“Why do you get to do the snooping? You’re terrible at snooping.”
“I’m not terrible at snooping.”
“Last time you did the snooping, you needed an emergency extraction involving my cousin and a tow truck, and you still got busted sneaking out of Theresa’s house.I’llhandle the snooping.”
“We’ll discuss it.” I turned toward the window, watching the traffic thin as the suburbs gave way to rolling fields and the smoky outline of the Blue Ridge Mountains on the horizon. The regional Public Safety Training Facility had been constructed on the grounds of a former detention center in rural Prince William County, a few miles west ofthe regional forensics lab Nick and I had visited last fall. I thumbed the tiny bullet in my pocket, the one we’d managed to retrieve from the Aston Martin after my run-in withEasyClean. Georgia had mentioned some of the forensic techs might be teaching classes this week. With any luck, maybe one of them could look at the bullet and tell us more about it.
The two charter buses slowed as we reached the campus, pausing at a security booth before proceeding through a gate. The grounds were ringed in forests and razor wire. Low brick buildings dotted the landscape, a running track and a handful of training fields visible just beyond them through the fence. A five-story tower loomed like a sentry in the distance. Through my window, I could just make out the fire department logo on its cinder block walls.
Vero and I followed the other ninety-six students off the charter buses into a nearly empty parking lot. A handful of older-model police cars occupied spaces designated for training vehicles, their paint scratched and their fenders dimpled with dents. A few ambulances were scattered among them, bearing the training center’s logo. Beyond the parking lot, a skid-marked driving track was dotted in orange cones.
Vero and I huddled close to each other for warmth as we waited in line with the other academy students. We rolled our luggage beside us, our computer bags riding on top so they wouldn’t absorb the puddles on the blacktop. The line moved slowly toward a folding table covered in welcome packets and lanyards with our names printed on them. A man in a gray sweatsuit emblazoned with the wordINSTRUCTORgreeted us before we reached the table.
“Names?” he prompted, consulting his clipboard.
“Veronica Ruiz,” Vero said. He marked a check by her name.
“Finlay Donovan.” I tried not to stare at the thick raised scar that stretched from the right side of his mouth and disappeared under his FCPD beanie.
The man glanced up from his papers. A small smile tugged at theunblemished side of his mouth. “So you’re the Finlay I’ve been hearing so much about. I believe you might owe me some money.”
“But I already paid,” I said, stretching up on my toes to find my name on his clipboard.
He tucked it behind him with a raspy laugh, his smile strained by the confines of his scar. “The day I turned in my badge, I bet Nick Anthony a hundred bucks that he’d never find a partner he liked better than me. The week he met you, he showed up on my front porch to collect, and he hasn’t stopped talking about you since. Name’s Charlie.” He extended a hand to me.
A relieved sigh rushed out of me. “You’re Nick’s former partner,” I said, shaking his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.” Nick and Charlie had worked together for years, until Charlie was diagnosed with oral cancer. His treatment had forced him into early retirement, which was how Nick had ended up becoming partners with Joey.
“Nice work with the Molotov cocktails, by the way,” Charlie said, checking my name off his clipboard. “Just do me a favor and try not to set anything on fire during your stay here, ladies.”
Vero’s laugh was dubious.
“We’ll try not to,” I assured him. His warm brown eyes crinkled with his smile, and I could see why Charlie’s absence had been so hard for Nick.
Charlie pointed to the next check-in station. “Take your luggage to the uniformed officer and set your bags on the table to be searched so we can get you to class.”
“Searched?” I asked.
“Students aren’t permitted to bring personal firearms or weapons of any kind, and no alcohol or illegal drugs are allowed inside the facility. That’s why we opted for the buses,” he said, gesturing to the empty charter bus behind us. “Otherwise, the gate becomes a revolving door after classes let out every afternoon. It’s easier on the staff if we only have to search everyone once.” He pointed to a second set of tables. “After your bags are checked, pick up your welcome packets andname tags. Inside, you’ll find your room keys, your schedule, a map of the campus, and your health and safety waivers. Sign your waivers, take your bags to your dorm, change into comfortable workout attire, and report promptly to the drill field. Leave your cell phones in your room.” He checked his watch. “Your first session starts in twenty-two minutes. You might want to hustle, ladies. It’s a push-up for every minute you’re late.”
Vero and I turned to find we were last in line. We grabbed our Rollaboards and dragged them across the pavement. Once we were through inspections, we followed the last of the stragglers to the dormitory, hefting our luggage up the two flights of stairs to the third floor.
Vero unlocked our room and flung open the door.
“This is it?” She dropped her bags at the foot of one of the metal-framed beds. The springs creaked as she tested the thin plastic mattress with her foot. A single pillow had been issued to each of us, along with a blanket and a set of starchy white sheets. But what I noticed most was what the room didn’t have… no demanding toddlers or diapers to be changed, no dishes to wash or laundry to sort, no pushy ex-husbands, no demanding agents, and, best of all, no dead people. Maybe this week wouldn’t be so bad after all.
I collapsed face-first onto the bed, wondering how long they might let us stay. “You think they were serious about the push-ups?” I asked.
Vero pulled back the blind and looked toward the drill field. “We’d better get changed. I don’t want to find out.”
We shed our jeans and boots, trading them for yoga pants and sneakers. Bundled in hats and gloves, we drew our lanyards on over our sweatshirts and hurried to the drill field. Nick’s eyes lifted to mine as Vero and I caught up to the group. His subtle grin was only slightly reassuring as I looked past him and spotted Joey staring at me over crossed arms. Charlie glanced at his watch and gave us a discreet thumbs-up.
“Good morning, everyone.” Nick spoke into a bullhorn, projecting his voice over the throng of students. “Welcome to citizen’s police academy. I’m Detective Nicholas Anthony, your academy coordinator and an investigator in the Organized Crime and Narcotics division of the Fairfax County Police Department.” A few excited titters rose from the group. I looked around me at the disproportionate ratio of women to men, certain I recognized some of the mothers from Delia’s preschool among them.
“Your instructors this week are all current or former law enforcement professionals, all of them experts in their fields,” he continued. “Please feel free to ask questions. The goal of this program is to help give you a taste of what it’s like to be a police officer, so throughout the week, you will have opportunities to participate in some hands-on training.” A woman in front of me let out a wolf whistle. A handful of otherswhooped, prompting laughter from the group. Nick’s grin was indulgent behind his megaphone. “These exercises will require your undivided attention, so for your safety, we ask that you do not bring your cell phones to class.” Nick waited for the chorus of groans to quiet. “Since you are not here in a professional capacity, you may sit out and observe any exercises that you wish. If you choose to participate, we will be awarding points to the top performers, and certificates will be presented to the winners on the final night of our program.”
“What do we get if we win?” Vero called out.
“Bragging rights,” Nick replied. “And the admiration of your instructors.” A few of the instructors chuckled. Tyrese winked at her.
