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  AMBER ALERT

  Barbara Winkes

  Copyright © 2016, 2019 by Barbara Winkes

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  (Special Edition)

  For D.

  Chapter One

  I don’t often have nightmares. I can go from an all-nighter out in the field to a deep and restful sleep, shutting out everything that’s ugly in the world. In Major Crimes we work on murders with Homicide, kidnappings with the FBI, in addition to our own cases. There are many evil minds out there. You can’t catch them all. I’ve learned to value the accomplishments, and accept the limits of my profession. Sometimes, a day off and a few hours of sleep make all the difference in the world.

  When the shrill sound of my alarm calls me back to consciousness, it’s much too soon. I fumble blindly for the annoying object, trying to find the snooze button. Ten more minutes. It slips from my hand and lands on the floor, still ringing.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” a sleepy voice mumbles to my side. I jump a little. I’d been so immersed in my dream world earlier that I forgot I’m not alone.

  “Unfortunately, no, I’m not. I’ve got an important appointment.”

  I reach down to pick up the alarm clock and turn off the sound, now fully awake. It’s three in the afternoon. There’s not much time.

  “You didn’t tell me.” I have Cal’s attention now.

  “The subject didn’t come up.”

  We share a long, lazy smile. The temptation is great, but there’s no way I can give in to it now. I promised to bring beer and appetizers. I stand up, still a little wobbly. A hot shower will do wonders, I know from experience.

  “You can stay,” I tell him. “Just lock the door behind you.”

  I can read the indulgence in his expression. Of course he’ll lock the door, twice, because he’s concerned. We’ve both seen more than our share of how crime can intrude on a person’s life, abruptly and violently. He knows I can take care of myself, but that doesn’t make him any less concerned.

  I’m drifting.

  Shower…Beer, chips and the presents. Under no circumstances, I can forget the presents.

  “Where are you going?” Cal asks.

  “Birthday party. I can’t be late.”

  The hot water raining down on my skin feels amazing, and it takes a lot of restraint to cut the shower short. Yesterday, I chased a suspect down several blocks. My body keeps reminding me that I’m not in my twenties anymore.

  I barely turn on the hairdryer and then pull my hair back in a ponytail, even though it’s still dripping. I put on jeans and a shirt, returning to the kitchen to find that Cal has made coffee. I love this guy. It’s not an exaggeration. Forget everything you’ve seen on TV about the locals hating to have the Feds on a case with them. Cal and I work together perfectly, not just on the job. He’d be someone to marry…if he wasn’t married already, that is. Come to think of it, my life is fine as it is.

  We don’t talk much as we finish our coffee, comfortable in each other’s presence. Then it’s time to go. We share a quick kiss before I draw the front door shut behind me.

  * * * *

  I discover that Sunday afternoon is not the best moment for some quick grocery shopping, and of course, I end up being late. I park behind Chrissie’s SUV, barely missing its bumper. I’ll have to make two trips to the house—that much is for sure. Rachel greets me at the door with a hug, and then I pick up Rosie who is undoubtedly having the most exciting day of her two-year-old life. Balloons and candles and cake, oh my. Today, it’s just family, for which I’m grateful. I love my niece, but I’m not sure if I could handle a gang of small children today.

  Chrissie appears, shaking her head with an indulgent smile. She probably expected me to be late, even though she doesn’t know the exact reason.

  “Have you all had a great day so far?” I ask Rosie, and she nods emphatically, light brown pigtails bouncing.

  “Well, it’s going to get even better. I got the gluten-free chips and the Corona the moms ordered, and guess what, a bag full of gifts. Guess for whom?”

  She squeals. Oh yes, I’m awake now.

  There’s LEGO, a learning game, a little plush dog, crayons. As usual, I was rushed when going shopping. I also have no idea what’s really going on in the mind of a two-year-old, so I had to take a chance that there might be something in there she likes. I know I did okay.

  On the first floor deck, Paula, who is a close friend of Chrissie and Rachel, and Rachel’s parents, are waiting for us. After everyone’s been provided with snacks and beverages, I have a chance to sit back and contemplate the scenery.

  Chrissie, younger than me by two years, and I, are polar opposites. We’ve often joked that one of us was switched at birth. I remember her playing “tea party” with her friends while I was hanging out with the boys from the neighborhood, playing football, and climbing trees. One day, I brought home a frog. Chrissie screamed so loudly she scared the hell out of our parents.

  The differences persisted later in life. I went to the police academy while Chrissie studied economics and later stayed with the university to teach. She met Rachel in college. She wasn’t Chrissie’s first girlfriend, but the first we got to see more and more often. They moved in together. They got married, and eventually decided they wanted a baby.

  She and Rachel have high hopes for the world that Rosie is growing up in. Sure, it got better in some ways. They were able to get legally married six years ago. They have the protective circle of their friends and family. The staff of the daycare in which Rosie started doesn’t blink an eye at same-sex parents. Then again, there will always be decent people, and there’ll be assholes. Chrissie and I were lucky to grow up with parents who belonged in the former category, kind individuals with the social intelligence to adapt to a new normal. Not everyone is like that.

  I push the uncomfortable thoughts aside in favor of getting a second beer.

  Chrissie and Rachel serve dinner, and soon the best moment of Rosie’s day arrives in the form of the cupcakes that Ella, Rachel’s mom, made for desert. They’re chocolate, with raspberry cream icing that is piped on to look like roses. Predictably, more icing ends up on her face than in her mouth.

  I’ve long decided that being an aunt is the best deal of all. You get to witness all the cuteness, build LEGO towers on the floor, and then you hand them back to their parents. Don’t get me wrong, I can change a diaper when I have to. I’m just glad it doesn’t happen on a daily basis.

  “How’s work?” Rachel asks. “Your new partner is doing all right?”

  “Oh, he’ll be fine.”

  The workload has been so crazy in the past few days that I forgot I even told her. The subject of Joey is a touchy one. I hope that won’t become literal. No, really. He’s new to Major Crimes, new to being a detective actually. At first, I wasn’t so happy to be stuck with him, but he’s a quick learner. Some things that might earn you points with the boys’ club will not go over well with the only woman in the squad. I don’t know what Lieutenant Walsh was thinking, that I’d go easier on a newbie?

  I notice the smile Rachel and Chrissie are sharing, and shake my head.

  “Come on, guys.” I understand it has to sound like a one-eighty to when I was first ranting about him, and what they are thinking, but it’s not true. He’s cute, but I am in a relationship. “It’s not like that. Hell, he’s barely past thirty.”

  “Nev
er stopped you before,” Chrissie says, and I roll my eyes at her.

  “Not this time.”

  She doesn’t know about Cal, only Mom did. It’s funny how different parents are. She never judged either of us, even when she didn’t approve of our choices. Okay, so she probably disapproved less of Chrissie’s coming-out, and more of me having an affair with a married man, but you get the point. She didn’t care about people talking. It’s only been a little over two years, and days like this, I really miss her.

  Rosie sits on my lap, now wearing her PJs. She is about to fall asleep, but fighting it, too afraid there could be something she’d miss on this fabulous day.

  I, on the other hand, feel rested, not to mention I have a day off coming up. Before going home, I might stop for a couple drinks, put some distance between myself and that last case. The Cat Burglar is the one bar where I can be sure to run into a colleague of mine. I can have small-talk if I want to and be left alone if I need it. I think it’s the latter today, just to come down from the intensity of the past few days. It’s only three blocks away from my apartment, so I can walk home.

  Sometimes, I tell Chrissie and Rachel about my day job, about the bantering in the office, absurd stories, and the successes.

  I never talk about the casualties—I’ve got Cal to share that with me. I would have seen him tonight, but he has some important dinner to go to. He has political ambitions, which is a good thing in my book, because he gives a damn.

  I don’t mind spending a night by myself.

  Chapter Two

  “Why don’t we leave that for tomorrow?” Rachel suggests when Chrissie starts taking down the balloons. She is right—they both have been up since 6:00 a.m. this morning, and Chrissie can barely think straight. There’s no pun intended here. She takes Rachel’s hand and steps down from the chair.

  “That was a lovely party, right?”

  Rachel smiles. “Two years. Sometimes it’s hard to believe.”

  “I know what you mean.” To Chrissie, it means that there are just a few years left until Rosie will go to school. The prospect scares her. There could be bullies, intolerant parents or teachers. Chrissie harbors many fears for the people who matter in her life, most of all, for Rosie who is a miracle as far as Chrissie is concerned. She is aware that it’s impossible for their daughter to go through life without any heartache and pain, but the mere thought is enough to make her nauseated. The world is changing, but it’s not changing fast enough. She’s heard enough stories from friends, other couples with or without children, to conclude that.

  Chrissie is afraid for Ann as well, her sister who is walking in a world that she has little understanding of. She’s afraid that Ann could get hurt on the job, or get involved with someone dangerous, that she is drinking too much. She ruefully admits that these worries have grown stronger after the death of their parents, within only a few years.

  She can’t call her mother on a whim and ask for parenting advice, or discuss politics with her father—or vice versa. While Rachel’s parents have been a great source of support, it just isn’t the same. Grief has a way of cruelly shining a spotlight on all your inadequacies.

  “You’re right,” she says, shaking herself out of her contemplation. “Let’s call it a night.”

  After a shower, she tiptoes to Rosie’s room, opening the door quietly. There’s a faint light from the Winnie the Pooh nightlight, and the fluorescent stars on the ceiling. Rosie sleeps peacefully, with a smile on her face, the little plush dog named Puppy wrapped in her tiny arms. Chrissie could watch her all night.

  She always wanted children, as long as she can remember, and she’s grateful to have found a woman who shared that wish, who has been sharing her life for nearly fifteen years now. Gratitude makes her smile as she lies in the dark later, with Rachel’s arms around her. There are some things bigger than fear and grief. Some days, she can make herself believe that everything is going to be all right.

  * * * *

  Rosie is not a happy camper when it’s time to get up for daycare on Monday morning. Chrissie knows that it’s their fault: they let her stay up longer than usual, not to mention the sugar. You only celebrate your second birthday once in your life. Maybe they could have indulged themselves and keep her home today, but they don’t want to stir up any discontentment. Rosie only goes two days a week, and she’s usually happy to see her little friends.

  This morning she’s in a mood. It’s not even improved by her new dress and sandals which were a gift from her grandparents. It’s pink, the sandals purple with a pink flower on each of them. They have talked about this, but decided there’s time to cut down on the gender clichés, because for now, it’s too damn cute. Rosie is a strong-minded little girl. They are not worried.

  Her preferred answer to whatever the question is a clear “No!” It’s a challenge to coax her into eating a few bites, and a few sips of milk. There’ll be lunch at daycare, but Rachel packs a sandwich, cut into manageable pieces, and slices of apple and carrots in case she gets hungry.

  Louise, who runs the daycare center, knows that many of her little clients are not morning persons.

  By the time Rosie is strapped into her car seat, she’s a little more awake. Chrissie has just pulled out of the parking spot when she shouts “Oh no!”

  “What is it, honey?”

  “Puppy! Forgot Puppy!”

  “Oh, Rosie, we’re running late.” She can’t argue with the tears welling up in Rosie’s eyes.

  “It’s okay,” Rachel assures her. “Louise won’t mind a few minutes.”

  They turn around to get Puppy, because all else would end in a minor catastrophe. If there is something Rachel and Chrissie have both learned in their two years of being parents—it’s hard to say no.

  Back at home, they take care of dishes, leftover decorations and empty bottles, having a second breakfast afterwards. Chrissie loves moments like this, when life slows down for a bit. She watches Rachel stir her coffee, tucking a honey-blonde strand of hair behind her ear. That strand always refuses to stay there.

  She’s as much in love now as she was on the first day they met on campus. Chrissie remembers her walking by one sunny September morning, back straight, and confident. Chrissie turned around and stared. She didn’t think they’d meet again, but that afternoon, they found themselves in the same French class. They went for a coffee afterwards, stayed there until the café closed. Love is like that, when you’re sure, it doesn’t take a lot of time. Their college years were easy, aside from the fact that Chrissie sometimes struggled to fulfill the language requirement, while Rachel was on her third foreign language and eager for more. The real test came after graduation, when Chrissie was offered a position at the university. To Rachel, the idea had felt restrictive. She wanted to see more of the world before settling down in an office, go to Europe and become a translator. She wanted Chrissie to come with her, even though she knew it was never going to happen. They’d been trying to tell themselves they weren’t miserable apart, working on their individual careers, but the distance was hard to take. They agreed to take a break for awhile which lasted until the day of Rachel’s return.

  They haven’t been apart for longer than a couple of days since.

  They’ve been blessed. It would be so easy to just close their eyes and minds to the outside world, but Chrissie feels that they have a responsibility to stay visible and to speak out. They donate to charities trying to fight hateful lies, and they go to Pride events. They do what they can.

  “It’s going to be warm over the weekend. Maybe we could get away for a couple of days.”

  “Somewhere by the sea…” Rachel says longingly. It’s been awhile since they have had a vacation. Prior to Rosie’s birth, they had both been working a lot in order to have their finances straight for the most important project in their lives. Walking on the beach and collecting sea shells. Chrissie could easily imagine that.

  “Let’s find a B&B right now,” she declares, getting up to
get her laptop. Rachel reaches for her and tugs. They kiss, softly, then with more passion. It’s another two hours before they’ll pick up Rosie. Maybe booking the trip can wait a little longer…

  * * * *

  I carry my peanut butter sandwich and coffee to the living room, turn on the TV and turn it off again as some politician sounds off on the dangers of contraception. “Dude, you’ve never been a single woman. Or any woman,” I say to the TV, knowing I’d make as much of an impact if I’d said it in his face—none. Hell, it’s not like they have any clear concept of women anyway, other than their urge to control them.

  Not anything I want to hear about on a day off. The sun is shining through the blinds, and I lean back, sipping my coffee, pleased with myself and the world around me. I did leave the bar after a couple of drinks and a bit of small-talk with two Homicide detectives who were commiserating about their boss. I will get the car once I’m showered and dressed, and I might see Cal later, ask him how the dinner went. There are too few women in politics, granted, but from a pragmatic point of view…He is someone who gets the job done. Georgia would make a great First Lady someday. She deserves the credit, not just because of my own lingering guilt for sleeping with her husband.

  Cup in hand, I walk around the apartment lazily, thinking it could use a little dusting. I could spend the day on the balcony reading. There’s a plan. I haven’t had time to open a book in weeks. On the other hand, I could go in briefly and catch up on paperwork… no. I shake my head to myself. It would be sad if I didn’t have anything else to do on a vacation day. I’m not that bad.

  Besides, I need to go grocery shopping if I want to have something to eat over the next few days. I try the TV again, this time find myself a crime drama with a female cop. I shake my head about that too, but in a somewhat affectionate manner. Chrissie and Rachel watch that kind a lot. If I have any cliché about lesbians, it’s that they really like their cop dramas.