Renegade Read online

  Renegade

  by

  Jeanne McDonald

  Copyright © 2019 Jeanne McDonald

  Published by Enchanted Publications

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Enchanted Publications

  [email protected]

  Visit the author’s website at www.jmdodd.us

  Edited by: Amy Gamache of Rose David Editing

  https://rosedavidediting.wordpress.com/

  Cover Design by: Jada D’Lee Designs

  http://www.jadadleedesigns.com/

  Interior Formatting by: Lindsey Gray Formatting Services

  http://www.lindseygray.net/formatting-services

  Cover images by: Shutterstock Stock Photos

  First Edition: September 2019

  ISBN: 9781086645675

  For Michael.

  Thank you for being the light

  in my darkest of times.

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue: Yesterday

  Part One: Blackbird

  Part Two: Eleanor Rigby

  Part Three: Yellow Submarine

  Part Four: Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

  Part Five: Hey Jude

  Part Six: Eight Days a Week

  Part Seven: Can’t Buy Me Love

  Part Eight: I Want to Hold Your Hand

  Part Nine: I Feel Fine

  Part Ten: Day Tripper

  Part Eleven: A Hard Day’s Night

  Part Twelve: Strawberry Fields Forever

  Part Thirteen: Something in the Way She Moves

  Part Fourteen: Let It Be

  Part Fifteen: Help!

  Part Sixteen: Here Comes the Sun

  Part Seventeen: All You Need is Love

  Part Eighteen: Love Me Do

  Part Nineteen: I Saw Her Standing There

  Part Twenty: Come Together

  Part Twenty-one: We Can Work It Out

  Part Twenty-two: Ticket to Ride

  Part Twenty-three: Hello, Goodbye

  Part Twenty-four: She Loves You

  Epilogue: Good Day Sunshine

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Works

  Preview of Politically Incorrect

  “Whatcha reading there, Diamond?”

  I glanced up from my phone to catch the gaze of my soon-to-be former partner, George Martin, looking over at the screen.

  “Nothing,” I muttered, pressing the side button to send my phone into sleep mode.

  George chuckled, shaking his head. Fine. He’d caught me on a dating website. So what! He had ten years on me, a wife, and a kid. I was young, single, and tired of spending my Saturday nights, when I wasn’t working, alone, which lately seemed like every Saturday night.

  Being a young, female cop with a partner who treated me more like a daughter than an equal was kind of a bummer to my social life. But I was going to miss George. He’d been the perfect person to teach me the ropes. My new partner had yet to be assigned, and I feared it'd be one of the douchebags that believed females didn’t belong on the force. George never treated me that way, which was why he deserved the promotion to detective.

  I slipped my phone into my pocket and stared through the windshield at the night sky. Waves of heat rippled through the air, visible even in the pitch darkness of the night. There wasn’t a single cloud in the heavens above. Even the moon and stars seemed to have lost their will to glimmer, overpowered by the intense humidity.

  This had been a wicked summer, shrouded in a record-breaking heatwave, and it seemed to affect even the most civilized individuals.

  “Any prospects?” George finally asked.

  I was about to protest at his question when a call came through the radio announcing a domestic disturbance in our patrol area.

  George groaned. “Dammit, I hoped things would stay quiet for my last hour out.”

  Nudging George with my elbow, and a smirk on my lips, I grabbed the radio. “You know better than that,” I teased before responding to the call.

  When we arrived on the scene, I exited the squad car, tailed by George. “Okay, Lucy. Let’s make this quick and easy tonight. I’d rather not have to deal with the paperwork of booking a guy if I don’t have to.”

  I rolled my eyes, swiping away a bead of sweat that trickled down the back of my neck. “I’ll do the paperwork,” I grumbled.

  George walked up beside me, patting me on the shoulder. “That’s my girl.”

  I swatted his hand away. If I were ten years older and he was single, I might’ve found him attractive with his slightly graying hair, his intense blue eyes, and roguish grin. Michelle, his wife, was obviously a lucky lady.

  The neighborhood was like any other in Alexandria. Stylish. Quaint. Expensive. For all we knew, there was a senator living in this residence. I prayed not. The amount of paperwork we’d have to endure if that were the case was what nightmares were made of.

  An odd feeling came over me as we made our way to the door. I chalked it up to this being my last stop with George as my partner.

  “You look nervous, Diamond,” George teased.

  I rolled my shoulders and huffed. “Of an old man bitchin’ about his burnt pot roast?” I waved him off. “Puh-lease.”

  George laughed. “Yeah, how dare his wife slave over a hot stove and serve him a dry roast.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t want it, I’ll eat it.” I rubbed my grumbling stomach.

  “Right? Much better than another burger from the Burger Shack.”

  I shuddered at the thought. I hated that place, but George insisted we eat there at least once a week. Now, I would miss those disgusting burgers that always smelled of fish.

  As we reached the front door, I rubbed my hand along the back of my neck. My jet-black hair was pulled up into a ponytail, yet strands of hair stuck to the sweat that saturated the collar of my dark blue uniform shirt. I licked my dry lips and gave George a reaffirming nod before ringing the bell.

  “Who-who is it?” a faint female voice stammered from the other side of the door.

  “This is the police,” I addressed the resident in a calm manner, getting an approving nod from George. I’d been doing this for about a year, but he still saw me as a rookie. Frankly, everyone did. While I didn’t want to admit it, I knew they were all right. There was still so much for me to learn.

  “What do you want?” a booming, gruff male voice echoed back at us.

  Immediately George and I were on alert. So much for it being an easy warning.

  Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I squeezed both hands into tight fists at my sides, digging what nails I hadn’t chewed off deep into my palms.

  “We received a call of a disturbance coming from this residence and are here to make sure everything’s okay,” George reassured the resident. It was common procedure to attempt to de-escalate a situation before resorting to action. “Can you please open the door?”

  “Go the hell away!” he yelled back. “We don’t need you here.”

  George tilted his whole body backward, trying to peer through the window beside the door. It was covered by dark curtains, preventing any visual within the residence. He shook his head, silently letting me know he cou
ldn’t see anything.

  “Sir, it’s important we make sure that everyone’s all right. As soon as we do, we’ll leave the premises,” I advised.

  “Are you deaf? I said go the fuck away!”

  I sighed, frustrated. Things were about to become escalated rather quickly.

  George pointed toward the side of the house and stepped off the porch. He disappeared into the darkness for a moment, only to reappear with a hint of a smile on his face.

  “There’s no lock,” he hissed. “I’m going around back.”

  “Should I call for backup?” I whispered, rather loudly.

  “Nah. We can handle this.”

  Although my instincts were screaming inside my head that we might need backup on this one, I trusted George. He was the master, and I would trust his intuition.

  When George was out of sight, I rapped my knuckles against the door. “Sir, please open the door now,” I stated with as much authority as I could muster.

  Instead of receiving a verbal response, a woman’s scream mingled with the sounds of shattered glass and wood. “You stupid whore!” the man shouted. “Look what you’ve done!”

  I stepped back in an attempt to see George. He was gone, which meant he was able to gain access to the back of the house.

  “I repeat,” I stated calmly but with authority, “open the door, or we will be forced to open it for you.”

  “You do that, and I’ll kill her!”

  Before I had a chance to respond, I heard the sounds of wood, metal, and glass giving way to the weight of my partner’s foot.

  Dammit! He hadn’t heard the threat.

  Without so much as another thought, I did the only thing I could do – I pulled my gun from the holster and kicked in the front door.

  Intense bright light blinded me, but only for a moment. I scanned the ransacked room. Debris, glass, and fibers covered the floor. Standing in the midst of the destruction was a tall, slender man. His light brown hair was a mess and his clothes dangled like drapes over his bony frame. His eyes were so bloodshot I couldn’t decipher what color they were. He held a woman to his chest, her face beaten and bleeding, fear dilating her eyes as he pushed the Glock 45 deep into her temple.

  I scoped the room and found no sign of George.

  “Get out!” the man screamed. “You have no business here. Get out or I’ll shoot her!”

  The woman cried, shrinking against the man’s chest as the gun pushed farther into her flesh.

  Unsure as to the location of my partner, I pointed my gun toward my target. “Sir, put down your weapon and everything will be okay. I only want to talk. That’s all.”

  “Talk! You broke into my home, pointing a gun at me,” he growled. “I told you to get the hell out of my house.” He waved his gun around in the air before shoving it back into the woman’s reddened temple.

  “Sir, plea─”

  George appeared from the shadows. His firearm was raised, and he yelled, “Put down your weapon!”

  In a fit of anger and confusion, the man tossed the woman aside. I watched as her body flailed against the corner of the wall and landed in a heap on the ground. In the same instance, the perp turned toward George. A shot rang out.

  George dove to the side, landing on the floor.

  The perp whipped around, holding his gun out in front of him, pointed at my chest. His bloodshot eyes were wide with anticipation. A sickening smile curled his lips.

  One shot fired.

  Two shots fired.

  I expected to feel the sting of a bullet slicing through my flesh. Instead, the man dropped his weapon. A shrill laugh gurgled from his throat. He cupped his hands over his chest and fell to the ground.

  I stared in disbelief as blood poured from beneath his hands.

  My gaze shifted to George who was lying face down on the floor.

  Sickness twisted my stomach.

  Three bodies, all on the floor, and me standing over them with my firearm clutched tight in my hand.

  Stunned and trembling, I stood unmoving, staring at the gun in my hands. I could hear nothing but the sound of his laughter. It grew raspier and more garbled with each breath, but he continued to laugh.

  “Lucy!” George’s voice broke through the fog in my head. “Diamond,” he wheezed.

  I shook my head, snapping back to reality. I holstered my firearm and rushed to his side. “Are you okay? Were you hit?”

  The evidence answered the question for me. Blood coated his shirt, his hands, and his neck.

  “I’m fine,” George grunted, coughing. “Just a graze.”

  I grabbed the handheld from my shoulder and called it in. “Officer down. I repeat. Officer down.” The address tumbled from my lips as tears swelled in my eyes.

  This man was a superhero, hours away from the promotion he’d worked so hard for. This couldn’t be how things ended for him.

  I pressed my hands to his chest, assuming that’s where the bullet had hit. Blood spewed across my skin. I tried to ignore the feeling of the hot, sticky consistency. This was George. He needed me. “Hold on, George. Medics are on their way.”

  “H-h-her,” he winced. “Check on her.”

  “No. I won’t leave you.”

  “That’s an order, Diamond.” Even in his current state, George spoke with authority.

  I scrambled to the woman who was crouched in the corner crying.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, attempting to comfort the woman.

  “My fault,” the woman moaned. “All my fault.”

  “Miss, are you hurt?” I pushed the woman’s hair back from her eyes. A sickened feeling welled up inside of me at the sight of the woman’s mangled face.

  “All my fault,” she repeated.

  “We’re getting you some help. Okay?” I patted the woman’s arm and crawled over to where the man laid on the floor.

  His laughter still echoed throughout the room. Blood pooled around him, spewing from his mouth and the wound in his chest. My bullets, all three of them, had met their mark with accuracy. “Sir, we’re going to get you some help. Do you understand me?”

  The man only responded with a laugh. It was the kind of laugh that caused every hair on my body to stand on end. His laughter was sickening and vile, resonating the evil that seemed to dwell within him. He laughed and laughed, only stopping to take his last breath. Even in his dying moment, his wild eyes showed no semblance of fear. He turned his head and sputtered, “This ain’t over, pig.”

  Those words hung on his lips, as his head fell limp. His vacant eyes stared back at me. He was gone.

  I woke in a puddle of sweat and tears. The taste of bile coated my tongue, refusing to expel from my stomach. I clapped my hands over my ears, still hearing the echoes of his sickening laughter and final breath. It’d been weeks since the shooting occurred, but the memories of that horrible night had wreaked havoc on my mind ever since.

  Good and evil died that night. George, a man of valor, left behind a wife and child along with a legacy of helping his community. Today was his funeral, and I was nowhere near ready to attend. As his partner, it was my responsibility to be there. No matter what!

  But first things first, I had an appointment with my internal affairs appointed shrink. I wasn’t sure which was worse – the funeral of a friend and colleague or dealing with a doctor who wanted me to spill my guts to him.

  With a deep breath, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and planted my feet on the cool, hardwood floor. I rubbed my hands over my face, wiping away the tears that had sprung forth during my dream.

  My nightmare.

  The nightmare that would never go away. Ever.

  And there was no way I was going to tell my shrink that. He’d never release me from desk duty if I did.

  It was best to keep silent.

  I’d be there for Michelle and Peter. They deserved that. My pain was nothing in comparison to theirs.

  Suck it up, Diamond.

  The sound of George’s voice
calling me by my surname brought tears to my eyes.

  “Stop it!” I bellowed at the shadows.

  As if the universe was trying to speak to me, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. The alarm was telling me to get up and move on.

  I could do that.

  I had to do that.

  I swiped my finger over the flat screen, rose from the bed, and threw open the curtains. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. I released a deep breath at the sight of a new day. “Here goes nothing.”

  Wearing my dress blues, I walked through the hall toward the kitchen, still struggling with the remnants of my nightmare. The closer it had gotten to George’s funeral, the worse the nightmares became.

  Two faces. Always two faces invaded my dreams. One belonged to the man who dedicated his life to the community he loved. A man who was more than a partner, but a father I never really had. The other, I now knew, was a vicious criminal, wanted for more crimes than I could list. A man I did the community a favor by taking off the streets.

  That man was Neil Hoff.

  After reading Hoff’s file only hours after the shooting took place, I realized exactly how evil he was. Wanted for theft, a murder suspect in many open cases, and carrying with the intent to sell. He was also a foster child, just like me.

  I entered the kitchen and flipped on the light. The hardwood floor creaked beneath my feet, as I journeyed toward the coffee maker. I glanced at the only other appliance on my kitchen counter, a toaster, snarling at the thought of eating something. Not that there was much to eat in my cupboards. I rarely ate at home, and when I did, it was usually takeout.

  If anyone came over, they probably would have thought I had just moved in. I had a bed and nightstand in my room. A sofa and television in the living room. That was it. There were no photos on the walls, aside from the only photograph I had of my mother that sat on top of the television.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee, thankful that I’d remembered to set the timer last night. With my cup in hand, I wandered into the living room and flipped on the television.

  Set on MSNBC, Mika and Joe were discussing the upcoming election. They showed a video clip of a man I referred to as my cousin, though there was no blood relation, Senator William Baxter of Texas. When I was fifteen, almost sixteen, Michael Baxter became my foster father. He was a confirmed bachelor, which I later understood meant he was gay, and the brother to Caleb Baxter, Aaron and Liam’s father. I had a huge crush on Aaron, but he only ever saw me as a kid. Liam, on the other hand, was a dear friend of mine, and I was ecstatic when he settled down with his wife, Elizabeth.