Page 5 of The Rough Ride (Sanctuary, Inc. #3)

M aybe it was a full moon. The crazies had cranked it up several notches overnight.

There were so many cases in motion that upper management had moved into the huge work area affectionately called the bullpen on the seventh floor near Liz’s office.

They’d confiscated her phones, extra chairs, and all but one coffee mug.

The wall with the monitors was ablaze but muted with the closed captioning trolling and each major/minor network represented.

The crew hated it when a reporter scooped a bust off a police scanner before the job was complete.

When they lost suspects, it was usually due to a speculative broadcast before the perp was in cuffs.

And when a suspect disappeared into the wind, months of good work was lost in minutes, and the bullpen had to start from scratch again.

And in her bullpen? They were all hall-of-famers.

The principal had been greeted by an army of locals and feds bearing paper cups of coffee.

When she unlocked the boys’ lockers, they found guns.

Six, to be exact. Liz viewed the feds live take-down feed of the boys on the in-house monitor as she gave persona Dottie a new hairdo and makeup.

One of the boys’ mothers became so hysterical she required an ambulance.

Not a warm and fuzzy pancake morning in that house.

Liz suspected the principal would never get a shower today since every locker would be searched, every staff member and friend of a friend on social media interviewed, and every parent notified as to why the school was closed for the next few days.

But it was a far sight better than the alternative.

Liz knew many of the families from that school would sit down to a family dinner tonight, even if it was pizza—because they could. Some of them might even say grace for the first time since Thanksgiving because they were grateful to a higher power.

And that cheerleader? Liz had seen it half-a-dozen times already. She’d never return to that school. Her parents were going to raid her college fund or their IRA and send her to a private school so exclusive the sweet girl wouldn’t get to kiss a boy again until her senior summer.

That was the way of families when the horror of what could have been hit home. They hunkered down. Hormone-infused kids would hug their fathers, and mothers would peek on their teenagers late at night in their beds. Something they hadn’t done in years.

And by God, there’d be a metal detection system installed in the school before it reopened because the parents would insist on it.

They’d protest, start a Go-Fund Me page, and retired law enforcement would offer to help the school resource officer staff it.

And finally, after a ton of negative press, some councilperson would suddenly find money in the budget to protect the kids.

Liz caught Carmen’s eye across the big room.

She raised her coffee cup high in a toast with one hand and gave her a thumb’s-up with the other.

Carmen beamed with pride over her first catch.

Liz had hired her specifically because of her age (she understood the online slang), bilingual abilities, and work ethic—just twenty-three and fresh from college.

Carmen swiped her cheek with the back of her hand. A tear? Maybe. Liz remembered crying herself to sleep the night of her first catch. There was something humbling about being the one who recognized evil before it detonated.

Well done, Carmen, well done.

Liz slipped into her office and uploaded Dottie’s new look.

The rest of the day proved to be as fruitful as the morning.

Her bullpen nailed a sex trafficker and intercepted a well-coded message concerning a large shipment of cocaine approaching the Florida Keys on a private yacht. The brass monopolized the bullpen until 3:00 p.m. and then, one by one, returned the mugs and chairs to her office.

Dottie’s yummy new profile page garnered some interesting comments, among them an invitation from a recently divorced man wanting to escort her to the Washington Nationals playoff game in a few weeks.

Liz tracked him through his profile and IP address.

Nothing masked or hidden. Just a lonely guy endeavoring to get his mojo back after a divorce.

Liz checked him out on the over-50 dating sites where she maintained a couple of hot mama profiles, but he hadn’t joined them yet.

She declined his invitation via Dottie and steered him in the direction of the safer dating apps, throwing in a few compliments so he didn’t feel squashed by his attempt to reach out.

Every once in a while, an innocent wandered onto Liz’s profiles.

Most she didn’t reply to, but the divorced guy was so squeaky clean—she threw him a bone and hoped he’d move on.

On the other hand, the virginal Marion Trent received a job offer to nanny a large group of children. The pay was enormous. Liz traced the IP and came up empty. She flagged it. A front for child trafficking? Perhaps. They often hired virgins (and yes, they checked) to watch the kids.

A uniformed woman in her mid-forties stuck her head in the office. “You got a minute?”

Liz spun around in her chair, recognizing the voice of her immediate supervisor, Natalie Chan. “Major, nice to see you.” She stood and smoothed her skirt. “What can I do for you?”

The major gave her a head-to-toe glance. An old habit from years of making sure uniforms were up to snuff. “That was some great work out there today.” She cocked her head toward the bullpen. “Congratulations to you and your team. I got to know some of them. Humorous and hard-working bunch.”

“Thank you. They’re all very talented. Dedicated, too.”

“Just make sure you include yourself in the kudos. You’re their leader, and you’ve given them the freedom to take risks, to stretch their cyber legs. It’s good. They’re worth the taxpayers’ money. ”

“Thank you, Major. I’ll pass your praise on to the team.”

The major retrieved a glass vase containing a dozen red roses and baby’s breath from beyond the doorway and handed it to Liz.

“Flowers?” This workplace didn’t participate in fluff.

The biggest treat they could bring in was a birthday cake or donuts, and even then, security sometimes mutilated the food beyond recognition during their inspection.

Hell . Liz couldn’t even have her phone during work hours. It was locked up in the security room.

“They were delivered for you earlier this afternoon. They’re safe. Security already cleared them. You’re aware of the policy of no deliveries allowed here, correct?”

Liz took the flowers from the major’s hand. “Yes, of course. My mother is the only person with the emergency contact number and address for this place.”

The major shrugged. “Just make sure your mom isn’t chatting-it-up with the neighbors or prospective men for you, things like that. We’ll let it slide this time.”

This time? Liz swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine who sent them.” She set the vase on her desk.

“Don’t apologize. You obviously didn’t expect them. After you read the card, just let the person know they should send all future deliveries to your home. And relax, Liz. Forward whatever you’re working on to the next shift and go home. Beat the rush hour. You came in before dawn this morning.”

“Okay, but that reminds me.” Liz sat and tapped her computer. “I need to ask you about a post Marion Trent received today. Got a minute?”

“Of course.” The major pulled up an extra chair and read Liz’s detailed notes. She clicked into the online site. “Might be scammers looking for info for identity theft or could be an untrained recruiter.”

“I thought the same thing. Want me to forward it upstairs?” Liz crossed her arms and waited.

“I want you to go home. I’m forwarding this to the dark web guys.

Last time I checked, they were waiting for something juicy to work on.

” The major added her online signature, marked it highest priority, sent it off, and chuckled.

“I’ll bet if I go up there in a few minutes, they’ll be all over it like a pack of beagles on a hunt.

” She slid her chair back into place. “See you tomorrow.”

“Great—thanks so much.” Liz rolled her chair toward the flowers and grabbed the card to see who sent them. The message read, “ Thinking of you.”

No signature.

Liz didn’t listen to music as she drove home.

The flowers had to be from Nick. He’d been the only man to send her flowers for years.

He always sent them on the anniversary of the date they’d met in high school, her birthday, and if she was stateside, during the holidays.

Except lately, he’d sent them every week or so because she’d been avoiding him.

But Nick always signed his name.

She could send him a thank you note, but then it would be days before she knew if he was the person who’d sent them. Damn. She’d need to text and thank him. But then, he’d start texting back, and she’d have to deal with him. And above all else—she could not deal with Nick.

He’d given her a wide berth since they’d retired their military uniforms. He, the enlisted one and she, the officer.

None of it made a difference anymore. Those protocols were simply dress uniforms hung in the back of a closet for posterity.

Now, he was just her delicious Nick. The one man who could rev her engine with a glance.

She put her blinker on and moved into the lane that merged onto the D.C.

beltway. Bumper-to-bumper traffic. It didn’t matter what time she left work, there was always a solid back-up.

It would’ve been nice to accept the recruitment job closer to home, but the work wouldn’t have been nearly as engaging.

And it felt good to be satisfied with her work.

She wasn’t fulfilled in other ways, so it may as well be work that occupied the void.

Some nights, she missed Nick so much that it was a hollow ache in her gut.

They’d promised each other they would give their relationship a real run once they left the military.

But hell—if he found out about Ella, his world would implode.

He’d been serious about never having kids by getting that damn vasectomy when he was just a kid.

His sick bastard of a father imprinted his weaknesses on Nick from a tender age.

Told him he’d be a bum, never amount to a pile of crap, couldn’t do anything right, and someday, he’d understand because he’d beat his own kids.

But Nick made sure he never had any kids to hit.

He’d never inflict that kind of pain on a child.

All she’d ever wanted was to marry Nick and have a couple kids with him.

Tears flowed like a sudden rain on her face.

Her breasts were full in anticipation of Ella’s suppertime, and the traffic wound like a lethargic snake as far as she could see.

She fumbled for the bag of breast pads in her tote and shoved them into place in case her fountains erupted.

Then she grabbed another breast pad, wiped the tears from her face, and blew her nose.

Freaking hormones. She could cry on a dime. Gone was the military edge, the self-composure, the stone-faced decision maker. Maybe she’d end the nursing soon and wean Ella. Just a few more weeks, she promised herself.

But what if she never had another kid? What if Ella was an only child? She loved nursing her daughter. Yeah. She’d think about it some more.

But right now, she had to figure out who’d sent those flowers.

The traffic came to an abrupt halt, and Liz threw the car into park, using the moment to send a text to Nick, thanking him. The car behind her honked, and she looked up. The traffic in front of her had started moving. She tapped send and put the car in drive.

It took Nick all of an hour to reply. She had just parked in the driveway at home.

The flowers are not from me. When you find out who sent them—tell them you’ve already got a man who sends flowers.

A smile crept across Liz’s face. It was just like him to be territorial where she was concerned. She leaned her head back against the headrest and stared at the garage door.

So then, who sent the flowers?