right before you got to work.”
“Dean Barton.”
Barrett nodded. “I knew you’d remember; the guy has an unforgettable face. Tell me what happened.”
Carly sighed deeply and struggled to keep her indignation from surfacing. She told him everything about the confrontation and Erika’s desire not to prosecute her brother-in-law. While Carly could have arrested Barton for taking a swing at her, Barrett would understand why she didn’t. The contact with Barton was precipitated by what he did to Erika. Carly taking him to jail would have dragged Erika into the mix whether she wanted to be there or not. Since Carly had defused the situation with a simple control hold, in her mind it was a no harm, no foul situation.
“I get the picture,” Barrett said when she finished. “The guy is basically whining that you stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong and put your hands on him for no reason.”
Carly kept her mouth shut, fearing she’d say something she’d regret.
“I’ll have to talk to the coffee shop people, but as far as I’m concerned, this is a service complaint that doesn’t bear further investigation.” He stood to leave. “That guy is just playing the system, trying to get to you because he knows he can. Don’t worry about this.” He waved the paper. “But file a brief follow-up about the contact, just in case.”
Carly sat back in her chair, watching the sergeant walk away and fighting frustration. Her ten-year streak of no complaints was now over. Biting her lip, and mortified that the situation made tears threaten, she turned to a terminal and typed a quick follow-up, explaining the circumstances of the contact with Barton. After printing a copy, she ground out her initials on the bottom. Tossing it on the in-tray, she grabbed her kit and hurried to the elevator.
She changed clothes with fitful, irritated energy, snatched her wedding ring from the top shelf, and slammed her locker closed. Holding the ring, she took a deep breath as she slid it back on her finger. The action calmed her as much as picturing her blue-eyed husband in her mind did. Carly hadn’t changed to her married name at work. Even when she and Nick were married the first time, she had remained Carly Edwards at the PD. It was never a women’s lib thing but rather a practical move meant to keep mistakes from being made when it came to subpoenas or commendations or any paperwork issues.
Now, when she slid the ring on and prepared to go home,she was Carly Anderson, happy to leave the work persona in the locker room. When her phone chimed with a text, the emotion boiling inside about Dean Barton had eased. Blowing out a breath, she sat down and opened the message, thanking God that it was from Nick.
Making food run. Have time to meet at HBAAG?
“Oh yeah,” she said out loud as she replied to the text, grateful she wouldn’t have to wait all day to see Nick and relieved she didn’t have to stew for hours before telling him about the avalanche of bad news that had hit her this morning.
8
HALF BAKED AND ALMOST GROUNDED looked crowded with morning traffic when Carly arrived. Part of her wanted to talk to Erika and Ned, get more information on Dean. But she didn’t want to drag them into the drama. The complaint would be resolved at intake—she believed Barrett—but it still pricked her that Barton had filed it in the first place.
She pulled into the lot behind the shop and saw Nick’s plain car. He was still in the driver’s seat, talking on his phone. Her heart raced a bit. He still did that to her. Eight years of marriage, a year of separation, and nine months of a second marriage, and he still percolated her pulse. Even the scar on his forehead, the result of a smack to the head by a bad guy, did nothing to diminish his handsomeness in her eyes. He was her GQ hubby.
Walking to his car, she leaned against the front fender. He held up one finger and quickly finished the call before getting out of the
“Dean Barton.”
Barrett nodded. “I knew you’d remember; the guy has an unforgettable face. Tell me what happened.”
Carly sighed deeply and struggled to keep her indignation from surfacing. She told him everything about the confrontation and Erika’s desire not to prosecute her brother-in-law. While Carly could have arrested Barton for taking a swing at her, Barrett would understand why she didn’t. The contact with Barton was precipitated by what he did to Erika. Carly taking him to jail would have dragged Erika into the mix whether she wanted to be there or not. Since Carly had defused the situation with a simple control hold, in her mind it was a no harm, no foul situation.
“I get the picture,” Barrett said when she finished. “The guy is basically whining that you stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong and put your hands on him for no reason.”
Carly kept her mouth shut, fearing she’d say something she’d regret.
“I’ll have to talk to the coffee shop people, but as far as I’m concerned, this is a service complaint that doesn’t bear further investigation.” He stood to leave. “That guy is just playing the system, trying to get to you because he knows he can. Don’t worry about this.” He waved the paper. “But file a brief follow-up about the contact, just in case.”
Carly sat back in her chair, watching the sergeant walk away and fighting frustration. Her ten-year streak of no complaints was now over. Biting her lip, and mortified that the situation made tears threaten, she turned to a terminal and typed a quick follow-up, explaining the circumstances of the contact with Barton. After printing a copy, she ground out her initials on the bottom. Tossing it on the in-tray, she grabbed her kit and hurried to the elevator.
She changed clothes with fitful, irritated energy, snatched her wedding ring from the top shelf, and slammed her locker closed. Holding the ring, she took a deep breath as she slid it back on her finger. The action calmed her as much as picturing her blue-eyed husband in her mind did. Carly hadn’t changed to her married name at work. Even when she and Nick were married the first time, she had remained Carly Edwards at the PD. It was never a women’s lib thing but rather a practical move meant to keep mistakes from being made when it came to subpoenas or commendations or any paperwork issues.
Now, when she slid the ring on and prepared to go home,she was Carly Anderson, happy to leave the work persona in the locker room. When her phone chimed with a text, the emotion boiling inside about Dean Barton had eased. Blowing out a breath, she sat down and opened the message, thanking God that it was from Nick.
Making food run. Have time to meet at HBAAG?
“Oh yeah,” she said out loud as she replied to the text, grateful she wouldn’t have to wait all day to see Nick and relieved she didn’t have to stew for hours before telling him about the avalanche of bad news that had hit her this morning.
8
HALF BAKED AND ALMOST GROUNDED looked crowded with morning traffic when Carly arrived. Part of her wanted to talk to Erika and Ned, get more information on Dean. But she didn’t want to drag them into the drama. The complaint would be resolved at intake—she believed Barrett—but it still pricked her that Barton had filed it in the first place.
She pulled into the lot behind the shop and saw Nick’s plain car. He was still in the driver’s seat, talking on his phone. Her heart raced a bit. He still did that to her. Eight years of marriage, a year of separation, and nine months of a second marriage, and he still percolated her pulse. Even the scar on his forehead, the result of a smack to the head by a bad guy, did nothing to diminish his handsomeness in her eyes. He was her GQ hubby.
Walking to his car, she leaned against the front fender. He held up one finger and quickly finished the call before getting out of the
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