Kansas City Cop. Julie Miller
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forty-five. Can you do it?”
“Yeah. I can help.” Thank goodness Sylvie still had enough little girl in her to idolize her pseudo grandparents. She’d do for them what she wouldn’t do for Gina. Or herself, unfortunately. Her tone shifted to Bobby. “I need to go home.”
“I said I was taking you out to dinner. I was gonna show you my friend’s club,” he whined. “Just because Gina’s a cop, she doesn’t make the rules. She sure as hell isn’t in charge of what I do.”
“Don’t get mad, Bobby. Just drive me home.” Sylvie was doing some purring of her own. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Ooh, I like it when you do that, baby.”
Gina wished she could reach through the phone and yank her sister out of Bobby’s car before she got into the kind of trouble that even a big sister with a badge couldn’t help her with. “Sylvie?”
“I’ll call Tia Mami and tell her we’re on our way.”
“Bobby doesn’t need to go with you.” A powerful car engine revved in the background. “Seeing him will only upset—”
“Bye.”
Bobby shouted an unwanted goodbye. “Bye-bye, big sis.”
She groaned when her sister’s phone went silent. Gina cursed. “Have I ever mentioned how much I want to use Bobby Estes as one of the dummies in our fight-training classes?”
Derek laughed as he put away his phone. “Once or twice.” He opened his door, and Gina shivered at the blast of wintry wind. “I keep telling you that I’d be happy to help run him in.”
At least the chill helped some of her temper dissipate, as did Derek’s unflinching support. “Bobby’s too squeaky clean for that. He does just enough to annoy me, but not enough that I can prove he’s committing any kind of crime. And Sylvie isn’t about to rat him out.”
“Just say the word, and I’m there for you, G.” He turned to climb out. “I’ll leave the car running so you stay warm.”
But the dispatch radio beeped, and he settled back behind the wheel to listen to the details of the all-call. “So much for coffee.”
Derek closed the door as the dispatch repeated. “Attention all units in the Westport area. We have a 10-52 reported. Repeat, domestic dispute report. Approach with caution. Suspect believed to be armed with a knife.”
“That’s the Bismarck place.” Derek frowned as he shifted the cruiser into Drive and pulled out onto the street. “I thought Vicki Bismarck took out a restraining order against her ex.”
“She did.” This wasn’t the first time they’d answered a call at the Bismarcks’ home. The address was just a couple of blocks from their location. Gina picked up the radio while Derek flipped on the siren and raced through the beginnings of rush-hour traffic. “Unit 4-13 responding.”
Her family troubles were forgotten as she pulled up the suspect’s name on the laptop mounted on the dashboard. Domestic-disturbance calls were her least favorite kind of call. The situations were unpredictable, and there were usually innocent parties involved. This one was no different.
“Gordon Bismarck. I don’t think he’s handling the divorce very well.” Gina let out a low whistle. “He’s got so many D&Ds and domestic-violence calls the list goes on to a second page. No outstanding warrants, though, so we can’t just run him in.” She glanced over at Derek as they careened around a corner. “Looks like he’s not afraid to hurt somebody. You ready for this?”
“I know you’ve got my back. And I’ve got yours.”
She hoped he meant it because when they pulled up in front of the Bismarck house, they weren’t alone. And the men belonging to a trio of motorcycles and a beat-up van didn’t look like curiosity seekers who’d gathered to see what all the shouting coming from inside the bungalow was about.
Derek turned off the engine and swore. “How many thugs does it take to terrorize one woman? I hope Vicki’s okay. Should I call for reinforcements?”
“Not yet.” Gina tracked the men as they put out cigarettes and split up to block the end of the driveway and the sidewalk leading to the front door. Middle-aged. A couple with potbellies. One had prison tats on his neck. Another took a leisurely drink from a flask before tucking it inside the sheepskin-lined jacket he wore. Their bikes were in better shape than they were. But any one of them could be armed. And she could guess that the guy with the flask wasn’t the only one who’d been drinking. Judging by what she’d read on the cruiser’s computer screen, these were friends, if not former cell mates, of Gordon Bismarck’s. Gina’s blood boiled in her veins at the lopsided odds. She reached for the door handle. “But keep your radio at the ready.”
Gina pushed open the cruiser door and climbed out. “Gentlemen.” She rested her hand on the butt of her holstered Glock. “I need you to disperse.”
“You need us, querida?” Flask Man’s leer and air kisses weren’t even close to intimidating, and she certainly wasn’t his darling anything.
Derek circled the cruiser, positioning himself closer to the two in the driveway while she faced off against the two on the sidewalk. “In case you don’t understand the big word, you need to get on your bikes and ride away.”
“We gave Gordy a ride home,” Potbelly #1 said, thumbing over his shoulder just as something made of glass shattered inside the house.
A woman’s voice cried out, “Gordon, stop it!”
“I paid for this damn house. And I’ll—”
Gina needed to get inside to help Vicki Bismarck. But she wasn’t going to leave these four aging gangbangers out here where they could surround the house or lie in wait for her and Derek to come back outside. “We’re not interested in you boys today,” she articulated in a sharp, authoritative tone. “But if you make me check the registrations on your bikes or van, or I get close enough to think any of you need a Breathalyzer test, then it will be about you.”
Prison Tat Guy was the first to head toward his bike. “Hey, I can’t have my parole officer gettin’ wind of this.”
Potbelly #2 quickly followed suit. “I’m out of here, man. Gordy doesn’t need us to handle Vic. My old lady’s already ticked that I stayed out all night.”
Potbelly #1 clomped the snow off his boots before climbing inside the van. But he sat with the door open, looking toward the man with the flask. “What do you want me to do, Denny? I told Gordy I’d give him a ride back to his place.”
Flask Man’s watery brown eyes never left Gina’s. “We ain’t doin’ nothing illegal here, querida. We’re just a bunch of pals hangin’ out at a friend’s place.”
“It’s Officer Galvan to you.” She had to bite down on the urge to tell him in two languages exactly what kind of man he was. But she wasn’t about to give this patronizing lowlife the satisfaction of losing her temper. She was a cop. Proud of it. And this guy was about to get a lesson in understanding exactly who was in charge here. “Mr. Bismarck isn’t going to need a ride.” Potbelly #1 slammed his door and started the van’s engine. Gina smiled at Flask Man and pulled out her handcuffs. “Denny, is it? I’ve got plenty of room in the backseat for both you and good ol’ Gordy.” She moved toward him, dangling the cuffs in a taunt to emphasize her words. “How do impeding an officer in the performance of her duty, aiding and abetting a known criminal, public intoxication and operating a vehicle under the influence sound to you?”
“You can’t arrest me for all that.”
“I wouldn’t test that theory if I were you.” Derek stepped out of the way of the van as it backed out of the driveway and sped after the two men on