She taped a padded exterior bandage in place and asked, “Who shot you, and why don’t you want to report it?”
“My lover.” He paused. “Going public was a political career killer even before the new Congress made homosexual acts illegal. Not that I’m gay. I’m bisexual.”
Lara didn’t give a rip about his sexual practices, but she watched his face for signs of lying, a habit from her detective days. She saw none. “What makes you think I’ll consider not reporting this? I could lose my license.”
“Because I’m the employment commissioner and you’re a contestant in the Gauntlet. I can help you if you help me.”
Lara’s pulse quickened. What was he saying? “Did you ask for me when you called the Paramed Service?”
“I didn’t have time. But I hoped it would be you.” Morton spoke softly, then waited.
Lara’s mind raced. The employment commissioner oversaw the contest, now in its third year, and he would rule on any situations that required a judgment call. He could disqualify any competitor too, including her.
Lara was torn. Her desire to win the Gauntlet was like a tumor growing inside her. Oregon desperately needed the grant money and the jobs that would be awarded to the winner’s state-and she needed a reason to keep getting up every day. Yet having the contest handed to her was not what she had in mind. “I don’t want to win except on my own merit.” She almost regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.
“Be more specific.” He sat up and she noticed that he was attractive in a pretty-boy way with dark wavy hair and high cheekbones. She’d only seen the commissioner a few times on the news, and the camera had not flattered him. Still, he was almost fifty and the black leather gear he was sporting made her a little sad for him.
“I don’t want your help. I want to win clean.”
“Could I interest you in some cash?”
Lara laughed. “Taking a bribe for not reporting this incident would be worse than simply not logging the GSW.” She began to pack her medical supplies.
“Tell me what you want. I can’t let this incident reach the police or the media.”
“Your boyfriend is a menace. He shot at me on his way out and should probably be locked up.”
Morton’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry.” He scooted to the bed and leaned against it. “He’s having a bad reaction to some medication. He’s not usually like this.” The commissioner’s gaze slid away and Lara sensed he’d just lied to her.
“Does he have a criminal record?”
“No. He’s never hurt anyone before. He discovered I cheated on him and freaked out. Shooting at you was just a leftover emotional reaction. He’ll calm down and be fine.”
“I want his name. For my own protection.”
Morton hesitated. “Richard Bremmer, but please don’t report this. I’ll lose my federal position.” He locked into her eyes. “And everything that goes with it.”
Lara wanted to get the hell out. After a quick look at the dog, which hadn’t moved since Morton snapped his fingers, she slipped her gun back into its holster and stood to leave.
“Are you going to report this?”
“I don’t know yet.”
In the van, she accessed her call log on her iCom and stared at the cursor, which was waiting for her to speak or type something. Crap . She was required to report the GSW, so that was the safest thing to do. If she lost her paramedic license, she’d be scrambling to find work like millions of others. She couldn’t go through that nightmare again. After leaving the police department, she’d been unemployed for years. Then the gun laws loosened and health insurance got scarce, so paramedics were suddenly in demand.
Yet, if she reported the incident, Thaddeus Morton would be investigated and likely removed from overseeing the Gauntlet. His last act as commissioner might be to disqualify her. If she kept his secret and he stayed on as a judge, he would owe her, and it couldn’t hurt to have someone in her corner while she competed.
If she brought home a grant, co-funded by AmGo and the federal government, Oregon would have money to spend on jobs and social programs. AmGo would build a facility in Eugene that employed thousands. Teachers and police officers would go back to work. Not her, of course. She had burned that bridge thoroughly. Still, she was a cop at heart and she hated the way law enforcement had been crippled by the never-ending recession. Most departments now only investigated violent crimes, and detectives had a couple of days to track leads. After that, the case went into the cold file and they moved on. It was shameful. So many victims with no one held accountable.
Lara slammed out of the van and ran back into the house. Morton had changed into jeans and opened a suitcase on the bed. He jumped like a startled cat when she burst into the room.
“How is the first section of the contest structured this year?” The Gauntlet had five phases that changed annually, and the details were kept secret until the program went live.
“It’s an elevated maze.”
Lara made a quick mental assessment. “I’d like to be paired against someone tall and female.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Beyond that, I intend to kick ass on my own.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“I hope your accidental shoulder wound heals quickly.” Lara bolted from the room before he could say anything else. No promises had been exchanged, but she felt a little dirty anyway.
Chapter 2
Lara parked her rig and hustled up the exterior stairs. On the drive home, she’d heard a storm warning on the radio and the winds were picking up already. Her apartment sat above her landlady’s oversized garage and she’d chosen it for the privacy. In real-estate terms, it was considered a studio even though her bed and dresser were in an alcove partitioned with heavy curtains. Not that the privacy mattered. The only company she ever had was her landlady, a recluse writer who lived online, but came over every once in a while when she needed Lara’s help with something.
Lara set the perimeter alarm, then unloaded her medpack and Taser into the trunk by the door. She changed into a t-shirt but left the Kel-Tec strapped in place. She liked the weight and comfort of it against her side. The weapon was even more effective than meds at keeping her anxiety to a low murmur. She resisted the temptation to sit down at the NetCom and conduct a quick search for Richard Bremmer. Her flight left at noon from Portland the next day, and she still needed to finish packing for the week-long contest. She’d finally broken down and bought new athletic clothes in bright colors because almost everything she owned was black or brown and wouldn’t look good on camera. She’d chosen water-repellent material on the assumption that she’d have to swim in at least one phase of the contest.
Her biggest challenge for now was to make everything fit into one suitcase. The “single checked bag and single small carry-on” rule had been in place with the airlines since 2013 when lighter loads and less fuel became a mandate. Since then, fuel prices had risen even more, driving the price of plane tickets even higher. So many people had quit flying that hundreds of airports had closed, including the one in Eugene.
The wind howled outside her windows and the tall pine trees swayed. Lara worried the storm might cause damage at the Maryland airport and delay her flight. It was tornado season in the Midwest and a twister could cause the airline to reroute her flight. That was the worst risk of flying now-sudden, powerful storms.
When Lara finally had everything squeezed into her suitcase, she went to her desk and began the search she’d wanted to conduct since leaving the commissioner’s house. With a few clicks and a password, she opened the Eugene PD’s citizen database. Her best friend was still a detective with the department, and he let her use his password to access information. Sometimes she looked up people she’d treated in an emergency call to get the background story. Other times, she perused the files just for the thrill of police work.
Richard Bremmer, the asshole who’d fired at her, was thirty-three and owned a spa and fitness center called Flex. Lara searched the Lane County criminal record files and discovered Bremmer had a public indecency charge from 2012 when he was twenty-five and an assault charge in 2014. The man he’d attacked refused to testify, and
