Chapter Eight

Laura

"I just don't know why you broke up with that nice boy, Eric. You really need to reconsider your options, Laura." My mother was old school. She didn't care that I went to college and studied nursing. Didn't care that I'd received my degree and training to become a registered nurse or that I specialized in emergency medicine. None of it mattered to her because I didn't have a husband.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, the way I always did when I spoke with my mother lately. "I'm not interested, Mom. But I'm doing great, thank you for asking."

She sighed and it was equal parts long-suffering and impatient. "He's a good man with a good job, stable income, and he's handsome too. He is marriage material, Laura."

I searched for all the patience I could muster because she was my mother. Even though she was wrong, she meant well, at least in her own old-school ways. "We weren't right together. It would be nice if you could respect that."

"You're too picky," she replied dismissively. "You need to go to Eric and apologize, tell him you made a mistake and beg him to take you back."

"Mom," I began, but she steamrolled right over me.

"No, Laura. He's a good man and you're getting older."

"Bullshit, Mom." My mouth snapped shut because I'd never spoken to her like that, not even when I was a surly teenager. "Eric cheated on me," I shouted angrily. "He stuck his dick in other women."

She sighed again. "Men have different needs."

"No, they don't. Women like you excuse their shitty behavior, but I won't, Mom. He cheated on me and I found out because one of the women thought she was pregnant."

"Laura, be smart."

"I am being smart, Mom. I won't forgive him, and I don't want him back. He betrayed me, and worse, put my health and therefore my life at risk. That's not marriage material as far as I'm concerned." My hands shook with anger.

"Honey," she began in a softer voice. "Men aren't perfect."

"I know that. Dad wasn't perfect either, but he was a good man. And if you're telling me cheating is part of marriage, then I will never get married. Not ever."

"Laura, you need to consider your future."

"No, I don't. If you like him so damn much, marry him yourself, Mom. Goodbye!" I ended the call before I let her say another word because the next words would be disrespectful.

I knew she thought she only wanted the best for me, but I was sure that telling her about his infidelity would get her off my back.

I was wrong.

My mother, I loved her dearly, but she tested my patience like no one else ever had. Marriage was the only accomplishment she gave a damn about and therefore it was the only thing she ever talked to me about. Not my career or my life in Nevada, not how she's enjoying retirement in Maine. Just marriage.

A knock on my apartment door startled me, and then I laughed at my own ridiculous reaction. It's not like those guys, Los Ochos, would knock on the door. They would likely just kick it in to catch me off-guard. I crept to the door and looked out the peephole to find what looked like two detectives on my doorstep. I knew why they were here. It was inevitable, so I opened the door with a brittle smile.

"Laura Carpenter?"

"Who are you?" I asked instead of confirming.

The dark-haired one smiled and flashed his badge. "Detective Jones and Detective Brown from the Gangs Crime Section."

"I'm Laura. What can I do for you?"

"We're here about the report you made," Jones said nothing else while Brown watched me.

I nodded and took a step back to let them inside. "I already made a statement and told the other police officers everything I knew." Just thinking about this all over again set me on edge. My hands trembled and I needed to keep them busy. "Coffee?"

They both nodded and then followed me into the kitchen. "Do you think you could identify any of the attackers?"

I shook my head while I measured the coffee grounds. "No. They were wearing masks or maybe those balaclavas, so I couldn't even tell if they were black, white, or brown before I took off running." I set three mugs on the table along with sugar and milk.

"Anything else?"

I closed my eyes and thought about it. "They sounded young, like early twenties." I squeezed my eyes shut and saw them again, punching and kicking Mark while he tried to protect himself. "I shouted for them to stop but they wouldn't stop. They laughed and kept kicking and punching him before he collapsed."

"And you tried to help him. Did you know him?"

"Not well. We volunteer at the community center on the same days sometimes. But I'm a nurse, so it was instinct to try to help." My voice broke. "I didn't know it was him until I was kneeling over him."

"And that's when you tried to call for help?"

"Yeah." I turned around with a hot pot of coffee and set it on the warming stone. "I don't even remember disconnecting the call, I just took off running and they chased me. They wouldn't stop."

"But they did stop eventually," Brown said. The skepticism in his voice was hard to miss.

His response brought me up short, but I nodded. "I made it to the community center, and I guess there were too many witnesses. They tried, but they were scared off. That's when I called 9-1-1 the second time to report the attack." I wondered if they'd heard about the abduction attempt at the community center, and I wasn't sure if I should mention it or not. I decided better to keep Hawk out of it, and to say nothing.

Both detectives were quiet for a long time while I sipped my coffee and waited them out.

Eventually, Jones spoke. "Why didn't you call Eric?"

"Why would I? He doesn't work patrol and he doesn't respond to 9-1-1 calls. Unless something has changed?" I knew damn well it hadn't and what they were actually implying, made me pissed as hell.

"He would want to know," Brown answered, as if I was fucking idiot.

"Yeah, well, what he wants is irrelevant to me. We are no longer in a relationship, and this has nothing to do with him. I didn't involve him because he doesn't need to be involved." I saw the way they shared a look, and I felt my anger rise. "I don't care about your cop brotherhood shit, he's not involved. Period."

They shared another look and stood up simultaneously.

"Thanks for your time, Ms. Carpenter. If you think of anything else, give us a call." Detective Jones left a business card on the kitchen table and headed to the door.

I followed. "That's all I know, but if anything comes to me, sure, I'll call." Maybe. They rubbed me the wrong way and it would take a while for me to get past that.

"This could be gang violence," Brown added with an apologetic tone.

I stopped that shit immediately. "You have no idea what it is yet, but here you are, already trying to justify telling Detective Owens about what happened. We. Are. Over. No matter what he told you, that is the truth. If he shows up here, I will be filing a complaint. Goodbye." I closed the door on the detectives, even angrier now.

Usually, I loved the silence of an empty apartment, but right now it was oppressive. It was stifling and I needed fresh air. I dumped the coffee mugs and what was left in the coffee pot, grabbed a glass of white wine, and settled on one of the comfy chairs on my balcony. It wasn't the best view. It faced the houses and buildings across the street and the quiet was too often broken up by the flow of cars through the residential area.

Just then a midnight blue sedan rolled by slowly. So slowly the car behind it honked angrily. Unease slithered through me, but I shook it off and took another sip of wine. But then the car came around again, and I was officially worried.

It had to be those Ochos fuckers, right?

On the third trip around the block, my heart rate kicked up and worry settled deep in my gut. I reached for my phone.

"Hawk, it's Laura."