Page 125 of Kings Don't Break
“Then I’m sure that can be determined in a court of law.”
“Not good enough,” I say. “Particularly when the man who terrorized me is scot-free.”
“If you mean Stricklin, he’s laid up in a hospital bed on suicide watch right now. Thanks to your biker boyfriend and his club that caused nothing but trouble for the precinct and town.”
“And will charges be brought up against him?”
“That is not a matter that will be divulged to you. Stricklin’s been put on a paid leave of absence pending further investigation.”
My fingers dig into the denim fabric covering my thighs. I lean forward in my chair, my eyes narrowing into distrustful slits. “In other words, he’s going to go away for a while ’til you can clean up his mess. Then, when it’s all said and done, he’ll escape the ordeal unpunished.”
“Korine, listen?—”
“No, captain, you listen!” I snap. My voice shakes from the frustration bottled up inside me. I can feel Sydney in the chair next to me almost reaching out as if to calm me down. But I push on, focusing on what I need to do. “I have been beaten… repeatedly. I have been harassed and threatened by one of your officers. I have been held at gunpoint and taken hostage. I have had to undergo emergency medical treatment for my injuries. So has my mother, who was fed the wrong medication at the behest of that same officer.
“When I came to you to file a report, I was told to shut up. I was told to go away. You tried to bury the dirt that one of your officers was an unstable, homicidal woman beater because you didn’t want to look bad. You chose to preserve your career and paint a fake perfect perception of your precinct at the cost of my safety. And everyone else’s safety too—tell me, captain, how would the rest of the town feel if they found out their police captain was covering up the fact that one of his officers fractured his wife’s ribs and took her hostage at gunpoint?”
A nervous laugh rattles out of the captain. He sits up from his more relaxed position in his leather office chair and sputters out a couple nonsensical words like, errr and uhhh. Then he peters off into silence when he seems to realize he has no explanation.
“I have the photos, captain,” I say. “Date stamped.”
“Well… err… that can be… any time… that doesn’t prove…”
“What if I told you I have an audio recording of the day I came in to file my report?” I ask sharply. “I have you and Gillard on audio—the sound clear as can be—covering up for Ken. The local news station’s, what, three, four blocks away? Maybe I’ll head over after our little chat. I’ll turn over my photos and audio files. What do you think, Sydney?”
Sydney’s as stunned as Vargas is, though she instantly backs me up with a keen nod. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll drive you myself.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
“Korine,” grunts Captain Vargas through clenched teeth. “Hold on a minute. You can’t really believe you’re going to hang this over my head. You think I’ll comply because you claim to have some audio recordings?”
“You can call my bluff, captain. Please do. Your career to jeopardize.” The look I give Sydney communicates it’s time to go. We get up in unison and turn in the direction of the door.
The captain only waits another second before he’s rushing to call us back a second time.
“I can’t magically get the charges dropped,” he says. “It depends on many variables, including the district attorney?—”
“You flex some of that Pulsboro Police Captain power you have. You find a way… if you don’t want what we’ve discussed going public. Figure it out and make Blake Cash a free man again. Or kiss your career goodbye.”
I leave him on that note, letting his office door swing shut behind us. We stride through the rest of the precinct to the hushed stares of the officers on the precinct floor. Gillard in particular stands out among the others, looking paler than usual, like he senses he could be in deep trouble too.
Sydney holds off until we’re in the truck before she sings my praises. “You had them shook! Where did all that boss energy come from?”
I blow out a breath, my hope and prayer feeling affirmed. “Maybe I channeled my inner biker.”
She winks. “We all have one.”
“We?”
“Old ladies,” she says, starting up the truck. “You’re one of us.”
“Remember what you told me about being strategic? Why do you think I even recorded my conversation with them the day I tried to file a report?” I grin at her. “I took your advice.”
33
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There’s nothing like waking up to my girl’s smile. I reach out and smooth my palm along the curve of her cheek before pressing my lips to hers. Her body’s nice and soft against mine, her sweet scent everywhere. Practically sewn into the fabric of the sheets we’re laying in.
