Read Online Through Fire (Portland, ME #3) by Freya Barker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Freya Barker
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continue our commiserating on the Patriots QB’s lackluster performance thus far this season.
Three beers later, a heavy hand falls on my shoulder.
“Mark, how’ve you been?” Ike directs over my shoulder. I’d totally forgotten he was supposed to meet me here.
About two hours ago.
I turn around on my stool and take in my brother’s bedraggled appearance. “Took you long enough,” I poke at him a little. A tired grin tells me he takes it as the friendly ribbing I intended.
“Work is just...” He shakes his head as he lets his words drift off.
“Day got even tougher?”
“Yeah. Sorry,” he says, pulling up a stool on my other side. “Remember that girl I told you about on Sunday?”
I nod with a wince. I remember it all too well.
“Call came in, just as I was about to leave. She’d been tucked away in a safe house, and they found her dead this afternoon. Sixteen fucking years old. She’d pocketed a paring knife from the kitchen, locked herself in the bathroom, filled the tub, and sat there slicing her forearms from wrist to elbow. By the time the agents broke down the door, it was already too late.” His head slumps down on his arms. “I lost it when I heard. May have done some damage to the captain’s office.” He lifts up and looks at me with turmoil in his eyes. “I was suspended, pending psychiatric assessment.”
“Jesus, Mark. For getting upset?”
“Not the first time,” he softly admits, dropping his head down. “Job’s been getting to me. Today was just the last straw.” He chuckles, “Guess tossing his computer through the window was the last straw for the captain.”
Nothing I can say, so I reach out and give his neck a squeeze. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated the pressures and the frustration of being in law enforcement. Having to look at the underbelly of humanity every day, dealing with victims of violent crimes, with the animals committing them, that’s got to do something to you.
I spot Ruby and wave her over. She walks up, a look of concern on her face as she eyes the back of my brother’s head once again on the bar. I’m struck by the compassionate warmth in her brown eyes. “Think we need something stronger than beer here. Scotch? Bring the bottle, honey. And three glasses.”
As Ruby turns away, Mark lifts up his head and vigorously rubs his hands over his face.
“Sounds tough,” Ike directs at him.
“I’ve had better days,” he responds with a wry smile. “Hers must’ve been much worse, though.” With affirming grunts from Ike and myself, Mark gets up and pushes away from the bar. “Right back. Gotta hit the can.”
I watch my brother walk through the door to the restrooms, the weight of the world a bit heavier today, judging by the more pronounced slump in his shoulders.
“He doesn’t look good,” Ike points out.
“I know,” I agree. “I’ve always worried the job might eventually get to him, but it was his dream to be a cop since he was five-years-old.” I chuckle at the memory. “I’d wanted to be a lumberjack for Halloween, my dream at the time, but Mark was adamant; he wanted to have a police uniform, complete with badge and billy club. Whined for days when Mom couldn’t find one in Portland, until she finally drove into Boston to a specialty store to get him what he wanted.”
“Lumberjack? You?” Ike chuckles.
“You know, I liked building things with my hands,” I admit. “My father had that wood shop in the garage and used to build birdhouses and bookcases. Remember, he’d let us help cut the wood with a handsaw sometimes? When I got older, we started building side tables, spice racks, all kinds of smaller wood furniture. I got pretty good at it.”
“I knew that, but never realized how much you love it.” Ike looks at me surprised.
“Yeah, well, Mark dreamed of catching bad guys ,and I dreamed of building furniture for the children I was going to have. Then I grew up and got a real job.” I shrug,
Three beers later, a heavy hand falls on my shoulder.
“Mark, how’ve you been?” Ike directs over my shoulder. I’d totally forgotten he was supposed to meet me here.
About two hours ago.
I turn around on my stool and take in my brother’s bedraggled appearance. “Took you long enough,” I poke at him a little. A tired grin tells me he takes it as the friendly ribbing I intended.
“Work is just...” He shakes his head as he lets his words drift off.
“Day got even tougher?”
“Yeah. Sorry,” he says, pulling up a stool on my other side. “Remember that girl I told you about on Sunday?”
I nod with a wince. I remember it all too well.
“Call came in, just as I was about to leave. She’d been tucked away in a safe house, and they found her dead this afternoon. Sixteen fucking years old. She’d pocketed a paring knife from the kitchen, locked herself in the bathroom, filled the tub, and sat there slicing her forearms from wrist to elbow. By the time the agents broke down the door, it was already too late.” His head slumps down on his arms. “I lost it when I heard. May have done some damage to the captain’s office.” He lifts up and looks at me with turmoil in his eyes. “I was suspended, pending psychiatric assessment.”
“Jesus, Mark. For getting upset?”
“Not the first time,” he softly admits, dropping his head down. “Job’s been getting to me. Today was just the last straw.” He chuckles, “Guess tossing his computer through the window was the last straw for the captain.”
Nothing I can say, so I reach out and give his neck a squeeze. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated the pressures and the frustration of being in law enforcement. Having to look at the underbelly of humanity every day, dealing with victims of violent crimes, with the animals committing them, that’s got to do something to you.
I spot Ruby and wave her over. She walks up, a look of concern on her face as she eyes the back of my brother’s head once again on the bar. I’m struck by the compassionate warmth in her brown eyes. “Think we need something stronger than beer here. Scotch? Bring the bottle, honey. And three glasses.”
As Ruby turns away, Mark lifts up his head and vigorously rubs his hands over his face.
“Sounds tough,” Ike directs at him.
“I’ve had better days,” he responds with a wry smile. “Hers must’ve been much worse, though.” With affirming grunts from Ike and myself, Mark gets up and pushes away from the bar. “Right back. Gotta hit the can.”
I watch my brother walk through the door to the restrooms, the weight of the world a bit heavier today, judging by the more pronounced slump in his shoulders.
“He doesn’t look good,” Ike points out.
“I know,” I agree. “I’ve always worried the job might eventually get to him, but it was his dream to be a cop since he was five-years-old.” I chuckle at the memory. “I’d wanted to be a lumberjack for Halloween, my dream at the time, but Mark was adamant; he wanted to have a police uniform, complete with badge and billy club. Whined for days when Mom couldn’t find one in Portland, until she finally drove into Boston to a specialty store to get him what he wanted.”
“Lumberjack? You?” Ike chuckles.
“You know, I liked building things with my hands,” I admit. “My father had that wood shop in the garage and used to build birdhouses and bookcases. Remember, he’d let us help cut the wood with a handsaw sometimes? When I got older, we started building side tables, spice racks, all kinds of smaller wood furniture. I got pretty good at it.”
“I knew that, but never realized how much you love it.” Ike looks at me surprised.
“Yeah, well, Mark dreamed of catching bad guys ,and I dreamed of building furniture for the children I was going to have. Then I grew up and got a real job.” I shrug,
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