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About the author:
Stacy is very involved in Domestic Violence Awareness and served on the Board of Directors for her local Domestic Violence Center for three years. She continues to volunteer with them when she has time.
What inspired you to write your book?
As a police officer, I often thought about having a guardian angel watching over me. This story came from those thoughts late at night as I patrolled my area.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Section 1: Mitchell
The smell of rotten garbage tickled my nose, I exhaled to clear it. Walking lightly in the dark shadows of the alley, I peered around the corner of the large commercial dumpster, my gun drawn, heavy in my hands and pointed low. A rat scurried away. I moved on. The target I wanted could be classified as vermin, but he was larger, much larger.
I had been directed to stay put at the end of the alley near the road in case he came that way, but after debating with myself, I left my post in search of the suspect. A nagging voice inside my head told me I should have stayed where I was, but I continued to ignore it.
Sirens in the distance and the just-audible chatter over the radio kept me in tune with where everyone else was. The suspect, who was wanted for aggravated assault, had fled from police after a brief struggle. Now he hid among the dark alleys of the small city.
The sound of footsteps pummeling the ground reached me, and I moved towards the sound. A second set could be heard moving just as fast, if not faster, behind it.
Static from a radio echoed around the corner, moving closer. The pounding on the pavement grew louder, and I peeked around the brick wall, the back of my shirt snagging on the rough brick behind me.
The suspect was heading this way, his arms pumping hard, close to his body, his feet beating the trash-strewn alleyway while he tried to outrun the person behind him.
The size of his body blocked most of my view, but I heard the telltale sounds of a radio and the clapping of metal on metal as cuffs banged against each other with each downward motion. I knew the sounds of one of my own.
I braced myself to step out and intercept the subject. My timing was crucial: If I went too soon, he could avoid me, too late, and he could ram right into me before he saw the barrel of my forty-caliber Glock pointed at him.
I glanced around the corner one last time, sucking in a quick breath. I pushed off the wall and pivoted into the path of the oncoming fugitive, my gun pointed straight out in front of me as he closed the gap between us.
Surprise registered on his face. He straightened, trying to halt his forward movement, his feet skidded on the damp asphalt. The knowledge that he was now trapped between two cops crossed the features of his sweaty face, and the whites of his eyes grew large. My mouth opened to speak just as his body pitched forward, a pair of small arms wrapped around his broad chest from behind. He slammed to the ground, hard.
A grunt of pain was expelled into the air. I was not sure if it came from him or the person on his back. My gun now pointed down at the subject, I blinked at the sight, twice.
Now on her knees over the suspect, the pursuing officer grabbed one of his hands from above his head, yanking it hard to the center of his back. The guy’s face came off the ground, wincing in pain from the quick movement.
“Give me your cuffs,” she called out.
I holstered my gun, grabbed my cuffs from the pouch on my duty belt, and handed them down to her. Quite mesmerized by the scene playing out in front of me, I did nothing more than continue to watch her.
This woman dressed in a police uniform, probably half the weight of the guy on the ground, had not only chased him down, but had tackled him face first to the ground. Okay, that was kind of hot. No, that was smoking hot!
“I didn’t do anything!” the apprehended subject screamed.
I watched as she pulled his other arm behind his back just as roughly as she had the first, her chest still heaving from her foot pursuit.
She looked up at me, her face covered in shadows, “You mind?”
Broken out of my admiration by her words, I moved to her side while she climbed off the suspect’s back. Together we pulled him to his feet.
“Man, you made me hit my head! I’m bleeding!”
“Sucks to be you, huh?” Her face lifted to the suspect, then she glanced at me before she looked down at her radio microphone clipped to the front of her shirt.
Twenty-nine Paul Six, one in custody, alleyway south of Ridge Avenue.”
As she yanked the guy forward, he stumbled, and I realized she only came up to his shoulder.
“Copy Twenty-nine Paul Six, do you need a car for transport?” the radio crackled to life.
“Paul Six, yeah, and the suspect will also need EMS attention, laceration to the head from a fall.”
“Twenty-nine Paul Six, copy EMS.” The dispatcher paused and then continued. “Twenty-nine Paul Six, also, when you are clear, you have a domestic pending.”
“Paul Six, I copy, I’ll be clear soon.” She pulled the guy’s arm harder which forced him to walk faster. With my hand wrapped around his other elbow, I peeked around the suspect’s body to her. She was almost as tall as my five foot seven stature, not petite, but not wide. From what I had just observed, she was in damned good shape. A section of long light-blond hair that had pulled out of the neat knot at the back of her neck lay along the side of her face, hiding her features from me.
Tires screeched to a halt at the end of the alley. Flashing lights from a patrol car bounced off the brick walls. I turned to her again. She pushed the hair behind her ear, her jaw was locked, and a muscle twitched in the side of her cheek while red and blue lights reflected off her clear skin.
“You guys alright?” a voice I recognized called out from the street.
“Hey, Joe, can you take it from here? I need to get going, got another call,” she yelled down the alley.
“Sure, I got it. Good job, thanks for your help.” My partner, Joe Corby, jogged over to us, taking the guy’s arm as she stepped away.
“No problem, you need anything else from me?”
We stepped out of the alleyway. Under bright street lights, other police cars were pulling up to our location. I couldn’t pull my intent survey from her as she backed away, the hair she had pushed behind her ear fell forward as she turned. The urge to reach out and tuck the shiny lock back itched my hand.
“Just a supplement from you. Who took him into custody?” Joe asked her as he pulled open the rear door, prodding the suspect into the back. I let go, never looking away from her.
“Get my report to you later. Ask your partner, he was there.” She smiled and for the first time made direct eye contact with me. Her step faltered and her eyebrows came down just the smallest amount. Her smile faded, and her mouth opened just the tiniest bit into an O shape.
Two very dark eyes bore into mine for three brief seconds. A bolt of electricity zipped through my body, straight to my heart. She stopped moving backwards, cocked her head, and slowly smiled again.
With a quick turn, she spun on her heel and started jogging down the street in search of her patrol car that she’d ditched to pursue the subject on foot.
I watched her until she turned the corner a block away.
“So, what happened?” Joe asked after he closed the back door.
“Who was that?” I countered his question with one of my own.
“Who, the bozo you just arrested?” He started making his way to the driver’s door.
I rolled my eyes at his back, “No, I know who he is. The woman—who was that woman?”
Joe smiled at me over the roof of the car, “Ah, yes, amazing isn’t she?” He climbed into the driver’s seat, putting down the passenger window. “You getting in, Mitch? Or do you plan on walking back to the station?”
I pulled open the door, sliding my wide frame into the tight passenger seat.
“She tackled him.” I laughed, for the first time replaying the scene in my mind of her diving onto his back and going down to the ground fast.
Joe laughed beside me as the prisoner yelled from the back, “Hey, it’s not funny. That hurt!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m sure it hurt. Now you know what the guy you assaulted feels like,” Joe barked over his right shoulder.
“He deserved it.”
“Yeah, well, so did you,” Joe responded while peeking in the rearview mirror.
I turned around in my seat to see the suspect shake his head and look out the window. A thin line of blood ran down the right side of his face from his impact with the macadam.
“So, who was that?”
“Seriously? You really have no idea who that was?” He glanced my way before pulling onto the road.
“If I knew, do you really think I would ask?” I threw back.
“Wow, I thought everyone knew her.” He shook his head while he laughed. “That was Corey Hamilton, the woman with a face and body of an angel, and a heart to match. Seriously, you have never seen her before?” The incredulousness in his voice stood out.
“I’ve heard of her. You all talk enough about her, but I’ve never seen her face to face.” Oh, and what a face. He was right, the face of an angel, although with her gear on I couldn’t really tell what kind of body she had.
I wasn’t sure about the heart thing, not with the way she tackled him. I didn’t think that kind of aggressiveness would go over to well in heaven.
The memory of her staring back at me played over and over like a tape on loop mode. The zap that had sung through my heart in that moment, had she felt the shock, too?
“Yeah, well don’t get too excited about it. She’s out of our league.” Joe pulled up to the police station, letting our dispatcher know where we were. I climbed out and heard Corey’s voice over the radio saying she was on location of her call.
How I had never taken notice of her voice before amazed me. Now that I’d seen her face, her voice vibrated through my skull.
“What do you mean, out of our league?” I pulled open the rear door, waiting for the prisoner to climb out on his own power.
“Man, first of all, did you see her? She’s amazing! Not that we are bad to look at, but she needs to be with a Greek god of some kind—although she was married to a Ken doll before, and that didn’t work out.”
Joe grabbed the guy’s other arm once he was out, and we marched him into the station. “She’s married?”
The suspect glanced back and forth between us, apparently interested in our conversation, too.
“Was married, divorced now.” Joe unlocked the door to the processing room. We sat the guy down on the bench, cuffing his leg to the metal post.
“And that’s the other thing about us, we’re married. She won’t look at you twice once she knows that. That’s why she’s divorced, Barbie boy cheated on her.”
The suspect snickered from the bench, “Barbie boy,” he muttered.
We both gaped at him and Joe blurted out, “What are you laughing about?”
“Nothing, you guys are just funny, that’s all.” He chuckled again.
Her voice reached my ears as it played in stereo over our radios. She was telling the dispatcher her status was alright. Strangely enough, I felt relief without having known I was worried.
Another officer walked into the processing room, behind him the EMS crew crowded in to assess the suspect. We walked out as they entered, too many people in one small room.
“Does she date cops?” I questioned as we entered the squad room.
He laughed, “Why you so interested, Mitch? I already told you, we are out of her league, man.”
“I’m not interested, I just—” I thought about it for a second, “Well, I’m interested, but not like that. I was just flat out amazed at how she handled that guy. I stood there with my mouth hanging open while she took him down and cuffed him.”
I dropped down into one of our swivel office chairs, leaning back.
“She might look like an angel, but she fights like the devil. I’d do anything to have her on my side.” He grinned over his shoulder and rolled his own chair up to the desk. “Second degree black belt, I think.” He reached for the mouse, waking up the computer with a quick shake.
Second degree black belt, nice! I thought back to the exchange on the street again, her actions lingering my mind.
“Let it go, man,” he chortled as he started typing into our report system.
He was right; I needed to let it go. I was a married man, so no matter what little burst of energy had raced through me earlier, it didn’t matter. I pulled myself up to my desk, putting her face out of my mind as I pulled my own report up.