PART 2
Galvin hit Donna before I could reach her. He caught her forearm, and the flash drive flew across the concrete. I drove my shoulder into his ribs and knocked him sideways into a trash can. “Run, Donna!” I shouted. Hargrove grabbed me from behind. I hooked my heel around his ankle, dropped my weight, and sent both of us crashing against the SUV. Deckard snatched the drive. For one second I thought he might hand it to me. Instead, Hargrove barked, “Pocket it!” Deckard obeyed. Sirens closed in. Galvin had called before the struggle started. Two marked cruisers rolled into the station, and Hargrove instantly changed his voice. “Officer needs assistance! Suspect attacked us during a stolen-vehicle recovery!” I stared at the arriving patrolmen. “I’m Captain Amamira Brightwater.
Verify it with headquarters.” Hargrove twisted my arm and snapped a cuff around one wrist. “She’s impersonating command staff.” Donna screamed, “He’s lying!” Galvin shoved her back through the store door. The younger patrol officer looked at my credentials, then Hargrove. “Lieutenant, maybe we should confirm—” “You want to argue with me on scene?” Hargrove snapped. The officer backed off. That told me exactly how deep fear ran here. I was taken to headquarters in the rear of a cruiser while Hargrove rode ahead with Deckard. By the time city attorney Angela Reeves confirmed my appointment, a report claimed I had assaulted three officers, resisted detention, and interfered with an investigation. Chief Cornelius Marsh met me in a conference room with a sympathetic frown. “Captain Brightwater, this is an ugly misunderstanding.”
“Three of your officers demanded five hundred dollars from me.” “That’s a serious accusation.” “It’s a recorded fact.” I held out my hand. “Return my phone.” Marsh’s expression barely changed. “The phone was damaged during the incident.” My stomach went cold. “And the station video?” “Apparently the cameras were offline.” He said it too smoothly. I was released, but Marsh ordered me temporarily assigned to administrative review in a basement office “until the complaint was resolved.” The humiliation was deliberate. An hour later, a man in a rumpled navy suit stepped into the basement, locked the door, and placed an Internal Affairs credential on my desk. “Ezekiel Sandival,” he said. “Do not react.” He slid a tiny recorder toward me. “Donna Fenwick contacted us three months ago. We’ve been watching Hargrove’s group,
but witnesses keep backing out.” “They took her drive.” Sandival gave me the first good news of the day. “That drive was a decoy.” He opened his laptop. Six years of clips filled the screen: Hargrove, Galvin, and other officers stopping drivers at the same pumps, demanding cash, threatening impound, passing envelopes into a precinct charity box. My anger hardened. “Follow the money.” “We did.” Sandival clicked again. The benevolent fund transferred money into consulting companies, campaign committees, and a property trust. The authorized signer was Chief Cornelius Marsh. Before I could speak, the basement door handle rattled. Sandival closed the laptop. Marsh entered with Hargrove behind him. The chief’s friendly mask was gone. “Captain,” he said, “you’ve had a difficult first day.” His eyes dropped to Sandival. “And you have terrible taste in company.”
Hargrove tossed a clear evidence bag onto my desk. Inside was Donna’s decoy drive, crushed in pieces. “Problem solved,” he said. Sandival’s phone vibrated. He glanced down, and all the color left his face. He turned the screen toward me. A single message from Donna read: THEY KNOW ABOUT THE BACKUP. THEY’RE HERE. Then another message appeared beneath it—an image of Donna’s empty store, the front door hanging open, and blood on the tile.
PART 3
