Act of Valor Page 3

  He and God weren’t friends anymore. Zach deserved to encounter shipwrecks in his life, he’d probably caused most of them with his combination of impulsivity and stubbornness, but Jordy... God should have looked out for Jordy. No, he and God were no longer on speaking terms.

  Shoving on his hat, he strode out of the room, grateful to have Vi clipping along in her pumps right next to him.

  * * *

  Violet kept her pace quick in spite of the twinges in her back and her throbbing cheekbone. She would not let Zach see her discomfort, especially the inner turmoil simmering below the surface like a monster fish ready to suck her under. She didn’t want to speak of her feelings, not the real, raw, deep-down ones. Not to Zach.

  He has too much on his heart already. I can’t add to his burdens. Besides, they had their roles: he the jokester, overprotective big-brother type, and she the in-control, stand-up-to-anyone tough girl. She intended to keep it that way for both their sakes.

  Bad enough that everyone was no doubt waiting at the diner, talking about what had happened. Her father would press for her to move into the cramped bedroom at the house in Rego Park where she’d grown up, but that would be going backward and she would not allow herself to give in to the fear. The airport attack was upsetting, traumatic, but it wasn’t going to derail her progress. Her college classes were starting up again in a matter of weeks, and this time she wasn’t going to take a break until she had that business degree firmly in her possession.

  She was grateful that Zach did not seem to be in a talking mood as they exited the terminal and climbed on a shuttle. They made their way to the parking structure where Zach’s car occupied a reserved police spot. Inside the garage the gloom felt smothering, the acrid scent of gasoline and exhaust making her stomach flip over. Eddie shook his muzzle as if to clear away the barrage of odors.

  The silence grew tedious as they stepped into the garage elevator. She noticed the steely look on Zach’s face. Claustrophobic, though he staunchly denied it. It brought her back to a day when the two of them, teenage rebels cutting school to go to the beach, had discovered a massive drainage pipe and stupidly gone in to explore. The deeper they’d gone into that cement tube, the sweatier and more panic-stricken Zach had become until she’d thought he was going to pass out. Grabbing his wrist, she’d led him from the pipe to a spot of sand where she’d held him around the shoulders until his breathing quieted.

  “Sorry, Vi,” he’d said, mortified, forehead pressed to hers.

  She’d squeezed his fingers, kissed him on the cheek, made a joke and never mentioned the incident again. It was her gift to him, a secret kept, a silent pact from two childhood friends. And he’d kept her secrets, too. In eighth grade Gil Fisher had stolen her journal from her locker. Violet wasn’t a writer, but inside were her sketches of the boys she’d had crushes on, complete with colored hearts around them. Gil was prepared to share her private drawings with every kid in the school until Zach got a hold of him. Whatever he’d said to Gil she would never know, but Gil had promptly handed back the journal and none of them had ever spoken of it. She wondered for the millionth time if Zach had seen the last picture in the journal, a picture she’d sketched of him.

  As the elevator shuddered upward, the tight line of his jaw indicated that he was gritting out the ride. She wished she had the nerve to take his hand again and tell him she still understood, had his back through whatever would come. She yearned to comfort him about Jordy’s death. How the touch would comfort her, too, still the wobbling in her stomach and the trembling in her knees. But they had roles to play, didn’t they? Instead, she watched the buttons light the way to the third floor and stepped out next to him.

  Violet sighed. “Satisfied? We made it to your car safe and sound. Box checked. The first part of your job is done.”

  He frowned. “You’re not just a job, Vi.”

  He didn’t look at her when he said it, and she knew the words hadn’t been easy for him to get out. She gentled her tone. “I know. Thanks for everything.”

  “I’ll get you settled in at your apartment. Make sure everything’s secure.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “Did you get an alarm system or a Doberman since I was there last?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll check the doors and windows, since your roomie’s out of town.”

  She threw up a hand. “Okay. You win.”

  “That’s a first.”

  “It probably won’t happen again anytime soon.”

  “Then I’ll just bask in the glow.”

  She stopped at the rear bumper when he touched her shoulders.

  “Really, Vi. Kidding aside. I want you to be careful.” His hands wandered up her back, coming to rest on her neck under her hair. The blue of his eyes lulled her, his face so incredibly handsome.

  A squealing of tires split the air. Zach’s head jerked up. A car peeled around the curve, a flash of a familiar face behind the wheel, big, barrel-chested.

  Her attacker.

  Joe Brown.

  Eyes slitted, ruthless, determined half smile.

  The car bore down on them. Zach shoved Violet behind him.

  In terror she grappled to get hold of his shirt and pull him back with her between the parked cars, but he was turning, reaching for his side arm, shouting.

  The car careened on, charging toward Zach and Eddie like a heat-seeking missile until the front bumper plowed into the rear of Zach’s SUV.

  Glass shattered somewhere close, pinging her with tiny chips. She stumbled.

  Zach leaped backward, pulling Eddie with him, crashing into the side of the vehicle. A bright drop of blood splattered the rear passenger window.

  Zach lay on the ground, eyes closed, while Eddie whined and pawed at his chest.

  FOUR

  Zach felt pressure on his rib cage, a flash of hot pain on his cheek, followed by the clammy squelch of a probing dog nose. Cold from the cement floor seeped through his uniform shirt. The sensations coalesced all at once into a frantic need to move. He opened his eyes and jerked to a sitting position, sending Eddie into another round of high-pitched yelping. He saw himself mirrored in Violet’s brown irises as she stared down at him. She pressed a hand to his sternum.

  “Stay still. I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  He ignored her, struggling to his feet while scanning the parking lot for Joe Brown. He was long gone. Zach bit back a growl of frustration, jerked his radio free and called in. The on-duty police and TSA were alerted to look for the vehicle. It was the best they could do. He declined medical help, of course. Mercifully, Violet appeared unharmed. One thing had gone right, anyway.

  “How did he know you were leaving with me?” he mused. “Seems unlikely he would stick around to tail us.” It wasn’t coincidence, either. LaGuardia had multiple police parking areas, both outdoors as well as the garage, so it hadn’t been a fortunate guess on the part of Brown. They might have been followed from the terminal, but he probably would have noticed that and no one had tracked them into the elevator.

  Violet frowned and he knew what she was thinking.

  “Your boss knows you left with me?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  “So it would be easy for him to pass that on to Brown...”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Violet said, but she didn’t sound convinced. He wasn’t, either.

  Carter’s text buzzed in his phone.

  Anyone hurt?

  Violet’s okay.

  You?

  Just my pride.

  He put the phone away before Carter got a chance to snap off a snarky reply.

  Violet was pulling at his wrist, turning him to face her. “No matter how they found out, they’re gone and you’re bleeding. Stay still.”

  “No, I’m not hurt.”

  “Yes,” she said i
n the overly controlled voice she used when he was driving her to distraction. “You are.” She pointed to the side of his head.

  He felt then a trickle of warmth and swiped at it, his fist coming away with a smear of red. “I’m not hurt,” he repeated, hoping he didn’t sound like a cranky child.

  She grabbed a tiny packet of tissues from her purse and pressed one to his temple, pulling it away to show him the blood. “Not-hurt people don’t bleed on other people’s clothes.”

  He noticed another spot on the front of her uniform.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I must have hit the door handle on the way down. I’ll wash it.”

  “No, you’ll have it dry-cleaned, you big oaf,” she said, but her smile was soft as she dabbed at his cut. “Doesn’t look deep. Cops will send a unit to check on you, or an ambulance, right?”

  “Told ’em not to. Need every cop out looking for Brown.”

  She heaved out a sigh. “And you say I’m stubborn.”

  “You are. Way more stubborn than me.”

  The rumble of an engine caught her attention. “Fortunately, it looks as if someone didn’t listen to you, though.”

  Carter pulled up in his squad car, Frosty pacing in the backseat. “Get in, Zach.”

  Zach shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m taking Vi back to her apartment.”

  Carter used the same tone he did when his young daughter Ellie was refusing to cooperate. “No, you’re getting into this car until our people process this scene, and we’re taking Vi to Griffin’s. Everyone’s there and waiting.”

  Violet took Zach’s hand, put it over the tissue and pressed both to his head. “Do as you’re told.”

  He wanted to snap at her and his brother, to vent some of the tension that threatened to explode. Instead, he forced out a long, slow breath. “Fine.”

  Carter jerked his head. “You’re sitting in the back with Frosty. Vi gets the front seat.”

  She cocked her head and flashed that smile again, but there was something forced about the brashness, as if she was trying a little too hard to hide her fear. It made him crazy to see it.

  Don’t worry, Vi. I’m gonna get these guys no matter what it takes.

  Hauling himself and Eddie into the cramped backseat of Carter’s vehicle, he heard the echo of another promise, the one he’d made to Jordy’s widow, the promise that he’d catch Jordy’s killer no matter what it took. As the days spun into weeks with no progress from the cops working the case, his frustration was building to epic levels. At least the rabid press coverage had eased a bit, his brother’s “suicide” taking backseat to various other big-city stories.

  Everyone who worked with Jordy already knew it wasn’t a suicide, but given the suicide note that had been planted and the lack of outward trauma to his body, that didn’t keep the press from their speculations. He realized his jaw was clamped like a vise and he made an effort to relax.

  Maybe it would be good to have Violet to focus on while they continued to try and unearth a lead on his brother’s killer. The fatigue of many sleepless nights crowded the adrenaline from his muscles. Wearily, he stroked Eddie, threading his fingers through the fur, allowing himself just for a moment to wonder if Jordy’s dog, Snapper, might still be alive. There had been blood found in Jordy’s SUV, animal blood, but not a single trace of Snapper anywhere. If the German shepherd was wandering loose, lost, injured, how long could he survive?

  A wave of despair washed over him. Zach used to believe there was nothing he couldn’t do, that God was watching over the Jameson family and the people they loved.

  I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety. The psalm was inscribed inside the Bibles his mother had given each of them the day they were sworn in as cops. Now he couldn’t even read the words without choking on them. With Jordy’s death, there was no more peace or rest, and now with Violet facing a different threat, there would be no fairy-tale promises of safety, either.

  I’ll do it without You, he silently promised, the stone where his heart used to be hardening with each syllable. I’ll keep her safe. It felt good to direct his anger at God, who’d taken the very best friend he’d ever had.

  You won’t take anyone else from me.

  Carter shot him a look in the rearview mirror as they turned onto 94th Street and passed the K-9 headquarters, eventually pulling up in the tiny lot behind Griffin’s Diner. Violet got out and beelined for the door.

  Carter cut the motor and turned to stare at Zach. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” He shifted Eddie on his lap. “Why?”

  “Because you look like you’re ready to take on an army all by yourself.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Carter shook his head. “That’s not smart. We’re a team. Don’t go rogue on us.”

  Zach didn’t speak, but his gut filled in the answer.

  If that’s what it takes to protect Vi, bring it on.

  “Zach,” Carter started again, but Zach was already out and following Violet into the comfort of the diner.

  * * *

  Violet breathed deeply of the familiar aromas, the rich tang of coffee, the scent of the freshly waxed floors her father insisted on, the tantalizing fragrance of simmering soup with glistening homemade noodles and shredded chicken, never diced. It was the smell of home, of comfort, of safety. The place had been unchanged for decades, obstinately resisting the pressure of the encroaching neighborhood gentrification of Jackson Heights. Her father would inevitably turn red in the face when he passed the two new luxury rental buildings and the artisanal cheese shop that had replaced the old mom-and-pop stores. Griffin’s was rooted in the history of Queens, standing defiantly against the so-called progress, preserving the character of the people who had built the neighborhood brick by brick, block by block.

  Sucking in a lungful of diner smells, she put the fear behind her and automatically snatched her apron from the hook by the door.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” her mother said. Barbara Griffin was still tall and straight-backed in spite of the lifetime of sweat and tears she’d put into the diner and raising Violet. Some silver threaded her brown hair, which she wore wound into the trademark braid. She’d never know how her mother survived losing Violet’s brother at age five to meningitis, but Barbara was strong, and she’d passed that strength down to her daughter.

  Sometimes you build a wall around today and you don’t climb over it, her mother had told her. Violet was determined to build a wall around the frightening events of the morning and keep them behind the bricks, away from the rest of her life.

  Her mother embraced her quickly, hard and tight, the contact telling her all that she couldn’t say in words. After a breath, she straightened. “Carter filled me in. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, Mom,” she said, pulling the apron around herself. The apron made her feel safer than a suit of armor. “I’m completely fine. I’ll bus table seven.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” she said, smiling. “You’ll have to get around your dad first.” Violet decided that nothing would stop her, but when she made it to the dining room, the place was swimming with cops. They were collected around their favorite tables in their private room, set apart by French doors and affectionately dubbed “The Dog House,” grilling Zach for the details. On the walls of the cozy room were the photos of those NYPD officers who had lost their lives in the line of duty. The K-9s were given the names of these fallen heroes to keep their memories alive. With a pang she realized that Jordy’s picture would soon be added to those photos. The dogs were settled into their private porch area, and Zach led Eddie in to join them. Zach’s brothers, Carter and Noah, were there with their dogs, and siblings Reed and Lani Branson along with Luke Hathaway, Brianne Hayes, Tony Knight and Gavin Sutherland. They were not all related by blood, but all were part of the K-9 unit Jordy Jameson had sup
ervised, so that made them as close as kin could be.

  She was about to grab the coffeepot and start pouring out for the cops when her father hastened up, quick though he sported a potbelly, and wrapped her in a hug that lifted her off the ground. “Baby,” he said. “What is this world coming to? That airport is full of crazy people. You could have been killed. I think you should come back here and work full-time. Forget the airline job.”

  She squeezed him in return, furiously blinking back tears. “You always say that, Daddy.”

  “And I always mean it.” He cupped her face and kissed her on the nose like he’d done since she could remember. One of her earliest memories was her and her little brother Bobby dressed up for Easter morning, her father presenting them each with a kiss on the nose and a basket full of goodies. Lou Griffin was a softie, through and through.

  Before she could protest, he steered her to the back room into an empty chair at the table full of cops. “You’re my baby, and I need you to be safe. Sit down and rest.”

  “I just got here.”

  “Rest from your ordeal. No waiting tables for you.”

  Her mother chuckled, carrying in pitchers of ice water. “See? I told you.”

  Everyone broke into a vigorous inquisition about her health and safety with a liberal amount of teasing thrown in. Holding on to her tough and independent demeanor was hard when she spoke of the attack, but she kept herself in check. She was Violet Griffin, known for her sass and wit, a strong woman who wasn’t going to present anything else to her cop family, and they knew it, counted on it. When the conversation turned to shoptalk, she breathed an inward sigh.

  “We got the intel back on the Joe Brown guy,” Carter said. “His real name is Xavier Beck. Small-time, petty theft, some drug arrests. He may be a courier, but he’s not the boss. Though there’s been some street chatter that he’s moving up in the ranks, trying to prove himself. We’ve heard the name Uno.”