Page 97 of Under the Radar

I nodded, and Hannah took the papers from me, putting them in her bag. She was still in uniform, and I grinned at her. “Escorting me home now, Officer Cinnamon?”

She laughed. “Yes. Behave. I can’t even cuff you.”

I chuckled, and we headed down the hall, rounding the corner. I stopped dead in my tracks, and Hannah ran into my back. “Chase! What the—”

She stopped speaking. In front of us was Dan, looking as shocked as we were. His nose was definitely broken, his jaw black and blue. His one eye was swollen, and he looked as bad as I felt. Part of me took great satisfaction in his injuries. He deserved those punches. The part of me that recalled the chief’s words, “We all have demons,” felt bad.

At least a little bit.

He held up his hand before I could speak. “I’m not following you. The chief made me come get checked out. I was just leaving.”

“Us too.”

He nodded, glancing between us. “I won’t see you again. I’m sorry, Hannah.” He drew in a deep breath. “You too, Chase. I was a jerk. I’m sorry.” Then he turned and hurried away, disappearing around the corner.

I stared after him. “Unexpected,” I grunted. “I had no idea hell was freezing over today.”

Hannah tugged on my good hand. “Be nice. He’s gone.”

“Thank God for that.”

She didn’t disagree.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Hannah

Chase proved to be a terrible patient. Despite what the doctor told him, he was restless and wanting to do things all the time. By noon the next day, I was at my wit’s end. I had to go to work, and I was worried about what he would do while I was gone. I had already caught him trying to teach himself to use a drill with his left hand, testing out to see how a saw felt with his left arm, and attempting to measure something with his bad hand lifted into the air. The cursing I heard let me know none of those things was going well.

I walked into the kitchen, trying not to laugh at the mess of him making scrambled eggs. Shells and eggs were everywhere. Including the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you something to eat before you leave for work. I thought egg sandwiches would be easy. Cracking the damn things is awkward, though.”

I shook my head. “You were supposed to stay sitting while I had my shower.”

“I got bored.”

“In fifteen minutes?”

He shrugged.

In desperation, I called Charly, and she told me to bring him to the garage on my way to work. Not long after I began my shift, she sent a picture. Chase was at his desk, his bad hand strung up on some sort of pulley system they’d added to a piece of garage equipment so it was over his heart. He was using his left hand to type, his face a mask of concentration. Charly’s message informed me she’d given him the inventory sheets to work on. “It will keep him busy for hours with his hunt-and-peck routine,” she assured me.

I had to laugh. That was better than leaving him on his own at the house. God only knew what he would get up to.

The hours crept by, with very little happening. I drove my routes, stopping once to help a woman who had fallen on the sidewalk carrying her groceries. I made sure she was all right and took her home. I had a call about a suspected intruder, but it turned out to be a neighbor’s dog nosing around the back porch after he got off his lead. I found myself thinking more about Martha’s job. I had read the posting and kept weighing the pros and cons in my head. I was certainly more productive in the office, organizing, filing, scheduling, tracking. When I was in Toronto, we were constantly busy as police officers—here, not so much. A small part of me wondered if I would like to return to the big city, but the more logical part knew I was better off here. Still, the thought cropped up on occasion.

Clouds began to gather as early evening fell. I was glad I only had another four hours in my shift. It was going to rain overnight, and it was miserable being on patrol in the rain. My radio crackled, and I responded, listening to the call for a possible domestic disturbance. A woman called in, she’d heard a scream and shouting plus a loud commotion coming from the unit beside hers where a new couple had moved in. I made a wide turn with the car and headed toward the address, my nerves already kicking in when I thought of the last domestic disturbance call I’d taken. Dispatch let me know backup was coming and to hold on as I arrived, then a moment later said they were delayed with a problem but would be there soon.

I sat in the car, staring at the complex. My heart raced, and I felt the sweat gather on my neck. If someone was in danger inside, the longer I waited for backup, the greater the potential for their life being at risk. It was my job—my duty—to help them. The reason I was a cop. I ran my hand down my chest, feeling the protective vest under my shirt. My hand shook as I radioed dispatch to say I was going to check it out. I placed my hat on my head and got out of the car, unclipping my gun as I approached the door. It began to rain, the drops hitting the ground hard, bouncing back up as they met the resistance of the cement. My thick shoes made a dull thump as I walked up the steps, my stomach in knots and my breathing coming faster. I felt the shudders that raced down my spine one after another. I could hear my heartbeat in my head, faster and faster. I listened, not hearing anything but the rain. No screams or shouting.

But I hadn’t heard anything last time either. Everything had seemed normal until the door opened. I shook my head to clear it. That was last time. This was not the same situation, I reminded myself, trying to stop the waves of panic that kept hitting me.

The sound of metal hitting metal caught my attention, and I knew I had to proceed. My hand shook as I rapped on the door, announcing myself. My heart was racing, and I had to swallow the thick feeling in my throat. Flashes of memory kept taunting me, and I braced as I heard footsteps and the door swung open, revealing a man about my age. He was tall and lean, wearing a hoodie and sweats.

“Officer,” he greeted me, looking confused. “Is there a problem?”