Even worse than using the Judge’s clout, everyone would know how she got the job.
Oh, you’re the disgraced daughter of Judge Morgan. He’s a great man. Are you adopted?
Ha, ha, ha. Funny, boys.
Her dad was a criminal court judge, respected by both the defense and prosecution. He was fair, honest, and tough. He was also judgmental and rigid about rules and procedures and believed in the letter of the law. She was deeply proud of her dad and all he’d accomplished, especially considering his poverty-stricken background. But she’d never been able to live up to his high standards. She always fell short in some way.
You had every advantage growing up. Use it.
Meaning: look at what I’ve done when I started with nothing.
She didn’t want his favors or protection. She’d thought about leaving Sacramento for another jurisdiction, but where could she go? She’d have to leave the state if she wanted to keep what happened here private; even then, cops talked. It wasn’t like shooting her partner had been a big secret. Didn’t matter that he was a corrupt S.O.B. who shot her first. She’d crossed the invisible line. She’d turned on one of her own. And Tommy Cordell was in prison and she was walking free, something that many of her former colleagues thought was a mistake that should be rectified.
The truth was, she missed it. She missed the bull pen. She missed her friends. She missed the damn job. All she’d ever wanted was to be a cop. She went to college to please her father—she’d wanted to enroll in the Police Academy right out of high school.
College first. If you still want to be a cop when you graduate, I’ll support you.
And he had, without reservation. Because Judge Morgan was a man of his word. Hence, the love him part of her love him/hate him relationship with her dad.
The door opened and she caught the reflection of the female suit who’d asked her the obnoxious questions. The woman was surprised to see Alex there, opened her mouth to speak, but Alex walked out without a word. She had a temper—it had gotten her into trouble in the past—and the things she wanted to say to that uninformed bitch would have done no good, for Alex or her reputation.
She bypassed the elevators and pushed open the door leading to the stairs, surprised when it hit the wall with a metal bang-bang. She glanced around to make sure no one had heard her little temper tantrum, then jogged down three flights to the main floor of the five-star hotel across from the California State Capitol.
The stairwell opened at the end of a wide lobby. Natural sunlight streamed through tinted two-story windows, bathing the pale, contemporary décor in warmth. To her left, a step-down lounge dotted with mauve couches and gray chairs overlooked the pool. A shot of tequila sounded tempting right about now, but she just wanted to go home. Except going home to her small apartment meant sulking, and she wasn’t going to indulge in self-pity.
Vigorous exercise to sweat out her overwhelming sense of failure and anger might just be the ticket. Running on one of the river trails? Or the track at Sac State? Maybe she should drive to Placerville and tackle rougher terrain.
She weighed the pros and cons of each venue, irritated that a large group of people stopped her from reaching the main exit. They didn’t seem to be doing anything but blocking her way. She frowned as she surveyed the lobby. A press conference by all appearances, large enough to be for the governor or maybe even the new owner of the Kings basketball team. She hated crowds, both as a person and as a cop. She glanced around looking for another exit, but to get to the parking garage, she had to go through this group, anyway. She should have walked to her interview. It was only a mile, but she hadn’t wanted to be sweaty. February wasn’t supposed to be this hot.
She’d just have to push through the damn crowd.
“Excuse me,” she muttered. No one budged. She assessed the group and the surroundings.
Once a cop always a cop.
Most of the people were reporters, with notepads and cameras and recorders. God, she hated reporters. Was that a national reporter? Maybe—she rarely watched any news, especially after she’d been vilified in the press last year. Several people in the crowd were bystanders, either by invite or curiosity. Everyone stood waiting for someone to enter. Men in suits—private security?—framed the main doors. No getting out that way. She moved around toward the back of the crowd, aiming for the far staircase that would take her back upstairs where there was another exit into the parking garage.
Her subconscious registered something … off … the moment before her eyes caught what was wrong. She scanned the balcony above the foyer and spotted a lone man at the railing. He was watching the crowd. He wore gloves.
Why is he wearing gloves inside?
He moved slightly and she saw the briefest flash of metal in his waistband.