“MADISON, MADISON!” HEATHER CALLED even before she swung open the door to the treatment room Madison was working in. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Yarby,” she said to the gentleman with the rottweiler. “But I need to speak to Dr. Long.”
“I’ll just be a minute,” Madison told the man apologetically and followed Heather out of the room, closing the door behind her. “What’s up?” Heather’s distress was clear.
“It’s horrible.” Heather grabbed Madison’s hand and pulled her toward the reception area, where she had the radio playing softly. “Listen...”
Madison did. She heard a commercial for a new-model Nissan. She looked at Heather quizzically. “You want me to buy a new car?”
Heather waved her arms frantically. “No, no! The news was on before that. There was an explosion. A police officer was badly injured.”
Madison’s heart rate accelerated and a chill snaked up her spine. “That’s terrible! Did they say who?”
“No. Just that he’s with the SDPD, and he works narcotics,” Heather said quietly.
Madison reacted quickly but she felt as if she was moving through molasses. She picked up the phone, called Jane and asked her to handle her patient. The whole time, a terrified voice inside her screamed that it couldn’t be Rick.
She drew Heather into an office. “Tell me what you heard.” There were tears in Heather’s eyes, which only added to Madison’s trepidation.
“The reporter said they’d been trying to crack the largest Mexican drug cartel. Los Supo...or Zapos or something...”
“Zetas. Los Zetas,” Madison supplied. “Go on.” Madison was so cold she thought if she moved, her bones would shatter. Rick had told her Los Zetas was the largest and most dangerous cartel they had to contend with. She understood it wasn’t just a job for him. It was personal, and that could be even more dangerous, especially for a man who’d learned at a young age that life could be fleeting.
“Tell me,” Madison repeated.
“So they had a tip from a confidential informant, the reporter said, and they were executing a search warrant for a warehouse in Miramar. There are some light-industrial areas there. Apparently, a police dog determined that there were drugs inside the building. So they went in and the dog, um...” Heather’s voice trailed off.
“Indicated,” Madison murmured, and the full significance started to sink in. If a dog was involved... “Oh, my God.”
“Yeah. So the dog indicated that there were drugs inside the office area. The door was rigged to explode when they tried to enter. The reporter said they were lucky because there were sufficient explosives to destroy the entire building, and...”
Heather was hyperventilating.
“Take a couple of slow, deep breaths, then continue,” Madison instructed, resting a hand on Heather’s back.
Heather did as she was told. “Okay. Apparently, only a portion of the explosives that were there went off. Something faulty about how the way they were rigged—thank goodness. But the explosion badly hurt a cop. The dog and everyone else were far enough away so there were no other injuries.”
Madison covered her mouth with her hands and sank down on the low cabinet behind her.
Heather rushed to a cooler, ran some water into a paper cup. “Here...here.” She forced it into Madison’s hand. “The reporter said it was a trap. Said the cartel had declared war on the SDPD because of their aggressive stance on drug smuggling, and this was payback.”
“Would you call the division for me?” Madison asked in a strangled voice. “Ask if Rick is okay?”
“Sure.” Heather picked up the phone and dialed. She knew the number because she often had to call for appointments and follow-up.
Madison’s eyes felt huge and she stared at Heather, unblinking. “What did they say?” she asked as soon as Heather hung up.
“They wouldn’t tell me anything. They need to talk to the police officer’s family first.”
Madison’s terror was mounting. She tugged her iPhone out of her pocket. She wasn’t thinking clearly or she would’ve thought of that first. She called Rick’s cell phone number; it went straight to voice mail. That doesn’t mean anything, she tried to convince herself. He’d be busy—they all would be—with what had just happened. Please, God, let him be okay. But if it wasn’t him, it would be one of the other cops in the unit or the department. She scrolled through her contacts and found Jessica’s number. Pressed Send.
Madison watched Heather leave discreetly as she waited for the call to be answered.
“You heard?” was the first thing Jessica said.
Oh, God, it can’t be. It can’t be. “Is it... Was it...?” She couldn’t get the words out. At least she knew it wasn’t Cal, because they’d reported that it was a narcotics cop.
“Calm down, Madison. It’s not Rick, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“What?” Madison’s hand was shaking so badly she could barely hold the phone to her ear, but she hoped she hadn’t misheard her friend.
“It’s not Rick.” Jessica enunciated the words. “Rick is fine. The injured officer is with the Narcotics Task Force, not the K-9 Unit.”
Now the tears came—tears of relief, of pent-up terror and panic, of sympathy for the injured officer and his family. “Oh, thank God,” she whispered. Then she caught herself, realizing that a police officer was still injured. His family would be worried sick. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “Do you know the officer?”
“Yeah. I met him, his wife, his son and his daughter a few times at police functions.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “Can you call me if you hear anything, either from Cal or about the officer?”
“Of course I will.”
As soon as Madison hung up the phone, she bent over, trying to catch her breath and keep from vomiting.
* * *
RICK CALLED MADISON a couple of hours later. She sounded relieved and upset at the same time, but seemed very glad to hear his voice. She wanted to see him and said as much.
“I’ll come over when we’re done here, if you’re okay having the dogs, and if it’s not too late.”
“Of course the dogs are welcome, and don’t worry about the time. I won’t be sleeping.”
When Rick finally showed up at her house well after midnight, Madison threw herself into his arms.
“I was so worried about you! At first I didn’t know it wasn’t you. Heather heard about the explosion on the radio. About a narcotics cop and the Los Zetas Cartel. I thought it might be you.”
She buried her face against his neck, and he stroked her back reassuringly.
“Hey. It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“But you were there?” she almost wailed. “You know the officer who was injured?”
“Yes. Fortunately, Mike will be fine.”
Madison took a step back. “But from what I heard, you could all have been killed. I heard there were enough explosives in there that the whole warehouse could’ve blown up, along with everyone in it.”
He grabbed her elbow, guided her in and closed the door behind them. “That’s true. More or less. There was a fault in the detonator cord. The fact that all the explosives didn’t go off likely saved us from additional...injuries. We’re all upset that Mike’s hurt, and his family is distraught. He has two kids.”
Rick led Madison into the living room, the dogs trailing behind them. He nudged her onto the sofa.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he continued. “We know there are risks. It’s the reality, and I can’t change that. We accept it as part of the job.” He wondered if she could accept it, but didn’t voice the question, especially under the circumstances.
He was afraid of the answer.
Madison sprang up, spread her arms, dropped them again. “You accept it? The fact that you could die? How does Mike’s wife accept that she almost lost her husband in that raid today? That her kids could’ve been left without a father? What about Jeff’s family? How should I accept it if our relationship gets serious?”
Rick was afraid he’d gotten his answer without having asked the question. He’d had a very long, hard day, and he was losing his patience. “Will you please sit down and let me get you a drink?”
She shook her head, disbelief evident on her face, but did as he asked and perched on the edge of the sofa. Her anxiety was transmitting itself to the dogs, and Rick gave them a signal to calm down. He tried to keep himself calm, too, as he went into the kitchen to get her a glass of water.
“The cop... Mike?” she went on when he returned. “He’s a colleague. You know him. Doesn’t this make you worry that it could happen to you, too? Doesn’t it make you think about quitting?”
Rick stopped abruptly and glared at Madison. “You don’t think I’m bothered by this? You don’t think it matters to me? Well, it does. Damn right it does! Like you said, he’s a colleague. Although we might not be close—mostly because his family means everything to him and he spends every spare minute with them—we’ve been on the job together since I joined the SDPD.”
Rick’s anger fizzled out and he sat in the armchair across from Madison, forearms resting on his knees, fingers linked. “As for thinking about quitting... No. Never.” The last word was an emphatic whisper. “This is who I am. It’s what I am. Something like this only makes me more determined to do what I do and do it to the best of my ability. My job is to take down guys like the ones who did this to Mike...and to Jeff. To keep them from hurting kids, and injuring or killing good cops or innocent people.” He exhaled. He didn’t want to think about the fact that all indications were, once again, that he was the one they’d targeted. They didn’t care about the collateral damage. All the explosives could’ve gone off and the entire building blown up. In fact, he expected that would have been a plus for them—a message sent to the entire department. “Is it so hard to understand why I feel this way?” he asked.
Madison’s face paled. “I’m sorry. I...I don’t know what to say other than sorry. I just don’t understand how you can be so...accepting... Accepting isn’t the right word. Resigned, maybe? About the dangers you face each day.”
Rick leaned back and considered how to respond. At the best of times, cops’ partners had a heavy burden to bear, knowing that any day there might be a knock on their door to let them know their spouse had been killed in the line of duty. And his current circumstances were far riskier, since the cartel was targeting him.
If their relationship was to progress, she had a right to know about the extent of the dangers he faced because of the demons that drove him. She’d already put into words her concern about being able to accept it...and therefore accept him. And that didn’t include the possible risk to her. There hadn’t been any further occurrences and Logan had arranged for frequent drive-bys, but that didn’t negate the possibility. If he was completely honest with her, would his candor drive her away?
He was falling in love with Madison.
If she couldn’t accept him and his circumstances, which applied to both the danger he faced on the job and what he did on occasion with Mexican kids crossing the border, he’d rather know now than when his heart was even more deeply invested. He needed to make her aware of whatever information he could, but he wasn’t at liberty to discuss that the cartel was targeting him.
“I need to make a difference. I have to do what I do. It’s who I am,” he said again.
And then he started to tell her why and hoped she’d still want him when he finished.
* * *
MADISON LISTENED INTENTLY while Rick told her more about his childhood, about living in Tijuana. Details he hadn’t shared with her before—about his life there, his birth parents, their occupations and preoccupations.
And their execution.
She rose to move around the room and found it easier to listen to some of the most painful parts with her back to him, not having to look at this strong, brave man and see in him the terrified, neglected, abused boy he’d been. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, because he’d overcome his early experiences and achieved so much. But her heart shattered yet again for the little boy he was never allowed to be.
Rick segued into the present—what he did and why. The strength and reach of the cartels, the difference the SDPD had made in recent years and his own role in it. And that all translated into the dangers of his job and having to live with knowing what could happen to him any day he was on duty. He was going up against the largest cartels, the most notorious organized crime syndicates. In the short few months she’d known Rick, one officer had died and another currently lay in the hospital. Either time, it could have been Rick.
How could she live with that?
She turned and faced him, her vision blurred by tears. When he stood up to come to her, to take her in his arms and hold her, she had a new, nearly debilitating fear.
She wondered if she could live without him.