Sentencing Sapphire (Sapphire Dubois: Book 3)

Chapter 2

"I can't take this anymore. I quit!" The nurse stormed out of the room and started wailing in the hallway.

Detective Aston Ridder kept his eyes on the TV, unfazed. He wanted to change the channel, but the remote was three feet away. He sure as shit didn't want to press the aid button and deal with another unstable nurse.

Duck Dynasty went to commercial, and an ad for an upcoming local segment came on. There he was, next to the host. His fucking face was on the fucking screen, and he was fucking smirking.

Aston closed his eyes. When he reopened them, the segment was gone and Chief Anderson's cheerful, sweaty face was in front of him. "Man, is it hot outside."

"I know."

"You went outside?" The chief sounded excited.

"No." Aston nodded to the TV. "But the news won't shut up about it."

It was the hottest summer in fifty years, they said. Aston felt it was fitting. Life had been Hell since Sapphire Dubois disappeared and Hell was hot.

"How'd you find me?" Aston asked. "I switched rooms again this morning."

"As always, I just follow the trail of crying nurses." The chief held out a pack of cigarettes as if it was the carrot, and Aston the donkey. "I got something for you."

"Meh."

"Come on, Detective," the chief said, dabbing the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. "You love smoking."

Wrong. Aston used to love smoking. He used to love a lot of things, all of them gone. During his ten years on the force, Aston had been shot, stabbed, and clocked in the mug more times than De La Hoya had. The last bullet had been more than his body could take.

His eyes drew from the remote to his limp legs and the toe sticking out from under the cover. Aston Ridder never thought his life would end up this way. He never thought he'd be paralyzed from the waist down.

On the up side, his bum leg-that got him transferred from L.A.P.D. to Beverly Hills-no longer bothered him.

"So..." The chief sat down next to Aston. "What horrible thing did this nurse do?"

"She tried to touch my junk." He nodded to the remote. "Can you change it to ESPN?"

"Based on the way you smell, I'm guessing your junk needed something the rest of us call soap and water. Have you even looked in the mirror lately? You look like a cross between sasquatch and something from Night of the Living Dead."

Aston scratched his beard, eyes on Duck Dynasty. "Seriously, I'm missing Sports Center."

"The remote is right there. Grab it yourself."

Aston turned to the chief, the sick fuck. "In case you didn't notice: I'm paralyzed!" Aston motioned to his dead legs.

"Detective, for the last time: You. Are. Not. Paralyzed."

"Not this crap again." Aston rolled his eyes. "If I wasn't, don't you think I'd be walking around right now?!"

"Detective... Aston." The chief took a breath. "The doctors said the loss of feeling in your legs is psychosomatic. You've been in such a deep depression you've convinced yourself you're paralyzed. They say you have problems coping with reality..."

Aston zoned out. It was the stupidest shit he'd ever heard. He'd come out of surgery in spring, after being shot by Angelica Moore: a crazy cop who had a crazy twitching eye and a crazy crush on him. The only thing on his mind when he woke was to find Sapphire Dubois.