A low, deep growl answered her. Jillian hadn’t left her child alone after all.
Stacy got to her knees. Directed her light into the makeshift home. A small, dirty white dog bared its teeth. She’d been bitten a couple times before, once by a Pit. A drug dealer had set him on her and she’d been forced to take it down. She loved animals and had hated doing it. She prayed it didn’t come to that tonight.
She shifted her gaze and the flashlight beam. It fell across a small bundle, partly obscured by the dog. The bundle mewed weakly, like a kitten.
Stacy’s heart jumped; she looked back at Tinnin. “She’s alive! Call 9-1-1. Tell them there’s an officer down.”
“But, you’re not--”
“It’s the quickest way to get an emergency vehicle here. Do it!”
It occurred to her she might be down, once that little dog was finished with her. “It’s okay,” she said softly, hoping to reassure the animal. “I’m going to help Peanut.”
She inched into the box, earning another growl. “Peanut needs food and water. And so do you. It’s going to be okay,” she said again. “I promise.”
She crawled in, stopping every few inches to let the animal grow accustomed to her, the whole time continuing to talk softly. The dog watched her warily, muzzle quivering. But not baring its teeth. A good sign.
Stacy took a deep breath. “Good dog. That’s right, good, good dog . . . I’m going to take Peanut now . . . that’s right--”
She scooped her up. Cradled her to her chest. She was alive. Alive and the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Peanut,” Stacy whispered, the wail of sirens in the background. “It’s going to be okay now. Everything’s going to be all right.”
And then she began to cry.
One week later.
As Stacy walked into the squad room, it went silent. But only for a moment.
“Welcome back, Killian,” Patterson said, standing. “Way to go.”
Others followed his lead, calling out congratulations, clapping her on the back as she passed.
Yeah, she’d broken ranks--and been reprimanded for it. But she’d also trusted her gut and followed her instincts. Nobody understood--and applauded--that better than another cop.
That it’d paid off was definitely something to cheer about.
Several minutes later, she sank into the chair across the desk from Patterson. “Looks like you managed to keep crime at bay without me.”
He laughed, then shook his head. “A week’s suspension without pay, Killian. That was stiff.”
“But so worth it.” Stacy sobered. “Sorry about that night. I was out of line.”
“You were right. You saved that baby’s life.”
“But the bad guy got away.”
A week had passed with no new leads. Nothing. The med convention had packed up and left town and Stacy couldn’t help wondering if their perp had left with them.
If she had been focused on catching him, if she had joined Patterson at the scene, while it was still white-hot, would the outcome have been different?
As if reading her thoughts, Patterson snorted. “Stop it, Killian. You did what you thought was right and followed your gut. Isn’t that what a cop’s supposed to do?”
“He’s going to kill again.”
“Yeah, he is. But maybe that little girl’s going to grow up and cure cancer.”
She stared at him a moment, then laughed. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”
“Maybe.”
She laughed again. “Fair enough, considering. You plugged everything into ViCAP?”
“Done. How’s the newest member of your family?”
“Peanut, the wonder dog,” she said, shaking her head. Child Protective Services had taken Jillian’s baby until she could be joined with her father, but no way would Stacy allow that brave little pooch to be taken to the S.P.C.A. “I swear, Spencer already loves that mutt more than me.”
Major Henry stuck his head out his door. “Patterson, Killian, 10-21, Waldhorn and Adler Antiques on Royal. Now, not tomorrow.”
BLOOD SUGAR BABY
by
J.T. Ellison
Nashville, Tennessee
He was lost. His GPS didn’t take into account road work, nor roads closed to accommodate protests, and he’d been shunted off onto several side streets and was now driving in circles. He finally made a right turn and pulled to the curb to get out a real map, and as he reached into the glove box — shit, he needed to get that knife out of there — he saw her. She was on the concrete sidewalk, sprawled back against the wall, a spread of multicolored blankets at her feet, staring blankly into space. Her dirty blond hair was past limp and full into dreadlocks, matted against her skull on the left side. He drove past slowly, watching, seeing the curve of her skull beneath the clumps of hair, the slope of her jaw, her neat little ear, surprisingly white and clean, nestled against her grimy skin. Her eyes were light. He was too far away to see if they were blue or green. Light irises, and unfocused pupils. High, perhaps, or starved, or simply beyond caring.