Courageous (2 page)

“No thank you,” the father said. “I took my eye off him once; next thing I know I almost lost him.”

Adam paused, running a hand quickly through his dark-brown thinning hair, then asked, “Can you describe the guy who stole your truck?”

“Black—dark like me. Huge biceps and a powerful punch.” He touched his jaw gingerly. “Can’t tell you much about his face, but I could describe his fist perfectly: hard as granite. Big gold ring. Late twenties, wearin’ a big hunk of gold jewelry around his neck.”

“Notice any other markings? Tattoos?”

“No, it happened so fast. I think he had on a black do-rag. But I had my eyes on the steering wheel. And the oncoming traffic!”

Shane squinted and rubbed at the bags under his eyes. “What about the driver of the getaway car?”

“Didn’t see him. I was just thinking about my son.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get thrown on the road. I can’t believe you got away with that crazy stunt.”

“I was fortunate. Not crazy, though. What else could I do?”

“Why not let the police go after him? That’s our job!”

“And what would that thug have done with my son? Tossed him in the bushes when he cried? I wasn’t lettin’ go of that wheel. Jackson is
my
job.”

“You know you could have lost your life?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, cradling the child in his arms. “But I couldn’t risk losing my son.”

Deep in thought, Adam stopped jotting notes.

The injured man said, “I was looking forward to meeting you guys under better circumstances on Monday.”

“Monday?” Shane asked.

“Yeah. I start working with you next week.”

Adam glanced at the notes he’d written earlier. “
Nathan Hayes.
I wondered how I recognized your name.” He extended his hand. “Adam Mitchell. Pleased to meet you, Deputy Hayes.”

“Shane Fuller.”

“Good to meet you both,” Nathan said.

“Why Albany?” Shane asked.

“Wanted to give my family a slower pace. Grew up here. Went to Dougherty High. Life in Atlanta wasn’t a good fit for us.”

Adam checked out Nathan’s truck. “I own an F-150 myself. I know a good body shop. I’ll write it down.”

“Thanks.”

The paramedic interrupted. “Done with that foot for now. They’ll take care of you at the hospital. Need to get you inside. We can strap your kid’s car seat in.”

“I want Jackson where I can see him.”

Adam looked at Nathan. “I’d say welcome back to Albany, but I hate to after such a rotten day.”

“Well, my son’s okay. So I still say it’s a good day.” He smiled at Jackson and continued rocking him gently.

From his squad car, Adam watched as the paramedics shut the ambulance door and drove away with the brave father and his child.

He pulled onto the road. “Would you have grabbed the wheel? And held on while you were getting beaten to a pulp?”

Shane Fuller turned and thought a moment. “Well, I can think of a few ways he could have died doing that. Crazy as it was, I guess he saved his kid’s life.”

“So would you have held on to the wheel?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Would you?”

Adam thought about it but didn’t respond.

It troubled him that he wasn’t sure of his answer.

Carrying several files from the sheriff’s office, Adam entered his back door and gazed through to the living room’s most prominent wall hanging, a sixteen-by-twenty framed photo with the autograph of one of the greatest Atlanta Falcons of all time: Steve Bartkowski. He nodded to Steve, his boyhood idol.

Adam walked through the hall to the kitchen, where his wife was finishing the dishes.

“Adam, it’s 8:15! Where have you been?”

Victoria had
the tone
, so Adam gave her
the look
.

“Working on reports. Trying not to miss any more deadlines. Sorry about dinner.” Just walked in the door and already he was engaged in self-defense. He barely registered Victoria’s thick dark curls falling onto her new blue sweater. Sometimes, even after eighteen years of marriage, Adam was struck by how pretty she was. But tonight his wall went up, romantic thoughts evaporating.

“You missed Emily’s piano recital.”

Adam grimaced. “I totally forgot about that.”

“We talked about it last week, yesterday, and again this morning. And you’d have known if you’d been home for dinner.”

“It was a crazy day. Lots of important stuff going on.”

“What’s more important than your children?”

Adam donned his best nobody-understands-a-cop face.

Victoria bit her cheek, then softened her tone. “Emily asked if she could stay up till you got home.” She paused, searching for words. “Dylan is out running. When he gets back, he’s going to ask you about that 5K race again.”

“And I’m gonna say no again.”

“I tried to tell him that. But he’s determined to change your mind.”

The back door opened. Adam sighed. “And here we go.”

Dylan Mitchell, a skinny, dark-haired fifteen-year-old wearing a sweaty black sleeveless T-shirt with red shorts, walked through the door, breathing hard.

Adam studied the junk mail in his hand.

“Dad, can I talk to you?”

“As long as it’s not about a 5K race.”

“Why not? A bunch of other guys are running in it with their dads.”

Adam finally glanced up at Dylan.
When did he get so tall?
“You’re on the track team! You don’t need something else to run in.”

“They hardly ever let me run because I’m a freshman. I can’t sign up for this race unless you run with me.”

“Look, Dylan, it doesn’t bother me that you like to run. But there’ll be other races.”

Dylan scowled, then turned and walked stiffly to his room.

Victoria wiped her hands on a dish towel and approached Adam. “Can I suggest you spend a little more time with him?”

“All he wants to do is play video games or run five miles.”

“Then run with him. This race is just a 5K! What’s that, three miles?”

“Three point one.”

“Oh, sorry. That ‘point one’ would kill you?” She smiled quickly, attempting to defuse after detonation.

“You know I’ve never liked to run. Shoot hoops? Okay. Throw a football? Anytime. But he doesn’t like what I like. I’m forty years old. There’s gotta be a better way to spend time with him than torturing myself.”

“Well, you have got to do something.”

“He can help me build that shed in the backyard. I’m taking time off next week.”

“He’s gonna see that as your project. Besides, he’ll be at school most of the time. With track practice, he doesn’t get home until just before dinner, which you wouldn’t know since you’re seldom home by then. Adam, you really need to connect with your son.”

“You’re lecturing me again, Victoria.”

She walked to the sink and threw in the hand towel. Adam wondered whether she was conscious of the symbolism.

“Hi, Daddy!” Nine-year-old Emily entered the kitchen and leaned against the counter, smiling at her father. With dark curly hair like her mom’s, she was adorable in her princess pajamas.

“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I missed your recital today.”

“That’s okay.” She peered up with wide, dark, elf eyes. “I messed up three times.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. But Hannah messed up four times, so I felt better.”

Adam grinned and tweaked her nose. “You little stinker!”

Emily giggled.

Adam rounded the kitchen island and embraced his little girl. That’s how it was, Adam realized—this hierarchy of relationships in the Mitchell home. Dylan was hard work with little payoff. Next came Victoria. He still loved her, but these days things were sweet one minute and sour the next. The sour parts often involved Dylan.

Adam wanted to
leave
the world’s toughest job at the end of the day. He did
not
want to come home to it. But Emily was a delight. So easy.

“Emily’s been invited to Hannah’s birthday party.”

“She has, huh?” He gave Emily a squeeze.

“Hannah’s mom says she can take her home after school. But I told Emily she had to ask you first.”

Emily spun like a gyroscope. Adam loved the delight she took in the smallest of things.

“Oh, please, Daddy! Please let me go! I promise I’ll do my chores and my homework and . . . everything! Please!” Her smile was big, her dimples in just the right places, and her excitement lightened the whole room.

Adam asked Victoria, “Has she committed any crimes or misdemeanors lately?”

“No, she’s been very good. She even cleaned her room without being asked.”

“Yeah, but not by throwing everything in your closet, right, Emily?”

The little elf smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, all right. But you owe me a really big hug.”

Emily squealed and stretched her arms. “Yes! Thank you, Daddy!”

As Emily threw her arms around Adam’s neck, Dylan ducked into the kitchen to grab an apple. He stared at his father embracing Emily. His sister took center stage, as always. Dylan felt his teeth clamp together.
He always gives her whatever she wants. He won’t even enter a race with me.

Dylan knew he was invisible to his father, but he saw his mom looking at him. She usually noticed him. His father never did. Except to shut him down.

Dylan turned his back on his father and retreated to his bedroom.

He didn’t slam the door. If he had, the house would have shaken.

Chapter Three

Monday morning, Adam entered the kitchen at 7:10 and reached for the nearly full pot of French roast.
The problem with morning is that it comes before my first cup of coffee.

Sundays were supposed to be restful, Adam knew, but yesterday had been tense. When Dylan didn’t want to attend church, Adam had to insist, and Dylan pouted through Sunday dinner. Adam came down hard. So Victoria objected, and Adam told her that Dylan needed to grow up and stop sulking when life didn’t go his way. Victoria was convinced Dylan and Emily heard their loud exchange. A frigid wind blew through the Mitchell household all that night.

Now Victoria sat at the kitchen table sipping her own morning coffee. Her weak smile told him she was still unhappy but probably wouldn’t come after him with a steak knife.

He ate a quick piece of toast and a bowl of Wheaties, then went through the living room and paid his habitual homage to Steve Bartkowski. Steve was ageless. He demanded nothing of Adam and reminded him of his childhood fantasies. Back then, Adam dreamed of becoming a football player or an astronaut. As he pulled out of the driveway, he thought of the boys who’d dreamed of becoming cops and were now businessmen. Maybe when they saw him, they imagined Adam was living the dream.

Yeah, right.

A cop’s job wasn’t easy. So why did being a husband and father seem far tougher?

The usual buzz of conversation filled the muster room at the sheriff’s office, punctuated by laughter as the deputies shared favorite stories they’d rehashed many times while they waited for their shift meeting to begin. The room was a white cinder-block box crammed with fourteen fake wood folding tables in two rows, a narrow aisle between, and a podium in front. No one could mistake it for an executive boardroom.

Still, the stark walls and camaraderie were a familiar solace, and when Adam entered the muster room, he felt more at home than he’d felt with his family yesterday.

Adam and Shane sat next to each other on uncomfortable black stacking chairs, as they had for the last thirteen years, Styrofoam coffee cups, notepads, and pens in front of them. Ahead and to their left sat twenty-three-year-old David Thomson, fresh faced, looking like a grad student playing cop. Ten other deputies, eight men and two women, sat around them, two per table.

Adam turned to Shane. “Hey, I’m grillin’ steaks on Saturday. What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna come over and eat one. Maybe two.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He leaned forward. “David, you’ve got no life. Why don’t you come too?”

“I’ve got a life.”

“Yeah? What are you doin’ this weekend?”

“Uh . . . I’m, uh . . . Well, it depends on whether—”

“Right. See you Saturday.” Adam and Shane laughed. David smiled sheepishly.

Sergeant Murphy—a stocky, savvy veteran—began roll call. “Okay, let’s get started. First, Deputy David Thomson has survived his rookie year.”

Applause broke out. Adam raised a hand for a high five. David grinned in embarrassment and raised his hand to acknowledge the praise.

“You know what that means,” Shane said. “Now you can start using real bullets!”

Everyone laughed. Meanwhile a uniformed officer walked in the door, recognized only by Adam and Shane.

“Now I want to introduce you to Deputy Thomson’s new partner, Nathan Hayes. He’s joining our shift. He has eight years’ experience with the Fulton County Sheriff’s Department in Atlanta. But he grew up here in Albany. Let’s welcome him.”

The cops clapped for Hayes. He waved as he sat in the empty chair by David, then extended his hand to him.

“Unfortunately Deputy Hayes already had a run-in with a couple of our gang members. I’m sure you’ve heard the story. I don’t know department policy in Atlanta, Hayes, but in Albany we recommend staying
inside
vehicles on the highway.”