LIBERTY'S PROMISE
Chapter 1
"What the hell happened to you?" Dani asked.
My friend and current roomie, Daniella Hernandez, who had recently been promoted to detective on the Atlanta P.D., welcomed me into her family's home, a small brick Cape with bright red shutters and pots of leggy pansies on the doorstep. Situated in a middle-class neighborhood of Brooklyn, the house looked well-cared for and cozy, but the details—as well as her question—were all but lost in the fog of fatigue.
I'd been flying since early morning and hadn't slept the night before, concerned about Dani's cryptic call for me to come to New York asap, and dreading traveling by air—my least favorite mode of transportation. My deep breathing and meditation techniques I'd been learning from my therapist, Doctor Carlson, had done little to make me less anxious on the three-hour flight.
"It's a long story," I answered with a weak smile. Her eyes widened, and a grave expression covered her face when she took a good look at me.
"Holy crap, Brinn, you look like you've been beaten to within an inch of your life."
I dragged my suitcase into an entryway that led to a small family room with pale yellow walls and parquet wood floors. The dining table sat in the center of a high-ceilinged room, surrounded by six chairs and loaded with paperwork and unopened mail. A slightly dusty chandelier hung above the table, and it was clear Dani had been rifling through papers searching for something.
I briefly explained the events of the past several days, leaving out the most harrowing details and the number of times I could have been blown up or killed at the hands of Derek and Billy Ray Dutton. Even filled with the satisfaction of having saved a girl's life, I couldn't find peace in my mind. The throbbing in my shoulder and eye, and the sting of a split lip reminded me of how close I'd come to being dead. I rubbed my temples and winced at the tender bruise on the side of my face.
The scenes of the past few days on the mountain played on a constant loop, leaving me questioning whether I'd made the right choices, followed my training correctly, done what any good cop would have done in the same circumstances. I'd taken risks that cost me a memorable beating, but I'd successfully—with a little help from my friends—brought down a couple of dangerous drug-dealers and rescued a girl from a life of addiction and abuse.
At least now she had a sliver of hope.
The thought brought a flicker of a smile, paining my split lip but softening the knot in my stomach. My relief came from, first, knowing I'd been able to give the girl a second chance at a life worth living. Second, that Justin and Cody—regardless of any confusion over feelings—cared enough to once again put their lives on the line for me and team up to come to my rescue. And third, that I'd made my first official collar as a rookie cop on the Atlanta, P.D.
Dani's request for help was the reason Justin and Cody had followed me up to my cabin—a stroke of luck for me. Things might have turned out differently with the Dutton brothers and Angie—the young girl the two thugs had held captive—if Justin and Cody hadn't tracked me down. Dani had reached out to Justin for him to get a message to me that she needed my help in New York.
Immediately upon my return from what was supposed to have been a restful retreat to the mountains I once called home, Justin booked me the flight to New York City without hesitation. He had wanted me to stay home and recover for a few days—as did my parents—but they all knew it was futile to try and stop me from helping a friend, and he was as worried about Dani as I was.
"Sorry I couldn't have been there to back you up," Dani said, genuine concern and regret behind her eyes. "Unfortunately, I'm needed here." She tossed a hand up at the stacks of envelopes and papers strewn across the table. "My mother asked me to find my father's life insurance policy. He says he won't rest until he knows she has it." Dani's plump lips turned upward slightly. "My mother has been a schoolteacher for thirty years, yet she's never been able to teach my father a thing about record keeping. He insists he has a 'system.'" She air quoted the final word and rolled her eyes.
Dani shook her head, grumbled under her breath, and turned her back on the mess. She wore faded jeans and a pale gray sweater that did little to hide her small waist and natural curves. Chestnut waves were piled into a messy bun, strands escaping and framing her face. Normally upbeat and composed, and usually adorned with glossy lip color, her exotic eyes accentuated with dark liner, the stranger in front of me wore no makeup and her perpetually spunky outlook had been replaced with a tired and strained expression.
She led me upstairs toward a room at the end of a hallway. Following her along the corridor was like walking through her past, each wall decorated with a lifetime of pictures of her family, the focus on her and her brothers at various stages of growth. There were pictures of curly-headed babies, Dani at about five, nine, and eleven in a Girl Scout uniform, in middle school playing field hockey, and then in high school—cheerleading. I smiled at the thought and realized how little I knew about my friend's past. Her brothers were shown in football uniforms, ice hockey gear, graduation gowns, and police uniforms, all smiling faces with beautiful brown eyes—except for one brother, whose eyes were a lovely hazel like their father.
Dani had mentioned her mother was from Puerto Rico and her father was third generation cop and New York Irish. A portrait of the two of them showed a couple glowing with love and pride. Her father looked like a happy but rugged sort of man, deep creases around friendly gray-green eyes, his white hair cut in a neat flat-top. Round-faced with a ruddy complexion he gave the impression he enjoyed good food and a spirited drink. The children mostly took after their mother with her dark wavy hair, long-lashed wide eyes, and a distinct note of mischief in her smile.
Dani entered the room at the end of the hall and closed the door behind us. She moved a pile of sheets and blankets from a couch—clearly where she'd been sleeping the past several days. Seeing me eye the large table covered in quilting materials that took up most of the room, she arched a dark brow.
"This used to be my room, but after I moved out, Mom turned it into a craft room. She thought I was the least likely to move back in." A sad smile slipped into place as she surveyed the space. A sewing machine was surrounded by transparent, well-marked containers filled with a variety of colored thread and stacks of fabric cut into small squares. Pretty but amateurish paintings of flowers and sunsets graced the walls, signed with a flourish by Maria Hernandez O'Malley, obviously Dani's mother.
"So, how's your dad doing?" I asked, wondering what it was like for Dani to grow up with the name Dani O'Malley—looking more Latina than Irish by far. It made sense she'd changed her name when she left home.
Dani's expression grew dark. "Not great. He's still in critical condition after his heart attack, but at least he's awake and talking. They want to do bypass surgery, but they're waiting for him to be more stable. My mom hasn't left his side except to come home to shower and eat when I manage to drag her out of the hospital."
"I'm sorry," I said, reaching out to lay a hand over hers. "What can I do to help?"
A weak smile flashed across her face. "I knew I could count on you." Then her expression dimmed. "There's nothing anyone can do for my dad but wait and pray," she said, her brows furrowing. "But I've got another problem I'm hoping you can help me with."
"Anything," I said.
"You might want to hear me out before you agree."
Over the next hour, Dani filled me in on a story she'd spent the past three years hiding. A story that made me see her in a new light and explained everything about her that had been a mystery. Like why she rarely dated, and how big a deal it was that she'd hooked up with Cody. It also explained why she had little tolerance for anyone who tried to tell her what to do or how to do it, and why she held herself in a perpetual state of hyper-vigilance, noticing everything at once every time she set foot in a room. She lived on guard and kept her personal life and feelings to herself, a trait we shared and one that made us good roommates. But now I understood why she also spent a lot of time looking over her shoulder and why taking her mother's last name was about more than respecting her heritage.
"Connor was my sergeant. I should have known better." Dani tucked a few strays over her ear. Without makeup, she looked younger, softer—more vulnerable than I'd ever seen her. "By the time I figured out what a psycho he was, I was in too deep and couldn't tell anyone." Her voice strained with the telling of details of his abuse, his control, his stalking and threatening behavior when she tried to break off the relationship. "He convinced me no one would believe me over him. I was just a rookie cop who would have looked like a ladder-climber." Seeing me frown, she clarified, "You know, sleeping with the boss to move up the ranks."
"But what about your brothers...and your parents? Wouldn't they have believed you? I'm sure they wouldn't have wanted to see you being hurt by this monster."
She looked down at her knees. "I was ashamed. I should have seen it sooner. And I couldn't risk him going after my family."
In truth, I understood. So much of my own life had been spent alone, worrying no one would believe me about what had happened to me and feeling ashamed, guilty, and scared. If anyone could understand her dilemma, it was me.
"Connor threatened to ruin my career. He said if I told my father or my brothers, he'd ruin them too. I believed him. He and the captain were old buddies. He knew everyone right up the line to the commissioner. And I had no proof. Connor was too smart. He never left incriminating messages, texts, or emails—nothing that could be traced back to him. He would just show up wherever I was. I later found out he'd cloned my phone and was tracking my GPS. I knew the only way to escape was to get as far away from him as I could and start over somewhere else. I took my mother's maiden name of Hernandez and moved south. I haven't been back since."
A light dawned and I gave a nod of acknowledgment. "Let me guess. Connor knows you're back."
"He keeps showing up at the hospital." A long sigh deflated her, and Dani's shoulders drooped like a wilting flower. "I can't even visit my dad without running into this jack-ass at every turn. Of course, he's not being obvious about it. It's customary for cops to take shifts at the hospital to show support when a fellow officer is down, but Connor is hanging around like a buzzard—a mean-spirited, manipulative, vicious buzzard," she added, her jaw tight.
"Has he threatened you?" The notion of her being the victim of a stalker brought back my own experience, and my stomach clenched reflexively.
"Oh, he acted like nothing had happened. Like I was crazy for thinking there was ever a problem. He was all like, 'How's Atlanta? I heard about your promotion to detective. I didn't think you had it in you, babe.'" Her voice had taken on an annoyingly deep and sarcastic tone, completely unlike her own. "All the while he was wearing this smug grin because he knows that I know it means he's still keeping tabs on me and can find me at any time. When I called him out, he...he got in my face and said he would always find me and that I'd never be free of him."
A chill ran down my spine. Roy Stockman, my kidnapper and captor, had said the same words to me. Fear seeped into my bones like a cold, dark fog at my back. I sensed the same threatening promise, but I shook off the urge to run...to hide. Stockman was gone—dead at my hands—and now, Dani needed me.
"Do you want me to run interference? Distract him while you see your father?"
"No. The exact opposite," she said, a determined look in her eye. "I want you to stalk him."