Restoration
Chapter 14
Nolan is bone-weary. The cadaver dogs and their handlers did most of the gruesome work finding bodies, including several in the tunnels beneath the zoo. Mostly John stayed at his post, looking out for unexpected incursions, but the sight of that much devastation flowing from one twisted human being sucked almost every ounce of strength from his body and his spirit.
Driving back to his home-in-progress, John barely does his usual scan of the surrounding houses, but something sets off a warning in the still functioning sliver of his mind. There's a car in the driveway down the street. That house is empty and has been, ever since John first considered buying his place. Lack of habitation is one thing that kept the bank's asking price in the basement. There's been no activity to indicate any interest, and John's never seen that car before.
Pulling into his own driveway, John decides to investigate. He strolls as nonchalantly as he can down the broken sidewalk, aware of the weight of his off-duty weapon at the small of his back. He catches a glimpse of someone behind the wheel before the figure ducks out of sight. John couldn't tell much about who it was except that whoever attempted to disappear is about John's height, but broader. If whoever it is parked there on some innocent mission, he'd have no reason to hide. John reaches in his pocket for his phone to call for backup.
"F**k!" Antonio hisses. It wasn't supposed to go this way at all. Even if he can convince the L.A.P.D. that he has a reason for keeping surveillance on Nolan's block, Rosalind won't excuse his failure. She never excuses failure. He'd be safer with the cops than trying to return to his job, on the slim chance that he keeps it.
Antonio could try blowing Nolan's house. The shock wave could knock Nolan to the pavement, giving Antonio an opening to get away. But where would he go? He's known Rosalind long enough to realize that her reach is virtually unlimited. He could run, but he couldn't hide. Trading the location of the bomb might be worth some measure of protection. It's worth a try. Against Rosalind, anything is worth a try.
Grey puts a firm hand on Bradford's shoulder as he stares through the glass while Armstrong questions Hernandez. Words force themselves through the T.O.'s teeth. "That sonofabitch sent Caleb after Chen."
"I know," Grey acknowledges. "Every cop in this building knows. Right now, Hernandez has nothing. We've got him on attempted murder of a cop, and he's pissing his pants at the thought of being in prison within range of Rosalind Dyer. We have the advantage, and Armstrong is going to use it. But you try to go in there, give Hernandez any chance to claim abuse or excessive force, you'll give him an excuse to turn the tables, maybe even walk. Go work out on the heavy bag or get a drink. Do whatever you need to do to stay away from this until we shake loose everything Hernandez knows about Rosalind and her operation. Do you hear me officer Bradford?"
Tim beats his fist against the wall. "Yes, Sir."
John shivers beneath a sheet and blanket on his bed. It's 85 degrees outside. His newly installed air conditioning system works, but the last thing he wants is to turn it on. He'd thought of this house as his haven, a place separate from his work as a cop. But now his worlds have collided. The bomb squad found Hernandez's explosive device easily enough, especially since the guard told them where it was. They also went over every square inch of John's home and the surrounding houses and declared them safe. John doesn't feel safe. It's not just that his home was invaded, but with Rosalind pulling strings, there is no safe place — for anyone. Being alone isn't helping. He reaches for his watch on the bedside table. Grace should have been off shift for hours, and Oliver must be in bed by now. Maybe she'll be willing to talk for a while. Not daring to chance waking up an 8-year-old with the ring of a cellphone, John decides to send a text.
Grace's phone dings as she's considering turning in for what for her is an early night. John wants to come over. That's a step up from an early morning phone call or a casual date. Or maybe it's a flashback to when they couldn't wait to get their hands on each other. But it doesn't look like he's angling for sex, and she doubts that he would, with Oliver in the house. That just wouldn't be like John. He says he had a hard day. Since most of them have been lately, this one must have been extremely disturbing. Her finger hovers over her screen for a moment, even as she knows she's going to say yes.
John raps as softly as he can on Grace's door. He has no idea if Oliver is a light sleeper or not, but he's not there to complicate Grace's life any more than he already is. He stopped shivering in the heat of his trip to Grace's apartment, but his breathing is still uneasy, and his throat two sizes too small.
Wordlessly letting John in, Grace waves him to a seat on the sofa. Rather than sitting beside him, she pulls up a storage ottoman to face him. "What happened, John?" she inquires softly.
With shaking hands, John describes Hernandez's plan.
Grace presses her fingers to her mouth. "John, no wonder you didn't feel comfortable in your house tonight. I think if someone had tried to blow me up like that, I'd take Oliver and spend a night in a hotel — maybe more than one night. This apartment doesn't have a guest room, but you're welcome to stay on my couch."
"What about Oliver?" John asks. "How are you going to explain the presence of a strange man in your living room?"
"He's had friends sleep over. There's was one who stayed for a couple of weeks while his parents were going through rough times. No reason why he'd have trouble understanding Mom helping out a friend."
John clasps both of Grace's hands in his own. "Sounds like you've got a great kid there. Like mother, like son."
A smile dances in Grace's eyes. "Except that he has his father's hair, and he definitely has his father's feet. I'll get you a pillow and a blanket. If you wake up before I do, start the coffee, and if Oliver comes into the kitchen and climbs up looking for Smiley Crunchies, tell him, I said that the rule stands that he can only have them on Saturday mornings."
"That way, you only have to cope with the sugar rush once a week?" John queries.
"You obviously speak with the voice of experience. Right. Oliver and I should both be up around six."
"I should be too, or possibly even earlier if I'm going to make it home to change clothes before roll call. If I leave before I see you; I'll lock the door on my way out. Thanks again for this, Grace. I don't know how I could have gotten through the night at my place."
Grace grabs bedding from the top of the hall closet and lays it on the couch beside Nolan. "That's what friends are for, John. Get some rest."
John presses a kiss into the palm of her hand. "Good night, Grace."