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I was not there when the blast ripped through the forensics department, laying my friends low and sending shards of glass and metal and bone flying. I was still hiding, afraid to be lost, afraid to be found, and for that I will be forever guilty. When it all went down, I was still locked in the back of a refrigerated truck for almost two days with three cases of lettuce and about a hundred kilos of cocaine, just trying to stay alive. Lucky me. If I never see another salad again for as long as I live it will be too soon! I'm a Peck, and Pecks don't run and hide! Or, so I've been told my whole life. If I had held my ground and died, would I have won approval then? The martyr cop? The unsung hero of little girls? I doubt it. My reputation already tarnished by my lack of success and stupidity of the past.
Undercover work and I never seem to get along. I mean, the last time I did this I was abducted by a serial killer, drugged, raped, strangled into unconsciousness – twice, and chained to a fucking table for days, and then zip-tied and thrown into the trunk of his cab like so much garbage. AND to top it all off Ross Perek stabs Jerry to death, but Jerry still manages to rescue me because he was awesome like that, leaving me with a lifetime of survivor's guilt. Great. And years of therapy later, I'm still having nightmares… Just Great.
For almost four months, Dov and I had been working our way into the center of Sanchez's organization by managing three of his nightclubs that catered to a European clientele. Clubs where the cocaine flowed as freely as the Champagne. We thought Sanchez was only dealing in drugs and guns. We couldn't have been more wrong. When we got back from our much needed three-day furlough, we discovered he was also dealing in under-age girls for pain and pleasure. I don't know who had been more shocked. Dov was stoic and grim. On the other hand, I have to admit, I kinda went ballistic.
We were just about to make our bust when Katrina appeared. A twelve year girl old from Latvia, who looked like she could have been my daughter, ball-gagged and chained to the bed in our bedroom at the condo. A gift from Victor for Dov and me to share the note had said. I had been flirting with Victor Sanchez, insinuating that Dov and I liked it rough and wild. Dispose of her with Sal when you are done, the note had said. It made sick and see red all at the same time. Thank God she spoke some French, and I was learning German. This complicated things immeasurably. When it became clear that the department was willing to sacrifice the lives of these girls, in exchange for a nice clean bust, the quick recovery of more guns and drugs, and a nice public relations score, I was incredulous! Another time we were told. Dov and I took matters into our own hands. We broke into the downtown recording studio where we found Anya from Moscow, age fourteen, Maria from Prague, age twelve, and Lucia from Barcelona, age sixteen. Unfortunately, Sal and other three guys found us there too. We tried to talk our way out, but it was no use. He drew his weapon on Dov, and I had to shoot him. Dov turned and fired as he saw one of the other men pull a Glock from his belt. The girls screamed and ran. I managed to grab one as he grabbed the other two and headed for the stairs. He took the all of girls and ran up toward the roof, I ran down to the underground garage, slamming the door hard to create a diversion. I am told once he made it out onto the street, he stole a car and took the girls to the safe house after picking up Katrina at the library where we left her.
And so I was hiding when two sticks of dynamite exploded in the morgue. The catering truck was open. The men who were chasing me had called for back up. I was running out of options, I was running out of time. And so I hid in the corner of the refrigerator truck, under the blankets that I later learned were hiding the cocaine. I was there when the impact of the blast broke Chris's right leg in three places and cracked four of his ribs. I was there when Holly was thrown head first into the wall. I was there when she suffered from a fractured skull and swelling of the brain, as if her brain wasn't big enough to begin with. There is evidence that points to Sanchez bombing the morgue to destroy Sal's body. Why? We don't know. Chris and Holly had both been critically injured. I was not where they needed me. I had killed Sal. These were my crimes, and I would not be easily forgiven. Sure, both Holly and Chris are generous enough to overlook my absence, but I should have been here or dead instead of hiding.
The bust went down like clockwork. Sam and Oliver taking down Sanchez just as he was getting in his car to leave town and head back to the States. The drugs I was literally sitting on the cincher to our case. I was freezing and afraid to die when Andy opened the door to the truck. I swear, I have never been so happy to see anyone! Even her! Andy's face went from joy, to sorrow, to fear, and back to joy so fast when she found me it was like watching a cartoon.
In spite of the gross germy nature of hospitals, I have been here ever since I got back almost two weeks ago. Is it enough? I doubt it ever will be. I know I've been abusing my position as a police officer, but I don't care. I hate hospitals, but I love Holly more. I discovered that there are really only two kinds of nurses, the good kind like Monique, who lets me use the shower, brings me coffee, and likes to chat about her kids when she has a second, and the bad kind who are ridged sticklers to the rules and are offended by my presence here. Suzanne, or Nurse Ratched, as I like to call her, is the worst! I think even my bleach disinfectant wipes annoy her. This afternoon, I've been sitting here watching Holly sleep instead of working on my final report to the International Commission on Human Trafficking. I am hoping to take a shower with her when she wakes up from her nap. Monique tells me for someone who just woke up from a coma yesterday, Holly is making excellent progress, and scolds me playfully not to even think about hanky-panky, as she calls it, for another month. All I can do is smile and be grateful that looks like Holly and Chris will be ok.