Chapter One

David's POV

When I hear the first gunshot, I am ashamed to say that I ignore it. But in retrospect, I was a tourist taking a late night jog in a wealthy neighborhood near my hotel in Beverly Hills. It was just over midnight and I had been staying at Pacific Hills, a beautiful hotel about two miles away. In my sweatpants, T-Shirt and five miles on my mind, I made my way across the small Beverly Hills streets and neighbourhoods. I had only been in town since that morning and as always, I was travelling alone. When my guys at the station back at DC heard about Abby and I, they decided I needed a getaway by myself to get my mind off things, hence paying for my tickets down to Cali.

It was the second gunshot, almost immediately after the first, that made me stop in my tracks. I paused the Beatles on my iPod and tentatively turned to the row of large mini mansions on the left. Underneath the streetlights, a dark shadow of a hearty man jogged out from the side of one of the houses wearing all black. He was carrying something small, maybe a shotgun or a pistol. My stomach churned and my eyes lifted towards the house. When I was sure he couldn't see me, I ran across the street towards it. I know I should have just stayed outside and called the police, but my own officer instincts settled in place and I rattled the doorknob. Just when I was about to yell that I was a cop, just wondering if everyone was okay, the door flew open and upon me collapsed a body of a woman. A head full of soft brown curls smelling like Dove's new Wildberry shampoo, sweat, and blood. I quickly closed the door behind me, entering the large, cold and dark foyer. I hoisted the panting woman's waist with one arm, while bringing my other one up to wipe her hair, feeling for blood. I didn't feel anything, but when I switched arms, the other was covered so thick in it that I couldn't see an inch of my skin.

I looked down and from the moonlight of a window, I could see that the abdomen of her robe was soaking in the stuff. I held my breath, the sight of that much blood hovering over me.

Suddenly, another gunshot, one way too close practically popped me out of my skin.

"Fuck!" I cried and I could feel the woman jump in my arms.

I practically dragged her onto a couch, helping sprawl her legs around. Shit, shit, shit. There was a shooter in the house. I helped her out of the robe and pressed it on her stomach, desperately trying to control the breathing. I heard a consistent, booming noise. It took a moment to realize it was my own heart in my ears. The woman, who had glistening blue eyes, kept on making croaking noises. I wanted to tell her to shut up so badly. In all my years in the police, I have never been so scared.

"Who the fuck is down there!" a voice boomed from upstairs. "Where is my wife? Mellie? Where is Mellie? I will fucking kill you, you fucker! I will fucking kill you with my own hands!"

I swallowed, trying desperately to collect my thoughts.

"Sir, I am Officer David Rosen!" I call, still trying to keep pressure on Mellie's wound. "I heard gunshots and I came into the house. Your wife is alive, but she is injured badly. I need you to call the police right away. I heard another shot just a moment ago. Are you hurt? Is there a shooter still in the building?"

I waited for a moment, but there was no response. Mellie, who was practically panting to death right on that sofa, grasped my hand with her bloody one so hard that I lost circulation.

"My husband!" Mellie shouted, as if she were in labour. "Fitz! And Gerry and Karen! Get them."

"I can't leave you!" I shouted back at her. I wanted to face upstairs but Mellie would bleed out instantly. Fuck, there was so much blood and this robe could not contain all of it.

With a deep breath, I leaped to my feet and ran, but not towards the stairs.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mellie asked from the foyer.

I looked around the dark room. It looked like kitchen. I immediately starting throwing open doors - pantries, closets...fuck. Where was the bathroom. I needed towels and alcohol and...fuck. In hindsight, I probably should have turned on the lights, but I couldn't think properly, even though that is what I am trained to do. What the hell was wrong with me?

Finally, I stumbled across a small room and a rack towels. I took a handful and blindly raced back to Mellie, who I was praying was alive.

When I reached there, she was limp and heavily breathing. I quickly pressed the towels onto her stomach. Her eyes rolled back into her head.

"Mellie!" I hiccuped, my heart leaping. "No, Mellie! You do not get to quit on me, okay? No, you, you have to stay awake...Mellie!"

I have her a small slap and she blinked, then started panting again.

"Gerry," she moaned. "Karen. Please."

"I know." I told her, pressing the towels firmer. God, why wasn't the bleeding settling? "I know, honey, I know."

"Is she dead?" a low, sad voice came from upstairs. Mellie's husband. Fitz. He didn't sound angry, just shocked. Just sad. "Tell me if she is dead, Officer Rosen, because I can't come downstairs if my wife is dead. I can't do anything. Please."

"She's alive!" I reassured him. "She's alive, sir, but barely. I need you to call the 911, do you understand? Hey, sir, do you understand me?"

Before the man could answer, Mellie's small body jerked.

"Fitz!" Mellie screamed, piercing into my ears. "Fitz! Gerry and Karen. Are t-they okay? A-are they alive, F-Fitz?"

"No!" Fitz sobbed. He was practically bawling at this point. "No, Mel! They've been shot. My b-babies..."

He resurrected into a series of sobs, Mellie - gapes. I realized that this Fitz man wasn't stable enough to call the police and I had to do it myself. One hand on Mellie's stomach, I fished my iPhone off my sweatpants pocket and sloppily dialled 911, panting myself.

"Nine one one, what's your emergency?" a female officer answered.

"Yes! Hello! I am Officer Rosen calling from PepperTree Road. I am reporting a break in. Three people have definitely been shot, maybe more. I heard the shots and I came in."

"Okay, Mr. Rosen. Where did you say you were calling from?"

"PepperTree Road, Beverly Hills! Please, send help quick. This woman and her children need immediate medical attention!"

Mellie's fingers wrapped across my bloody wrist.

"Okay, yes, I understand that Mr. Rosen."

"Officer."

"Oh, Officer Rosen. Can you tell me your address?"

I glanced at Mellie, who mouthed 4-6-4-5

"Four six four five PepperTree," I told the operator. "And please hurry - I saw the intruder before entering. He may still be circling the area."

"Okay. Can you describe him for me?"

"I, uh, I don't really know. Five ten, m-maybe five eleven. Kinda heavy...or maybe skinny. White...or maybe Hispanic. Or maybe black. I don't know. He might have been Asian," I stutter. "He was wearing black...or brown. Or dark blue, or green or-"

"Thank you, Mr. Rosen," the operator interrupts, sounding annoyed. "If you have anything helpful to add-"

"I'm trying my best!" I cry. I glance at Mellie nervously. "Please, send help as soon as you can. I'm a man of police, I've seen situations like these before and this woman is in very bad shape. I'm applying pressure to the wound."

"That's all you can do," the operator tells me as if I don't know this. "What is the state of the children, Mr. Rosen?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen them." I look up and call to Fitz. "Fitz! How are the kids? Are they alive?"

"I don't know," Fitz replies, crying raw. "G-Gerry stopped moving. I don't know. There's blood. Fuck, there's a lot of blood. Where the hell are the cops?" He says something else that I can't hear because the operator is speaking to me again.

"Officer Rosen? Did you call the name 'Fitz'?"

"Yes."

"And you said that you are in Beverly Hills?"

"Yes."

"By any chance, Officer Rosen, has candidate Fitzgerald Grant been shot?"

"What?"

"The candidate for Governor. Is this his family you are talking about?"

I glance at Mellie, who is slowly fading to unconsciousness. This never occurred to me, although it should have because of their large house and secure neighbourhood. But I am a tourist...how should I know?

"Mellie?" I hiss. "Is Fitz running for Governor?" Mellie opens her mouth and out comes blood. But she manages to nod. I wipe her lips with another small towel, still speaking to the operator.

"Uh, yes."

"Oh my god," the operator says under her breath. "Oh my god. Officer Rosen? Please stay on the phone. The police should arrive in a few minutes at the most. It's very important that this family is safe. The election is in a few months and his family are leading polling points by up to thirty percent."

I swallow. Basically whether or not the Governor and his family remained alive was up to me. I never really stopped to comprehend the insanity of this. Mellie Grant was practically dying at my hands while her two kids were doing the same in her husband's. His hands that were the same of a Governer candidate. The whole thing scared the shit out of me but I forced myself to take a deep breath.

"Oh," I said, swallowing. "Maybe that will help you get your squad here."

I set the phone on the carpet, which was now maroon stained. I looked at Mellie. Her ocean eyes shined in the moon's reflection.

"Mellie," I whispered. "Please. Stay awake now, please. You're going to be fine, dear. You will be just fine. Please just stay awake for me."

Mellie doesn't reply. She just squeezes my hand and what can I do but squeeze it back? As a cop, many things are beyond my control. I never realized how much that sucked until now.

I hold my breath until I hear sirens rolling down the street and a reflection of flashing lights on the window. It felt like years. And within that time, Mellie's grip got weaker with every second. A cop quickly breaks the door with nunchuckes and two others follow behind him carrying rifles.

"LAPD!" The man cop screams into my face. "Who are you?"

"I'm Officer David Rosen!" I tell them, leaping up. "I am the one who made the call. Please, get this woman and her children on stretchers."

As the paramedics flood in, circling the house, the main cop who is tall and African American with kind brown eyes pulls me outside. I read his name tag - Henry White.

"Listen, Officer Rosen," he says in a deep, serious voice, pulling out a small notepad. "I apologize for how rough we had to be in there."

I hold up my hand.

"It's okay. I am a cop myself - DCPD. I understand how things can get," I assure him.

He nods.

"Well, I'm sorry anyway." Henry sighs. "Look, I am sure you know how very serious this is. Mr. Grant was running for Governer. He was in the lead by far, according to the polls. I want to thank you and appreciate your bravery for coming in and practically saving Mrs. Grant. She is a lovely woman and she wouldn't have survived had you not put yourself between death. We all thank you for that."

"No problem," I say, but I don't really hear him. My attention is shifted to the side of the house, where Fitz is being led out by two officers wearing handcuffs. His face and arms are badly cut and his hair is matted with blood. Numerous reporters are approaching him and the officers.

Before Henry can continue, two reporters appear and put microphones up to our faces.

"No comment!" Henry barks loudly, scaring them away. He turns to me. "Now, I'm sure you understand that as the only credible witness, you'll have to come down to the station to answer a few-"

"What's going to happen to Mr. Grant?"

Henry lowers his voice.

"Well, I think you would know." Henry whispers. "I mean, you are police."

"He's not guilty!" I practically shout.

Henry shoots me a glare.

"I'm sorry," I cry, not meaning it. I cannot believe this. "But really! The man's wife and kids were shot! How can anyone possibly accuse him of this?"

"And there was a reported gunshot after the supposed intruder left the home," Henry explains. "Look, Officer Rosen, I am not at liberty to discuss this with you. Now, if you don't mind coming down to the station..."

Fitzgerald's POV

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

I wish I could come up with something more coherent than this, but that is all I can think of. All I can smell. All I can see - I have my eyes closed and I can't stop picturing my children, sprawled across their beds lifeless. I don't have it in me to stop seeing that. Here I, a lean, 6'2 man with heavy muscles and I am not strong enough to picture something else. Or think of something else. Or open my fucking eyes.

The truth is, I am scared. Not just for Gerry and Karen and Mellie...I haven't gotten over the numbness of them yet, so no, I'm not scared. I'm scared because I'm running for Governor and I was in the lead by a landslide and life wasn't good but it wasn't insane, at least until now. Now I don't know what's happening to me. All I know is that two police officers came upstairs, glanced at each other, called me 'Governor Grant' and said some long words that had no meaning, because all I could think of was blood. Then they gently helped me up and they softly put handcuffs on me and they said 'sorry'. They looked terrified. I don't blame them.

The truth is, I can't think about them. Or my family. Or anybody for that matter. All I can think of his blood, which makes sense because it's on my clothes, in my hair and all over my skin. Under it too. I am literally made of blood. And it's fucking terrifying.

I was lead gently but firmly into the back of a cop car. There were people with bright cameras screaming into microphones.

Why?

Why are they so loud?

Now I am being driven. It's quiet. No sirens. No talking. Just whispers among the cops driving it.

What are they saying?

I don't know.

Hell, I don't care.

I press my forehead against the wet, moist window and immediately gasp at the coldness. The color of the bright lights outside mixture with my damp eyes, making everything out of focus and blury. Maybe that is best. I am a candidate for Governer, a good, solid candidate with a majority by a landslide approval poll but somehow, when I think about those thoughts, it feels like someone else's life...not mine. Everything thing feels over. All that feels over.

My family feels over. Mellie, Karen, Gerry...I don't know if any of them are alive. I don't want to contemplate the thought, because I might go crazy and I really don't want to go crazy. I don't want to cry. I don't want anything. The car ride ends way too quickly. The bright lights of the station blind me. The driving officer takes the keys out of the ignition and leaves the car, same as the other. They are gone for a long time, leaving me alone to ponder my thoughts. My hands, still covered in my son's blood, fold in my lap, trying to keep warm. The handcuffs crackle along them. I take a deep breath. I hear the officers chatting outside, along with some voices amongst them, but I do not listen. I can't make out what they're saying. I can make out if my family dies?

They could be dead right now and I would be here and they could be gone...gone, gone, gone, just gone, just fucking gone and I would be here in this goddamn car smelling like one dollar Fish-o-Filets and stale strawberry Fanta and then what would I do? Then what is there?

My children, the mother of my children and the officers think I did it. I don't know why, and I can't think about it. I don't want to go crazy but this, this is insane.

If they die, if they die and I am in here, then what? That cannot happen. They need to let me leave. They have to. Where are they? What do they want from me? My family, the only thing I may ever have left, they might be dying and I am here and I feel everything inside me growing and I wonder if this is it, if I have really lost it and gone fucking crazy.

I try desperately to focus on something else, but all that comes to my mind is how if my family died, I'm an ass for not spending more time with truth is that this campaign had robbed me of quality time with my family who I love. Yes, I love Gerry and Karen. They are the most beautiful, most intelligent and most respectful kids in the universe and I try to show them that as much as I can. Which isn't a lot. I look down at my hands in shame. They are my kids - my beloved, beautiful, intelligent, respectful kids. They could be dying right now. I could have saved them. My mind shoots back to when I stood frozen at the doorway, watching Gerry have what looked like a series of grand mal seizures, his pajama T-Shirt covered in thick, burgundy blood. He looked like a fish out of water. I was scared as hell. I don't think I ever felt more surreal, watching my baby boy die. I didn't know what to do, I was frozen.

I could have saved him. I sink down in my seat and realize that I don't care if I make it out of the police station. I don't even know why I am here. Without my children, I don't want to live. I want to die. Will that happen to me? Will I die? That won't be so horrible at this point. I close my eyes. God, if you are out there, if you are really REALLY out there, you fucked up so badly. They are just kids. They are too young. I try to swallow but I can't. It's like a lump of blood. I am not surprised. But if you are for real, please do me one favour. I think you owe me this one, Big Guy. Please let me die. I don't care how, I really don't. Just make it happen soon, okay? Thanks. I lean back and hold my breath. I know that that won't kill me, but it can't hurt. And at this point, breathing hurts. It takes all my leftover energy. I really want to die.

I don't know how much time has passed.

Three minutes? Three hours?

Martin Goodman taps on the window. I immediately recognise him as he is the sheriff of this police station. I met him about a month and a half back during the LA Officers Fun Run I sponsored. He is a hearty guy with salt and pepper hair, heavy on the salt. He is kind, good hearted but also a great cop - he does right by his job.

Still, I am the leading candidate for Governor of California. He looks pretty scared out of his wits, although he is trying to hide it.

When he realises my hands are not functional enough to open the door, he pulls out a key from his pocket and does it for me. As the door opens, I am hit by an abrupt coldness I didn't know I could witness. My push my hands in between my thighs and try not to shake. My mouth is the Sahara desert.

I close my eyes when he opens his mouth to speak.

I don't want to hear about how he thinks I shot my family.

"Mr. Grant," he says, and I can tell he is trying to keep his voice levelled. "Now, have a look. I don't want to keep these handcuffs on you. A respected candidate like you...wearing handcuffs? That is just unsightly. So with your cooperation, we can have this ordeal of getting you out this car and in your cell over this ASAP. That is what I truly want. And as a man who values his dignity, I know that's what you want as well."

Ha. He stills believes that I am considered a 'candidate'. I do not know what to think of that.

"W-w-" I try myself at functioning words, but it isn't going too well. My whole body feels like it's being butchered and everyone is just watching, staring...judging. It's fucking embarrassing. "H-how is my wife? Is she okay?"

I open my eyes just enough to see Goodman's grimace. As if it's the most upsetting thing I would ask that. He looks down, undoes my handcuffs with another key and angrily pulls me by the collar out of the car.

"Kill me," I whisper as I am yanked into the parking lot. The cold air plays with the still wet blood on my skin and creates a horrible tingly sensation...like bugs on my body.

"Excuse me?" Goodman demands quietly into my ear. I pan my eyes around my surroundings. The bright light of the station lobby hurts to look at. Many cop cars are in the parking lot, but regular cars buzzing with activity are parked down the street. To officers close the street down, screaming at people who try and pass their yellow tape.

Still, I hear camera shutters and see flashes. People scream out words I cannot understand.

"This is why I took the handcuffs off, jackass," Goodman mutters as he walks in front of me. "But try something and I will beat you right here for everyone to see. Come on, be coherent."

Wow. He really thinks I did it.

I struggle with this thought, being perceived as a man who would shoot up his entire family, as I muster up everything else and walk into the station. Very few people are there but all eyes are all on me.

I lower my gaze. Having lived in LA my whole life, I have been inside this building countless amounts of times. For friends, sponsership events and simply writing out a donation. But never for anything affiliated with a crime. I close my eyes. Never.

"Mr. Grant," I open my blue eyes to see a short, chubby African American woman with a few large plastic bags. I have seen her a few times but I have never spoken to her, as far as I can remember. "Why don't you come on over here?"

Goodman leaves my side to speak to the receptionist. I realise now that they have taken nonessential people out of the station. I bit my tongue. More blood. Brilliant.

I follow the lady into the main hallway, then take a left to a corner with three rooms. She leads me into one of them, and then a room within that room. Two buff officers are standing there, waiting. I see the lineup where mugshot photos are taken. I have never seen this in real life. It would be oh so interesting if I wasn't the criminal. Now I just want to die. Yes, I am still holding on to my death wish.

The woman sets the baggies down on a table.

"Now, here is what's gonna happen," she says in a calm voice. "You gon' take your clothes off...shoes, socks, undies, everything. These nice officers are gonna take your prints, give you some clothes and then you gon' take your pictures. We'll take you somewhere a bit less nicer than here and you can wait for your lawyer."

She glances at my arms and analyses my cuts. I too forgot they were there.

"Would you like something for that now?" I shake my head. I know exactly what I want - to die. But I don't say that. "Are you sure, sweetie? Because I gotta put on record that you denied medical care."

I fiddle with my Pajama drawstrings. She takes this as her cue to leave. I bit my tongue once again and slip off my shirt and pants. I feel the officers gaze on me. I stare at them and swallow the ginormous lump in my throat.

"C-can I get some privacy?"

It's humiliating - being a well respected governal candidate one minute and a fugitive who has to change his briefs in front of security guards the next.

The guards look at each other and then at me. One of them is tall and Hispanic looking, with a head full of black, wavy hair and brown eyes. He looks handsome and young - no older than forty. The other one is light skin and a bit shorter and heavier, his skin is flawed with dry patches and acne scars but his eyes are hazel. If they respect or even recognize me as Governor candidate, they don't say anything. They simply shake their heads and black one states in a rough, scratchy voice, "No siree. You gotta change and you gotta do it right here in front of us. In fact, you face us."

I swallow another forming lump in my throat. I hate feeling like this, but what choice do I have? I do not want to show them my junk, but I am not in position to question their orders. I scoot over and face them.

Before I know it, the tears I didn't even know I had in me fall down.