Page 88 of Hidden Nature

They managed to haul him to his feet. Sloan patted him down, removed a knife from his belt—over the legal limit—but found no other weapons. No wallet, no ID.

“Go ahead and read him his rights,” Sloan said as they walked him down the trail.

Elana maintained a professional demeanor, remained silent a great deal of the time. At the foot of the trail, Sloan gave the arriving team directions, a brief report.

After they’d transported the prisoner, Sloan asked Elana if she felt confident to write the incident report.

“Yes. It’s etched in my brain. My first assisted arrest. Wow, what a morning! What’s the rest of the day going to be like?”

“Probably a lot quieter.”

Sloan dreamed that night in her creaky new house.

She walked into the mini-mart and into the raw winter air of the forest. The man at the counter turned. He had a big belly, a big beard, and an axe in his gloved hand.

“Get off my land!”

When he threw the axe, the blade struck her dead center of the chest.

The shock of pain, so real, so intense, woke her. Struggling for air, she sat up, both hands clutched at her chest.

The dream faded before the pain did, and the pain faded before the shaking.

Switching on the bedside lamp, she got up to walk across the hall to the bathroom. The pipes banged when she ran water in the sink, but she found the reality of the sound a comfort.

Her house, her pipes. Just a bad dream, and she hadn’t had one in a couple of weeks.

She’d handled the incident. She hadn’t frozen, she hadn’t panicked. She’d done her job.

She was fine. She looked at herself in the mirror. No longer pale, no longer so drawn. A few more pounds to go to get back to her fighting weight, but she’d made progress.

Most important, she’d done good work that day.

So she’d get up in the morning, put on the uniform, and do the same.

Until her board interview, Sloan put off all but the most urgent repairs. Prettying up her house could wait. The ancient water heater and the chimney cleaning couldn’t.

Once the interview was behind her, she made some time and a plan. The two bathrooms equaled gut jobs, but she opted to focus on one as her first genuine home improvement project.

The one across from the bedroom she’d chosen had a shower the size of a broom closet, a nasty vanity someone had tried, unsuccessfully, to paint a pea-soup green, a sink the size of a teacup, and rusting faucets. The room also held a tub that was barely big enough to accommodate a ten-year-old, that someone had somehow cracked, and linoleum flooring covered in bright yellow daisies that had begun to peel.

Rather than obsessing on the board’s decision, she researched tile, showerheads, finishes, paint on her off time until she had a solid vision.

She saw her family, and twice ran into her father while she and Elana were on patrol.

“Your father’s so handsome. And so fit.”

“He is. Also just great.”

“My dad’s great. He made a New Year’s resolution to get fit. Bought a tracker watch, joined a gym. My mom says it’s going very slowly.”

“One day at a time.”

When they’d finished their shift, she took Elana back to headquarters. Travis called Sloan into his office.

He rose, held out a hand. “Congratulations, Sergeant Cooper.”

She gripped his hand, and when he came around the desk to hug her, hugged back.

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