Chapter Three

Two hours later, Frank and I had our injuries treated, Benjamin's blood was drawn, and now we were headed to the substation to finish our paperwork.

As I fastened my seatbelt a chill feathered across me. What if the explosion hadn't been caused by the fireworks but a car bomb instead? Nah, most improvised explosive devices blew the second you started the engine.

Frank inserted the key into the ignition.

"Wait!"

"What's wrong?"

"We need to check the car for bombs. Pop the hood," I instructed.

Frank pulled the latch. "Bombs?"

"Bombs," Benjamin echoed. "What kind of bombs? The kind that goes boom?"

Ignoring him, I quickly filled Frank in on the situation at the training academy and examined the engine for any sign of tampering.

"Shit! I knew Thompson was a few bricks shy of a full load, but I never thought he was homicidal." Frank dropped down and checked the undercarriage of the car. "Clear." He jumped to his feet and shook his hands. "Dammit, even in the shade the pavement is scorching."

I shut the hood. "It's 110 degrees. What did you expect?" I got back in the car and sent Julie another warning text.

The minute Frank put the patrol car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot, Benjamin whined, "I'm hungry. What's for dinner?"

"Dinner?" My stomach rumbled hungrily, and I glanced at my watch. Breakfast had been a long, long time ago.

Frank shot me a questioning look. "Carambas?"

"Works for me. The usual?"

"Yep."

I glanced over my shoulder. "What kind of Mexican food do you like, Benjamin?"

"At Carambas?"

I nodded.

"The taco plate."

I frowned. "You have eight dollars and fifty-three cents to your name. That's not enough for the taco plate."

"Since I'm under arrest, you have to feed me," Benjamin countered.

Rolling my eyes in exasperation, I replied. "That's right. The menu at the jail is stale baloney sandwiches."

"Okay. Okay. I'll take a bean burro, but I want lots of hot sauce," Benjamin said.

"That I can do." My cell phone rang as I pulled it out of my pocket. I glanced at the screen and groaned.

Frank grinned. "Your mom, or your dad?"

"Mom." I swiped my finger across the screen. "Don't believe everything Devon told you."

Mom exclaimed, "Devon was involved?"

"Kinda." Did I have a big mouth or what?

"Spill," Mom commanded, using her no-nonsense mother's voice.

I gave her an edited version of the hospital fight and completely avoided saying anything about Thompson's threats. Knowing my mom's temper, she would hunt him down and stuff a grenade down his throat.

"Have you eaten, yet?"

I blinked in surprise. Wow, no lecture and she was way too calm. "Ah, no, we were going to order something from Carambas and take it back to the substation. We have about four hours of paperwork to do."

"Juanita just made a big bunch of tamales, and I'll bring you some."

"That'll be great. We love her tamales." The phone went dead. "Crappity. Crap. Crap."

"We're gonna get interrogated by your entire family," Frank groused.

"You can count on it and don't say a word about Thompson's threats."

Frank shuddered. "Your mother is downright scary when she gets mad."

Benjamin asked, "Are there enough tamales for me too?"

"Yeah, there will be enough food for everyone in our squad."

"You're sure. My blood pressure is getting really low."

I turned and glared at Benjamin. "If you're a diabetic, low blood sugar can create problems, but hunger doesn't affect your blood pressure."

"Shit!" Frank spat and slammed on the brakes.

The seatbelt abruptly clamped around my chest. "Holy crap!" The skinny, white male with the feathered headdress and loincloth was doing his war dance in the middle of the road. I keyed my mic, "Charlie-23 show us out at 85 th Avenue and Bell Road with a male dancing in the middle of the street."

"Copy, Charlie-23," the dispatcher responded.

A truck narrowly missed the demented dancer. Did he notice? Nope. With his loin cloth flapping in the wind, he shook his hips in what looked like a weird belly-dance. Then he switched to the Texas two-step.

"Ugh. I really don't want to make another arrest today," I grumbled.

Frank nodded. "Me, either."

"Stay with our prisoner. I'll handle the boogie man." I got out of the car before Frank could protest and approached the moron. "Sir, if you feel the need to dance, could you do it on the sidewalk?"

He took one look at me, shrieked and bolted down the roadway, yelling, "It wasn't me. It wasn't me." Horns honking, cars swerved around him.

"Aw, c'mon! It's too dang hot to be running." Did he listen? Hell, no. I trotted after him. It wasn't like he could run very fast in flip-flops. "Stop! Now! You're gonna get hit!"

The overhead lights flashing on the patrol car, Frank followed behind us.

The fool lost his flip-flops and did a crazy hippity-hoppity dance over to a circle of grass on the highway median.

I picked up his flip-flops. The pavement was about 180 degrees, and he wasn't going anywhere without his shoes. "Why are you running?"

"I don't want to go to jail," he wheezed.

"And I don't want to arrest you."

"You don't?"

"Nope. What's your name?"

"Tim White."

"Okay, Tim, what's up with the dancing?"

He shrugged. "I'm just trying to spread a little joy."

"Un-huh. Does it look like it's working?"

"No, ma'am." The wind whipped up the loincloth, exposing his junk.

Ugh. I took a calming breath. "Where do you live?"

"8870 West Utopia Road."

That was about a mile away. I opened the back door to the patrol car. "Get in, we'll take you home."

"He's all sweaty," Benjamin squawked.

I gave Benjamin the stink eye. "Do you want to eat?"

"Yes, ma'am." He wrinkled his nose in disgust as Tim climbed in.

Dumping Tim's flip-flops in his lap, I shut the door. "God, I hate Mondays."

"So, do I," Frank said and rolled up his window.

I hurriedly got into the patrol car and cranked up the air-conditioning.

"8870 West Utopia Road, right?" Frank asked.

"Yep."

Plastered against the car door, Tim eyed our prisoner warily, "What were you arrested for?"

"Dunno," Benjamin replied.

"Didn't they tell you?"

"Nope."

Tim exclaimed, "That's not right. My daughter's husband's second cousin is a lawyer. I'll give you his number."

"You know what? They didn't read me my rights either. That's violating my civil rights."

"Knock it off Benjamin. We don't have to read you your rights until we question you about the incident," I growled.

Tim whispered loudly, "They're lying."

Frank keyed his radio mic, "Charlie-26 show us out at 8870 West Utopia Road."

"Copy Charlie-26," the dispatcher replied.

Frank glanced at the rearview mirror. "Tim, do you have any idea why Peoria Police is at your house?"

"Wendy probably called them again."

Again? "Is Wendy your wife?" Call me curious.

"Yeah, we've been married forty-five years," Tim bragged.

Benjamin exclaimed, "Congratulations! My marriage only lasted four days."

"Four days?" I repeated.

"Yeah, Cindy's family filed for an annulment after three days. Her father said she was too drunk to give her consent, and she was only sixteen."

Sometimes I felt like I was trapped in a bad soap opera. "I'm surprised they didn't arrest you for statutory rape."

"We didn't do it. She was puking too much," Benjamin said.

Why was I not surprised? Before he could explain further, I jumped out of the car and rushed around to let Tim out. "C'mon, let's go talk to the Peoria officer."

"Okay." Tim slowly walked up the brick pathway. "She's gonna be mad."

"Probably."

The front door flew open and out charged a large, gray-haired woman in an orange muumuu. "Oh, thank God, you've been gone for eight hours, Timmy." She hugged him tightly.

A tall, black police officer strolled up to me.

"Hey, Eddie."

Eddie's eyebrows shot up as he surveyed me from head to toe. "Jeez Louise! Did those Wetmore kids take a bat to you?"

"No, long story." I cringed. By tomorrow every cop in Arizona would know I had gotten beaten up by a bunch of kids all under the age of twelve.

He glanced at our patrol car. "Is that the suspect from the explosion on Loop 303?"

"Yep."

"Gotta say, I was impressed with your roping skills," Eddie said.

I sighed. Would my assault make the news too? "Thanks."

"Where did you find Tim?"

I wiped at the sweat trickling down my forehead. "85 th and Bell Road. Does he do this a lot?"

"He was in a bad car accident a few years back and to put it kindly, he's impulsive now."

"Playing in traffic is gonna get him killed," I replied.

"Doris made a doctor's appointment for him. There's a procedure they can do, to stop his reckless actions."

I watched Doris escort Tim into the house. "Good to know. Mom is bringing tamales to the substation if you haven't eaten."

"I'll swing by, and your mom is gonna freak out when she sees you," Eddie said with a grin, then added, "Just tell her it was a bar fight."

"Har. Har." I got back in the patrol car.

"Aren't Mondays great?" Eddie yelled.

"Run him over."

Frank rolled his window up. "Don't tempt me."

"What am I being charged with?" Benjamin demanded.

Fingering the butt of my gun, I responded, "All those outstanding warrants, DUI, leaving the scene of an injury accident, resisting arrest, destruction of State property, no driver's license and no insurance."

"That's all?"

"I'm sure we'll discover all the other hit-and-run accidents you've been involved in too," Frank added.

"No way, they were on the east side of the valley."

Frank and I exchanged grins.

The substation was a white stucco structure with a few puny palm trees and a bunch of half-dead orange trees surrounding it. Frank pulled into the lot and parked in the space reserved for booking prisoners.

Dang! My parents and most of my brothers were already here. I got out and winced as my back protested loudly. That tumble down the side of the freeway had left its mark.

Frank opened the back door and gestured to Benjamin. "Let's go."

"Pretty crappy place," Benjamin commented as he climbed out of the backseat.

I ran my key pass over the sensor pad. With a click the door unlocked and I pushed it open. The aroma of Mexican food hit me, and my stomach growled.

The interior of the substation included a tiny lobby with three chairs, a supervisor's office, two cells, a unisex restroom, and a briefing/lunchroom. Metal lockers lined the interior hallway.

Frank marched Benjamin over to a holding cell and pushed him inside.

"You're going to leave the cuffs on?" Benjamin gripped.

"For now. They haven't stretched out enough." Frank locked the cell door.

"Oh, but I can't eat with my hands behind my back."

I gave Benjamin the evil eye. "Shut it."

"Yes, ma'am."

The briefing room's walls were covered with maps of District Three, several whiteboards, a sixty-inch flat-screen television and two security monitors. My gaze locked on the food covering the table. There were enough tamales, rice, and beans to feed the entire Sheriff's department.

Silence fell as I stepped into the room. Everyone's horrified gaze examined me from head to toe.

"What?" I threw up my hands. "So, I've got a few bruises. It's not like I got shot again."

"Have you looked in a mirror, sweetie?" Mom inquired.

"No."

Lucas cocked his right eyebrow. "You expect us to believe small children did that much damage?"

"I was there. One of those little monsters hit Sheriff Maxwell in the face with a bedpan and broke his nose," Frank interjected.

My brothers stared at him in disbelief. "No way," they said in unison.

"Way," Frank replied.

Dad walked over to me, kissed my forehead, and gently hugged me. "You did a damn fine job roping your suspect, kitten."

"Thanks, Dad."

Laughter glittered in Logan's eyes. "I'll see if I can round up a few kids from the kindergarten down the street and put them in the ring with you. Your combat skills need improving."

I gave him a one-finger salute. "Not funny and we have bigger problems. There is a mad bomber on the loose."

Frank shot my mother a worried look.

"Mad bomber? Explain." Dad's voice was calm, but his eyes were those of a predator.

"Someone blew up the training center and Dante was assigned the case. To make things even more exciting, the bomber left a threatening message."

The relaxed atmosphere changed in a heartbeat, revealing my family for what they truly were. Hunters.

"What did the message say?" Mom demanded.

"You destroyed my life. Now I destroy yours, starting with the bitches."

"We've got ourselves a sociopath," Lucas rumbled.

A muscle twitched in Logan's jaw. "It's gotta be Sergeant Thompson. He was furious when you got him tossed off the SWAT team."

"I agree," Dad said. "I'll do a deep dive into his background."

Jacob fingered his sidearm. "I think we all need to start checking our vehicles for bombs."

"Good idea," Mom said.

Frank grabbed a plate, filled it with food and headed for the cells.

I rolled my eyes when Benjamin snapped, "About time. My blood pressure is getting too low."

"Dammit!" Jacob exclaimed and held up his cell phone. There was a photo of the burnt remains of my unit. "Nate just texted me. The explosion on the Loop 303 was caused by a pipe bomb attached to the undercarriage of Gemma's patrol car."

My blood ran cold. Holy shit!

"Gemma could have died today," Mom gasped.

I frowned. "Why didn't it explode when I started my car?"

"Nate's best guess is your patrol car sat in the parking lot longer than Thompson planned for and the cell phone's battery died from the extreme heat."

"And the fire triggered the gunpowder in the pipe bomb," I concluded.

Wrapping his arms around me in a bear hug, Jacob held me tightly. "That bastard is so going down. No one tries to kill our kid sister, but us."

"Can't breathe," I squeaked.

Jacob released me and shouted, "Hoorah. The Alpha Dogs are going to take that bastard down."

"Hoorah," I mumbled, waiting for the pain in my abused muscles to subside.

"I put your clean uniform shirt in the ladies' room," Mom said, eyeing me in concern.

Ladies' room? I wish. Sharing a bathroom with a bunch of guys was not fun, especially when their aim was off.

"Let's get you cleaned up." Taking a firm grip on my right arm, Mom towed me into the restroom and pointed at the mirror. "Take a good look. That's what got everybody upset."

Yeow! I had two black-eyes, my busted lip was enormous, and my right cheek was a deep purple. Doc Halliday had given me some antibiotic salve for the bite and road rash. Thankfully, the demon spawn had been missing most of his front teeth.

"From the way you're moving I figured you hurt your back in the fight."

A humorless laugh broke from me. "Not from the fight. That jackass of a semi-truck driver threw me down the side of the freeway. He said it was to save me." I snorted. "I think he just wanted to feel me up."

"Feel you up?" Shock and anger lit Mom's eyes.

Julie banged on the door and yelled, "Hey! I'm coming in." The door opened slightly, and my BFF squeezed in. "Holy shit! You look like you went ten rounds with Sergent Bergman and forgot to duck."

"Thanks." Time to change the subject. "What did you do with Emma's dogs?"

"Her oldest son came and got them. Her brother, Buster, the lawyer, went ballistic, saying Emma had never owned a gun in her life and she was scared to death of them." Julie gave me an evil grin. "I told him the entire incident was recorded on my body camera, and I showed him the gun."

Mom laughed. "I bet Buster changed his tune right quick."

"He did. He decided to blame Emma's new boyfriend."

"Sam is a horny old coot, but I've never seen him with a gun."

Julie giggled. "He certainly can't hide one in his itty-bitty Speedo."

"Ugh, don't remind me." Unbuttoning my shirt, I eased it off, then my sweaty vest. I turned my back to Mom. "How bad is it?"

"You've got some nasty bruises, but don't worry I brought my horse liniment and miracle cream," Mom said.

"You're the best, Mom." I winced as she massaged the liniment into my sore back.

Jule sniffed. "I love the minty scent."

"Me too." To my relief, the pain level dropped considerably. I pulled on my clean shirt.

Mom frowned. "Your eyes are swelling too."

"There's a bag of peas in the freezer. I'll ice them after I've eaten," I said.

Mom pulled a white jar out of her bag. "This is better." She smoothed a thick, gooey cream over my face.

I wrinkled my nose. "It smells like moldy guacamole."

"It does and it'll take the swelling down in no time," Mom countered.

"I've got a sudden craving for chips and dip," Julie quipped as she fastened my badge and name tag on my clean shirt.

I chortled, "Me too."

Mom's eyes narrowed. "Is that bubble gum in your hair?"

"God, I hope not," I whined.

Julie grabbed my ponytail. "Naw, it's just licorice."

"Yay!" I blew out a relieved breath. "Can you get it out?"

"Of course," Mom said. "When you were younger the boys were always putting stuff in your hair. I only had to shave you bald once." Pulling a wet wipe out of her purse, Mom scrubbed my ponytail.

Her eyes wide with horror, Julie gasped, "You had to shave Gemma's head?"

"The boys super-glued her hair to the wall to keep her from following them," Mom answered.

I smiled. "And I put Nair hair removal in their shampoo. That stuff really works."

"You ruined the prom for them," Mom sighed.

I shrugged. "They never messed with my hair again, did they?"

"No, that's when they realized you had inherited my mean streak," Mom said proudly.

"I wish I could have seen that," Julie said.

A snicker broke from me. "I took pictures before Dad shaved their heads."

"Really?" Julie's face lit up. "Do you still have them?"

"I sure do." Stuffing my shirt into my pants, I tightened my gun belt and surveyed my dusty pants. They'd do.

Someone hit the service bell on the front counter repeatedly.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Julie frowned. "What the hell?"

"Hey! I want my fucking gun back," Chief yelled.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

My temper flared to life. "Enough is enough." I threw open the restroom door and stormed down the hallway.

Mom and Julie were right behind me.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

"It's about time. Did you hear me, or do I need to repeat myself?" Chief bellowed.

Totally ignoring my throbbing lip, I gave him my Debbie Sunshine smile. "I suggest you take it down a notch or I'll be happy to arrest you for disturbing the peace."

Chief sneered. "You think I'm frightened by a bunch of itty-bitty females?" His gaze crawled over my face. "And it's obvious, you can't fight worth a damn."

"Wanna find out?" I challenged.

Julie stepped up. "It's my turn to deal with obstinate jackasses who won't listen to reason."

"It'll mean another arrest," I pointed out.

Julie pulled out her cuffs. "If I book another prisoner, I meet my quota for the day, and I'll have enough points to get that toaster oven I've been eyeing."

"Oh, I thought you wanted the microwave?"

A perplexed frown on his face, Chief growled, "What the hell are you babbling on about?"

"Hey! Wait!" Frank edged in front of me. "I haven't met my quota for the day. Let me take the arrest."

Lucas elbowed Frank out of the way. "No, I want it. I almost have enough points to get the fishing pole."

"Oh, hell no. I need the arrest, before someone snags the tool chest," Jacob shot back.

Chief backed away from the counter. "You're all fucking nuts." He turned on his heel and left.

"Come back tomorrow and talk with Sergeant Bergman," Julie yelled after him.

"You know, he's right," Sheriff Maxwell commented. "You are fucking nuts."

Dad grinned. "Bamboozling suspects is much more fun than beating the crap out of them."

"True, where are those tamales?" Sheriff Maxwell rubbed his hands together. "I'm starving."

"Me too," I said. We all trooped into the briefing room.