January Gets Her Gunn excerpt: PG-13

January Gets Her Gunn by Gwynn Morgan  www.gwynnmorgan.com

ISBN: 978-1-58749-645-5 (e)  -675-2 (p)

 

Blurb: January Farrell wants nothing more than to be a police officer, a good one. The only thing is, her sarcastic, eccentric and often hard-to-take training officer, Thad Gunn, seems to be bent on making her quit. To make it even worse, he’s one good looking, attractive man despite his sometimes unattractive treatment. Add a local news anchor who seems to hate cops, a serial rapist raising the ante with each crime he commits and the tangle of small town and rural politics and you have a recipe for an action packed adventure. It’s a wild ride as January works to make probation and—maybe–get her Gunn. Is she willing and able to go the course and grab the prize?

 

Excerpt – Note: radio conversations heard are shown in <> and time is given in the military form used by most law enforcement agencies.

Riverton, AZ,  

7 July 1982: 2345:

Rookie officer January Farrell slid a glance across the police car at her companion, Senior Patrolman Thaddeus Gunn. Since he drove, at least she couldn't see his eyes. The man had the strangest, spookiest eyes, pale grey irises almost invisible, colorless in the dark.

Cold too, like an iceberg in the North Sea. Almost two hours into my first shift and I've already had it, right up to the eyeballs. Ugh, why did I choose that particular phrase? Can I handle six to eight weeks more of this? If I didn't want to be a cop so bad I could taste it, I'd be outta here in a heart beat.

She'd already had a bellyful of his supercilious, sarcastic lectures, his rules and his attitude. It hadn't taken an hour to discover he was cynical, arrogant, and sadistic. How could she be so lucky?

Well, I won't quit. I made it through boot camp, twelve weeks bordering on hell. I made it through the Arizona Law Enforcement Training Academy, another tough course. Damned if I'll let this ghoul-eyed geek run me off! But it's not going to be easy.

January sighed softly, concentrated on her first night's lessons. Even at the Academy, she'd heard Gunn was good although hard, tough, and cold. She had to glean the wisdom from the sharp words he had thrown her way, maybe learn by example. What did he do? How did he act?

The first time he'd given her that wide-eyed stare, she'd damn near crossed herself. It took her back to her Irish grandmother's tales of banshees and black magic, the power of the evil eye. She couldn't let that distract her, though, nor the fact he was otherwise one good looking hunk of man.

Tall and lean, he moved with the controlled grace of a gymnast or a dancer. His face had been carved by a master sculptor, every line balanced and perfect, just craggy enough to be masculine. Dark hair and brows contrasted with his fair complexion and those haunting eyes. In the dark blue Riverton PD uniform, he could pose for a recruiting poster and get half the eligible females to sign up right off, 'specially the back view or the profile…

As they cruised down a nearly deserted street, January began to relax a bit. Suddenly Gunn pulled to the curb, stopped the car and shut off the lights. What's he up to?

"Huh?" January frantically scanned both sides of the street. She couldn't see a soul for a couple of blocks.

Gunn glanced her way. "Look above your eyebrows, Farrell."

She jumped in a guilty start before beginning to search the roof tops. For a minute, she didn't see anything. Then out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement. Focusing, she discerned a head silhouetted above the roof line of a single-story building about four doors ahead, across the street. The head disappeared, then bobbed back up.

"I see a head–on the roof of that little store across the street."

"Well bravo for you, bright-eyes. Better late than never."

When did God go on leave and put you in charge, Gunn? She clenched her fists, biting her tongue to keep it in check. Sassing a superior was not smart, especially on your first shift, but she sure was tempted. He seemed to ignore her completely as he reached for the mike, disregarding what he'd said earlier about her being the communicator.

Thad sensed Farrell's glare as he reached for the mike. I know I told her that she was the communicator, but I want to get the ball moving without having to tell her what to say. He keyed the mike. "Eight, Peter Six."

<Go Peter Six.>

"Peter Eight, we have someone on the roof at Carlings, on 9th. We're out front, across the street and four doors east."

<Ten-Four, Six. I'm two away. I'll come in on the alley.>

"Ten-Four, Eight. You have that, Two-Eight-Three, possible burglary at Carling's on 9th?"

<Ten-Four Peter Six. Six and Eight with possible burglary. Twenty-three fifty. KTR Two-Eight-Three.>

Okay, Dispatch has it. Thad turned to Farrell. "Log us at twenty-three fifty, on sight, possible burglary in progress at Carling's Silver Boutique, 9th Street." He watched her pick up the clipboard and jerk a pen out of her shirt pocket. "You know 'on sight' means we discovered the call, instead of getting it from Dispatch?"

"Yeah, I went to school once." Farrell wrote on the log sheet.

She's miffed. I think I'm getting to her. We'll see how many shifts she'll last. "I took over the radio to expedite things instead of telling you what to say." Farrell nodded as she wrote.

<Peter Six, David Five. I'm in on Carling's two away.>

"Ten-Four David Five. Come in slow and easy. We don't want to alert the lookout on the roof." Thad handed the mike over. "That's a detective car. His name's Shapiro." Farrell nodded. She isn't talking. She's miffed, big time. Too bad. This is reality, no time to play games.

<Peter Six, KTR Two-Eight-Three. Carling has been notified. He'll be in route with keys in fifteen.>

When Farrell looked at him, Thad nodded. She answered dispatch. Damn, we've got to get in there before Carling roars up and gives everything away. Eight reported he was in the alley, and David Five arrived. A car without lights came ghosting around the corner and pulled to the curb, just west of the store front.

While glancing at his watch, Thad heard Dispatch answer the other cars. Almost midnight. How are we going to handle this? Having this damn rookie trailing along is like trying to sail into the wind with an anchor dragging. What can I do to keep her busy and out of the way?

<Six, is the guy still on the roof?>

"That's Eight isn't it?"

After Thad nodded to Farrell, she responded affirmatively to the other car.

<There's nothing back here. Doors and windows okay, no fire escape on the building. They must have come across from one of the other buildings.>

"Tell him to sit tight."

Farrell relayed the message.

<Ten-four, Farrell. You sure sound better than the ol' Spook.>

Damn! Thad started to grab the mike. Oh Hell, she'll hear it sooner or later anyway. It's no time to jump Goldman. "Farrell, when's the last time you fired the M-16?"

She hesitated, obviously trying to remember. "Over two years ago. Probably closer to three. But I have an AR-15 and I shot it last week, on the two-hundred meter line at Centennial Range."

"That's shooting at paper. Could you shoot a human?"

"Yes."

He heard no hesitation.

"When I went to the range in boot camp," she continued, "I realized there might come a time when I'd have to shoot a human. I prepared myself for it then, did it again when I pulled my first duty as an MP, once more at ALETA and again tonight. Yes, if it's necessary, I can and will shoot to hit center of mass." Farrell was not smiling now, but she looked steadily back at him.

Thad nodded. "Okay, here's what we'll do. There's an AR-15, sighted for one hundred meters, center hold, in the trunk. Also a handy-talkie radio with a head set and sound-powered mike. Take the radio and the AR-15, loaded and locked, with one magazine, and move down to that tree, with the deep shadow. Try not to alert the lookout by raising the trunk lid too high, or when you charge the rifle. Keep your eye on the lookout, but don't shoot him, unless he tries to shoot an officer. Can you handle that?"

Farrell nodded. "You bet."

I wonder. Thad looked at her a long minute. I hope I'm doing this right. "On the brick, you'll be Peter Six Boy. You sure you can handle this?"

"I told you I could." Her gaze did not waver. Even in the dim light, Thad could see the green of her eyes, the firm set of her lovely unpainted lips. The strong urge to kiss those lips gave him a rude jolt. Instead he pressed the trunk latch button on the dash.

"Okay, go!" Thad watched her ease out of the car. If Andy Smirkanich saw that ass he'd say it was a "real yabaka". Like a Delicious apple standing on its stem end. She's too good looking to be a cop. The irrelevant thought flashed across his mind, a momentary distraction.