Page 45 of Rent Free

Getting calls with children involved sucked.

Getting calls with babies involved were even worse.

“Unit 1882,” the dispatcher said. “Call came in at the Corner Store right next to you about a baby being left in the car.”

I looked over at the Corner Store.

It was a huge country store that was similar to a Tractor Supply, but on steroids. It also had two restaurants in it, as well as a gas station. It was a tourist trap and was supposed to be competition for Buc-ee’s on the corner of the interstate.

Usually, people spent an hour there or more.

“Unit 1882 responding,” I said as I put the car in drive.

My stomach was somewhere in my throat as I made the mad dash across seven lanes of traffic to pull into the Corner Store.

I parked the car across four parking spots and ran toward the locked Suburban.

It looked familiar, but I didn’t give it any more thought than that before I reached the group of people.

“It’s locked,” someone said as I arrived. “We’ve tried all the doors and windows. You’re gonna have to break it.”

I didn’t waste time.

When it was August in the middle of Texas, you didn’t have much time to waste when it came to kids being trapped in hot cars.

“The baby’s cries are weakening,” another good Samaritan said. “I almost broke it myself when you came to a stop.”

I took my baton out of my belt and used the back handle to break the glass on the driver’s side.

The glass gave way with a satisfying pop, and I used the baton’s barrel to clear the glass away as I leaned into the vehicle.

It unlocked, and the man nearest me was already opening the baby’s door.

I pushed him out of the way, and immediately took the young boy out of the car seat.

He was flushed, lethargic, and crying so weakly that my heart started to pound in my throat.

Without much thought, I ran with him into the building, hoping that the cooler air would help while we waited for an ambulance.

The moment we were inside, I placed him flat against the front desk, and started to strip off his clothes, knocking a bucket of hat clips off right onto the floor in my haste.

“Oh my God!”

“My baby! Oh my God! My baby!”

The mother came barreling toward me, but a man stopped her with a lethal, “Stay the fuck back!”

“That’s my child!” she cried.

The voice.

The voice was so fucking familiar.

I chanced a glance after I stripped the baby down to his diaper.

“Water,” I said as I looked around. “I need water.”

That is when my world stopped.

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