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“Hey. We didn’t expect you. Thought you were still out on leave,” Randy said.
“She got bored. You can’t keep Barr down for long,” Steve Turk said.
Deleon Mathews laughed softly. “You go, girl,” he said as they left the locker room.
“You sure about this, Ophelia?” Randy asked.
She nodded. “Positive. You better get out there. I’ve been cleared for duty but haven’t been assigned to the squad yet. I’m sure the commander can find me something to do.”
“That’s right, Barr.” Her commander’s voice boomed across the room. “You can always count on that.”
“Good luck,” Randy said, exiting the room in a hurry.
“Commander Mills,” Ophelia said as she buckled her belt and smoothed down her uniform slacks. “I’m here to make your day easier.” Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her weapon and strapped it to her waist and thigh.
He frowned and shifted his weight. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir. I’m ready to go back to work. Please just give me something to do.”
He shook his head. “I do like this can-do attitude, and you’ve been cleared by the doc, Turns out I’ve got an assignment tailor-made for you.”
“Understood.” She tilted her head and smiled.
“As a matter of fact, I thought you would be interested in researching The Black Hearts and get us a bead on the scumbags who might have more missile parts in their possession. We’re working with the Feds on this, but it’s all hush-hush per the mayor’s orders. We don’t want the city to panic. Plus, we’ll hear much more with our ears to the street if the lowlifes aren’t aware we’re looking for them.”
“Copy that, sir. I guess I’m heading for the command center.”
He smirked and shook his head. “Good to have you back, Barr.”
She exited the locker room and greeted and high-fived some more colleagues, but when she got to the command center, she was all business. She looked for connections to the man who had shot her. He’d pulled through after taking her bullet and was still in the LAPD Metropolitan Detention Center’s infirmary, so she decided to pay him a visit.
When she got to his bedside, he gave her a disgusted look.
“Hello, Justin Brady. I would have brought you flowers, but the SWAT gift shop was all out.”
“You’re lucky you were wearing that vest.”
“You’re unlucky you weren’t.”
“Point taken.” After a brief staredown, he turned away with a scoff. “I’m not talking to you. You wasted your time.”
“I don’t think so. You have information that can affect thousands, maybe millions in the city. Who were you selling those weapons to?”
His mouth compressed.
She pulled out the photos from the file she carried. “These are your children, right? Gracie, Max, and little Damon? You made some pretty babies.”
“What do my kids have to do with anything?”
“They’re in the inner-city school system. If something catastrophic would happen, they would be three of the casualties I was talking about. Is that the future you see for your offspring?”
He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “No. What father would want something terrible to happen to his children? It was just business.”
She shoved the pictures against his chest, and he winced. Satisfied he at least cared about his kids, she pressed him. “It wasn’t just business, Justin. You not only sold out most of LA, but your children in the bargain. It was terrorism.”
“I don’t know. I was just a foot soldier. Chris Farmington was the brains of the operation. He pulled all the strings.”
“He’s dead, Justin. I can’t get information out of a dead man.”
