Hers to Protect Read online

  “Sir. Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Violet turned sharply and left the office. She went straight to her desk, avoiding Sal’s and Trey’s eyes. Trey was getting coffee, which was odd, because he didn’t drink coffee.

  Violet halted like someone kicked her in the back. It was probably for Josh.

  She couldn’t forget the look in his eyes when she’d put him in the cell.

  Josh was her first lockup. Her first arrest.

  As she’d ushered him into the cell, she’d felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Two steps inside the cell, his broad shoulders had slumped and his face had gone ashen.

  Shockingly, he’d thanked her.

  Why?

  What kind of man thanked an officer for showing him his limitations? His vulnerability?

  The unique kind.

  When he’d looked at her, his blue eyes weren’t malicious. They actually held gratitude.

  Every assessment she’d made about Josh Stevens from the second of his arrest was shattered in that moment.

  Suddenly, she wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t know why. He was her prisoner. He was in the wrong.

  Yet she’d nearly reached for the bars to touch his hand, to reassure him.

  A jangling phone on Sal’s desk broke through her thoughts. “Paluzzi here,” he answered, then checked his watch. His eyes meandered over to her, checking to see if she was working.

  Violet quickly scanned her computer for the photographs she’d taken of the farmhouse. With her thumb and forefinger, she enlarged a particular photo of the white clapboard house. It looked like it had been recently painted. Sure enough, she picked out three paint cans near a fenced-off area with garbage cans.

  She moved her fingers over the photo and the image of the side of the house. She could see a For Sale sign against the side of the house. She sat up straight. “But the sign isn’t in the front yard. It’s been put away. Which can mean that they took it off the market, or it’s recently sold. But to whom?”

  Miguel Garcia? she thought. And was this where he intended to headquarter his gang?

  Enlarging the picture even more, she was able to read the Realtor’s phone number. She jotted down the number on a notepad, then picked up her phone and dialed.

  A pleasant-sounding woman answered. “Indian Lake Realty Company. This is Heather. How may I direct your call?”

  “This is Officer Violet Hawks, of the Indian Lake Police Department. I understand your company recently sold a farmhouse out near 1000 North?”

  “Let me check.”

  “I need to speak to the listing agent, please.”

  “Sure,” Heather said. “That would be Roy King. He’s out for the day. Funeral. May I take your number and have him call you back?”

  Violet left the station number and her extension. “I appreciate your help, Heather.” Violet hung up.

  Now that her call was over, she heard the phones in the booking area ringing. She glanced over to the dispatcher’s area. She was putting calls through to various extensions without taking a breath. Another phone rang and Trey grabbed a call. Then Sal took a call.

  “Busy day,” she mumbled as she looked at the farmhouse photo. She rubbed her forehead. Trent Davis’s wife, Cate, was a Realtor. There was a good chance Cate would know about the recent sale.

  Violet watched as Trey rushed past her desk toward the front door. “What’s the rush?”

  “A delivery.”

  “Oh,” she replied. Trey was known for his pizza addiction. The slender guy could eat pizza three times a day and never gain an ounce.

  She logged in to the database, looking for more information on Miguel Garcia and the blue car. If she could track down the Maserati dealer where Garcia bought the car, there might be an address, and it might even be legitimate.

  She scrolled through more information as Trey bounded back through the room toward the jail cell area. But he wasn’t carrying a pizza carton. Instead, it was a brown bag with the Indian Lake Deli logo on it as well as a pink-and-white-striped sack from Cupcakes and Coffee Café. She could only guess the food was for Josh.

  She started to stand, and as she did, she came face-to-face with her brother-in-law.

  “Violet.” Scott greeted her with a wide anticipatory grin. “Trent tells me you have Josh Stevens in lockup. Is that right?”

  “Word travels fast.”

  “Can I see him?” Scott asked, looking toward the metal door.

  “Scott, you’re drooling,” she said sarcastically.

  “I should be! An interview with a real celebrity never happens in Indian Lake.”

  Violet dropped her chin to her chest. “Not you, too.”

  “What?”

  “In all these years you’ve hung around my family, you never told us you were a race car enthusiast.”

  “I keep it on the down low. Besides, Vi, c’mon. How can you live in Indiana and not go just a little nuts over Memorial Day weekend when you hear the announcers call the race? It’s in our blood.” He leaned closer. “And it’s certainly in my readers’ blood.”

  “I don’t have the authority to grant you that interview. You have to talk to Trent.”

  “Piece of cake.” Scott smiled widely.

  “Hey, a word to the wise. Friendship may not get you this one. Detective Davis isn’t all that happy that Stevens is in a cell. Anyway, he’ll be out before sundown. His manager is arranging bail as we speak.”

  Scott’s expression sobered. “You don’t like him, do you?”

  “The manager?”

  “No, Josh.”

  Violet pursed her lips. “I don’t like his entitled attitude. He thinks he can come here and do as he pleases. Race his car through our roads at over two hundred miles an hour.”

  Scott whistled lowly. “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “I clocked it. I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because these celebrity types don’t care if their publicity is negative, as long as they stay in the limelight. It’s the juice they need. Take this guy. He’s got a need for speed. For what? What’s he trying to prove? Or gain? More fame? He’s got that. Obviously, he’s got money to burn. Detective Davis says that Bugatti of his is so expensive that until recently, a price wasn’t even posted. Dealers negotiate the price quietly. His success isn’t a result of hard work and sacrifice. It’s all luck. He hasn’t earned it. And he sure hasn’t earned my respect.”

  “I see that,” Scott mused, keeping his eyes on her.

  Violet wanted to squirm under Scott’s introspective gaze. “What?”

  “Nothin’. Just that I never heard you talk like this about anyone before.”

  “Yeah? Then you never watched a Cubs game with me in the room, have you?”

  “Bad?”

  “Brutal.” She paused. “Scott, take my advice. If you want a story about Josh Stevens, wait till he’s in court and I’m testifying against him.”

  Scott peered at her, his right eyebrow hitched and his jaw slowly opening. “You’re going to testify against this country’s most famous race car driver? The current winning driver of the Indianapolis race? The guy who’s in a half-dozen ads on TV? The guy who just signed with Breitling to model their watches?”

  “I am.”

  “You do realize he’ll pull in some high-powered and totally brilliant lawyer from Chicago...”

  “He’s in Indianapolis...” she interjected.

  “And that doesn’t give you cause for caution?”

  “No.”

  Scott blew out a breath. “You are one tough cookie, sister-in-law.”

  “I’m in the right,” she replied adamantly.

  “Who cares?”

  “I do! It’s the law. He broke the law and then resisted arrest.”


  “Oh, this is good.”

  “Don’t write anything until we’re in court, please?”

  “Violet, today this story is a scoop. In a couple weeks, half the country will know about it and I’m just another guy covering the beat. I’ll lose my edge.”

  Sal Paluzzi slammed down his phone and sprang out of his chair. He rushed past Violet’s desk. “Where’s the fire?” she asked.

  “Be right back,” Sal said with a wave over his shoulder as he headed to the doors to the front hall.

  A moment later, Sal was back with his wife, and five young children. The kids were chattering excitedly. Sal’s wife was wearing a particularly lovely spring sweater, a floral dress and kitten-heeled shoes. Her dark hair tumbled down her back in perfect curls. Being a hairdresser, Patrija always looked her best, but today Violet guessed she was on her way to a party. Since Sal and Patrija had only one child, eight-year-old Antony, Violet guessed the other kids must be friends.

  They walked toward the cell-block door. It was then Violet noticed that each child held a notebook.

  “Autographs?” She started toward Sal. Scott reached out and touched her forearm.

  “Vi, let it go.”

  “He’s practically holding court in there,” she said. “This isn’t punishment for him in the least.”

  “No,” Scott replied. “But why is it killing you so much?”

  She jerked her head back to Scott. “I... I’m... It’s not. In fact, this just goes to prove my earlier evaluation of him. People who live with that kind of notoriety and influence use it to their own advantage.”

  “That can be true.”

  “Believe me, it’s very common.” Again, she thought of her childhood bully, Billy Pope, and how he used his father’s power as the town mayor to go after other, weaker kids. “What I do know is that I’ll be very glad when Josh Stevens leaves town. He’s precisely the kind of person I would avoid,” she said as her eyes strayed back to the cell-block door and lingered.

  “Yeah, right,” Scott replied.

  When Violet’s phone rang and she glanced back at Scott, she realized he was watching her closely. She picked up the receiver. “Officer Hawks.”

  She listened as Josh’s manager, Harry Wilcox, explained that the bail bondsman would post bail within thirty minutes. He hoped Violet would have all the necessary paperwork ready. She assured him that everything was in order.

  As she ended the call, the chief walked up. “Hawks, I just got off the phone with Harry Wilcox. I’m giving the newspaper permission for an interview.” He nodded at her brother-in-law. “I trust you’ll be, er, complimentary, Scott?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  The chief walked away. Scott smiled at Violet.

  “Looks like you’ll get your scoop, Scott,” she said. “Why don’t I give Josh your card? He may not want to be interviewed in or near the jail.”

  “You’re probably right. Here ya go,” he said, reaching in his wallet. “I appreciate it, Violet.”

  Scott kissed her cheek.

  “Hug Isabelle and the kids for me,” she said.

  “Officer Hawks,” Trent Davis said, standing in the doorway to his office. “Do you have your report ready?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m printing it out now.”

  “Good. Bring it in.” He smiled faintly. “Then go down to the cell and get Josh Stevens’s autograph for me before he leaves. Have him sign it to my son, Danny.”

  Violet gaped as he closed his door. “Not you, too?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  VIOLET HANDED THE document to the bondsman, who scribbled something illegible on it and handed her the cash.

  She stapled the paperwork together and went to the cell block, unable to help the wave of incompetence that swept through her veins. Deflated and riddled with guilt for the disappointment she’d caused Detective Davis, she was in no mood for gloating from Josh Stevens.

  She squared her shoulders as she tucked in her shirt and smoothed her uniform slacks. It was the end of the day, and all she wanted was a hot bath. But first, she had this duty to perform.

  She handed the paperwork to Trey as the metal door closed behind her.

  “He said his manager would pull through,” Trey said, smiling.

  “Had a nice chat, did you?”

  “Oh, we did. Josh has the most amazing stories. You know he’s raced in Europe and...”

  “Not now, Officer. I’m here to release him.”

  Josh was sitting on the bare bench inside the cell. He looked up at her. “Nice jail you have.”

  “This isn’t the jail. We use this room to house criminals we know will only be here a few hours. Like you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a criminal.”

  “Fine.” She motioned to Trey. “You can open it up.”

  Josh stood. “I’m being released?”

  “Yes. It’s my duty to inform you that you will have to return to Indian Lake in ten days for a hearing. At that time, I will give my testimony to the judge. You will give yours or your lawyer will speak for you. That’s your call. What happens next will be up to the judge.”

  “What’s typical in cases like mine?”

  “There aren’t many cases like yours.”

  “Okaaay. Similar cases.”

  “He or she may give you a fine. And the speeding ticket will be reported on your record as well as the charge of resisting arrest.”

  Josh walked to the open jail door. “And the endangerment to others?”

  “That, too.”

  Violet struggled to remain calm. She took a step back from him, wondering how he could smell like clean soap and spicy cologne after most of the day in lockup.

  Just looking at him reminded her that she’d bungled her job, and badly. All her life, she’d prided herself on her instincts and her intuition. She’d relied on those instincts when she’d started the chase after Josh, believing him to be the drug lord. She had wrongly mistaken his Bugatti as Miguel Garcia’s car.

  She handed Josh his release papers.

  “Well, Officer Hawks, I can tell you that my attorney is not only smart but effective. This speeding ticket and the other trumped-up charges you’ve brought against me won’t fly. As far as I’m concerned, you stole a day of my life. My agent has been dodging calls all day about my whereabouts. And the fallout I’m going to face once the story gets out that you, Officer Hawks, chose to incarcerate me to make yourself look good to your superiors...”

  Violet opened her mouth to speak, her words coming in an indignant squawk. “Mr. Stevens,” she managed, “this disruption in your life is your fault. Not mine. Apparently, you haven’t learned there is a price to pay for your behavior.”

  “Behavior? Your hot-headed reaction is to blame here. My guess is that because you’re so young, you haven’t been doing this long. So, I’m going to give you that, Officer Hawks. I’ve told my attorney I won’t sue you, the city or the county. But trust me, this bust you made is gonna go away.”

  Violet’s nerves jangled from the tip of her skull to her toes. She had to remember that Josh Stevens was the kind of person who thought he had the upper hand—always. And she’d had just about enough.

  Instead of losing her cool, she smiled as charmingly as she could. “I appreciate your position, Mr. Stevens. In ten days we’ll see how it all falls out. In the meantime, please understand. You aren’t the only one with responsibilities. I have people who depend on me and my judgment, as well. They aren’t my entourage as you label your people. I call mine family.”

  She turned to Trey. “Please see Mr. Stevens to the front door, Officer. Make sure he has his cell phone and belongings upon his departure.”

  She turned and walked out of the cell block.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TRUE TO HIS WORD, the Indian Lake County deputy sherif
f had brought Josh’s Bugatti to the police station. Josh walked out looking at his blue baby with its C-shaped sides, the curves that acted to redirect and optimize the airflow into the side intakes. Twin pipe exhaust. Low front aerodynamic hood. The car was masterfully designed. There were only 750 or so sold worldwide. What he had was unique. The engine was a beast at 1,179 horsepower.

  “She thought she could outrun me?” He snorted as he walked to the car, opened the door and climbed into the luxurious leather cockpit. “Officer Hawks, you are such a rookie.”

  And just then he saw Violet walk out of the station, her uniform as perfectly pressed as if she hadn’t worn the darn thing all day. Her dark hair had been clipped back all day, but now, she’d pulled out the clip as she walked. Her hair fell well below her shoulders, like a veil of dark satin. It shone, and a gentle spring breeze lifted long locks around her face. He held his breath.

  He hadn’t expected that.

  She didn’t look at him or his amazing Bugatti. She simply got in her squad car and backed out, pulling away like anyone leaving work after a long day.

  He’d half expected her to give him the finger.

  But this—ignoring him—showed him she saw him as the criminal she said he was. He stared at the finely stitched leather-covered steering wheel that he knew the finest artisans had skillfully sewn. He turned on the engine and heard it hum, promising adventures unimagined.

  Some adventure today. When he’d braked at the police blockade, he’d lost his temper. People like Officer Violet Hawks, cops with guns on their belts or licensed authority figures who swooped into an orphan’s life and put him in a stranger’s house, jacked him up something fierce.

  He had to admit that he’d been a real jerk to her. It wasn’t Violet Hawks who ran up his blood pressure. It was the authority figures she symbolized. Since the day his parents died, Josh had battled every apathetic or on-the-take social worker and fraudulent foster parent. He’d met a ton of cops who thought all foster kids had chips on their shoulders and “should appreciate what the state gives them.”

  “Authority” to young Josh had meant lies, abuse and torment. And then he’d found his calling. Cars.