Compromised Read Free Page A

at you, but at the moment . . . well, honey, there’s nothing you can do about it.”
    “I’ve got to pull myself together and figure out what happened. Some cop killer is walking around free as a bird.”
    “I don’t think you can force yourself to remember, Stephanie. You’ve got to try to relax and give yourself time to heal. You’re no good to yourself or Yana while you’re lying here, and the doctors said you’d be here at least another week. That’s my best advice,” she said with a weak smile. “Not that you listen to anything I say.”
    My first thought was to check myself out of the hospital, but department protocol had to be followed and I knew that it would be quite some time before I got the okay to return to active duty. “This blows! It really does. Someone shot my partner and—”
    “Yes, sweetheart, it blows, but you’re alive and well, with a handsome husband and an adorable little son. Things could be worse, a hell of a lot worse.” She patted me on the leg. “I made a delicious eggplant parmigiana. I’ll bring you some as soon as the doctor says that you can eat normally.”
    “That sounds good. I hope you didn’t cheap out on the mozzarella.”
    “Of course not. Why would you—”
    “Did you use Polly-O?”
    “Yes, Stephanie, I paid full price for Polly-O even though the store brand was on sale for half the price, just because I know you’re such a pain in the ass.”
    “I’m not a pain in the ass. I have a discriminating palate.”
    “Of course you do. Anything that makes you happy makes me happy.”
    “Stop patronizing me.”
    “I’m not.”
    “The store brands aren’t as good as Polly-O.”
    “Eaten fresh, yes, I agree, but melted and covered with my homemade sauce . . . I can’t taste the difference.”
    “I guess your palate isn’t as refined as mine,” I said snobbishly.
    “Ha! My palate’s not refined says the girl who eats from street carts. You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
    “What about the Romano cheese?”
    “What about it?” she asked.
    “Did you buy that pregrated sawdust the supermarket tries to pass off as a dairy product, or did you buy the imported stuff?”
    “Honey, where is this coming from? When do I ever scrimp on my ingredients? I got a nice fresh chunk of Locatelli. I’ll grate it when I need it. My goodness, you’re certainly in a bitchy mood. Maybe the doctor should check to see if that head injury threw your hormones out of whack.”
    “Gus won’t talk about the shooting,” I griped.
    “Ah,” she said. “So that’s what this is all about.”
    I shrugged.
    “Well, of course he won’t. The last time it was brought up you had to be sedated. Are you crazy, Stephanie? You were out cold for nearly a week. Put your health at greater risk, why don’t you? I mean, my God, how stubborn can you be? The city is literally crawling with police officers looking for the shooter, and the story is running on the news day and night. Let your colleagues do their jobs.”
    “I’m impatient.”
    “I’m impatient,” she parroted. “You know what? How about if I tell you a story.”
    “You mean like when I was a little girl?” I asked.
    “Yes. Exactly like when you were a little girl, you ornery kid.”
    “Will it help me get out of here faster?”
    “Yeah, of course it will,” she replied with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “Dream on, princess.”
    “Then I’d like a better offer.”
    “I could sing you a lullaby.”
    “On second thought . . . I’ll stick with the story.”
    “Rotten kid.” She showed me the back of her hand. “It’s a true story. It’s why your father became a policeman.”
    I searched my memory, the portion of it that I could access, anyway. My father had told me so many stories about his early days on the force and I knew how very strongly he believed in the criminal justice system, but the catalyst that had made him become a cop in the first place . . . “I’ve got to hear this.”
    Ma helped me