CHAPTER ONE
Marlon Barton
The child on the sidewalk made Marlon begin to pull the car over, but he straightened the wheel at the sight of the woman in the headscarf who knelt beside the boy. He didn’t think he could handle the fallout. Then he noticed the woman dabbing at blood on the boy’s head. Changing his mind again, Marlon jerked the cop car right to the curb and stopped several yards ahead of them.
“Fuck, man. First day driving?” Andrew glared at him from the passenger seat.
“Sorry. I was debating if we needed to stop or not, but the kid is bleeding.”
“The kid….” Andrew twisted around in his seat and let out a groan. “Are you serious? He had a bike wreck. He’s sitting up, and his mom is there. Let’s go do something important.”
Marlon started to respond, but Andrew continued.
“Actually maybe this could work out. Might get us a terrorist.” He turned, a wide grin darkening his expression. “I like how you think.”
God, Marlon hated this. Being a cop had always lived up to his childhood dreams, mostly. Until the last few months with his new partner. “You know that’s not what I’m thinking. Stay here and call it in. I won’t take more than a minute if everything is okay.”
Andrew’s smile grew. “I’ll handle it. You’re too soft. Who knows what she’s wearing under that heebie-jeebie.”
“God, you’re an ass, Andrew. It’s a hijab. And that woman isn’t even wearing one. She’s got a headwrap.”
Andrew shrugged. “You’d know.”
Marlon flinched before he could stop himself. He had almost gotten used to Andrew’s negative comments about other races, but there hadn’t been many directed at him. For the billionth time, he wondered what he’d done in a past life to deserve Andrew Morris as his partner. “And, again, Andrew, you’re an ass. Stay here.”
He didn’t often pull rank and tell Andrew what to do, knowing he had to use those moments sparingly if they were to have an effect. He could see this situation going badly, very badly, if Andrew got out of the car. The possibilities were enough that he wished he’d not stopped at all. Too late now.
Marlon unbuckled his seat belt, opened the car door, and stepped out. He glanced at the woman and child. She’d noticed the cop car, of course. He offered what he hoped was a friendly wave, before pausing to open the trunk. He sighed. Why had he asked Andrew to organize the equipment? It looked like the moron had tried to juggle and then left everything where it had fallen. Pushing the collapsible traffic cones and a breathalyzer to the side, Marlon retrieved the first aid kit and pulled a couple of latex gloves from their box before shutting the trunk. He was surprised Andrew wasn’t standing there waiting for him. Apparently miracles did happen.
Turning from the car, Marlon plastered a smile on his face. The last thing he needed was for his irritation with Andrew to show.
As he walked the half a block on Montclair Street, cars zoomed past, their tires splashing through puddles left from the afternoon Denver spring rain. Marlon hesitated for half a second as the woman’s eyes met his. She was gorgeous—her dark skin healthy and glowing, the bright orange and yellow of her kaftan contrasting with the pink blooms on the crab apple tree. Without the stress lining her eyes, she would’ve made a stunning portrait. He laughed at himself. It seemed he’d inherited some of his mother’s photographer sensibilities.
Marlon paused a couple of feet from the mother and child—at least he assumed that was their relationship. “Hi, ma’am. Just noticed your boy had an accident, and I wanted to see if I could help.”
She glanced down and shook her head.
He hadn’t expected that. “You, ah, don’t want me to help?”
Still not looking at him, she spoke. He didn’t understand the words, but he could hear the worry in her tone. Worry he didn’t think had anything to do with her son’s accident.
He lifted the first aid kit, flicked open the lock, and held it out for her inspection. “I’d like to help.”
After a second, the woman looked at the kit, then lifted her gaze to Marlon’s once more.
Marlon gestured with his chin toward the boy. “May I help?”
Another pause, and then she nodded. He’d noticed that his own dark skin helped other minorities feel safer, but that didn’t seem to be the case with this woman.Probably here illegally.He cut off that line of thought and chided himself; maybe Andrew’s attitude was contagious.
After a minute, the boy, whose anxiety seemed to be caused more by the bike accident than Marlon’s presence, relaxed, only flinching as Marlon cleaned the cut.
As he knelt beside the boy, Marlon rambled on about the kid’s bike, how it seemed intact, about his own nephews’ and nieces’ bikes, and how he wished he had some cartoon Band-Aids to use instead of the boring peach-colored ones.
It all took a matter of minutes. The cut wasn’t so bad now that it was clean. Which was a good thing. If it had been worse, he had no idea how he would have convinced the mother to see a doctor.
Marlon had relatched the first aid kit and stood as a male voice called out. He glanced toward the sound. A black man, wearing tan slacks that were too big for him and a white button-down shirt, hurried down the cross street toward them. For a second, Marlon tried to make sense of what the man was saying, but then the woman called out to the man, making Marlon realize the guy hadn’t been speaking English or even talking to him.
By the time the woman finished her brief explanation, Marlon had stood.
