Begging for Trouble (30 page)

Sam sauntered up the street, dodging the snow flying from shovels and, in one instance, a snowblower gone wild. As in most areas of the city, the people who were taking care of the sidewalks and stoops were a talkative bunch, calling out to complain about the lousy weather and to wish their neighbors well. Funny how something like a blizzard could bring out the best in folks.

He hated the snow, but Ellie seemed to love it, which meant he had to get used to it. Next thing, she’d want to take a walk in Central Park, where she’d probably whack him with a snowball. But it was a price he was willing to pay to keep her happy.

Stopping at the corner, he speed-dialed the records department, but all he got was a recording. At this rate, it would be a week before he received the info he needed on the judge who’d handed down a sentence in Carmella Sunday’s final arrest. He was working on a hunch, but it was all he had until he brainstormed with Vince.

A block later, he arrived at the Bagel Bin, pleased to find it open for business. Out of habit, he took a look through the front window before he entered. It was then that he spotted the cashier, standing behind the register with his hands in the air.

Taking a step back, he again peered inside and got a better look at the man on the customer side of the counter—a lanky guy wearing a stocking cap and dark clothes, with his gun raised level with the clerk.

His heart shifted into overdrive. So much for blizzards bringing out the best in people. They could also bring out the worst. Breaking into a sweat, he speed-dialed and reported a Code 10, asking for backup. Then he prepared to do his job.

Raising his Glock, he stepped through the doorway, ducked to one knee, and pulled a table over for cover. The second he did, the clerk disappeared behind the counter.

“Police! Freeze!”

The gunman spun around and fired, but the shot went wild.

“Drop the gun!”

The kid stared him down, the weapon still in his hand.

Sam had no choice. He aimed low and fired, hitting the boy in his right leg. Screaming, the punk fell to the floor, and his gun skittered a few feet away.

It was then that every drop of air left Sam’s body in a single rush of breath. He’d been in this situation before, but always with a fellow officer. On his own, and without backup, he had to follow proper procedure step by careful step.

Standing, he kept his gun trained on the downed shooter. His gut clenched when he saw the gunman was a boy of no more than seventeen. Hell, the kid should have been home digging his dad’s car out of the snow, or shoveling walks to make a buck. Not doing this sort of thing.

Still clutching his lower leg, the boy moaned. Sam took a step closer and kicked the gun farther away. Sirens sounded in the distance and relief filled his senses.

The clerk rose from his hiding place, his eyes wide with panic. Sam gave a nod. “You okay?”

“Yeah. So you got him?”

“Take a look.”

Inching over the counter, the shopkeeper stared at his assailant. “That’s a lotta blood. Is he going to make it?”

The sirens grew louder, almost drowning out the clerk’s voice, and Sam’s blood pressure dropped a notch. “Best guess is yes.”

“He’s a kid. Where’d he get that gun?”

“We’ll run a trace, but I doubt anything will turn up. Help’s almost here. Hang tight until an officer comes in and takes your statement. Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Whatever you say.”

The kid moaned again. “I need a doctor. I’m bleedin’ here.”

The sirens’ screams blasted into the store; blue lights flashing from the street pulsed through the window. Sam set his lips in a grim line and stared at the boy.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Fuck off, buddy. I want a doc.”

Three officers stepped into the shop, guns ready. Sam lowered his weapon and pulled out his shield. It was going to be a long morning.

 

Sam stared through the sea of blue crowding the Bagel Bin. The crime scene tech team had already found and bagged the bullet fired by the gunman, and Miles and Stanley, the detectives in charge, were taking the deli clerk’s statement and talking to the two bakers who’d been working in the kitchen when the robbery began. Aside from waiting for his heart rate to return to normal, there wasn’t a lot more he needed to do.

Just then, the patrolman covering the front door answered his radio and the voice of Frank Landon, the officer out front in charge of crowd control, came across loud and clear.

“There’s a woman out here calls herself Engleman, Ellen Elizabeth. Says she needs to talk with Ryder ASAP. Claims she and him are in a personal relationship, and she won’t leave until she sees him.”

Sipkovitz turned and grinned, probably because he knew everyone in the store had heard the story. “You want to talk to a woman name’s Engleman, Ellen Elizabeth? According to Landon, she says you two are—involved.” He let the last word hang, along with the invisible finger quotes
.

Sam stood and nodded, avoiding the snickers of the other officers. “Tell him to let her through.” Then he held up a hand. There was blood on the floor and a spatter against the base of the counter. Ellie had seen a bloody crime scene before—just last week, in fact—but that didn’t mean she needed to see this mess.

“Hang on. Tell him I’m coming out, and then let Stanley or Miles know I’ll be back.” Steeling himself for a scene, he heaved a breath. Meeting with his “bad penny” was going to be tougher than that appointment he’d have to keep with the department shrink because of the shooting.

He stepped outside and spotted Ellie. Except for a patch of pink on each cheek, her complexion was as white as the new-fallen snow. Chewing on a thumbnail, she stood staring at the door as if waiting for her executioner. The color in her eyes deepened when their gazes locked, and she gave him a thousand-watt smile.

He couldn’t think what to do, so she made the decision for him. Throwing herself into his arms, she squeezed him so tight the air rushed from his lungs in one huge gasp.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine,” he muttered, patting her back. Damn, but he was useless. Carolanne hadn’t ever shown one minute of worry over him, even when he’d been nicked in a gang sting a few years back. Except for comforting his mother and sisters after his dad died, he’d never had to make a woman feel cared for. What the hell else was he supposed to say?

Ellie’s shoulders shook, and he sighed. Her tears always threw him a curve, especially when she cried because she was relieved or happy. Why the hell couldn’t women wear signs when they sobbed? Something like: HAPPY TEARS, NO NEED TO WORRY Or: MISERABLE. COMFORT ME, PLEASE.

“What can I do to make this better?” he asked, positive it was a dumb question.

“I—I’m—I—”She pulled back and rubbed her nose in her palm. After heaving a breath, she gazed up at him with a tremulous smile on her beautiful face. “You’ve already made it better, just by being here and not in the ambulance that pulled away a couple of minutes ago.”

He led her out of the path of the crime technicians tromping out of the Bagel Bin, and again held her in his arms. “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to wait for me in the apartment.”

“I was. I walked Rudy, made coffee, the whole nine yards. When I heard the sirens I knew—I just knew you were in trouble, so I threw on boots and a jacket and came straight here.”

She sniffed and shivered, and he rested his chin on top of her head. “You want me to believe you heard the sirens and knew I was in a jam.”

“It’s true. You can ask—” She shook her head. “Just believe me, okay?”

“Sure, sure, fine.” Anything to calm her down. “Did Landon tell you what happened?”

“Sort of. But someone in the crowd said that shots were fired, so I was a bit . . . distracted by the time I got to him.”

“You thought I was hit?”

“I didn’t know for sure, and Landon wouldn’t say. When I saw the boy on the gurney, I almost collapsed. A thousand things ran through my mind. If you were the one shot, you’d have been taken out first, but you weren’t, which meant you were okay or you were—you might have been—”

She started to cry all over again, and he cradled her against his chest. Landon grinned and he tossed the guy a “Women. Who the hell can understand them?” kind of look.

“I’m sorry I’m a mess.” Drawing away, she pulled a crumpled tissue out of her coat pocket and blew her nose. “I guess I never really thought about what you did—what you sometimes have to do in the line of duty. This was all a little too real.”

“You were there when that nut job drew a gun and fired last November.” He tried for a teasing smile. “I was the hero then, if you’ll remember.”

“You were, but it was different. I knew old stone face was a loser. She had a gun, but it looked like a child’s toy, and I knew you were behind a thick sofa and wouldn’t get hurt. This was . . . different.”

It sure was, but he had no intention of telling her so. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Even that snot-nosed kid is fine. I got him in his right calf. Enough to stop him cold, but he’ll live.” She seemed calmer now, so he relaxed. “It was no big deal.”

Her eyes flashed to that maddening green-blue color he never had a name for. “No big deal? You call a shootout in an armed robbery no big deal?”

“Okay, it was a big deal. Does that make you feel better?”

“Yes—no—I don’t know.” She bit her lower lip. “I guess it’s a dumb thing to argue about now, huh?”

“I’d say so.” He thought of something that might cheer her up. “Want to find a place that’s serving breakfast?”

“Considering you made me wait for my bagel, that’s a pretty good idea,” she teased in return.

“Hang on a second. I’ve got to check out with the detectives in charge. Stay here and don’t move.”

Ellie nodded, still not sure if she was finished crying. Sam was probably bummed by a lot of things right now. He’d explained to her last November what would have happened if he’d actually had to shoot that crazy woman. For one thing, he would have lost his gun for the ballistics test, and then he would have had to visit a division psychiatrist for an evaluation.

But those two things took a backseat to today. Sam had shot a kid. Granted, he only wounded the boy, but he could have taken a life. Though he was full of braggadocio and snappy comments, she knew he would have been desolate if that had been the case.

He walked out the door and stopped to speak to Officer Landon, then brought the guy over for a proper introduction. “I believe you two have already met. Officer Frank Landon, this is Ellie Engleman, my better half.”

Office Landon shook her hand and said something polite, but she didn’t hear the words. Had Sam just called her his “better half”?

Before she could think, he tucked her hand in his elbow and led her up the block. “Where are you taking me?” she asked when her brain cleared.

“Think that smart-ass college friend of yours, the one with the coffee shop, might be open?”

“Joe?” It was the first time he’d ever taken the initiative to stop at a Joe to Go. “Probably. He lives above the building. Worst case, he’ll be manning the counter alone. I doubt he’s received his morning pastry delivery, but I imagine he’ll sell whatever was left from yesterday at a discount.”

“Then we’ll stop there. Don’t you have a hair appointment or something later today?”

The comment hit her like a brick. She almost stopped and asked him if he’d been taken over by pod people. Last night, he’d walked Rudy without her. And he’d just introduced her to a fellow officer as his “better half.” Now he was offering to escort her to a Joe to Go, when he was jealous of the relationship she and Joe shared.

“I’m due there at one o’clock. I have time for a quick bite.” They dodged people sweeping, shoveling, and tossing deicer as they traveled to the coffee shop. “What are you going to do while I’m gone?”

“Go to the station and talk to Miles and Stanley, see if they’ve identified that punk, make a date with the department shrink if I can. But I might not have any luck, thanks to the bad weather.”

“Then you’ll meet me back at the apartment?”

“Of course. I’m scheduled to escort you to that big party, remember?”

“We can stay home if you want.” They hit Lexington, turned the corner, and stopped in front of Joe’s place. “I’m only going because the judge insisted, though Mother acted as if she wants me there, too.”

“Didn’t you say the party was in honor of one of your clients? One of the two-legged kind?”

“I almost forgot about that. Norman Lowenstein, Sampson’s dad, is one of the judges up for a position on the Second Circuit Court of Appeals.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Then we’ll go.” He opened the door to the coffee shop. “I’d hate to miss my chance to see your unflappable mother flapping around a possible Supreme Court justice.”