Page 8 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

Mike isn’t my boss, technically, but he is my superior, and I do think of him like he is. I look up to him. He’s my mentor.

I’m sure the case he’s referring to is the one of the Honorable James Lewis, a Los Angeles County judge, who was murdered three months ago. Mike has been working it hot and heavy ever since. Something about this case is different, though. Mike is different. And it has me worried about him.

The problem is, he can’t talk to me about it. I train with Nikki Lockhart, the victim’s daughter. I also workout at the MMA gym she owns. Since I’m personally connected, in any way, I can’t be a part of the case, but it would be nice to lend an ear to Mike like he so often is for me.

It sucks because I can’t be there for him like he is so frequently for me.

I want to say something, but I don’t. Instead, I push off the doorframe, heading back up front where I left Gabriel with Stephanie after Miss Carlisle finished writing her statement down on paper.

She didn’t stick around longer than she had to. If anything, she was pretty eager to run out of the station.

As I near Stephanie’s desk, all I hear is the sound of baby talk. Other than Mike being here after hours, she and I are the only ones in this part of the building.

Stephanie works dispatch on the night shift at the station, and this happens to be my week to serve on-call duty from seven p.m. to seven a.m.

There are twelve detectives housed at the Pacific station. All of us take turns, weekly, from Saturday night through the following Saturday morning when it’s our rotation. That means I’m on call every three months. It’s not fun, and I don’t know one of us that likes it, but four times a year isn’t too bad.

“What’s going on?” I ask, amused, as I approach Steph’s desk. She has the baby reclined onto her forearms with his head cradled in her palms that are lying on top of her desk. Her chin is tucked down as she makes silly sounds looking at the baby.

As I near, I'm able to see the smile on the little guy's face. It’s obvious Steph knows what she’s doing because this is the first time I’ve seen him happy tonight. And since she has a three-year-old of her own, I guess she should.

“He is the best baby, ever!” she tells me enthusiastically. “Carson was never this good.”

“Yeah?” I question, not quite believing her. “What makes you say that?”

She turns, her hazel eyes giving me a puzzled look. “Look at him. He’s so good. Isn’t fussy. He’s a happy little thing.”

Hmm... I don’t think she and I met the same baby.

“Oh!” she exclaims.

Stephanie is always chipper. She has a personality that gets along with anyone. I’ve yet to witness a frown on her face.

“Judy from child protective services is on line three for you. Crap! I totally forgot while I was playing with him.” She lets out a quick laugh.

“Okay, thanks. I’m going to grab it at my desk. Are you all right with him for a few more minutes?” I ask, hoping she won’t mind looking after him a little longer.

“Pleeease,” she draws out. “He’s an angel. You go. I’ve got this one. He’s making this slow night a breeze.”

“Tell Mike where I am if he comes looking for me,” I add, and then I turn around, heading toward my desk after I walk behind the floor-to-ceiling frosted glass directly behind Stephanie’s desk to enter the detective space.

As I round my desk, I press line three on the phone, picking up the receiver and bringing it to my ear as I plop down into my chair.

“This is Brianna Andrews.”

“Detective,” a soothing voice answers. “This is Judy Hearn. I received a message to call you.”

“Yes,” I reply back. “Thank you for calling me back so quickly.”

Sometimes it can be hours before someone from CPS calls the station back.

“It’s not a problem at all,” she assures me. “What can I do for you?”

“Well...” I start, not exactly sure where to begin explaining the odd events that happened tonight. “We have a small child, a baby boy, here at the station whose mother has decided to relinquish her rights to the child. There were safety reasons, or so she claimed. And I need your assistance and expertise in placing the baby.”

There is a beat of silence a bit too long, but before I ask her if she heard me, she speaks.

“When you say”—she pauses for a brief second, but I immediately pick up on her guarded tone—“‘safety issues,’ can you elaborate on what you mean exactly?”

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