Sergeant Brenda Petroni called the WAVE Squad staff meeting to order at 9:00 a.m. the next morning wearing a grim expression. Val often tried to guess what issues or events precipitated her boss’s shifting moods, but this time she had few leads. Her best guess: Veronica Carlton had already pestered her about their progress on the cyberattacks against VeroniCare.
But Bobby Grimes had briefed Petroni on their meeting with VeroniCare staff the day before. He’d know if she had something going on that front. Val sat next to him and leaned over to whisper, “New case?”
“Hell if I know,” he said. “Nobody tells me anything around here.”
Detective Shannon O’Reilly, sitting across from them, rolled her eyes at Grimes. Second in command on the team, Shannon looked like she hadn’t slept well. A sallowness dampened her usually bright complexion, and dark bags lingered under her bright blue eyes.
“Chief McMahon issued a new all-hands assignment this morning,” Petroni said, standing at the head of the table. “Terrorists have threatened to attack all family planning centers in Clayton unless they close. The threats did not specify the timing nor the precise form the ‘attacks’ will take. However, they left no doubt they will be violent.” She pressed a key on her laptop and turned up the volume on a pair of external speakers. A deep voice, clearly disguised, came over the speaker:
Baby-murderers, femoids, and accomplices, you are hereby warned to cease and desist any further attempts or plans to terminate the life of any unborn people. Effective immediately, all staff, volunteers, or womb vessels at your facility should expect to face the same painful, violent maiming and death that you perpetrate on those innocent babies.
There will not be a second warning.
“Where did that come from?” asked Damari Price. A soft-spoken African American man a year senior to Val in age and experience, Price was the only other uniformed officer on the squad. His question surprised Val, though. He usually let others take the lead in group discussions.
“The terrorists left identical messages on voice-mail accounts of the three largest clinics in the city,” Petroni said, “at midnight last night. We’re awaiting word from some of the smaller, private practices in the area now.”
“Robo-calls, then,” said Grimes. “Pre-recorded and sent out by computer. That suggests some level of technical sophistication.”
Val shrugged. “Not really. You can do that with public domain apps. Were we able to trace the source?”
Petroni shook her head. “Not yet. Shelby in IT is working on it, but they didn’t give me high hopes.”
“So, what’s our assignment, then?” asked O’Reilly. “Track down the jerks who lodged the threat?”
“That’s task one,” Petroni said. “Our secondary mission is to assist with and oversee security at the clinics. Central Precinct will supply two uniformed bodies round-the-clock for the next seventy-two hours, at which point we’ll reassess. We’ll coordinate all efforts, respond to any unusual circumstances, and evaluate any information gathered. O’Reilly, I want you to put together a list of any groups we should look into—anyone active on the anti-abortion front, starting with the most militant. Dawes, pull all the names of anyone arrested for anything related to these clinics in the past year, anywhere within a hundred miles. Price, same time frame, same geographic reach, everyone who requested a permit to stage a protest or rally, pro or con. Grimes, coordinate the security and intelligence on the ground. Meet back here at noon, with results. Well, what are you waiting for? Go!”
Val let the announcements and their new assignment sink in while the other team members dispersed. Petroni, gathering up her laptop and notes, glanced at Val, still seated at the table. “S’matter, Dawes?” Petroni said. “Someone tie your track shoes to the legs of your chair again?”
Val reddened in recall of that prank, accomplished at a previous meeting when Grimes and O’Reilly noticed her spacing out after a night of fitful sleep. “N-no, Sergeant. I have a request, though.”
“What? Spit it out, I’m in a hurry.” Petroni tucked her laptop under her arm.
“I need to swing by one of the clinics this afternoon on an, uh, personal errand. With a friend.” Val blushed further.
“A ‘friend,’ eh?” Petroni sat on the edge of the table, doubt on her face. “Dawes, is there anything I can do to help, or—”
“No, no,” Val said. “I mean, it’s not for me—I’m helping my friend. I’d like some personal time off to accompany her. She’s seeing the doctor to confirm her, ah, condition.”
“Home test went positive?” Petroni’s eyebrows rose.
“Yes. Hers, not mine. What I mean is, I didn’t take a test, she did, and—”
“Stop, stop, before you get me in trouble with HR,” Petroni said. “I’m not allowed to ask, and I’d prefer you don’t tell. Take whatever time you need. And, Dawes?”
Val stood, waiting.
“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Petroni said. “And for God’s sake, be careful.”
Val picked Beth up for her appointment a little after 4:00 p.m. outside Macy’s where she worked as a sales associate in women’s clothing. As always, Beth looked amazing in a blue dress that hugged her ample curves, redolent of cologne Val couldn’t dream of affording. “How are you feeling?” she asked, not knowing how else to begin.
“Great,” Beth said, giving Val a quick hug, “aside from being bloated, nauseous, and a hundred pounds overweight. You?”
“I’m sorry,” Val said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Talk about anything except me,” Beth said. “What’s up at work?”
Val’s spine tingled. The last thing she wanted to discuss was the threats to abortion clinics and VeroniCare. “The usual rapes, murders, and domestic abusers,” she said. “Life in the city.”
Beth clicked on the radio and found a station playing a Taylor Swift song about a mean guy who did her wrong. Perfect. “Whatever they pay you, for me it would never be enough,” she said, “dealing with those thugs every day.”
“Trust me, it’s not enough,” Val said. “Although I got a raise this month. My one-year anniversary on the force, so I’m officially no longer a rookie.”
“Congratulations!” Beth squeezed her shoulder. “So, how soon until you make detective?”
Val shrugged. “There’s a whole process to go through,” she said. “Lots more training and experience, plus I have to pass a written test. Then, somehow, I have to get promoted, which is extremely competitive.” She stopped at a light, grateful that the tall downtown buildings afforded them some shade from the unseasonably warm autumn sun.
“Petroni will promote you. You’re awesome and they love you there. Plus, you’re already doing the work.”
Val shot her friend a wry smile. “It’s not that simple. Even the Chief can’t just promote me. A position has to open up, which means someone dies or retires.”
“Ah, bureaucracy,” Beth said. “What sort of training do you need?”
“Tons. Investigative techniques, interrogation skills, forensics, even ballistics. The good news is that Petroni arranged for the uniformed members of the WAVE Squad—Damari Price and me—to rotate into some classes. I have an interrogation workshop next week.”
Beth’s face clouded. After a long pause, she asked, “What day?”
“Wednesday, I think. Why?” The light changed, and Val hit the gas too hard, jerking both women back in their seats. “Sorry.”
“I was hoping you’d be available again for my procedure. Moral support, and all.”
“Of course. I’ll be there, no matter what.” Val could opt out of the workshop, but…dammit. She really wanted to get ahead in her training.
Beth’s lips pressed together and she patted Val’s knee. “Thanks, Val.” Her voice cracked and she wiped away a tear.
Val swallowed. Beth knew what she was asking. They rode in silence for a few minutes, Beth wringing her hands in her lap.
“So if today isn’t the procedure, what are the doctors doing today?” Val said, reading the worry on her face.
Beth sighed. “Today they verify that I’m pregnant and give me the options. They run some lab tests to make sure I won’t have complications or allergic reactions. Once those results come back, I return for the procedure.”
“Allergic reactions? I don’t understand.”
“If I’m early enough in my term, the ‘procedure’ is a pill that forces a miscarriage.” Beth spoke in a monotone, as if she’d memorized a text. “Some women react to the medication.”
“Gotcha.” Val drove on for another few slow, quiet blocks. “So, they’re not sure if you’re pregnant?”
Beth gazed out the window. “Home tests are ninety-nine percent accurate…so they say. However, until a doctor runs the blood test…” Her voice drifted off.
Val drove on, Beth’s tension filling the air. She pulled up in front of the clinic in a loading zone. “I’ll park and be right in,” she said.
Beth sat back in her seat, her gaze locked on the doorway to the building. The clinic occupied about a quarter of a two-story brick-and-glass strip mall, set back from the street about fifty feet. Concrete stanchions lined the front entrance. Val recalled a news story that reported the clinic had installed the stanchions after a man tried to drive a pickup truck through the glass front doors a few years back. Val glanced around, but didn’t spot any suspicious-looking cars or people. Not even a protester today, thank God.
Fifteen, twenty, thirty seconds ticked by. Val waited, not wanting to push her out, but she’d parked in a No Waiting zone.
“Go ahead around the building,” Beth said after a long minute. “There’s an entrance in back.”
“Okay…” Val followed an alley to the parking lot behind the building. She found an open spot and pulled in, turning off the engine.
Waited.
“Am I doing the right thing?” Beth blurted out, turning toward Val. “Maybe I shouldn’t do this. After all, I want kids someday, and…don’t you think I’d be a good mom?”
Val drew a deep breath, let the air out slowly. “Of course you’d be a wonderful mom. If you chose that, I’d support you. I’d help any way I can. Babysitting, finances, whatever.”
Beth’s face broke into a sad, crinkled smile. “You’d rock as an auntie.”
“I totally would.” She smiled back.
Beth took a few deep breaths, chewing on her lower lip, then twisted her hands together in a knot on her lap. “I don’t feel ready to be a mom. I’m single, I’m still young, and I’m not in a relationship with…” Her voice trailed off.
Val waited, then said, “With…the father?” She couldn’t bring herself to say Josh’s name. She’d never trusted him, in large part because of the way he treated Beth.
“Lots of women raise babies alone,” Beth said. “I could do this.”
“You could,” Val said, choosing her words with care. “How would you feel about doing that?”
Beth shuddered out another deep breath. She locked her eyes on Val’s, her lips pursed, her body rocking in her seat. Finally, she shook her head. “No, this is the best choice,” she said, jabbing a thumb toward the clinic. After another long silence, she added, “I think.”
“And I support that too. Whatever you decide, I’m here for you.” Val squeezed Beth’s hand. “Part of this visit is counseling, right? They’ll walk you through it all. And I’ll be right there with you.”
Tears welled in Beth’s eyes. “Thanks, Val. You’re the best.” Then she smiled and checked her watch. “Shit! I’m late. Gotta go. Meet me inside!” She gave Val a quick hug, jumped out of the car, and rushed into the building.
Val gathered her purse from the back seat, got out, and blipped the fob to lock the Honda. She glanced around, keeping her eyes peeled for trouble.
She didn’t see any. But she felt its presence.
Or was she imagining things?
Stafford followed the old Honda Civic’s path around the building through his scope, wincing when the reflected sunlight flashed off the rear windshield. He’d need better sunglasses for this mission—he couldn’t afford to lose sight of his target from unexpected glare. Better yet, revert to his midday time slot. The angle of the sun would be more favorable, and there’d be less traffic to block his escape.
He couldn’t make out the face of the driver, or even the gender. Probably the baby-daddy of the pregnant woman, a voluptuous brunette who’d disappeared inside. A Stacy. A woman like that, with a body like hers, could pick and choose boyfriends and discard them when she got bored. Any guy would kill to have her.
He’d kill to stop her.
He’d trained his scope on her long enough to check out her huge boobs, and he imagined how much bigger they’d get in coming months. Damn. Baby-killing aside, that was sufficient reason to stop her from aborting her baby.
He snapped his attention back to the Honda, now parked in a shady spot behind the building. A woman in a police uniform walked toward the entrance—he’d missed seeing her exit the vehicle. Fuck. A goddamned cop. Now the government was providing an armed escort for these baby-killing bitches?
He’d have to prepare for that. For retaliation. For self-defense, should they return his fire, or at least begin their chase with him still on-scene. He’d need to rethink his escape route. It needed to shield him from their view for as long as possible, while minimizing his time on-scene after the hit.
He trained his scope on the cop’s face. Young, white, with a look of determination. Familiar, too. He’d seen her before somewhere.
Stafford studied her face until she turned to enter the building, memorizing its details. He’d find her online, and search city policies to determine if she was acting in an official capacity or a personal one.
If the latter, she’d regret that decision.
After dropping Beth off at home, Val drove to the dojo for her regularly-scheduled jiu jitsu class. She arrived with plenty of time to stretch and warm up before the other participants emerged from the locker rooms. Maya showed up, which pleased Val—she’d liked the young woman’s sharp wit and her apparent comfort inside her own skin.
Pleasing her less was seeing Tank and Stevie Ray again. She didn’t understand why they were there. The dojo’s sensei, Master Daisuke, most often taught this smaller, more advanced session alone.
Daisuke called the group to circle up to start the session, as usual, but his manner seemed more subdued than usual—almost sad. He folded his hands in front of his chest and bowed. The class participants, Val included, bowed back.
“I am pleased to see so many of you here, especially those who have returned after a long absence,” Master Daisuke said. He locked eyes with Val for a moment, and she returned his gaze with a slight nod. Her long hours and irregular schedule for the past year made her an infrequent participant at the dojo, to her chagrin.
“First, a few announcements,” Master Daisuke continued. “I am proud to inform you that the International Jiu Jitsu Consortium has certified my assistant, Richard, as a Master Instructor. Congratulations, Richard!”
Tank stepped forward, hands folded, and bowed his head. The small group greeted him with polite applause. He stepped back, a proud smile on his face.
“This is fortuitous, because it enables me to make a second important announcement. One that I wanted you, my most advanced students, to hear first.” Daisuke paused as if to gather his thoughts.
Val’s senses went on high alert. She didn’t like where this was heading.
“As some of you know,” Daisuke said, “I have been considering retirement for a few years. I am happy to say, that moment has come.” The sensei smiled and his gaze swept the room, making eye contact with each class participant. Many smiled back. A few, like Val, responded with open-mouthed surprise.
“Do not be concerned. The dojo, and your learning, will continue,” Daisuke said. “I planned for this moment for some time.”
Val followed the Master’s glance, which rested on the face of the burly, brown-haired man next to him. Tank.
Alarm bells rang in Val’s mind. Please no, no, not—
“Richard, my capable assistant, will take over as sensei, effective immediately,” Daisuke said. “Please join me in congratulating Richard on this momentous occasion.” He led the room in a round of polite applause. “I will, of course, continue to provide classroom instruction for a few weeks to help with the transition.”
Val’s heart sank. She’d never liked Tank, and the previous night’s session had reinforced that dislike. She’d returned to the dojo because of Master Daisuke—and despite Tank’s growing influence. She hoped her dismay didn’t show on her face.
The rest of the group, except Val and a young man next to her, clapped with enthusiasm—including Maya, to Val’s surprise. A few even cheered.
“Thank you, Master.” Tank folded his hands and bowed toward Daisuke. “I look forward to continuing your fine tradition of excellence in this dojo.”
The man standing next to Val emitted a soft “pfft” sound, loud enough for only Val to hear. Val suppressed a smile. So she wasn’t the only one who harbored reservations about Tank.
“Tonight will be my last night leading this session,” Daisuke said. “Tank will take charge next time, and I will assist and offer guidance.”
Val thanked the gods for one last session with the sensei. She wondered whether she should continue, though. She preferred Daisuke’s more traditional approach to martial arts, one that stressed the defensive nature of the sport, rather than Tank’s more aggressive, “modern” style.
To her dismay, Daisuke paired Val with Tank for practicing a new kicking tactic early in the evening. It made some sense—she and Tank were the two most experienced students in the group—but the size mismatch and Tank’s aggressiveness made her uneasy. She demonstrated the move first, landing a solid thump on the big man’s chest, knocking him backward several feet.
“Nice shot,” he said in a raspy voice. He stood and smiled with a glint in his eye. “Now, my turn.”
“Hey,” Val said. “This isn’t personal.”
“Nope. Not for me, either.” Tank spun and delivered the kick, a bit off the mark. The soft arch of his foot planted hard against Val’s lower ribs. Val deflected the brunt of it with a swat of her forearm against his knee. Still, it pushed her back a step or two. But she gained satisfaction from his poor follow-through, which left him sprawled out on the mat.
“Wow,” Tank said. “Nice defense. Sorry if that hurt you.”
“Nope,” Val said, covering up as best she could for having the wind knocked out of her. She extended a hand and helped him to his feet.
“You’re not hurt at all?” Tank asked, catching his breath.
She shrugged. “I’ve felt worse.”
His expression showed some humiliation, but also admiration. “You sure can take a hit,” he said with a slow smile.
“In my line of work, it’s an essential life skill.” Val begrudged a smile in return.
Tank glanced from side to side, as if making sure no one else was listening. He moved closer and lowered his voice, “Listen, I run a mixed martial arts competition club, kind of a side gig, and we’re always searching for fresh talent. Especially good-looking women.” He smiled at her, pausing as if expecting her to acknowledge the awkward compliment.
Val made a face, heaved a deep breath. That explained a lot.
“Interested?” Tank continued. “Or do you get enough physical contact from bad guys on the street?”
Val cocked her head. She’d never mentioned her job to Tank. “Who told you I’m a cop?”
Tank appeared flustered for a second. “I, uh, may have noticed that in your file. You updated your forms when you re-upped, and, well, I do a lot of the data entry myself around here.”
Val relaxed. “Gotcha. But aren’t I too small for that sort of thing?”
Tank shook his head. “You’d only fight women your own size. There’s some decent cash for winners. I can’t imagine your rookie cop salary leaves a whole lot of free spending money…”
“As of the first of the month, I’m no longer a rookie, although the pay bump wasn’t enough to alert any financial investors around town.” She added a wry smile. “Thanks for your concern.”
Before Tank could press her any further, Daisuke clapped his hands three times, signaling break time. Val took advantage of the interruption and headed toward the women’s lockers.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Tank called after her.
Val glanced back at him over her shoulder, and he jerked his eyes away from her ass. She vowed to never, ever change her mind about doing anything that brought her in closer contact with Tank.