Nick watched as she gently wiped the sweat from his forehead. While she nursed the man, he made assumptions as to the type of woman she was—the type of wife she probably was, the type of mother she may have been. A feeling of guilt shook him back to his current situation. He grabbed the radio from his duty belt.
“6310,” he called into the radio.
“Go, 6310,” the dispatcher responded.
“Squad, can you roll an ambulance to this location?”
“6310, you still at the location of your search warrant?”
“10-4,” Nick confirmed.
“Okay, what do have?”
“I got a male, maybe early sixties. He’s having trouble breathing.”
“10-4, 6310. Your ambulance is rolling.”
“10-4. Thanks.”
* * *
It was forty-five minutes later,and the paramedics had come and gone. After the man, who Nick now knew as Henry Norris, calmed, he was given a clean bill of health. Except for Henry, who was resting in bed, every civilian in the house that hadn’t been placed into custody was instructed to sit on the sofa.
William Robinson, a.k.a. Boogie, and his buddies were taken into custody. The King woman was sitting quietly on the sofa, wringing her hands. But after a lengthy conversation with the woman of the house, Nick became more aware of circumstances behind the woman’s presence in the residence. It was a simple case of bad timing that had brought her to that location on that particular day.
He pulled a contact card from his back pocket and walked over to her. He told her he needed the information of everyone on the premises. She cooperated by giving her name, address, and phone number. Even though there was no box on the card for such information, he was sure to ask her marital status. He shamelessly stuffed her card info into his back pocket with absolutely no intention of turning the card in to evidence. He didn’t know what he was going to do with her personal information, but he wanted it nonetheless.
“Do you need a ride home, Miss King?” he asked, secretly praying she would say yes.
“No, thank you,” she responded with a soft voice. “I have a car outside.”
Damn!
He nodded to his team, gesturing for them to exit the house. He reluctantly followed, wishing he had another excuse to speak to Rebecca King.
“Do you need a ride home?” Gary mocked once they were outside. “Da fuck was that, Sarge?”
“Shut up and get the car,” Nick grumbled.
4
KING
Rebecca adjusted her glasses and shifted in her seat. She continued the delicate and meticulous process of cleaning the priceless painting, Van Gogh’s Bedroom. It was one of her favorite pieces. There were three versions of the same painting, constructed by Vincent van Gogh’s very hand. The original of the three was on exhibit in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam while the third was on display at the Musée d’Orsay in Paris. Thankfully, the second work of art was cataloged at the Art Institute of Chicago where Rebecca was an art conservator.
Her thoughts drifted to Paris and long, romantic walks along the Champs Elysees and the River Seine with a certain tall, handsome, blue-eyed cop. Since her mind wasn’t on the important task of preserving the hundred-and-twenty-eight-year-old work of art, she thought it best to take a break.
She raised her glasses and slid them over her hair like a headband and then placed the soft-bristled cleaning brush on the drafting table. She rubbed her eyes as if she could wipe out the image of his perfectly plump lips and chiseled masculine jaw.
Sadly, what she couldn’t erase was the image of the big man tackling her ailing father. He did, however, apologize, explaining that his goal was to secure every room in the home. He went on to say that he was only trying to stay safe and ensure the safety of his men, which was understandable. Since after all, it was a drug house, and Henry did rush him. She did take note that ultimately, his aggression diminished once the situation calmed.
“Rebecca, are you okay?”
She was startled at the sound of her co-worker’s voice. “Huh? Yeah…Yes, I’m fine.”
Jessica crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes as if studying her.
“What? Stop sneaking up on folks.”
