“What’s up, Sarge?” She stepped into the narrow office.
“Take a seat.”
As she did, Molly was struck by the pallor of his complexion. Exhaustion racked his face, and all of a sudden he looked much older than his fifty-five years. No doubt Sarge had been one of the first people called after the explosion late yesterday. He’d probably been up all night.
“I guess I don’t need to tell you what this is about.”
“The Sabatini explosion.”
He nodded solemnly. “The verdict’s still not in on whether this was a Sabatini hit.”
“What have they got so far?”
“Three bodies…or what’s left of them. Just got a call from the M.E.’s office. He’s finally confirmed the identities of the three officers posted to the safe house.”
Relief didn’t come close to describing what flooded through her just then. Mitch was alive. She leaned back into the vinyl-cushioned chair across from Sarge’s desk, about to release the breath of tension she’d been holding when the gravity of Sarge’s expression reminded her this wasn’t just about Mitch. Three officers were dead. Killed in the line of duty.
“As for Drake, the witness, they haven’t found his body yet, but he’s gotta be dead. There was nothing left of that house. And if he wasn’t in it when it blew, you can bet Sabatini got to him first. Hell, we’ll probably never find his body. But right now, we’ve got three officers dead. We’re gonna see some heat on this one, Molly, and I want you on the team.”
“Sir?”
“You’re my best. I want you to get out to Huntington and start working with the Bomb Squad.”
“Sarge, I really…I’m not sure—”
“What is it, Molly? Your caseload? Adam can pick up the slack on your other cases.”
“That’s not it, Sarge. In fact, you know I’m all caught up.” Just like she always was, Molly thought. Every one of her cases was closed, with only two having outstanding warrants. And why not? Considering the number of overtime hours she put in, she could have closed all of Adam’s cases on top of her own. For a year now, the only thing in her life had been work.
“So what’s the problem?” Sarge asked again, his voice adopting the more personal tone she was accustomed to hearing from him whenever they were alone together. “I would have thought that thorn in your side was digging a little deeper ever since you’d heard about the explosion. Bad enough Sabatini’s going to walk away from another murder charge, but three officers, Molly…I would have thought—of all the detectives on this unit—you’d be itching the most for the chance to get Sabatini on this one.”
“I know. It’s just—”
“Molly, listen to me.” Sarge rose and circled his desk, propping himself against one corner so he stood in front of her. This wasn’t her sergeant talking now. It was Karl Burr, her father’s old patrol partner, the man who’d taught her to swing a bat when her father had given up, the man who had helped build her tree house when she was six, the man who’d filled in at parent-teacher’s night the time her father was sick, the man she’d called “Uncle” for years because it best defined their relationship.
He reached out and placed one large hand on her shoulder. “I’m offering you this opportunity,” he continued, “because I know you want Sabatini. Ever since that son of a bitch killed Tom, I’ve held you back from anything to do with Sabatini. I didn’t think you were ready. I thought the grudge was too deep for you to maintain a healthy and safe perspective. But it’s been over a year now. I think you’re ready.”
Yes, it had been over a year. But it hardly seemed long enough to get over the murder…no, the execution of her former partner. Then again, how much time was enough? Especially when she’d been the one who could have saved him?
Every day of the past year, she’d tried to put the haunting memories behind her, tried to forget. But not a day went by that Molly hadn’t remembered, that she hadn’t thought about Tom Sutton, her first patrol partner and closest friend.
They hadn’t been partners the night Sabatini had had Tom murdered, but she’d known the risks Tom was taking. He’d come to her the day before, then called her again only an hour before he’d been shot. Working undercover Vice, he said he’d found something on Sabatini, something that might actually “stick” once and for all. And Tom had turned to Molly for help.
Only…she’d been too late.
“Molly?” Sarge prompted her. “Are you telling me you’re not ready?”
“I’m not sure, Sarge,” Molly said finally, noting how confusion deepened the lines in his face as he folded his arms across his wide, barreled chest.
But it wasn’t just Tom she was thinking of now. There was Mitch.
Mitch was alive. He had to be. She had that gut feeling—the same one Tom had taught her to heed above all others.
Yes, Mitch was alive. And it was Mitch who was the ticket to seeing Sabatini behind bars. It was Mitch’s testimony that would finally do it. She couldn’t waste her time working potentially dead-end leads with the Bomb Squad. She needed to find Mitch. And she needed to find him before Sergio Sabatini did.
“This doesn’t have to do with that search-and-seizure warrant, does it? It was a good warrant, Molly,” Sarge was saying. “You know you weren’t to blame for those charges against Sabatini being thrown out.”
Another deep twinge of guilt. “You know I was, Sarge. But that’s not why I can’t join the team.”
“Why then?”
“I need some time off.”
“What?”
“I was planning to ask you before all of this broke,” she lied. “Besides, you know I haven’t had a single vacation day in almost a year. I’m due.”
“But now?”
“Now more than ever. I’m burned out, Sarge. My cases are all closed. It’s the perfect time. I need a break. It has nothing to do with Sabatini.”
For a second, as she watched his eyes narrow into a scrutinizing stare, she wondered if he saw through her lie. Molly Sparling never needed a break. And the fact that she was asking for it now had to raise suspicions.
She expected him to demand what she was up to, to ask her flat out if she intended to go after Mitch. But he didn’t. Instead, he let out a long breath, shook his head and resumed his seat.
“All right. Whatever you say, Molly. I only figured I’d give you the opportunity before anyone else on the squad. I’d thought…Well, forget it. If you say you need time, then you need time. Besides, your father already thinks I work you too damned hard.”
Molly returned the rare smile that twitched at the corners of Karl Burr’s mouth, the same smile she was quite certain only she had ever been privy to over the years he’d commanded the squad.
“Get your vacation slip to me. I’ll sign it. You can start today, if you like.”
“Thanks, Sarge.”
“Don’t thank me, Molly. They’re your days. ’Bout damned time you took some off.” He picked up his mug, the CPD logo on it lost behind his big hand as he lifted it to his lips.
When he opened the first file on his desk, Molly studied the top of his head, a mass of salt-and-pepper hair that seemed more “salt” than “pepper” these days. She wondered if it was due to age or stress, or more likely a combination of both. Still, there’d