Page 7 of Her Protector Daddies

“Alright, I’m curious. I need to know who I’m getting in the shop with daily. Because if you landed here by screwing someone over, that ain’t gonna fly. I need someone that’s got my back.”

It was difficult not to roll my eyes. “And the squeaky clean reputation isn’t enough to soothe you?”

“Fuck no. Not when you’re back slumming it with the grunts on the street for no good reason.”

Officer Trask had such an eloquent way of putting things.

“Maybe I got a Golden Ticket,” I said, scanning the side alleys as we pulled onto the street where our target house was set. “Maybe I did something amazing and got my pick of the litter.”

“Bullshit.” Trask barked out a dry laugh. “No one in their right mind would use a Golden Ticket to return to patrol. You make Detective; the only way is up or out. So come on, what did you do?”

I don’t answer. We had this discussion on day one, and I was certain it would roll around each time Trask thought we’d rolled together long enough to bond. When I’d accepted this position, I didn’t expect to be out on Patrol for so long, but that was one of the risks of undercover work. The timeline changed constantly.

Trask was right about one thing: if I had a Golden Ticket, I wouldn’t have used it to return to the streets. No, I was back in uniform, rolling around in a shop for thirteen hours a day because the fastest way to get ears on the street about the Dorame Cartel was to get an ear to the ground – and there was no closer ear than Patrol.

Trask’s questions fell silent when we pulled up in front of the address given by control and exited the vehicle.

“Control, this is 7-Adam-13, show us on foot at the attached address, Code 6,” I said into my radio as I unholstered my weapon. A 459 was an attempted burglary. Given how much time had passed since the call came through, there was a chance the suspect wasn’t here anymore, but it was on us to sweep and clear the property.

“On me,” I instructed Trask as I passed him and headed up the stone path toward the property.

“Yes, boss.”

Keeping my weapon raised, I approached the front door and cautiously peeked over the window ledge. Netting covered the front window, making it impossible for me to see clearly inside. A few knocked over flower pots lay scattered across the top step. There was no movement to catch my eye, though, and after carefully testing the handle of the front door – then discovering that it was locked – we moved around the house toward the side door that swung half open in the light breeze.

I hugged the wall and peered around the open doorway, setting one foot inside to stop the door from swinging back on us. Then, movement caught my eye as a shadow passed in front of an inside doorway.

I signaled to Trask, then headed inside with swift yet silent steps. Entering the lounge, a man was hunched over one of the cabinets with a candlestick in one hand, so I tightened my hand on my gun.

“LAPD!” I snapped, causing the man to jump so violently that the candlestick slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.

“What the hell?”

“Sir, put your hands on your head and interlace your fingers!”

He obeyed instantly, then turned toward me. His lower lip was trembling and his rosy face flushed so dark that fog started to spread across his glasses.

“What are you doing? This is my house!”

I paused halfway toward the stranger, ready to put him in cuffs. “Sir? This is your property?”

“Yes. Yes! My—my name is Hank Forsythe, this is my home!”

“We got reports from a neighbor about suspicious activity around the side of the property,” I said, keeping my weapon trained on Hank just in case.

“A man was seen forcing his way in through a window,” Trask added, coming up behind me and lightly patting my shoulder. His sign that the rest of the house was clear.

“Yes, that was me!” Sweat beaded Hank’s upper lip, and while he seemed honest, I was still suspicious.

“Care to explain?”

“I just forgot my key, that’s all. And my wife, Amy, she usually leaves one under the flower pot but I couldn’t find it, and I knew the side window was still weak from that storm last week so I figured I would just… just let myself in.”

The more he talked, the calmer my suspicion fell and after a moment, I holstered my weapon and waved for him to drop his hands.

“Do you have any ID?” I asked.

Hank nodded. “It’s in my pocket, can I..?”

---