Charlie Foxtrot (Code 11-KPD SWAT 5)

I turned around, but instead of running, I started to walk.

That’s when I realized I was on the same road where David had dropped off the two men yesterday.

It looked a lot different in the light of day, and with no water pouring down out of the heavens, but no one could mistake those bluebonnets.

They were so beautiful that I stopped and stared out over the open meadow.

I hadn’t realized that I’d gained an audience until I heard a woman’s amused voice from behind me.

“I still do the same thing every morning,” the woman’s soft, melodic voice came from my side.

I turned to find the woman standing there in her bathrobe, her morning paper in her hand.

“Yeah, I didn’t realize we had somewhere like this in our town,” I said stupidly.

The woman was beautiful, even in her bathrobe. Something I’d never, ever in my life, be able to accomplish.

Her long brown hair tumbled down over her back and shoulders in waves.

She had wide brown eyes and a soft smile on her face.

“We just moved in. The old owners didn’t like to advertise that this was here, so not many know about it. Even the ones that have lived here their whole lives,” she said understandingly.

I nodded. “I’ve lived here since I was five. I was sure I’d missed something. This doesn’t just happen overnight,” I said, waving my hand to encompass the woman’s house.

She bobbed her head in agreement. “I agree. You’re welcome to come up and check it out from the top if you’d like.”

I shook my head animatedly. “No, I have to be getting back. I have to work in,” I looked at my watch, eyes bulging when I saw that I had less than an hour to get back, get changed, and then get to work. “Shit. I’m late. Thank you for offering! Have a good day!”

I started out at a quick pace, but eventually had to slow way down when I realized I wouldn’t be making it back at all if I didn’t moderate my pace.

That was, of course, when I saw him.

He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black track pants.

He had on bright neon green running shoes, but if I was being honest, that wasn’t what had my attention.

It was the man’s upper body that had my jaw dropping.

I swallowed thickly and kept my head down, surreptitiously glancing up as I got closer and closer to him.

Oh, God. His abs were magnificent.

I swear there were at least ten of them. Possibly even thirty eight…but who was counting?

Was that even possible?

And his shoulders and arms were massive. Not behemoth, I work out at the gym three times a day massive, but an honest massive. The kind you get from working your ass off doing hard labor and just living life.

Something I hadn’t realized when they’d been hidden under those t-shirts he wore.

If that were me, and I had that smoking hot body, I’d be wearing shirts that accentuated it, not brought attention away from them.

Then again, I’d been praying since I was fourteen for boobs that extended over the B cup that I currently was, and I’d yet to see that eventuality.

I kept my eyes down as I passed him, but I didn’t need to bother. He’d never even acknowledged me.

Not even an eye twitch.

Which only served to make my already depressed mood even worse.

That was when I decided that maybe I should just stop caring.

Maybe I was meant to be alone.

Maybe, just maybe, there was no one out there for me.

With that thought on my mind, I finally made it back to my house, on time.

Although, when I opened my front door, what I found made me late once again.

I could tell someone had been there.

Who, I didn’t know.

Nothing was overtly obvious. Only little things.

A picture frame there. A candle here.

My computer was on, when I distinctly remembered turning it off.

Then there was the missing photo album.

The one I found myself looking at last night, torturing myself over what I used to have.

So I called the one person I knew would be there for me when I needed it.

My daddy.Chapter 6Sticks and stones may break my bones, but lights and sirens excite me.

-T-shirt

Blake

They say that, as a dispatcher, you take calls that you’ll never know the outcome to.

They also say that dispatchers have to have a warped sense of humor because of what they deal with on a daily basis. Kind of like cops and firefighters do.

They’re the first ones that make official contact with the patient.

They get no letters of commendations, no awards for saving a child from a burning building.

What we had, though, was a sisterhood.

Our entire outfit was compromised of 15 women ranging in age from my twenty four to the eldest at seventy one.

They all told me their stories. Some good, and some really, really bad.

I guess I never really thought about anything that ‘bad’ happening to one of my callers.

I was all prepared for a car accident, or a woman in labor.

I hadn’t had very many ‘true’ 9-1-1 calls yet.

I’d had mostly stupid calls.

My car won’t start. My power’s out. I think my wife’s sleeping with another man.

Why people would call 911 because of those things, I didn’t know, but they freakin’ did. Constantly.

So as I answered my line, ten minutes past midnight, never in a million years would I have thought that I’d hear what I heard.

“911, what’s your emergency?” I answered, tracing the call the moment I could.

“There’s someone in my house,” a quivering teenaged voice said through my line.

I immediately started to dispatch a unit to her address.

“Can you tell me what’s going on, honey? Where are you?” I asked her.

My voice didn’t have even show a hint of the fear that was coursing through my veins. I was a fucking rock.

“I’m here alone with my little sister and big brother. My parents are away for the weekend,” she whispered. “I live in apartment 1B. Town Royal Apartments.”

I blinked, typing the information into my computer and immediately letting the closest responding officer what was up.