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  Apparently, the rest of the team outside had been watching. Once the shelves had fallen, she heard voices of men and women as they rushed into the pawnshop. They sounded so far away, though, and all Kristen could really hear was her own labored breathing.

  “Lemar’s down! Let’s fucking go.” That had to be one of the criminals.

  Two men—Kristen thought it was two but it was hard to tell while pinned under both a man and a shelf—raced past them toward the back of the store.

  As soon as they were gone, Jonesy pushed himself off her and used his back to lift the shelf. Now that the crap that had been on it was all over the floor, it wasn’t particularly heavy.

  That was the moment when she realized she might’ve cracked a rib. The skinny frame pushing on her should not have hurt nearly as much as it did. She gasped in pain.

  He thrust the shelf over the other way. “Drew will be here in a minute. Tell him about the fucking car. We should’ve slashed the goddamn tires. That was fucking dumb of us.”

  “Wait…for me,” she wheezed. It seemed that in addition to a possibly cracked rib, the gunshot had slowed her reaction time. He was her partner and she couldn’t let him run off without her, even if all she wanted to do was put her head between her knees and breathe.

  “For fuck’s sake, Red. You already took a goddamn bullet for me on your first fucking week. Stay here, okay?”

  “Jonesy—” Kristen gasped but he had already scrambled through the wreckage of the shop and headed to the back door.

  Despite her aching chest, she shoved herself to her feet and stumbled after him.

  She made it to the exit in time to see him stop firing at the retreating form of the Charger.

  He reloaded his weapon as the car raced down the back of the strip mall. “The fuckers think they’re smart. They knew they couldn’t go this way or we’d blow their asses to kingdom come, but you better fucking believe Drew has that way blocked too.” He grinned.

  The blue Charger raced past the back of the tan strip mall.

  Suddenly, her radio blared to life. Obviously, whatever had blocked the signals was gone.

  “Hostile vehicle escaping. Should be at choke point in three…two…” Before Drew could finish his countdown, an explosion detonated at the far end of the mall. It didn’t touch the getaway vehicle at all.

  “Officers down. I repeat, officers down! Careful moving in. There might be more explosives.”

  “Those fuckers set a trap,” Jonesy said as he watched the blue car turn onto the street and accelerate away, leaving the annihilated police vehicle behind it. A few wailing sirens followed, but Kristen knew they’d escape. The thought of that made her head swim.

  Her teammate rounded on her. “You know you shouldn’t have fucking done that, Red. I have armor, too. It’s not your goddamn place to take a fucking bullet. Okay, it was brave—real fucking brave—and stupid enough for me to be impressed but it’s not something that—Red?”

  Kristen tried to keep up, but it was all too much. Being shot at, almost crushed, shooting someone, and actually taking a bullet finally overwhelmed her. She sat on the curb, tried to catch her breath, and only succeeded in fainting.

  Chapter Nine

  When Kristen regained consciousness, her first order of business was an attempt to protest what her boss was doing to her, but Captain Hansen was adamant. “You’re bruised to high heaven and you have two ribs cracked in three places. You’re on leave until you can take a breath without coughing, and that’s final.”

  “But Captain—” She tried to argue but that only made her cough again. Having the wind knocked out of you and cracking ribs was apparently not much good for one’s debate skills.

  “My point exactly. You did well out there. I won’t risk losing you because you’re not at full strength.”

  “My training—”

  “Can wait. Take a few days. Call me when you can hold a conversation. That’ll still be too soon to come back but at least I’ll know you’ll be ready in a few days after that.”

  She took a deep breath to protest further, but it hurt so she shut up.

  Captain Hansen nodded at that, pointed her to her clothes folded on a chair in the hospital room, called her a cab, and left.

  Resentful, she forced herself to dress. She wasn’t that hurt, other than not being able to really talk, or so she thought until she actually saw the injury. The entire left side of her chest—from her collarbone down past her breast, from sternum to armpit—was an enormous bruise of various colors.

  Kristen touched it to find—big surprise—that it hurt like hell. She wisely decided to obey the captain’s orders and at least not call until the bruise had mostly healed. Knowing her body, that wouldn’t take long. Or she hoped so, anyway. She’d never been shot before.

  Finally, she checked out of the hospital to find a cab waiting for her. He had her address but instead of agreeing to be sent home, she told the cabbie to take her to her parents’ house.

  The drive took about thirty minutes from the hospital nearest the pawnshop in Eastpointe to where her family lived in Dearborn.

  She tipped the driver well—both for the ride and for not bothering her with any attempts at conversation when she slumped in the back seat—and entered her parents’ garden.

  In her mind, the home she grew up in was an archetypal Michigan suburban house and she had no problem with that.

  A massive pine tree anchored the well-manicured front lawn. A small hedge of green mountain boxwood battled lilacs for dominance below the front window. The boxwoods were her father’s preferred landscaping plant and the lilacs were her mom’s favorite. She had always found the longstanding argument kind of cute, but currently, she found it insane to think that people could spend years arguing about the merits of various landscaping choices in the same world where people shot others and knocked shelves filled with chainsaws onto those who tried to stop them.

  Kristen rang the doorbell twice in rapid succession, then once more after a moment—the family’s secret ring. She stepped into the screened-in front porch, took her shoes off, and found her dad watching the Tigers on the couch.

  “Krissy, sweetie! Have you come here to bust your old man? Let’s hear you do the Miranda rights.”

  “I think I’m a few steps above that,” she wheezed. It was already less painful to talk but still not easy. It mostly only hurt to take a deep breath now.

  “Is that right? Did you earn some PTO or something? Well, why not get us a few brewskies and regale your old man with your first week on the force?”

  She fished a few beers out of the fridge and frosty mugs from the freezer. Despite her dad working in law enforcement for years, he was not above stealing mugs from bars. “What about the game?”

  “Fucking Tigers. They were up six—six goddamn runs—in the second, and now it’s the ninth and they’re down three.”

  “They could still come back.” Kristen poured the beers. She poured one too fast and the foam overflowed, then froze solid as it tried to race down the outside of the ice-cold mug. As a little girl, she had always found the effect magical. She licked the outside—who was she kidding? Frozen suds would always be magical—and handed the licked mug to her dad.

  “I don’t give a shit if they do come back. This should’ve been an easy win, but sloppy play put them in a hole. Serves them right. Thanks, by the way,” her dad finished sarcastically and grimaced at the tongue-print on the mug, but he didn’t reach for the other one. His kids had licked his frosty mugs since they were old enough to get them from the freezer for him.

  Kristen sat on the couch beside him. He muted the TV but didn’t turn it off or turn to look at her—a classic Dad move that didn’t faze her at all.

  “How’s Mom?” she asked.

  “She’s fine, probably wondering what SWAT’s newest member is doing at her parents’ house in the middle of the day.”

  She swallowed. “Okay, I assume Captain Hansen didn’t call you.”

&
nbsp; Her dad belched. “Tell me what?”

  Carefully, she put her beer down. “Dad…I was shot.”

  Frank Hall dropped his mug and it shattered loudly in the startled silence.

  “For fuck’s sake, Krissy! When? Why the fuck weren’t we notified?”

  “It only happened today.” Kristen darted up and went to find a rag. “Some assholes tried to rob a pawn shop.”

  “Jesus! And you’re here?” He seemed distracted and looked from her to the spilled beer as if not sure what to focus on. Kristen realized dimly that she could have given her dad a heart attack. She wisely ignored the spilled beverage and broken glass for a moment and sat again.

  “Yes. It hit my Kevlar, so I’m fine. Dad, take a few deep breaths and calm down.”

  He nodded. “Right, yeah. Get me an aspirin, will you?”

  She stood quickly and retrieved an aspirin and a glass of water. He swallowed the pill, washed it down, and leaned back on the couch. She wiped up the beer and the glass, then took her place at her dad’s side.

  “Well…what happened?” he asked. “And go slow, for Christ’s sake.”

  “The important thing is that I’m fine. Okay? I am bruised fairly badly, but it should be fine in a few days.” She pulled her shirt down to show him the massive bruise on her collarbone.

  “Where did you get shot? In the boob or something? Krissy, you’re beautiful but I don’t want to see that. Show your mother.”

  “No, Dad, I was shot here,” Kristen pointed to the place below her collarbone, only to find the bruise had shrunk from where it had been only an hour before.

  “I guess I can understand why you’re not freaking out,” her dad said hesitantly.

  “But… That’s impossible. I…it was right here. I have two cracked ribs too.” She felt her ribs. They still hurt, but she realized she wasn’t short of breath anymore.

  “It doesn’t look like you were shot, Krissy. It looks like you dodged a goddamn bullet. Maybe this is a sign or whatever, like your mother says.”

  “A sign of what?”

  “That you should ask for a different assignment. You’ve been on SWAT for a week and you’ve already been shot. There’s obviously been a mistake.”

  “Dad, I saved my partner’s life today.”

  “Oh, you’re telling me he wasn’t in a vest and you were?”

  “No, of course he had a vest too, but if I hadn’t acted—”

  “Kristen, if you’d have been a second faster or slower, you’d be dead right now.”

  “I don’t know why you’re freaking out. I’m following in your footsteps and only trying to be a good cop like my dad.”

  Something came over Frank’s face when she said that. A whole series of somethings really—doubt, guilt, shame, and finally, resolution when his gaze found her face again.

  “Kristen…” He looked away, took a deep breath, and made himself look at her again. “I’m not your father. Not biologically, anyway.”

  For a moment, she felt nothing at all. This was like when Brian had told her she’d been left at their house by pixies—it was a joke, obviously—but her dad’s expression didn’t seem to suggest humor. Besides, jokes weren’t really Frank Hall’s thing.

  “Mom…had an affair?”

  He snorted. “Do you think she’d go out for a slice of bacon when she could have the pork roast at home?” He rubbed his potbelly.

  “Dad, are you seriously saying I’m adopted?” She pushed off the couch with her beer and began to pace.

  “Yeah. Well, kind of. Look. You should probably sit for this. I don’t want to have to steal another pair of pint glasses. It’s easier to walk out with only one.”

  She slammed the glass on the table and whirled on him, her hands on her hips. “What the fuck is going on? Are you telling me I’m not family?”

  Frank smiled and she immediately regretted saying that. It was the same smile she’d seen when she’d first learned how to swim, or when she’d scored her first goal, and that had sent her off to prom. Whatever Frank Hall intended to say, she was certain of one thing—he was still her dad.

  “No,” he told her and the steady smile she knew so well never left his face. “If there’s one thing I am certain of, it’s that you are my family.”

  “Then what are you telling me? Where did I come from?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Kristen.”

  “You don’t know how some random baby came into your life?”

  “No, I know how we found you, but I just don’t know if we’re actually family. My sister Christina brought you to us. You were still so tiny so you must have been only a few days old.”

  Kristen couldn’t speak. In fact, despite her driving need to pace, all she could do was hold onto the table and attempt to stay standing.

  “She asked if we could protect you.” Frank uttered a weak laugh and shook his head as he looked at her. “Your mom said yes before I could even get my head around what was happening.

  “So…so I’m your niece, not your daughter?”

  Her Dad—Frank? Uncle Frank? Her head was spinning—only shrugged. “I asked Christina when she’d gotten pregnant. We weren’t all that close and saw each other for the holidays and sometimes talked on the phone. But still, I think she would’ve told me if she was knocked up, you know?”

  “What did she say?”

  “She didn’t answer me and only told us to keep you safe. Then, as soon as she saw Marty pick you up and smile, she left.”

  “You never called her?”

  Frank shook his head and snorted, his go-to response when he didn’t want to cry. “She died in a car crash that same night. Some asshole ran her off the road—at least that’s what the evidence looked like to me, an experienced fucking police officer. The official report said it was an accident. It was bullshit is what it was.”

  “Did you investigate?”

  “I could have. I sure as shit wanted to, but Marty talked me out of it.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because she loves you, Krissy. She loved you the moment she saw your bald little head with that weird little tuft of red hair on top of it. I was ready to raise holy hell for Christina. She was scared, Krissy, damn scared. Of what, I don’t know, and I wanted to find out. But your mom wouldn’t have it. She said we should name you Kristen in her memory and forget all about it.”

  “But…but how could you? You don’t even know if she was my real mom.”

  “Marty’s your real mom,” he said pleadingly as if he tried not to allow his heart to break. “She was from the moment she laid eyes on you.”

  “You mean she’s my real mom despite the fact that she’s lied to me for my entire life?” she snapped.

  “We both did, Krissy. We had to. Your Aunt Christina…she was as smart as they came. She studied to be an evolutionary biologist or something—I never really understood half the shit she talked about. She worked at one of the only places that didn’t shut down when Detroit hit rock bottom. Rumor was it was funded by…” He looked around as if there might be people listening in his own living room. “By dragons.”

  Kristen finally sat. Her dad wasn’t actually her dad, and her mom wasn’t her mom? Kristen was their niece or…or…something. She didn’t know what to think.

  “So, you can see why I’ve been nervous about all this police academy stuff and your assignment to SWAT,” Frank said. “I think maybe your mom—that is my sister Christina—was trying to protect you from the dragons for some reason. Maybe they’ve found you again and are…I don’t know, doing something to my little Krissy that I don’t like. I think that, given what’s happened, you have an opportunity to get out. Your captain will understand. Not everyone can take getting shot.”

  “Yeah, but I can,” she yelled. While she hadn’t meant to lose her temper she was unable to help herself. “You’re telling me that you hid this from the world for my entire life. You let them cover up your own sister’s murder and you think I should simply walk
away?”

  “I can’t let you get hurt, Krissy.”

  “I’m a grown woman and I’m not even your daughter. You don’t get to decide what I can and cannot do.”

  “But Kristen, you are our daughter. You were from the moment we took you in.”

  “Then why did you lie?”

  “We didn’t feel like we had a choice. We did it to protect you.”

  “Well, I don’t feel like I have a choice about sticking with SWAT.”

  “It’s not the same thing at all,” he countered and his face grew red.

  “Stop trying to control me.” She almost screamed the cliché of how he wasn’t her real dad but didn’t. Instead, she burst into tears and headed to the door.

  “Krissy, goddammit—Kristen!” Her dad—Frank, his name was Frank fucking Hall—yelled after her. “Kristen, come back here. Please.”

  Kristen shut his pleas out. Instead, she snatched up the keys to his car—a problem of the suburbs was that bars were rarely in walking distance—and got the hell out of there.

  By the time she made it to the bar, the baseball game Frank had been watching was over. Normally, the Sports Bar would be full, but given that the Tigers had lost, it was mostly empty. That suited her down to the ground.

  She pulled a stool out, dropped her elbows on the lacquered wood in front of her, and ordered a whiskey and a Labatt’s blue to chase.

  The bartender put her drinks in front of her and opened her tab. “Cheers.”

  After a curt nod of thanks, she swallowed the whiskey, followed by half the beer. Ugh. She should’ve asked for something from a higher shelf. Even with the beer to chase, the whiskey wasn’t great. She ordered another from a different bottle. Her bartender grunted a “good choice” at her selection and served her the drink.

  “Now there’s a woman who knows how to drink,” a man said and gestured at her whiskey.

  “Yep, well, it is one of the body’s primary functions. It’s actually fucking amazing that women know how to do it as well as men when you think about it.”

  He obviously didn’t know what to do with her rebuttal, so he smiled a little nervously. She studied him openly and tried to decide how far up his own ass she should tell him to go fuck himself.