Two blocks after crossing the railroad tracks into Brighton Cove, Bonnie saw a blue lightbar flashing in her rearview mirror.
Cop car. Of course.
The local constabulary had been riding her hard since February. In town she was always careful to obey the speed limit and to come to a complete stop at every stop sign. She’d spent enough hours in traffic school, and there were only so many videos of decapitated accident victims a girl could watch.
Oh, it was great being public enemy number one. Being harassed by every dipshit in uniform. Walking down the street and seeing strangers turn away. Hearing the remarks they made behind her back. Sometimes they left messages on her voicemail or chalked graffiti on the door of her duplex. Some asshole threw a rock through her living room window once. Pretty much the entire local population had turned against her. Halloween was coming up in two weeks, and she figured half the town would be dressed as her.
The cop blipped his siren to be sure he’d gotten her attention. Showoff. She guided the Jeep to the curb. Somewhere behind her, in the dark, Kyle must have parked also, waiting for the traffic stop to be over.
Studying the rearview mirror, she made out two figures in the front of the squad car. That in itself was unusual, since most Brighton Cove cops rode solo in the off-season. It wasn’t as if they needed backup when investigating a stolen bicycle or a kitten up a tree.
But there was one time when two cops did ride together—when Dan Maguire, Brighton Cove’s chief of police, was doing a performance review. A ride-along was part of the process.
Was that Danny Boy in the passenger seat? She squinted. Yep. Same square shoulders, same flat head.
The door on the driver’s side swung open. She identified the driver by his stance and stride as soon as he emerged, even before she could see his face against the strobe of the lights. Oh, hell. It was Brad Walsh. The last person she wanted to see in a situation like this.
She rolled down her window as he walked up. “What now, Officer?” she asked, leaning out and putting a little extra sass in her tone. “More police harassment?”
Brad regarded her coldly. “Our department doesn’t harass citizens. I pulled you over for a moving violation.”
“Yeah, sure. How many tickets does this make since February? Three? Or is it four?”
“I didn’t handle the previous stops.”
“You’re all in it together, pal. So what is it this time? I didn’t slow down for a pothole? Forgot to give a squirrel the right of way?”
“Failure to use your directional signal.”
Bonnie gaped at him, perhaps a shade too theatrically. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“You took that last corner without signaling.”
“The streets are deserted. Who the fuck would I be signaling to, my imaginary friends?”
“It’s the law. We all need to follow the rules of the road. Though I know how much trouble you have following rules.”
“Yeah, yeah. Save it.”
“Where are you coming from?” he asked.
“Wonderland.”
“Very funny.”
“It’s a real place, Walsh. The amusement park in Point Clement.”
“Oh. Right.” He seemed briefly embarrassed, but rallied. “Had anything to drink?”
“Not a drop,” she lied.
“So you’re a teetotaler now?”
“I’m dropping my bad habits.”
“Not all of them, I’ll bet.”
Bonnie ground her teeth. “Oh, you’re really pushing it,” she muttered under her breath.
He held out his hand. “License, insurance, and registration.”
She produced her driver’s license from her wallet and the other documents from the glove compartment. He accepted them through the window.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
He returned to his vehicle, where Dan waited, no doubt enjoying the show. Bonnie sat fuming. After a minute, she lit a cigarette so she could fume literally as well as figuratively.
It must have been Dan’s idea to ticket her. The chief was a bully by nature, the kind of asshole who’d spent his formative years pouring salt on snails, and he never missed a chance to give her grief. There was no good reason for his fixation on her. She’d never done anything to him. Well, there was the time she’d poured a whole bunch of dog crap into his car, but that was just good fun.
Of course, it was possible Brad had come up with the idea on his own. Showing off for his boss, maybe. He might have wanted to prove his loyalty, and this bullshit citation was a way to do it.
If so, she couldn’t really blame him. She knew he had to tread carefully around Dan, making sure he never suspected the truth. The one sin the chief would never tolerate was fraternizing with the enemy, and she and Brad had done their share of fraternizing, all right.
Yeah, they’d had a thing. And yeah, it had blown up in her face, as her things had a tendency to do. As she had since admitted, it might just possibly have been her fault, seeing as how she had lied to him about her secret sideline and led him to believe she worked within the bounds of the law. Finding out otherwise had been hard on him. He’d said the chief had been right about her all along, and he’d told her they were through.
That was back in February. A lot had changed since then. For one thing, her insurance premiums had gone way up. For another, she’d quit the killing game, or so she’d told herself. And for another—
Both doors of the squad car opened in unison, and together Brad and Dan got out. She steeled herself for a face-to-face with the chief. It was never the highlight of her day.
Brad reached her first. He handed over the ticket, along with her ID and other papers.
“What’s the damage?” she asked him.
“Eighty-five dollars.”
“If it’s not paid,” Dan put in helpfully, “there’ll be a warrant out on you.” He leaned into the window, smiling. “And it will be enforced.”
She blew a jet of smoke, getting him in the face. His eyes watered as he pulled back.
“So Danny Boy’s babysitting you tonight?” she said to Brad.
“Don’t call me Danny Boy,” Dan growled, wiping his eyes.
Bonnie ignored him. She watched Brad. “Was it his idea to ticket me?”
“No,” Brad said stiffly. “It was mine.”
She couldn’t tell if he was lying. “Well, I’m sure he’ll give you a nice gold star. You can put it on the fridge.”
“Just sign the ticket.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then we’re taking you in,” Dan said, risking another approach to the window.
She met his gaze with a hard glare of her own. “Believe me, Danno, that is something you do not want to try.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a statement of the friggin’ obvious.”
Brad pushed his way between them, ending the staring contest. “Sign the ticket, Miss Parker.”
Miss? Jeez. He really knew how to hurt a girl. She gave in and signed.
“You seem to really be enjoying your role as Dan’s butt-boy,” she told Brad as she handed the ticket back.
“Zip it,” Dan warned.
“Make me.”
“Officer Walsh, wait in the car.”
Brad hesitated a moment, then tore off Bonnie’s copy of the ticket and handed it over. He walked away.
Dan eased closer to her, lowering his voice. “A little friendly advice.”
“Right, because you and me have always been so friendly.”
“You need to adjust your attitude.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll get right to work on that.”
“You act as though you’ve got the upper hand here. You don’t. Remember, I know the truth now. Everything I ever suspected about you has proved out. You fooled everyone else, but not me.”
“You’re a moron, Dan. If you were right about me, it was one of those blind-pig-acorn things.”
“I was right,” he said with stupidly obstinate pride. “And now everybody knows.”
“Do they? There’s supposed to be a confidentiality agreement.”
“I don’t mean they know the details. Your attorney protected you from that. But they know you’re bad news. How are people treating you these days?”
“Hugs and kisses. Even from random strangers. It’s embarrassing. I hear they’re gonna throw me a parade.”
“This town would sooner throw a parade for the Ebola virus.”
“Yeah, well, I hear that was their second choice.”
“You barely skated by in February. Next time you won’t be so lucky. And every day brings you closer to your last mistake.”
“You read that on one of those inspirational calendars, didn’t you?”
“I’ve got your number, Parker. Never forget it.”
She expelled another long plume of smoke into his face and was rewarded by his immediate departure. He got back into the squad car and sat talking with Brad for a minute—it wasn’t hard to guess the topic of conversation—and then the car moved away. As it pulled past her Jeep, Dan gave her the old stink-eye out of the passenger window. She tipped her newsboy cap at him.
When the car was gone, she slumped in her seat, suddenly tired. It had been unexpectedly difficult, seeing Brad under those circumstances. His monotone and his cold stare had brought back the last time she’d ever been in his apartment, when he’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her, ever again. It had hurt her worse than she’d known it would. After so much time on her own, she hadn’t imagined she could grow to need another human being—and certainly not Bradley Walsh, a small-town cop a few years her junior, whose own colleagues thought of him as a Boy Scout and a straight arrow.
Not her kind of man at all. Or so she’d told herself, even while they’d been together in the months leading up to February. It had been only a fling, meaningless, doomed.
And yet when it had ended—when he’d shown her the door, betrayal stamped on his face …
She didn’t like that memory.
As she finished the cigarette, Kyle’s Hyundai eased alongside her. She noticed it only when the girl rolled down her side window and called out, “Are we going to get moving or not?”
“Right. Right.” Bonnie crushed out the cig in the ashtray.
“What was that all about anyway?”
“Welcoming committee.”
“You must be very popular around here.”
“Yeah, like rat poison.”
“What did you do to alienate the locals’ affections?”
“They think I’m a bad element and I’m bringing in more bad elements and lowering everybody’s property values.”
“They might be right.”
“Of course they’re right. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“You could relocate.”
Bonnie shook her head, an abrupt, visceral reaction. “Not me. I’m staying put, whether Brighton Cove wants me here or not.”
“Why? What’s the point?”
“The point, Crocodile, is that I am a stubborn bitch. So fuck ’em all.” She leaned out the window and raised her middle finger at the empty street. “Fuck. Them. All.”