Protect and Serve Don't Need A Hero Read Free Page B

brought me to the hospital in the first place. I tried to sit up and learned how sensitive my foot was just as soon as it moved. “Oh my fucking God, Rat! The bastard with a gun hit me!” Okay, so I freaked out. I could hear myself screaming. “The kids! Where’s the car? The kids!”
    “Hush, kitten! Easy, Pete!” Rat made a lot of hushing sounds and put his big, rough hands on my shoulders, but it was too late.
    I heard the squeaky sounds of nurse shoes at a dead run. A little bitty nurse wearing disgustingly cheerful yellow scrubs pelted into the room with a syringe at the ready. She jammed it into the IV port before I could protest.
    Not that I gave a flying fuck. I had horrified visions of Angelina and Mikey, trapped in their car seats while the sounds of thousands of gunshots ripped through the Mercedes’ interior. I’d been buried in the car cushions, but the kids had been protected by zip point shit.
    Hot, wet stuff -- probably blood -- had spattered all over me, and a glob of sticky, purplish goo had plopped right in front of my nose. The image wouldn’t leave my head. All I could imagine was that the blood and brains had been Angelina’s and Mikey’s all over the car and me. Yeah, so tell me you wouldn’t be hysterical. I fucking dare you.
    Rat pressed me down into the mattress and got my attention. His eyes were all pained, and you could just smell the sorrow coming off him. “Angelina’s okay! She’s with Marissa over at Wolfson. Mikey got hit in a lung. He was critical all night, but they just upgraded him to serious. He’s going to make it.”
    I just knew it was all my fault, and I started to cry. Marissa would never let me baby-sit again. I dreamt of having my own litter and owning that cool little bungalow, strawberry kitchen curtains, and…
     

 
     
     
    Chapter Three
     
    Apollo’s blog
     
    I hate recording this blog for the shrinks to analyze, but if that’s what it takes to get back on the streets doing my job, I’ll put up with just about anything. Okay, here goes. What a weird day. I started out watching Jeff’s new wife Pam holding his hand and staring intently into his sleeping face. The sweet-faced brunette didn’t seem strong enough to be a cop’s wife, but there she was, calmly holding his hand with a stack of his favorite crime drama books on the nightstand waiting for him. A plate of Jeff’s beloved peanut butter cookies -- obviously homemade, even to a scorch mark on one edge -- said more than words how she catered to her husband’s needs. She’d probably feed them to him crumb by crumb if that was what it took.
    I envied him, and for the first time in my life, I was lonely. I’m a solitary guy by nature, so loneliness in me is like asking a fish to sprout feathers and fly.
    Jeff had been in surgery all morning, where a special eye surgeon had done his best to put Jeff’s eye socket back together. Amazingly, Jeff was not going to be blind at all, but just a bit less attractive to the ladies. Not that it mattered to Pam. She’d already declared he’d been too handsome for his own good, and she was glad to see she wouldn’t have to worry about feminine badge bunnies circling her man.
    However, she did spare a glance at me and frowned. “You’ve been here all morning. Go home.” She flicked her fingers, shooing me out. “Jeff will probably sleep away the rest of the day, and he won’t be much company until tomorrow at least. Go refinish a desk or something.”
    I chuckled softly and left her to care for my partner. Of course Jeff had told his wife how I had a house only so I could have a woodworking shop in the basement garage. I spent my days off rummaging in the abandoned buildings of downtown neighborhoods, rescuing ornately carved mantles, the occasional cabinet set, and once a huge double partner’s desk set made of solid oak so massive I’d had to break down a wall to get it out on the rolling cart I carried in the back of my truck for just such finds.