Page 3 of New Hope

Chapter Two

FORD

Ipulled into the parking lot and looked around. The building didn’t look anything like the police stations in New York. Instead of the drab, government-style brick precincts I was used to, this one was made of light gray, cedar shingle siding with white flower boxes under each window. It looked so cozy that if it wasn’t for the sign out front clearly stating it was the New Hope Police Department in bright blue lettering, I might have mistaken it for someone’s home.

There were only two police cars sitting in the parking lot off to the side and I shook my head when I compared it to the fleet of cruisers we had in New York. Of course, something told me that New Hope, Rhode Island wasn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity. Not that I minded. In fact, it was one of the reasons I’d chosen it as our new home.

Being a police officer was all I’d ever dreamed of since I was a young boy. My father had been a cop, and his father before him. My mother had worked as a dispatch officer, which was how the two of them had met. The law was in my blood and I wore my badge with pride. Still, I knew there were certain areas, such as big cities, where police were forced to put their lives on the line more often than others. I’d been born and raised in New York City and had gladly accepted the risk as a young man, fresh out of the academy.

However, that quickly began to change the day Ellie was born. From the second the doctor laid my daughter in my arms, her tiny hand wrapping around my pinkie and her head turning toward the sound of my voice as if she recognized it, my heart had been hers. Completely and unconditionally hers. Before, I would’ve been the first one to give chase to a perpetrator or head into a dangerous situation but becoming a father had made me more cautious. I found myself weighing the risks and assessing the dangers. In essence, I began thinking before I leapt.

Things changed once again when I suddenly became a single parent. My mother had died of cancer before Ellie was born and my father had passed away two years later, after suffering a massive heart attack. I knew if anything were to happen to me, Ellie would be all alone and that was a risk I wasn’t willing to take. Ever. After months of feeling on edge at work and waking up in a cold sweat at night because of recurring nightmares in which I was killed in the line of duty, I knew something had to give. Not only for Ellie but for my own good. I hoped the changes I’d made proved to be the right decisions, but only time would tell. Today was about starting over and I intended to give this opportunity everything I had.

Checking my reflection in the truck’s rearview mirror, I smoothed a hand over my hair, making sure I looked decent enough to meet my new boss. Gene Sanderson had been New Hope’s chief of police for over twenty years and through several conversations, I could tell he was a friendly and honest man. He’d agreed to an online interview since I was still living in New York at the time, and I’d liked him right away.

Gene’s blue eyes had quickly assessed me. Sharp and focused, taking everything in and missing nothing. I had no doubt that he had been, and probably still was, an excellent police officer. But it was his easy-going smile and the way his eyes twinkled every time he laughed—which happened to be often—that had made me feel at ease.

We’d talked casually about the escalating division between many citizens and law enforcement, sharing similar views and personal experiences on the matter. I’d told him about the recent things I’d seen and heard from a few of my co-workers, as well as the lack of support from many of the higher-ups which had left me both frustrated and disappointed. He’d listened with a sympathetic ear, agreeing it was probably for the best that I make a change before I burned out. Then he’d told me, in no uncertain terms, everyone at his station worked at a strong, cohesive team, and I would not have to deal with any of that there.

I had been inspired by how eloquently and passionately he spoke about the need to build a peaceful relationship between law enforcement and the communities we served, one based on mutual respect. He may have been from a small town, but his wisdom and insight into what was happening in our country was impressive. By the end of the interview, not only had he earned my respect, but I also felt like I’d gained a trusted friend.

Gene had told me how impressed he was with my work record and the letters of recommendation he’d received on my behalf from both my former captain and chief inspector. After giving me a rundown of the job and what he expected from his staff, he’d gone ahead and offered me the position. I’d been surprised and relieved at how quickly everything had fallen into place.

Satisfied with my appearance, I climbed out of the truck. A sudden onslaught of nerves left me feeling as if a swarm of angry bees had taken up residence in my belly, but I pushed my shoulders back as I crossed the parking lot and opened the front door, hoping my apprehension wouldn’t show on my face. My eyes quickly scanned the room, orienting myself with my new workplace.

The walls were painted an off-white color with a few large black and white historic photos of the town hanging on them, and the floors appeared to be original hardwood, worn with age and in drastic need of a good polish. The three chairs lining a side wall and the small table with a few magazines spread across its top made up a waiting room area. Along the opposite wall sat a table with a coffee pot, a stack of cups, and a basket which held an assortment of sugar and creamers.

A woman sat behind a long counter that separated the waiting area from the rest of the workspace. She looked up from her computer screen as I approached, a professional smile in place. “May I help you?”

She was attractive with shoulder-length brown hair and soft green eyes, but it was the intelligence behind those eyes and the air of confidence surrounding her that had me smiling back. “Hi. I’m here for my orientation. My name is—”

“Ford Scott,” she answered knowingly, extending a hand toward me as her eyes lit with recognition. Her smile turned more genuine. “My name is Layla Dorsey and I’m the clerk here. Gene’s talked a lot about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

I took her smaller hand in mine, surprised at the firmness of her grip. “Should I be concerned about what he’s told you?” I asked, only half joking as I let go of her hand.

She laughed, a throaty kind of chuckle. “Not at all. In fact, it was very positive. Gene is a man of few words, so the fact that he was talking about you at all means you must’ve made quite an impression on him.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” I mumbled as my face heated with embarrassment.

“Layla, the stupid copier jammed again. I got some of my papers out but not before it started to eat them,” I heard a deep voice complain. A second later, a man appeared in the doorway of a small room off to the side, a thick scowl on his face as he glared down at the ruined papers in his hand. He was a giant of a man, with dirty blond hair and thick muscles that stretched the fabric of his black uniform. He looked up, his steel-gray eyes registering surprise when they landed on me.

Layla hopped up from her chair with a shake of her head. “I told the chief I was going to go on strike if he didn’t replace that ancient thing. I swear, it’s been around since Jesus was a baby. I’ll take a look at it. In the meantime, this is Ford Scott, the newest member of the New Hope PD. Why don’t you show him around the office?”

The man tossed the papers he’d been holding into a recycling bin then directed his attention to me as Layla disappeared into the room he’d come from. I was sure with his large build he could intimidate the hell out of a perpetrator, if he wanted to, but his smile was warm and friendly as he approached me and held out a large hand. It engulfed my own as we shook.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize anyone else was here. I’m Lieutenant Michael Archer.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Oh, no. None of that. We don’t stand much on ceremony around here. It’s a little hard to do when everyone around here knew you when you were going through puberty. Just call me Mike,” he said with a grin. I felt myself relax with his candid response. He waved his hand in the air. “Come on back and I’ll show you around.” I moved to the door at the end of the counter and waited for him to buzz me through. It was a far cry from the rigid safety standards of my old job where we’d all worked behind bullet-proof glass, had cameras set up in every corner, and no one was allowed past the front desk without using a passcode.

“This is Layla’s workspace,” Mike explained, gesturing to the area situated directly behind the counter. It was meticulously organized with a desk, several tall filing cabinets, and a long folding table which held binders, a fax machine and a stacking tray full of papers. Live plants were situated around the room along with a few framed photos of what I assumed was Layla’s family, all of which gave the place a homey feel. Mike smirked at me. “Try not to mess with any of her stuff. She gets a little cranky when we do.”

“That’s because you broke my favorite coffee mug,” Layla argued from somewhere inside the copy room.

“I told you I was sorry,” he called out.

“And I might believe you if you weren’t smiling right now.”

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