Hers To Protect

All she could do was follow through with her job. If she didn’t, the deputy would report it to the county sheriff, who would report her to the chief. She may have egg on her face, but she was in the right and she knew the law. Violet wrote Josh’s name on the top of the ticket.

“I still need your license.”

Josh looked at the sheriff, who shrugged.

“Apparently, you don’t need us anymore, Officer Hawks.”

“No. I don’t.”

Josh pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I don’t believe this.” He pulled the license out along with the car’s registration.

It was all Violet could do to keep her hands from shaking as she finished writing the ticket. “Court is two weeks from Friday. Be there.”

“I will not. I’m in training.”

“Excuse me?”

He waved the ticket at her. “This is ridiculous and so are you for giving it to me. I’m not a criminal, and I won’t be treated like one.”

Violet felt her ire sail to the top of her skull.

“You broke the law,” she countered.

“You don’t want to take me on, Officer Hawks. I’ll have your job for this.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise.”

“You’re under arrest.”

“I refuse.”

“I’ll gladly add resisting arrest to the charges.”

“This isn’t happening,” he spat.

“It is,” she replied, feeling that same rage she’d once felt when she was bullied at school, the day Billy Pope had knocked her to the ground. Violet had vowed never to look up into the face of an assailant and feel powerless again. “You have the right to remain silent...” She began reciting his Miranda rights.

Before Josh could say another word, Violet had flipped handcuffs around his right wrist and had spun him around to clasp his hands behind his back. She tightened the handcuffs.

“You can’t do this to me!” he snarled. “This is ridiculous. I won’t let you arrest me. My lawyer will tear you apart.”

She continued reciting. “...and if you have no lawyer, the court will appoint one to represent you.”

“Trust me, I have the best.” Josh cracked a harsh chuckle. His smile spread across his face, but his eyes glinted icily.

The remaining deputy sheriff had stopped walking and was recording the scene on his iPhone. He stopped, lowered the phone and asked, “You need help?”

“I got this,” Violet said.

Josh shook his head and laughed. He turned his back to the deputy sheriff and flipped his keys onto the pavement at the man’s feet.

Josh was still laughing as he said, “Drive my Bugatti back to town, will ya?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” the deputy said with a grin, then picked up the keys and gave Josh a little salute.

Violet rolled her eyes. The admiration she saw in the deputy’s eyes was killing her. She steered Josh toward her Taurus, putting her hand on the top of his head. “Watch your head. And those long legs of yours are going to smash up against my seat.”

Josh spun to face her. They were nearly nose to nose as his angry eyes bored into hers. “You have no idea what you’ve just done. You’re going to regret this till your dying day.”

“I doubt that seriously. The way I see it, you’re a danger to others.” Violet somehow managed to keep her voice steady, despite her rage. She’d come out here today to gather information on a drug lord. She despised drug dealers, pushers and the traffickers who preyed on kids.

So Josh wasn’t a drug dealer, but he had been a danger. It wasn’t merely the fact that Josh Stevens had been speeding, it was his attitude that he could get away with his infraction that kicked up her ire. People like Josh Stevens felt they could wheedle, bully, intimidate and charm their way through all their actions, legal and otherwise.

Violet was just one cop, and she knew that sometimes, all it took was one person to make a difference.

CHAPTER TWO

JOSH INSPECTED THE ink on the pads of his fingers. When he was photographed, he was wise enough to drop his indignation and flash his celebrated smile for the camera. As he was escorted from area to area, desk to desk, he watched Officer Hawks carry out her duties with by-the-book efficiency.

She typed her report like a demon and asked him only requisite questions. He thought of dozens of smart-mouthed barbs he could shoot her with, but she appeared impervious to his taunts. She treated him like a bug. He was a perp. A wrongdoer.

“I get a phone call,” he said.

“You’re entitled to several calls, actually. However, the station cannot allow you to tie up our phone lines talking to your, er, ‘people.’” She kept her eyes on the computer screen as she typed.

“I’ll use my cell.”

“Not for now you won’t.”

“Fine. So, when can I make my calls?”

“When I feel like it.”

“I’m not answering another question until I talk to my lawyer. That’s the law, Officer Hawks,” Josh said bluntly. He’d already figured out that threats didn’t dent this woman’s disposition. Neither did his charm. She was a rock. A government robot. She was the kind of powerless bureaucrat who validated her position by exercising her influence on innocent citizens.

Like me.

He’d seen plenty of people like her. His parents had been killed when their car had been hit head-on by a drug addict. As an only child and with no other family, he’d been shuffled by state officials from one foster home to another.

This cop made him think of his best friend back then. Diego Lopez had had such a severe distrust of authority. He’d also barely spoken English, but Josh had enjoyed teaching him.

“Give me your attorney’s number and I’ll place the call for you. What’s his name?”

“Paul Saylor.”

“In Indianapolis?”

“Yes. You know him?”

“I went to a seminar he gave when I was at the police academy in Indianapolis.”

“And that was when?”

Her eyes narrowed. She was instantly on the defensive.

Josh had guessed she was young, twenty-three or twenty-four. She carried herself stiff, like a rookie. She was out of her league with him. That was for sure.

“I can look up the number if you forgot it.”

“Actually, he’s in Europe...” Josh checked his watch. “Just my luck. He’s back tomorrow. He’s always around for my time trials and the race Memorial Day weekend.” He smiled pleasantly, without too much force.

She glared at him.

He dropped the smile. Nothing worked on this woman. “I’ll call Harry instead.”

“Harry?”

“My manager.”

Silence.

Josh swallowed and then rhymed off Harry’s cell number, and Violet dialed.

Once it started to ring, she handed Josh the receiver. She went back to typing, but she didn’t leave him alone.

Josh turned his back to her and held the receiver close. His manager answered on the fourth ring. “Harry. It’s Josh. I need your help.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I need you to find Paul Saylor when he gets back tomorrow.”

“Why would you need Paul?”

“To bail me out of jail.”

The long pause segued into a low groan. “What for? Drugs?”

“For Pete’s sake, Harry! You know me better than that. I was ticketed for speeding.”

“Where are you?”

“Indian Lake. I told you. I was here to see Austin and Katia McCreary.”

“Right, the antique car guy. Did you buy anything?”

“Harry. Focus. I’m in a jam here.”

“No big deal. Paul can clear this up... Wait. You said jail. Why jail for speeding?”

Josh lowered his voice to a whisper. “They’ve got me for threatening the officer. I resisted her arrest.”

“Her? Well, that explains it.”

“Thanks a lot,” Josh retorted. “Look, I want to get out of here.”

“I want you out, too. Mainly so I can wring your neck!” Harry blasted him. “Has anybody seen you?”

“Seen me?”

“Yeah. Like the press. Some kid on social media? This kind of thing can really hurt us. Bad publicity only weeks before the Indianapolis race. Just what I need, Josh.”

“Hey, this is my career we’re talking about here.”

“Precisely. And your career affects my career and my life. You have responsibilities, Josh. To the sponsors, the crew, the advertisers. You’ve been on a glory roll for nearly three years. No crashes. No bust ups. Not a glitch. Now you go out joyriding in some backwater town. Who knows what the locals think of you.”

Josh’s head inched downward with each of Harry’s accusations. He was right. Josh was a man of duty and massive commitments. His sponsors put up hundreds of thousands of dollars for him to spend his life screaming around a raceway in some of the most expensive cars on the planet. His entourage depended on him to do everything right. Eat right, exercise, train and make lightning-quick decisions on the track. His job was to stay alive and be a good guy while doing it.

Today, he’d let everyone down.

“I’m telling you, Josh. This may have been fun for you, but it can cost us. If that cop has you on resisting arrest, that tells me you let your mouth run away with you. Again.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Josh muttered.

“Yeah? Tell it to the judge. And believe me, you will. In the meantime, shut your trap. You got that?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Be as polite as you know how. I don’t know anything about this Indian Lake, but I’m going to find out. These little towns take small infractions seriously. It’s not Indianapolis where you can buy or autograph your way out of just about anything.”

“I’m seeing that.” Josh’s eyes tracked up to Violet. He watched the hard set to her jaw as she banged away at the computer. She scrolled the mouse over a section of writing and cut it. Then she licked her bottom lip and went back to work. The harsh light shone on her heart-shaped face, and he noticed the long, dark lashes that cast shadows over naturally pink cheeks. She had expressive dark brows that pinched at the bridge of her pert nose when she found another section to cut. Until this moment, he hadn’t thought about what she must think of him besides the fact that he was a criminal. He was curious to know her thoughts. And that surprised him.

To Harry, he said, “So, how do I get out of here?”

“I can post the bail for you. Is there anyone there who can tell you how much?”

“Hold on.” Josh turned around, put his palm over the receiver and asked, “Officer Hawks, how much is my bail going to be?”

She stopped typing and pointed to a poster on the far wall. “Five hundred dollars.”

Josh went back to his call. “Five hundred.”

“Great. I’ll get in touch with the bail bondsman there in Indian Lake. Just chill. Make the best of your afternoon.”

“Easy for you to say,” Josh replied, and hung up. He handed the receiver to Violet. “You do realize this is costing me a lot more than a few hundred bucks.”

“How’s that?”

“I’m missing an interview with the South Bend Tribune’s sports writer. A radio program and television interview, as well. Interviews translate to tickets sold to the race. These things are important to me.”

“You shoulda thought of that earlier.”

“I was thinking...” His voice trailed off. “Oh, what do you care?”

She rose from her chair. “Until your bail is posted, I have to take you to a cell.”

“A jail cell? I can’t just stay here? Harry said it won’t take long to post bail.”

She cocked her head to the right, indicating a heavy metal door with a small wired-glass window. “Through there.”

“I don’t believe this. Sure you don’t want to put leg irons on me?”

“I can do that if you wish,” she bit out.

Josh remembered what Harry had said about being polite. “No. You’ve gone to enough trouble for me, Officer Hawks.”

They went to the hall that led to four jail cells. Officer Hawks spoke to the young officer just inside the hall. “Cell three has been assigned to...”

“Josh Stevens! Officer Trey McLaughlin. Glad to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand to Josh. “I’ve seen or heard nearly every race. How’s it lining up for the Indianapolis race?”

Josh shook his hand exuberantly. “You follow the races?”

“I do. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thanks, man.” Josh felt his grin grow. Two minutes ago he’d felt dirty. Now he felt whole again thanks to his fan. He would go back to his world, and his life would return to normal. It would. It had to. “Trey, I promise you, it’s looking great.”

Officer Hawks took Josh’s arm. “In here,” she barked.

Josh entered the cell, turned and put his hands on the bars. He was in jail. He’d fought all his young years to make the right choices, even when others lobbied with very persuasive skills for him to go down another road. The quick road. The road of drug deals and stunning amounts of cash. Hot cars. Expensive clothes. Tropical resorts where women would flock to him.

But Josh’s parents had taught him that his integrity was what mattered. With integrity and honesty, he would win the respect of even his critics.

Right now he had to remember that.

As he looked through the iron bars at the startlingly and surprisingly compassionate green eyes of his captor, he couldn’t help wondering what it would take to win her respect.

With his gaze locked on hers, Josh said humbly, “Thank you, Officer Hawks.”

CHAPTER THREE

“DO YOU KNOW what a Bugatti Chiron costs?” Trent Davis asked as he paced his office while Violet stood near his desk. Many times in the past she’d felt like running from confrontation, but this time wasn’t one of them. Deep in her belly, as much as Chief Williams and Detective Davis believed she’d bungled this assignment, she knew she was right. Josh Stevens might be a celebrity—he had fame, fortune and influence—and she was barely more than a traffic cop, but Josh had questioned her authority. She’d clocked him speeding. Anything over a hundred miles an hour was considered “reckless driving.” She was in the right, and she would stand her ground.

“A lot, I presume.”

“It’s so expensive, Officer Hawks, that I had a difficult time finding the price.”

“Sir?”

Frustrated, he said, “I don’t care about the car or its cost. My point is that you left your post at the stakeout farmhouse.”

“Sir, I was told that Miguel Garcia was known to drive a very expensive sports car. The Bugatti fits that bill. I thought I was chasing Garcia.”

“That’s your first mistake, Officer. You assumed before you had the facts. Sal was working the database and had found that Garcia drives a Maserati 2016. If you had checked in with him, you would have known that.”

Violet remembered how fast the Bugatti had streamed past her. She knew what a Maserati looked like. But she’d never seen a Bugatti Chiron. They were both fast cars. It was an understandable mistake.

She promised herself that over the weekend she’d comb the internet for images of every expensive car made. She’d log them into her brain and the next time a Bugatti sailed past her, she’d know what she was looking at.

Trent was still pacing.

“What color is the Maserati, sir?”

Trent halted, lifted his head and cleared his throat. “Blue.”

Violet’s eyebrow cranked up in surprise, and she quickly corrected her expression. Blue. Well, she had that one right.

“The bottom line is that I’m disappointed in your work. The next time I give you an assignment, you carry it out.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Violet turned sharply and left the office. She went straight to her desk, avoiding Sal’s and Trey’s eyes. Trey was getting coffee, which was odd, because he didn’t drink coffee.

Violet halted like someone kicked her in the back. It was probably for Josh.

She couldn’t forget the look in his eyes when she’d put him in the cell.

Josh was her first lockup. Her first arrest.

As she’d ushered him into the cell, she’d felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Two steps inside the cell, his broad shoulders had slumped and his face had gone ashen.

Shockingly, he’d thanked her.

Why?

What kind of man thanked an officer for showing him his limitations? His vulnerability?

The unique kind.

When he’d looked at her, his blue eyes weren’t malicious. They actually held gratitude.

Every assessment she’d made about Josh Stevens from the second of his arrest was shattered in that moment.

Suddenly, she wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t know why. He was her prisoner. He was in the wrong.

Yet she’d nearly reached for the bars to touch his hand, to reassure him.

A jangling phone on Sal’s desk broke through her thoughts. “Paluzzi here,” he answered, then checked his watch. His eyes meandered over to her, checking to see if she was working.

Violet quickly scanned her computer for the photographs she’d taken of the farmhouse. With her thumb and forefinger, she enlarged a particular photo of the white clapboard house. It looked like it had been recently painted. Sure enough, she picked out three paint cans near a fenced-off area with garbage cans.

She moved her fingers over the photo and the image of the side of the house. She could see a For Sale sign against the side of the house. She sat up straight. “But the sign isn’t in the front yard. It’s been put away. Which can mean that they took it off the market, or it’s recently sold. But to whom?”

Miguel Garcia? she thought. And was this where he intended to headquarter his gang?

Enlarging the picture even more, she was able to read the Realtor’s phone number. She jotted down the number on a notepad, then picked up her phone and dialed.

A pleasant-sounding woman answered. “Indian Lake Realty Company. This is Heather. How may I direct your call?”

“This is Officer Violet Hawks, of the Indian Lake Police Department. I understand your company recently sold a farmhouse out near 1000 North?”

“Let me check.”

“I need to speak to the listing agent, please.”

“Sure,” Heather said. “That would be Roy King. He’s out for the day. Funeral. May I take your number and have him call you back?”

Violet left the station number and her extension. “I appreciate your help, Heather.” Violet hung up.

Now that her call was over, she heard the phones in the booking area ringing. She glanced over to the dispatcher’s area. She was putting calls through to various extensions without taking a breath. Another phone rang and Trey grabbed a call. Then Sal took a call.

“Busy day,” she mumbled as she looked at the farmhouse photo. She rubbed her forehead. Trent Davis’s wife, Cate, was a Realtor. There was a good chance Cate would know about the recent sale.

Violet watched as Trey rushed past her desk toward the front door. “What’s the rush?”

“A delivery.”

“Oh,” she replied. Trey was known for his pizza addiction. The slender guy could eat pizza three times a day and never gain an ounce.

She logged in to the database, looking for more information on Miguel Garcia and the blue car. If she could track down the Maserati dealer where Garcia bought the car, there might be an address, and it might even be legitimate.

She scrolled through more information as Trey bounded back through the room toward the jail cell area. But he wasn’t carrying a pizza carton. Instead, it was a brown bag with the Indian Lake Deli logo on it as well as a pink-and-white-striped sack from Cupcakes and Coffee Café. She could only guess the food was for Josh.

She started to stand, and as she did, she came face-to-face with her brother-in-law.

“Violet.” Scott greeted her with a wide anticipatory grin. “Trent tells me you have Josh Stevens in lockup. Is that right?”

“Word travels fast.”

“Can I see him?” Scott asked, looking toward the metal door.

“Scott, you’re drooling,” she said sarcastically.

“I should be! An interview with a real celebrity never happens in Indian Lake.”

Violet dropped her chin to her chest. “Not you, too.”

“What?”

“In all these years you’ve hung around my family, you never told us you were a race car enthusiast.”

“I keep it on the down low. Besides, Vi, c’mon. How can you live in Indiana and not go just a little nuts over Memorial Day weekend when you hear the announcers call the race? It’s in our blood.” He leaned closer. “And it’s certainly in my readers’ blood.”

“I don’t have the authority to grant you that interview. You have to talk to Trent.”

“Piece of cake.” Scott smiled widely.

“Hey, a word to the wise. Friendship may not get you this one. Detective Davis isn’t all that happy that Stevens is in a cell. Anyway, he’ll be out before sundown. His manager is arranging bail as we speak.”

Scott’s expression sobered. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“The manager?”

“No, Josh.”

Violet pursed her lips. “I don’t like his entitled attitude. He thinks he can come here and do as he pleases. Race his car through our roads at over two hundred miles an hour.”

Scott whistled lowly. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “I clocked it. I wish I hadn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because these celebrity types don’t care if their publicity is negative, as long as they stay in the limelight. It’s the juice they need. Take this guy. He’s got a need for speed. For what? What’s he trying to prove? Or gain? More fame? He’s got that. Obviously, he’s got money to burn. Detective Davis says that Bugatti of his is so expensive that until recently, a price wasn’t even posted. Dealers negotiate the price quietly. His success isn’t a result of hard work and sacrifice. It’s all luck. He hasn’t earned it. And he sure hasn’t earned my respect.”

“I see that,” Scott mused, keeping his eyes on her.

Violet wanted to squirm under Scott’s introspective gaze. “What?”

“Nothin’. Just that I never heard you talk like this about anyone before.”

“Yeah? Then you never watched a Cubs game with me in the room, have you?”

“Bad?”

“Brutal.” She paused. “Scott, take my advice. If you want a story about Josh Stevens, wait till he’s in court and I’m testifying against him.”

Scott peered at her, his right eyebrow hitched and his jaw slowly opening. “You’re going to testify against this country’s most famous race car driver? The current winning driver of the Indianapolis race? The guy who’s in a half-dozen ads on TV? The guy who just signed with Breitling to model their watches?”

“I am.”

“You do realize he’ll pull in some high-powered and totally brilliant lawyer from Chicago...”

“He’s in Indianapolis...” she interjected.

“And that doesn’t give you cause for caution?”

“No.”

Scott blew out a breath. “You are one tough cookie, sister-in-law.”

“I’m in the right,” she replied adamantly.

“Who cares?”

“I do! It’s the law. He broke the law and then resisted arrest.”

“Oh, this is good.”

“Don’t write anything until we’re in court, please?”

“Violet, today this story is a scoop. In a couple weeks, half the country will know about it and I’m just another guy covering the beat. I’ll lose my edge.”

Sal Paluzzi slammed down his phone and sprang out of his chair. He rushed past Violet’s desk. “Where’s the fire?” she asked.

“Be right back,” Sal said with a wave over his shoulder as he headed to the doors to the front hall.

A moment later, Sal was back with his wife, and five young children. The kids were chattering excitedly. Sal’s wife was wearing a particularly lovely spring sweater, a floral dress and kitten-heeled shoes. Her dark hair tumbled down her back in perfect curls. Being a hairdresser, Patrija always looked her best, but today Violet guessed she was on her way to a party. Since Sal and Patrija had only one child, eight-year-old Antony, Violet guessed the other kids must be friends.

They walked toward the cell-block door. It was then Violet noticed that each child held a notebook.