New York City, 1981
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
The crack of gunshots reverberated across the vacant room. Even with the ear protection, the sound vibrated across my eardrums. I’d been here for too long. I holstered my weapon and pushed my safety glasses up, resting them on top of my head. Yanking the earmuffs off, I reeled in the training target. The black and white silhouette was splattered with bullet holes. I scrutinized my work. Not too bad. Most were clean kill shots to the head.
I shook out my shoulders, the tension centered on my neck and shoulder blades. I glanced at my watch; I’d been shooting for over an hour. No wonder I was sore.
The hair on my nape bristled. I spun around, my fingers itching to unholster my gun. “Who’s there?” I scanned the empty shooting range with every nerve on edge. There was a reason I was a good police officer; I had impeccable instincts, and every cell in my body was telling me I wasn’t alone.
I pulled my gun out and crept to the next shooting station. I peered over the divider, my finger steady on the trigger. Nothing. I released a breath and lowered the weapon. Maybe Sofia was right. I had been working too much. I turned toward the exit, and a black blur sped out the door.
What the hell?
I sprinted after the shadow, but by the time I reached the doorway, whatever it was, was gone. Or had never been there in the first place. I shook my head out. I’m definitely losing it. No wonder the older guys messed with the recruits telling them this place was haunted. Luckily, I wasn’t new, and I certainly didn’t believe in ghosts.
I turned back to my station to retrieve my backpack. I still had an hour until my shift started, which meant I had plenty of time to grab a bagel and another coffee. I was training a rookie today so I was definitely going to need the caffeine.
A door slammed and I jumped, whirling toward the entry. My hand was halfway to my holster when a big guy in fatigues walked in, his lips pressed in a tight line.
My eyes must have been bugging out because he shot me an apologetic smile. “You cops from the 9th precinct are wound too tight.”
I chuckled. It was true. My eyes scanned over the stranger. He was a big blonde guy with a chest the size of a bull and arms to match. I had to look up to meet his clear blue eyes, and I wasn’t short at six feet. “How’d you know I was from the 9th?”
He pointed at my backpack. I slung it off my shoulder; my badge was peeking out of the side pocket. This guy had eyes like a hawk to be able to read that from across the room. “Are you a sniper or something?”
Now he laughed. “No, I was just gifted with incredible vision.” He stepped forward and held his hand out. “I’m Bradley.”
“Damian. Nice to meet you.” His hand clamped down on mine, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from wincing. “So are you a cop?”
“Yeah. I used to be in Manhattan but I’m upstate now. It’s much less stressful. I’m here for a few weeks on leave visiting friends.”
I nodded.
“What had you so freaked out when I walked in?” He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help but notice.”
“Oh, it was nothing.” I stared at my feet as heat seeped up my neck and into my cheeks.
“It didn’t seem like nothing.” His eyes peered into mine as if trying to pry the truth out of me.
“I thought I heard someone in here. But I was wrong.”
“You know this place is haunted, right?” A sly grin crept across his lips.
“Funny.” I adjusted my backpack and shoved my hands in my pockets. “You know, I may look young, but I’ve been on the force for over two years now.”
His bright eyes widened. “Wow, they’re really taking them young now.” He glanced around the room, years of training evident in his stance. “I’ll let you in on a little secret…”
“What’s that?”
“I do believe in ghosts—and other things.”
For a moment I was sure he was joking, but then my eyes met his and there was nothing funny in his gaze. Electric blue pulsed in his irises. It was almost unnatural.
Okay, it was definitely time for me to get out of here. “Right. So Bradley, I have to get going, but it was interesting meeting you.”
He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a stack of cards. He handed me one before I could refuse. “I do some PI work on the side if you ever find yourself in an unusual situation.”
Unusual? The only thing unusual was this guy. “Sure.” I grabbed it and shoved it in my backpack. I raced out of there as fast as I could.
I pulled the cruiser up to 42nd and Lexington. I’d told the kid to wait for me by the hot dog stand at 8:00am on the dot. A lanky young guy with a spanking new cadet uniform waved as he stuffed the last bite of a pretzel in his mouth. He hurried over to the car and jumped in.
“Officer Spiros?”
I gave him a grim nod, trying to look as intimidating as possible. I didn’t have anything against the kid; it was just the way of the world. My T.O. had done the exact same thing to me, and this guy would do it to his recruit a few years from now.
He stuck out his hand, a big cheesy grin stretched across his face. Dark blonde curls spilled out from underneath his cap. “I’m Theodore Grant, but you can call me Ted.”
“How about I just call you Rookie?”
His smile faded. “Okay.”
“You ready for your first day?”
He stared at the radio on the dash, his fingers twitching to press the buttons. “Yes, sir.”
Traffic outside of Grand Central Station was chaotic, as usual. I glanced over at my new partner, his eyes lit up with excitement, and a pang jabbed me in the chest. I’d been in his shoes only two years ago. A lot had changed in that short time. Being a police officer in New York City hardened you, and for a second I wanted to remember the young boy I was only a few years ago.
I flipped on the siren, and the blue and red lights flickered to life. I pushed my foot down on the gas, and the Chevy’s engine roared.
“Hold on Rookie, we’re getting out of this traffic jam.”
His lips split into a big toothy grin.
That’s the way I liked to remember Ted. Not the way I saw him last.