Hidden in the Blood: A Novel of the Terribly Acronymed Detective Club (Book 5)

Part One: Blast From the Past ; Chapter One: Joanie, Monday

She awoke in a bed that was once too cramped but now felt strangely empty; suddenly she wasn't used to having so much space again. She turned off her alarm and sat up, shivering in the cold room; for a few months she'd had a giant furnace sleeping next to her, and most nights she'd slept naked just to be comfortable (and whenever she felt too tired after sex to bother putting on pyjamas.) She had almost forgotten it was autumn, and resolved to dig into her cedar chest for a comforter before she went to bed tonight. 

She climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom, limping a little with the stiffness in her right hip that always arrived on time in the morning. There was a time when she couldn't even walk without someone holding her up, and that someone was either her mother or Joe. Even a couple of weeks ago she was still using a walking stick to get around, so this independent movement felt like freedom to her, even if it meant the end of Joe's residence in her bed.

A quick shower to wash off the night's sweat and grime and warm up, because her shower stall was too small to enjoy a lingering soak. It hadn't stopped her and Joe from enjoying themselves in it when he was here, though; Joe found the tight fit oddly arousing, since they had to be right up against each other the whole time, wet and soapy. He'd washed her hair for her and bathed her when she had no strength to stand and wash at the same time. Now it only reminded her of his absence, so she was in and out as fast as she could go.   

Combing her hair out was still a challenge, as she didn't have as much range of motion anymore when elevating her left arm or extending it behind her. Physiotherapy, to bring strength and limberness to her damaged muscles, had been a long and painful process. She palpated the ugly scar that marred her otherwise smooth, freckled skin. She did this every day. The doctors had offered plastic surgery to make it disappear, but she turned them down. This scar and the one at her hip were her badges of honour, reminders of the terrible shootout that had resulted in so many deaths, although she was the only police officer to suffer life-altering injuries, and she had been off-duty at the time. 

She was well aware her actions had initiated the firefight; she'd taken the first shot against the man with the rifle who'd been there to kill Logan Davenport, the teenage boy who was kidnapped and about to be ransomed. 

Here was the detail that sometimes troubled her at night, when she allowed herself time to think about it, a detail she told no one about; a detail only one other person knew, because she was the only one with her at the time: she didn't warn the man with the rifle that she was police and she had her gun aimed at him. She just shot as soon as she realized he had a sightline on Logan as he was being escorted out of the boat by his captors. Anyone would have told her she'd still done the right thing, that she'd saved Logan's life, and that she would have only endangered herself with the man with the rifle, whose name she didn't even know, if she'd announced herself first; the man would have surely turned the rifle on her, and it still would have caused everyone else to start shooting. Still, she'd gone against procedure, and if her superiors had known, she might never have gotten the medal that rested on her fireplace mantle, and may have even been disciplined or dismissed from the RCMP.

Her phone rang. Odd, it was quite early to be getting a phone call; she had no idea who could be awake at this hour. She stumble-walked into her bedroom, still wrapped in a towel, unplugged her phone from its charger on the night table and checked the screen. It was Lauren. It was as if her thoughts had summoned her, the one other person who knew she hadn't called out a warning before she'd shot. 

"Lauren?" she answered. "Is everything all right?"

"Good morning," Lauren said, rather more chipper than Joanie would have expected at this hour. "Everything's fine, well, at least as fine as it can be."