The initial shock of Dani's disappearance morphed into a flood of emotions, from mind-numbing depression to blinding rage when she thought about the injustice. Nothing made the pain go away. She found herself desperate to regain control of her life. Wanting her body to
Becca tightened her jaw until it hurt.
She welcomed her method of self-inflicted punishment, giving in to its rhythm. Even through elastic wrap and workout gloves, her fists ached with every jab. The bag swayed with each driving blow. The muscles in her legs burned from the early-morning workout.
Circling, Becca picked up the pace and shifted weight to focus her whole body behind each impact. Her lungs heaved like a machine. Bobbing and weaving, she switched the speed and the combination of her punches—left jab, straight right, left hook. With shoulder-length dark hair pulled back, she ignored the loose strands stuck to her cheeks. Sweat trailed off her body and drenched her cotton T-shirt and shorts. Becca had hit the zone.
Within Central Station on South Frio Street, she exercised most mornings in a large facility located in the basement of police headquarters. But her usual workout had taken on more significance. Like the sputtering vapor whistling from a kettle on the boil, Becca needed to vent. And this was a good place to blow off steam.
She'd grown accustomed to the musk of body odor mixed with the persistent smell off the dank walls of the SAPD gymnasium. The steady clacking of weights and the drone of showers had become nothing more than white noise. Male voices echoed behind her, but one finally stood out.
'Hey, Montgomery! You've been shadowin' my case again, and I don't like it.'
Silence spread across the gym. All conversation died, and the clank of weights stopped. She didn't have to turn around to know all eyes were on her.
Becca lowered her arms, gasping from the exertion of her penance. Sweat stung her eyes. After yanking off her gloves, she took her time, running scenarios through her mind.
'I don't know what you're talking about, Murphy.' Her dark eyes took aim like a laser scope on a sniper rifle. 'So why don't you mind your own business.'
Becca turned her shoulder, but he pulled her around to face him.
'Oh, that's rich, coming from you. You're acting like a damned vigilante, and I'm supposed to mind my own business? Other lives are at risk here.'
'I was wondering if you'd noticed that,' she said. Moving closer, she picked lint off his T-shirt and lowered her voice, so not many would hear. 'You see, I think you picture this case to be a fast track for your career. You probably figure if you play your cards right, this liaison gig to the FBI might impress the feds. But you know what? Time is swirling down the drain, and you got nothin' on my sister's killer or the other abductions. Good luck impressing
'Ooohhh,' the men within earshot resounded in unison. Nervous laughter died.
Paul Murphy served as a catalyst to her mounting frustration. All she needed was an excuse to lash out, and he had given it to her. The man didn't know when to quit—a dedicated cop, real determined. Good qualities, except when directed at her. Almost six-foot, the bastard wasn't much taller than she, but he looked like a wall of muscle, broad shoulders and thick neck. A regular fireplug.
'You're a pretty big talker. Maybe you think special treatment is in order, with what happened to your sister and all. But I can't have you stickin' your nose in my business, so knock it off.' Murphy stepped closer, close enough for her to see every acne scar. His shoulders and arms glistened with sweat.
Like a chess player, she assessed her next moves. His nose had already been broken once. A second time wouldn't hurt his looks any. She contemplated rearranging his face with a well-placed uppercut, but several of the men drew into a tight circle around him. Although Becca wasn't sure whose side they were on, it didn't matter. Since her sister's case started, she'd made enemies. She'd pushed and pushed until walls were erected, keeping her out of the loop in the investigation that leapt jurisdictional boundaries. So Becca knew—she'd be on her own.
But that didn't stop her from tossing gasoline onto a smoldering fire. She heard the words coming from her mouth, the voice of a stranger.
'I don't expect anything special. I only want you to do your damned job.'
'Well, you're gonna have to trust me to do that, Montgomery. Let me do my fuckin' job.'
Fists at her sides, she stood her ground, leaving little room to maneuver. The last thing she wanted was to fight one of her own, but she couldn't back down either. Whoever threw the first punch would be the real loser. She knew it, so did Murphy. She could tell by his hesitation. Becca faced a real standoff—two hundred pounds' worth.
'Break it up, you two. That's an order.' The bellowing voice of Lieutenant Arturo Santiago forced her to stand down, but she hadn't gotten off the hot seat. 'Montgomery, in my office.
A lieutenant always knew how to clear a room. Becca took a deep breath, trying to control the surge of adrenaline through her system.
Murphy shrugged and forced a grin. 'Come on, L.T. I'm a ray of sunshine. No fumigatin' required.' He backed off with a slight nod and pointed a finger at her. 'This is my case, Montgomery. Are we clear?'
'Oh, I think we both know where we stand on the subject, yeah.' She tugged into her sweats. 'And I'll give your point all the consideration it's due.'
Murphy stormed off in a huff, reading her message loud and clear.
Becca hadn't picked the fight, but she'd been prepared to end it. Practically egging Murphy on, she found herself wanting him to throw the first punch. And even more disturbing, she'd been disappointed when the lieutenant intervened. What the hell was wrong with her? She had let Murphy get to her, allowing her pent-up tension to cloud her good judgment. Now she had to deal with the lieutenant in the privacy of his office.
She knew what he wanted to talk about, and it had nothing to do with Murphy's sorry ass.
Lieutenant Santiago's office smelled of coffee and stale smoke, a by-product of the old homicide division, before antismoking legislation. Central Station had been smoke-free for quite a while, but the stench lingered from years past, infused into the walls. No amount of renovation had ever managed to eliminate the odor.
With arms crossed, Becca sat in front of his desk, waiting. She imagined how her conversation with the lieutenant might play out, but none of the scenarios were in her favor.
Behind his beige metal desk with walnut veneer top, a clock hung on the wall and marked the passing of time with a steady annoying beat.
To distract herself from the discomfort, she gazed around the room, taking in the details of the man's many accomplishments. Becca's eyes found a photo of Santiago with his family. At work, the lieutenant maintained a stern grimace, but the man had an infectious smile when he allowed it to show. Deepening age lines gave his face character. His short-cropped dark hair had receded to a crown worn like a laurel wreath around his head.
Shiny plaques of meritorious service, framed photos of him with the mayor, and coaching mementos from a local Little League team reflected his life in service to the community and law enforcement. At one time, such recognition would have meant everything to her. But now, with Danielle gone, it all seemed so pointless.
'Jesus, Dani,' she whispered. 'Why the hell—?'
Looking out the picture window to her left, she lost herself in the drama of sunrise. Filtered through a cheap set of Venetian blinds, the morning sun pierced heavy cloud cover with spears of brilliant orange, a quiet skirmish. City buses and commuter traffic droned in the background. It reminded her that life carried on, and the world spun on its axis, whether she came along for the ride or not. A humbling notion.
