Page 28 of Dirty Valentine

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By this point cops had come running from all directions, but the guy was twisting like a dervish and feverish with rage.

Jenkin tried to jump back into the fray but the suspect’s shoulder caught him in the solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs in a sharp gasp.

That’s when Jack moved.He stepped around Martinez with the fluid precision of someone who’d learned violence as both an art and a science, timing his approach for the exact moment when the suspect was off-balance and focused on the others.

Jack’s right cross came from his shoulder with years of training and experience behind it, every ounce of his weight and momentum focused into his fist as it connected with the suspect’s jaw.The sound was like a baseball bat hitting a watermelon—sharp, final, and somehow deeply satisfying.

The suspect’s eyes rolled back in his head, showing nothing but white, and his massive frame collapsed like a controlled demolition.All that pharmaceutical rage and enhanced strength meant nothing against the basic physics of a perfectly timed punch.

The sudden silence in the bullpen was deafening after the chaos of the fight.Everyone stood frozen for a moment, staring at the unconscious mountain of muscle sprawled across the linoleum like a fallen statue.

“Well,” Martinez said finally, straightening his tie and trying to restore some dignity to his appearance.A thin line of sweat traced down his temple, and his breathing was still elevated from the struggle.“That was educational.”

Riley was a bloody mess and he pushed himself up from the floor.It looked like no one had escaped completely unscathed.

“Sheriff, don’t take this the wrong way,” Martinez said, limping back and forth to try and stretch out his sore muscles.“But I might resign today.”

“Why don’t you go home and sleep on it a couple of hours and then get back to me,” Jack said, looking down at the bruised knuckles on his hand.“Someone get EMTs over here to check out Riley.Anyone else need attention?”

“Nothing an ice pack and a beer can’t handle,” Cole said.

“Jenkins, get those ribs checked out,” Jack said.“Paperwork can wait.Get this guy into holding before he wakes up again.”

A group of the cops who’d been standing around moved in and hefted the unconscious man up under the arms and moved him toward the holding cells.

The aftermath of violence always left its own signature in the air—the metallic taste of adrenaline, the sharp scent of sweat and fear, the electric tension that took time to dissipate.Papers were scattered across the floor like confetti, a computer monitor flickered with a spiderweb crack across its screen, and someone’s coffee mug had exploded against the wall in a brown starburst that would probably stain the paint permanently.

Jack turned to look at me and said, “You okay?”

“Just another day at the office,” I said, my voice steady.My hands shook slightly and I was more shaken than I’d realized.Things could have been a lot worse than they had been.

Jack rubbed his bruised knuckles and surveyed the chaos around us.“This is going to take a while to sort out.Incident reports, internal affairs review, medical evaluations.”He looked at me with tired eyes.“Give me a couple of hours to deal with this mess before we go talk to Blackwood and Randolph.I don’t want to be interrupted halfway through an interrogation because someone needs paperwork signed.”

“That’s fine,” I said, relieved to have some time to let my adrenaline settle.“I’ll go check on things at the funeral home.Make sure everything’s ready for the day.”

Jack leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, mindful of the audience around us.“Call me if you need anything.And Jaye?Try to eat something that isn’t toast or crackers.”

“I’ll see what Emmy Lu has in the kitchen,” I promised, gathering my purse and jacket.

* * *

The drive to the funeral home gave me time to decompress from the morning’s violence.My hands had stopped shaking from the adrenaline by the time I pulled under the portico, though I could still taste the metallic tang of it on my tongue.

I let myself in through the side door, expecting to hear Emmy Lu’s usual morning routine—the soft murmur of the radio, the gentle clatter of coffee cups.Instead, the building felt unusually quiet.

“Emmy Lu?”I called out, hanging my jacket on the hook in the mudroom.

“I’m coming,” came her voice from her office, but there was an edge to it that wasn’t normally there.“I was just about to put on the coffee.”

She bustled in, staring at her phone with a worried frown, and immediately went to the coffeepot, her distraction palpable.According to everyone, I made terrible coffee so I was banned from the machine.Her light brown hair was pulled back in its usual messy bun, but it looked like she’d brushed it with an eggbeater—a sure sign of stress.

“What’s wrong?”I asked, settling onto one of the barstools.

“Sheldon didn’t come in this morning,” she said, setting her phone down.“His mother called about an hour ago.Said his bed wasn’t slept in and she’s worried sick.”

That got my attention.Sheldon was nothing if not punctual.“Have you tried calling him?”

“Goes straight to voicemail,” Emmy Lu said, tapping her fingers on the counter.“I keep telling myself he’s probably just fallen asleep at that creepy girl’s place, but it’s not like him.Even when he first started dating Leena, he always made it home at a decent hour.”