had been a danger. It wasn’t merely the fact that Josh Stevens had been speeding, it was his attitude that he could get away with his infraction that kicked up her ire. People like Josh Stevens felt they could wheedle, bully, intimidate and charm their way through all their actions, legal and otherwise.
Violet was just one cop, and she knew that sometimes, all it took was one person to make a difference.
