Hot Blooded

Honda Prelude
for the drive to the station. As she buckled the seat belt, she absently looked
into the rearview mirror to check her hair.
    Instead, she saw the blonde girl walking down the sidewalk, holding hands
with a tall, handsome boy, smiling up at him with adoration.
    Grace jerked her gaze away from the mirror and stared down into her lap. When
she finally forced herself to look into the mirror again, her own eyes stared
back. She started the car, trying to ignore the way her hands shook.
    The day went straight to hell from there.
    Â 
    GRACE was trying to avoid glancing at her patrol car's rearview mirror when
she heard the call over the radio. "We've got a reported 10-50 with P.I.s at the
I-85 overpass on Silvercreek Road," the dispatcher said.
    Traffic accident with personal injuries. Which could mean anything from a
bloody nose to death. She scooped up her radio handset and keyed it as she hit
the gas. "Tayanita, Bravo Ten. I'm just around the corner. I'll respond."
    "Ten-four, Bravo Ten. HP's on the way." The South Carolina Highway Patrol had
jurisdiction over accidents on state roads, but troopers were usually spread so
thin it took them time to arrive, so deputies and local police also responded to
accidents to help out.
    Grace switched on her siren and blue lights, feeling the familiar rush of
adrenaline she always felt going on a call. When she rounded the curve that led
to the bridge, the car's headlights picked out a Toyota, passenger door crushed
in, sitting at an angle to a pickup truck with a crumpled hood.
    A stop sign stood at the nearby intersection. From years of working
accidents, she suspected the pickup had run the stop and T-boned the Toyota.
    Then she saw something that made her belly clench in dread: a figure hunched
beside the car with its back to her, cradling someone. All that was visible of
the second person was a pair of small, limp, jeans-clad legs.
    Grace snatched up the handset. "I need an ambulance."
    "Rescue Six is on the way. What have you got?"
    "Don't know. Looks like a kid. And it's not good." She threw the handset
aside, hit the brakes and killed the engine, then jumped out of the car without
bothering to put on her hat.
    As she ran toward the two figures, she realized the adult was a woman. Round,
plump shoulders shook as the victim rocked back and forth with her small burden,
her voice a thin, hopeless wail. "No, Jesus, no, Jesus, no, please…"
    When Grace crouched beside her and got a good look at what the woman held,
she had to clench her teeth against a curse.
    The ambulance would not be needed.
    "Who gives a shit."
    Startled, Grace snapped her head up. A man stood over them. Her cop's mind
automatically ticked off his descriptors: white male in his fifties, thin,
wearing blue jeans and a workshirt. His nose poured blood, and he swayed
visibly, the smell of alcohol rolling off him in waves. Fear stirred in his
bloodshot eyes even as he sneered at her. "It was her fault. Don't care what she
says, it was her fault."
    Before she could answer, Rescue Six roared around the corner and slid to a
stop behind Grace's patrol car. Which left her free to deal with the asshole
who'd just committed felony D.U.I.—and would, given the chance, run like hell.
    Grace stood and walked toward him. Behind her, the woman screamed hopelessly
at the paramedics who were coming at a dead run, "Somebody help my baby!"
    "Were you the driver of the pickup, sir?" Grace asked, keeping her voice calm
and level over the woman's heartbreaking sobs as the paramedics coaxed her into
putting down her little girl.
    The drunk's eyes flickered. "Naw. There was another guy. He… ran off."
    "Lying son of a bitch!" The woman rose ponderously to her feet. Her eyes were
dull and empty with shock, despite the tears shining in the headlights. "There
wasn't nobody else. You was the only one in that truck!"
    "So what?" the man roared back. "Who gives a shit about some brat anyway?"
    The woman lunged for his eyes with hands curled into claws. Grace was
seriously tempted to let her do her worst, but leaped to restrain her anyway,
knowing she'd have to charge the mother if she hurt her child's killer.
    While she was wrestling with the woman, the drunk whirled and took off.
Cursing, Grace released the sobbing mother and sprinted after him.
    He disappointed her. When she caught him, he didn't resist arrest.
    Â 
    FOUR hours later, Grace returned home with impotent