Don shook Rogers like a ragdoll and then wrapped his hands around Rogers’ throat.
That was the point at which I started to grow nervous. Rogers appeared as if he was hanging on by a thread, his face turning a purplish red.
“Don, that’s enough. The police are on their way, remember?” I’d contacted my guy at the department once we spotted Rogers pull up.
“Don,” I called again, bracing his shoulder with my hand. “We got what we needed.”
“Where is he?” Don demanded.
“I-I don’t know,” Rogers choked out.
I pulled Don’s arm until his hold on Rogers loosened. “Let’s go. We’ve gotten the information we came for.”
“Why do you suspect your nephew?” Don asked, releasing Rogers.
Rogers took a while, catching his breath. “He hates the fire department. I overheard him telling someone that he wished everyone in the department was dead.”
Don and I looked at one another. We didn’t say anything, but it felt like we were on the right track. Before anyone could speak again, sirens sounded nearby.
“That’s your ride,” Don said, looking back to Rogers.
“I’m telling the police how you assaulted me.”
I snickered. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
Rogers blinked and turned to me as if just realizing I was still there. “You bit—”
Don socked him in the stomach.
Rogers doubled over and threw up.
“You’re lucky none of that shit got on me,” Don said.
“Let’s go.” I opened the storage door and stepped out right as two uniformed officers rounded the corner from the parking lot.
“He still in there?” one asked.
“Yeah, James, he’s still there,” I said to one of my former police mates. “Thanks for waiting.”
We watched as the officers entered the storage unit and began cuffing Rogers. When he tried to tell them that he’d been assaulted by Don, the officers brushed his accusations aside and read him his Miranda rights, before hauling him off to the police car.
Don and I walked back to his truck.
“Kyle Rogers,” I said, once we got in. “Do you remember that name?”
Don turned his face upward before turning to me. “Truthfully, I rarely remember rookies until they’ve been with us for at least a year. Too many come and go.”
“Looks like we’ve got someone to track down.”
He nodded.
“Hey, also, what are you doing next weekend?”
He grinned at me. “That’s a rhetorical question, right? The Injured Firefighters Gala is next weekend. Which means you’re coming with me.”
“Or, you’re coming with me,” I countered. “I’ve got tickets, and I need to attend for one of my cases.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ll get to see you in action, huh?”
