Page 49 of Hoofin’ It

“What pisses me off the most is that I came to Chicago for a chance to work a different beat than my parents or their parents—to get out of a small city in the middle of nowhere. I decided I’d be a cop when I was eight. You know what I wanted to do?”

“I have no idea.”

“I wanted to handle K9s or work in narcotics. You know what Chicago offers someone with my rating?”

Michelle had the decency to grimace. “Traffic patrols.”

“Traffic patrols,” I agreed.

“But you saved that family’s life. That means a lot. You didn’t even hesitate. While your partner froze, you went in, and you did what he couldn’t.”

“I like to think it comes from having a grandmother who’s a firefighter. She drilled it into me young to get victims out before they burned. I didn’t think. I don’t regret it, and if I had the choice to do it over, I wouldn’t change anything. I’d still choose to lose my eye and get them out of that car, but that doesn’t mean I have to like this bullshit.”

“No, you’re right. I’d be mad, too. Fuck mad, I’d be infuriated. I’d start busting heads together. And you’re right. I wouldn’t be able to quit. I’m a cop, and I’ll always be one.”

“Yeah. So the real question is, what do I do now?”

We finished the climb to the seventh floor in silence. A pile of mail and several boxes littered the hallway in front of my door. I frowned. Usually, the mail was left in the lobby, although deliveries were sometimes brought straight to the units.

“I’m seriously impressed it’s still here. You’ve been gone at least a week.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt the neighbors know I was a cop.” I dug my keys out and unlocked my front door to discover someone, probably the building’s supervisor, had left at least ten more boxes inside. “What the fuck?”

Michelle crouched by my door, pulled a pair of latex gloves from her back pocket, and slipped them on before sifting through the letters and boxes on my doorstep. “Several letters from Northwest Memorial, utility bill, some handwritten cards. Boxes are from the same sender, an M. Peterson? They’re stamped yesterday.”

Why would Marian send me packages? “I know an M. Peterson.”

“Okay, I’ll bring them in, then. Mind if I come in and look at the others?”

“Be my guest. Spares me from having to find some gloves.”

“J. Gibson on this one.”

“Dad.” Why the hell was Dad sending me a box? “When was it dated?”

“Week and a half ago.”

I sighed and shook my head. “He’s a freak. It’s probably fine.”

“The rest look like they’re from various online stores, addressed to you with gift receipts.”

“So basically we just went into investigative mode for no reason whatsoever?”

“Yeah.” Michelle removed her gloves and returned them to her back pocket. “A little harmless excitement never hurt anyone. Look on the bright side, you have packages to open. Call it an early birthday. I’m going to head on out before Stripes thinks we’re getting real cozy up here.”

“Now that would start quite the rumor around the station.”

Michelle’s smile made me nervous. “I like a man with scars.”

Without another word, she swept out of my apartment and headed down the hall, leaving me to gawk at her back. Even I didn’t need told Michelle had just flirted with me.

“What the hell?”

The boxes offered no explanations.

Chapter Fifteen

I dealt with the utility bill first, making the payment using my phone before turning my attention to the dreaded letters from the hospital. One was probably to schedule a follow-up regarding my eye socket.