Homicide Division

Los Angeles Police Department

Los Angeles

          I was still shaking. It's a nervous habit of mine. Whenever I get scared, I start shaking and it usually takes me a while to quit. I had been wide awake on the drive up, like I had just been jarred out of a nightmare (and maybe I had). Detective Smith had set me up in a vacant interview room with a soda, giving me some time to myself to get together and relax. He was sympathetic, suggesting to me that he wasn't too far removed, which was a good trait to have in a cop and a sign that I could trust him. That was slightly comforting as I exhaled.

          Trying to figure out what was going on in my mind, a Black Lab song popped into my head. The first time I had heard it, it had inspired memories of sacrifices made for the right thing and dealing with those. Now it just kind of told me to shut up and just deal.

          There was a knock on the door and Detective Smith stepped in. I stood as he entered, studying me. "How are you doing?" he said softly.

          I exhaled again. "I'm not going to get any better."

          "Seriously, take all the time you need."

          "Somebody's trying to kill me. The only way I get clear of it is stopping them. Blunt, I know, but hey." I shrugged. "Let's do this thing."

          He smirked at my response. "All right."

          I walked across the room to the threshold of the door he was holding open for me by leaning against it, stood there for a moment, and crossed the line. With Detective Smith following, I went from the darkness to the light, heading for their desks, Black Lab still playing along in my mind.

Wash it in the sea, let it soak all night

Wash it in the sea, let the saltwater wash it away

Soak it in bleach till it's white on white

Soak it in bleach till the blood just washes away

          "Where do we go from here?" I asked Sergeant Friday, leaning forward, palms flat on Detective Smith's desk. I'd slipped into the crisis mode my psychological defenses put up in event of some big catastrophe at work. I'd say being shot at was a big thing. "What can I do?"

          He seemed appreciative of my commitment. "The first thing we do is make sure that you're safe. Then we try to figure out who wanted both you and Chris Fisher dead."

Hang it in the wind, let it blow all night

Hang it up high, let the high wind blow it away

Hang it in the wind, let the sun burn bright

Hang it in the wind till the blood just washes away

          I was going to move, but Detective Smith was sitting on the edge of his desk so I dropped into his chair, producing my copy of the list from my jacket pocket and tossing it dismissively on the desk. "Maybe they didn't," I said randomly. "Maybe they just came after me because they saw the card."

          "Maybe, but there's still a reason why and even that's a chance we can't take." His eyes darted to his partner. "See what you can do about getting her some protection."

          I thought about protesting – surely Lex could have stayed over, or I could have gone with Jack and Kim (I omitted Michael since we weren't in the best state at the time), but then I thought better. Sergeant Friday knew what he was doing and he knew where I worked, and he wanted a cop on it for a reason. Plus, Lex, though a good fighter (we'd fought together in the Code Five takedown), didn't have a combat specialty. And did I really want to risk Kim's life, if this guy came after me again? No way.

          Instead, I just nodded. "Okay, so what do we do?"

          "You like that question, don't you?"

          "Yeah, when I'm involved. Part of being an administrator is you know what everyone's doing." I shrugged slightly. "Is there any report from the University?"

          "The slug in your white board matches the type of gun that killed Chris Fisher but it's damaged so I doubt we'll get a weapon-to-weapon match. We followed the trajectory to the second level of University Hall, but there's nothing there except a hole big enough to shoot through. CSI's still checking." He paused. "How did you know to duck?"

          "I don't know, I just did." I paused. "You'll think it's crazy, but this morning I had a daydream about a virtually similar situation. It's probably just instincts."

          "Well, they're good."

          "Not good enough or we'd catch this guy. Or woman." I sighed.

          "We will."

Say what about this wasted fear?

How can I just turn and wash it away?

If I can, then I will, wash it away

If she can, then she will, wash it away

          I picked up the list again and took a glance at it. Since there was an officer team on campus, they'd been given instructions to contact the one campus professor on my list: Stephen Cox, my first-semester History 131 instructor. Everybody else was mostly from work. The London team, or the London part of the London team, had been eliminated last night as we were quite sure this was a domestic incident. I found myself wishing Oliver could back me up. But this was something I had to do…

          "It's taken care of," Detective Smith said, coming back into the picture.

          Sergeant Friday nodded. "Let's start running names through."

          Just then, their lieutenant, a veteran woman whose name I couldn't remember, approached us. "Your witness is here."

          "Professor Cox?" I said, standing and turning round. "Great, let's get it done." Needless to say, I was saying that because it was probably all over campus that I'd nearly been killed this morning, and my History professor would be the first person who would end up involved in the fallout. The first of many. The truth was that the wall I'd made for myself between college life and professional life was coming down and it's a kind of wall you can't put back up.

I have waited wasted lives

I have waited long enough I'd say

Send me an angel, send me the ghost that I was

That I was, that I am

          I looked into Professor Cox's eyes and saw the surprise briefly flash, the recognition. He knew me and he wanted to know what I was doing there. If only it were easy to tell him the real truth, which it was except for in my own mind. Detective Smith, Sergeant Friday and I met him halfway, and I let them take the lead, suddenly so nervous.

          "I'm Sergeant Friday, this is my partner, Detective Smith," Sergeant Friday informed him, "and you already know this young woman."

          "I do." Professor Cox, for his part, looked composed. "I'm assuming this is about the shooting that took place about two hours ago?"

          "Yes." I cleared my throat. "It was me they were aiming for."

          "Brittany, dear God…"

          I cut him off. "It'll require some explaining, Professor. We'll get you settled in." As we lead him toward the interview room I looked over at Detective Smith. "I don't know if I can do this."

          "You okay? You said your job wasn't deniable… you said he knows…"

          "It's not, and he does, but what would you say to somebody you respect?" I let out a long deep breath. "Not like I have a choice."

          The two of us walked into the room and I bit the bullet, per se. It was time for the truth to come out and for me to stop living in a Robert Harris novel. "Professor Cox, I have to tell you something. The reason people were trying to kill me today probably has something to do with my job. Somebody was killed with my business card on his person. Either I'm the reason, or I'm the blowback."

          "The what?"

          "The ballistics term for fallout." I paused. "I'm sorry for getting you involved in this, especially when we don't know if this person is going to target anyone near me…"

          "Brittany, the important thing to me is that you're safe and that this person is stopped."

          "We're working on that now, sir." I didn't feel much better, but at least it was done.

          "What can I do to help?"

          I paused. "You can tell me if you told anyone else about my real job…"