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Luck And a Prayer
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Cooke Cynthia

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He took a deep breath. “There are a lot of ways to get the job done, you’ve chosen the one you’ve decided works best for you.”

“Your point?”

“You need to start doing what’s best for the department. If you want to continue working here.”

Willa’s eyes narrowed.

“There isn’t an officer in this precinct that will work with you,” he continued, treading deeper into uncharted waters. “They don’t trust you will be there for them when the chips are down.”

Like you were for my dad? Her teeth wrestled a grasp on her tongue to keep the long-unsaid words from escaping.

“You refuse to play by the rules or follow directions. We are a team here and you need to be a part of it. Out of loyalty and an obligation to your dad’s memory, I’ve given you more warnings than you’ve deserved, but now you’ve left me no choice. I’m pulling you off the street.”

“You’re what?” Incredulity rose in her voice. “I’m the best cop you’ve got.”

“You’re a loose cannon, and one of these days you’re going to get someone besides yourself hurt.”

Willa’s self-control skittered out the door. “You can’t take me off the street. I’ve got it this time. I’ve got evidence that Jack is serving up young girls—babies—as the main course at his twisted dinner parties. He’s moved onto prepubescent girls. I can’t let him do it. This has gone way beyond what he’s done to my family.”

“What kind of evidence?” he said, portraying no outward reaction to what she’d just told him. Surely, he couldn’t be that cold, that jaded.

“A videotape. I got it on one of those cameras that look like a pen.”

“One of Johnny’s gadgets, I presume. Hand it over, then go see Donna about a desk duty schedule,” he dismissed her, burying his nose back into his paperwork.

“I can’t.”

Exasperated, he looked up and let out a deep sigh.

“I don’t have it.”

“You’ve just rambled on about evidence you don’t have? Why are you wasting my time, Willa?”

“I had it. And I’ll have it back in an hour, tops!”

“Where is it?”

“I ditched it in a minister’s back pocket.”

“You what!”

“I had to get rid of it. Carlos knew something was up with the pen and I couldn’t take the chance of losing it.”

“So, you put a civilian in jeopardy? And a minister at that! You never should have gone back into that apartment without backup. This just proves my point, Willa.”

“No, it doesn’t. It proves that I’m the one with the guts to roll around in the manure and not let the stink do me in. I’m the one who got the goods on Jack and you’ll have the evidence as soon as I get it back from the Morning Star Church in Pasadena.”

Without a word the captain picked up the phone. “Send whoever is closest over to the Morning Star Church in Pasadena. I need one of those camera pens picked up from a minister. No, no name, but he was on the strip this morning. Can’t be more than one up there. I want a call as soon as we have it.”

“Then we bring Jack down,” she said triumphantly.

“So what?” he answered, his tired eyes void of emotion. “There are a hundred more Jack Paulsons ready to take his place.”

“And I’ll get them, too. But first, this slimeball is going to pay for killing my dad.”

The captain scrubbed his face with his hands. “I want you to see Louis.”

“I’m not seeing a shrink.”

“I told your mother fifteen years ago you needed counseling. Margo and I have lost countless night’s sleep worrying about you and the decisions you’ve made. We’ve done everything we could think of to help you, especially after your mother died, too. We even abided by your wishes when you refused counseling. But by God, I’m going to make sure you get it now.”

A deep well of long-lived frustration bubbled inside her. “I told you then and I’m telling you now, I don’t need to see a shrink.”

“You need to get over your father’s death or you’ll never be the cop you want to be. You’ll never be the person you can be. When was the last time you had a personal commitment to anybody or anything other than Jack Paulson?”

“Leave my personal life out of it.”

“That should be easy since you don’t have one.”

Cold fury froze Willa’s heart. “I’m the cop I want to be, now.”

“You’ll never be a good one, Willa.”

“I am good.”

He slammed both fists on his desk. “No! You’re not. As of right now, you’re a desk jockey. And if you ever want to get away from the phones, you’ll see Louis, and you’ll continue to see him until he gives you a clean bill of health.”

“I won’t!” Willa jumped to her feet. The aluminum chair crashed to the floor behind her.

Ben scowled. “You will, or you’re out of here.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Watch me.”

Willa bit back some choice words as the phone rang. Stunned, she stared at it, trying to catch her breath and calm her temper as she righted the overturned chair.

His lips tightened into a straight line as he banged the receiver into its cradle. “Your so-called evidence has headed for the hills.”

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