Matchmaker 12: December

I stepped out of the low-rise housing The Dearborn Restaurant and turned toward the parking garage where I'd left my car. I'd just finished my face to face meeting with Sage Piper, the first of the two women I'd initially selected to be a companion for Billy-Ray Ogden. She fit his preferred coloring and body type, and I was certain he'd appreciate her mental toughness and never say quit attitude. I'd started with Sage because she was local. A thirty-minute drive from my home in Orland Park to downtown Chicago to meet with her was much more convenient than flying to Tucson, Arizona, to meet with Melinda Rassbury. I owed due diligence to Billy-Ray to also meet with Melinda, the second woman I'd selected as his possible companion, but after meeting Sage, I suspected I'd already spoken to the woman I'd choose to pair with Billy-Ray.

I turned into the garage, silently sighing with the sudden coolness inside the massive concrete structure, a pleasant change from the typical hot, sticky heat of a Chicago in summer. I took the elevator to the third floor and walked down the line of automobiles to where I'd parked. My steps slowed to a stop as I approached where I'd left my car. I glanced around. The spot where I thought I'd left my emerald green Audi RS5 coupe was now occupied by a dazzlingly blue Honda Fit with red stripes.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I walked farther along the row, hoping I'd misremembered where I'd parked, but my Audi was nowhere to be found. I returned to where I thought I'd parked, certain the car was there and I'd just overlooked it, but the Fit was still in the spot and my Audi wasn't.

While it was conceivable that I hadn't remembered the exact location where I parked, I couldn't believe that I'd gotten the entire floor wrong. Swallowing hard, the weight in my stomach becoming heavier with every step, I walked the entire parking structure, hoping beyond hope to find my car. I didn't.

"Shit," I muttered. I pulled my phone out of my purse and dialed as I made my way to the sidewalk outside the parking deck.

Chicago 3-1-1, how may I help you? the disembodied voice on my phone asked. In the background I could hear the soft murmur of other voices handling other non-emergencies.

"My car has been stolen."

I'm sorry to hear that. May I have your name?

"Brooklyn Lancaster," I replied, and then spelled it as I heard the rattle of computer keys.

Location?

"Parking deck near the corner of Dearborn and Randolph streets."

Did you see who took the car?

"No. I came from a meeting and it was gone."

Are you in any immediate danger?

"No."

I've dispatched a unit to your location. Please speak with the officer when they arrive.

"Thank you," I said and ended the call.

I paced around in front of the parking deck for ten minutes, staying in the shade of the structure to avoid the worst of the late July heat, raising my hand to flag down the approaching white Ford Explorer sporting Chicago PD's new paint scheme of an angled medium blue stripe down low, a grey and blue checkerboard stripe above, and a giant ass badge over the rear wheels. The SUV rolled to a stop beside me as the blue lights on the roof popped on.

"You Brooklyn Lancaster and reported the stolen vehicle?" the officer asked as he exited the vehicle.

The man was tall, at least six inches taller than my own five-foot six, with massive arms barely contained by his short-sleeved uniform shirt. He was decked out in full police gear, with a radio on his shoulder, a pistol and Taser on his hip, and he was clearly wearing some type of armor under his shirt that made his chest look huge.

He was a little older than most cops I'd seen over the years, probably in his mid- to late forties, with beautiful strawberry blonde hair worn longer than the military style haircut of most officers. He wore his uniform with pride and seemed more relaxed and dedicated than the only other police officer I'd dealt with.

Months ago, while in Philadelphia to interview a potential companion, someone had snatched my purse. Because my only injury was a minor scrape from having the bag ripped from my shoulder as the kid ran past, the cop acted as if he couldn't have cared less that someone had stolen my bag.

"Yes."

The officer rounded the front of his vehicle. "Where was the car located?"

I jerked my head toward the structure behind me. "In there."

"Can you show me?"

I led him to the elevator and we rode to the third floor without any words exchanged between us. When the doors opened, I led him to the Honda. "I think it was parked right here."

"You think?"

I glanced at his name tag. "Officer Husher," I said, pronouncing his name as it was spelled, my annoyance clear in my tone, "I'm not some ditz. I may be off a parking place or two, but I know it was in this area."

"It's pronounced Hugh-sher, ma'am, Police Sergeant Ryan Husher. Are you sure it was on this floor? All the floors look the same."

I glared at him. "I'm sure, but just in case, I walked the entire deck before I called to make sure I wasn't confused. I wasn't."

"Do you have your keys?" I rummaged in my purse and produced my key, holding it up for him to see before dropping it back in my bag. He nodded. "Anyone else have a key? Boyfriend? Husband?"

"No."

"Loaned the car to anyone lately?"

"No."

"Make and model?" he asked as he pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket.

"2017 Audi RS5 coupe. Green."

"Nice car," he muttered as he scribbled. "Any distinguishing marks? Body damage, fancy wheels, graphics, anything like that?"

"No."

"When did you see the car last?"

"When I parked it, about four hour ago."

"I assume you locked it?" I glared at him and he smiled. He had a nice smile. "I have to ask the questions."

"Yes. It locks automatically when I walk away from it."

"Know anyone that would want to steal it?"

"No."

"Can I get your contact information?"

I pulled a business card from my purse and handed it to him. He took it, slid it into his book, scribbled a little more, and flipped his book closed. "I think that's all I need for now. I'll be honest with you, we're not likely to recover your car. You can get a copy of the police report from the Chicago PD website tomorrow for your insurance company."

"That's just great."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Lancaster. The recovery rate for stolen vehicles is very low, but maybe we'll get lucky."

I huffed out a breath. "Yeah, okay."

He glanced at his watch. "I'm off duty in five minutes. Can I offer you a lift somewhere?"

"Is that allowed?"

"Well..." he began with another of his winning smiles. "I won't tell if you don't. I figure it's the least I can do for giving you the bad news about your car."

"I don't want to get you in trouble."

"Don't worry about it. If anyone says anything, I'll tell them I was building community relations."

I couldn't help but smile. "Except I don't actually live in Chicago."

"Oh? Where are you from? It could be hard to explain if I have to drive you to all the way to Springfield."

My smile widened slightly. "Then you're in luck. Orland Park."

He spluttered. "That's no problem then."

I hesitated for a moment. "Okay. Thank you."

"To protect and to serve," he replied with a smile.

He escorted me to his waiting SUV, it's strobes still flashing with blinding pulses of blue even in the bright afternoon. He opened the passenger door and I slid into the seat. It was the first time I'd ever been in a police car, and it was surprisingly cramped with all the equipment stuffed inside.

He dropped into the driver's seat and picked up the microphone attached to the dash. "Unit 7206, 10-43."

Unit 7206, 10-43, acknowledged, a female voice responded. I glanced at him and he smiled back. "I'm now officially off-duty."

He glanced over his shoulder, blipped the siren, and pulled out into the opening in traffic that appeared as if by magic before flipping off the strobes.

"Handy."

He grinned at me again. "What's the point of having lights and a siren if you can't use them?"

We took Interstate 55 out of Chicago. It was interesting riding in the cruiser. Normally, when I drove, idiot drivers were everywhere, weaving, tailgating, cutting people off, and generally being a menace on the road. Riding with Officer Husher, however, nearly everyone signaled before changing lanes, a rare occurrence, nobody was driving aggressively, and everyone seemed much more patient.

"It's amazing how much better people drive when you're in a cop car," I commented to fill the growing silence.

He smiled. "Yeah, I know. When I'm in my own car I see the same stuff everyone else does. That's frustrating. I know people know how they should drive, but they choose not to."

We rode along, talking about nothing simply to fill the silence.

"Turn here," I said as we approach my neighborhood.

"Do you have a garage?" he asked as he followed my directions.

"Yeah, why?"

"Is it attached to your house?"

"Yes."

"Is the door between the house and garage locked?"

"No."

"Is the registration in the car?"

"Yes. Why?" I asked again, my anxiety rising. He was building up to something.

"Because whoever took your car has your address, which is on the registration, and access to your house. I assume you have a door opener in your car."

A chill passed over me, the thought of someone being able to open my garage and walking right into my house making me feel sick to my stomach. "Yes. It's built into the car."

He nodded. "You need to lock your garage door until you can disable the codes."

"Okay," I said softly.

"Want some help with that?"

I wanted to leap at the offer, but he'd already done a lot for me by bringing me home. "I don't want to put you out."

"Don't worry about it. It should be one button. If it's more than that, I can show you how to lock the door, or at the very least I can unplug the motor so it won't work."

I almost sagged in relief. "That'd be great. Thanks!"

We drove past the front of my house. It looked normal. I directed him around the corner and down the narrow alley that gave access to the garages behind the houses. My home was located almost exactly in the middle of the block on a narrow lot barely wider than my house.

"In there," I said, pointing to my drive.

He wheeled the Explorer into my drive and parked it facing the two roll up doors. I opened my door and stepped out as he did the same.

"I don't think I need all this stuff," he said as he began unhooking his radio, belt of many things, and removed his uniform shirt. I couldn't stop watching as he undressed. He opened his armor with two loud ripping sounds as he peeled back the wide Velcro straps around his side, and then hefted the vest over his head, leaving only a grey Chicago PD t-shirt on, along with his pistol, Taser, and uniform pants. The rest of his equipment went into the back seat of the Ford. "It's too hot to wear that ballistic vest if you don't need to," he explained as he shut the door and locked the vehicle.

"Yes," I murmured, trying to gather my suddenly scattered wits.

I'd noticed the size of his arms when I'd first seen him, but without the bulky vest on, I could now see he was seriously built, his broad and muscular chest clearly visible though the clinging t-shirt. I swallowed hard and forced myself to start digging in my purse for my keys, so I didn't embarrass myself by staring... or drooling.

I found my keys, and after a little fumbling, I got the door into my garage opened. I couldn't remember the last time I'd used the door, normally entering and exiting either through the door on the front of the house or the big roll up doors I used to get my car in or out. There was plenty of light flooding into the garage through the windows along the top of the two big doors themselves, plus there was a window in each side wall, but it was incredibly hot inside, so I opened one of the big doors for ventilation.

Ryan stopped under one of the door openers and looked up. "Where do you park?"

"Where you're standing."

"Anything over there?" he asked, nodding to the second empty stall.

"No. It's just me."

"Does your car have a button programmed for that door?"

I shrugged. "Don't know."

He nodded. "Better do them both to be safe. You have a stepstool?"

"In the kitchen," I said, glancing at the door.

"Want me to go in first to check it out?" he asked, a tiny smile on his lips.

I smiled weakly. I felt like such a chicken-shit, but the thought of someone having such easy access to my house unnerved me more than I wanted to admit. "Would you mind?"

His smile widened. "Not at all." He opened the door and stepped into my kitchen. He seemed totally relaxed. "You don't live with anyone? Nobody staying with you? No roommate, boyfriend, anything like that?" I shook my head. "If someone is in here, they shouldn't be, right?"

"Yes. No," I corrected. "Nobody should be here," I clarified.

He nodded but didn't say anything. The fact he was asking the question made me nervous.

"You don't have a cat or something that will jump out and scare the shit out of me, do you?" he asked as he began moving through the house.

I snickered. "No. It's just me. I travel a lot, so no pets."

He quickly walked through the house, opening closet doors, but his check was cursory at best. He obviously didn't expect to find anyone, and didn't.

"You're good."

I relaxed. "Thank you," I murmured.

"Stepstool?"

"In the pantry," I said, pointing to one of the doors he'd opened.

He opened the door and looked to one side, then the other, before reaching in and pulling out the three-step stool I used to reach stuff on the top shelves. He carried the short ladder into the garage, set it up under the first motor, and flipped the plastic cover down. He studied the device for a moment and pushed a button, holding it down until I heard a faint click and the light that came on when the door went up or down flashed three times. He snapped the cover closed and repeated the process on the other unit.

"That should do it," he said as he folded up the stepstool.

"Any way to check it?" I asked. Why was I being such a nervous nelly? The guy clearly knew what he was doing.

"Do you have the remote?"

"Uh... somewhere."

I returned to the kitchen, and while Ryan put away the ladder, I dug in my junk drawer until I found what I was looking for. "Ah-hah!" I cried, holding it up for him to see.

"Give it a try," he suggested. I stepped into the garage, pointed the small plastic brick at the opener, and pressed the button. Nothing happened. "I think you're good to go."

"I hope the battery isn't dead."

He held out his hand and I placed the remote in it. He pressed the button. "No, it's good. See? The little light came on," he said, turning it and pressing the button again. I hadn't noticed the tiny green light illuminating when I'd pressed it.

"Okay. Thanks so much. Can I get you anything?"

"No thank you. I'm good."

"Then thank you, Officer Husher, for everything."

"Ms. Lancaster, I told you, it's Ryan."

"Then I'm Brooklyn."

"Okay, Brooklyn, I think you're set. I've got your contact information. If we find out anything about your car, someone will let you know." He pulled a business card from his wallet. "This is my contact information. If you have any questions, give me a call."

"Thank you, Ryan. You've been wonderful. Who's your supervisor? I'd like to let him know how helpful and courteous you've been."

"That would be Lieutenant Thomas Alakano."

"I'm going to let Lieutenant Alakano know what a fine officer he has working for him."

He smiled. "You don't have to do that. Most of this is unofficial."

"Okay, fine, but I still appreciate the fact you actually seem to care."

He shrugged. "What can I say. I really like my job."

"And you're really good at it."

"Thank you. That's nice to hear."

"You're welcome."

He bobbed his head at me. "Ms. Lancaster."

"Officer Husher."

He smiled broadly as he stepped into the garage. I followed him into the driveway, waving goodbye as he backed into the alley and disappeared. I turned back to my house. My house had never been broken into, and apparently still hadn't. I lived in a safe neighborhood, and while I knew Ryan had made my house just as secure as it had been before my car had been stolen, I still felt slightly nervous. It was completely silly, but I wouldn't have minded if Officer Ryan Husher had spent the night. Not only would his presence have made me feel a little safer, but if I was really lucky, he'd have taken my mind off the entire situation and kept me too busy to give the matter a second thought.

I smiled as I returned to my house, locking the door from the kitchen into the garage... just in case.

I was just a uni, a uniformed officer. I wasn't a detective, I didn't investigate crimes, and I honestly didn't want to. I'd been offered the opportunity to apply for a detective position, but I'd turned it down. I loved getting out on the streets, meeting people, and showing the flag, not sitting at a desk beating my head against a wall trying to put a puzzle together. That didn't mean I didn't follow the cases I had a hand in, however.

Computers made it easy. Every morning before my shift change meeting where we got our BOLOs—Be On the Look Out—and other information the uni's needed for their day, I'd spend fifteen or twenty minutes looking over the cases I was involved in, at least until they went cold. Most days I found a big bunch of nothing, but every now and again the good guys got a win. Today was one of those days. Sort of.

It'd been a little over a week since Brooklyn Lancaster's Audi had been stolen. Last night it had been found. I read the notes on the case. What was left of it had been found, anyway. I quickly flicked through the pictures that had been taken when the car was discovered. It was probably a beautiful car once, but now it was nothing but a mangled hulk. What had been working in her favor was the Audi was a nice car, too nice to part out. With a bit of luck, there was a chance we could have recovered the car intact before it was shipped out of state or the country.

Unfortunately for Brooklyn, whoever jacked her car probably never intended to sell it. Instead, they'd beat the shit out of it until they crashed it. Eventually the detective assigned the case would get around to calling Brooklyn, but grand theft was low on a detective's priority list when they also had to deal with rapes, murders, and other crimes against a person. I liked the closure of letting the people I spoke with know the status of their complaint myself, and noting the victim had been contacted in the file helped the detectives out a little too.

I glanced at the clock. I worked the eight to four shift. Dayshift also changed at six and ten, so all the cops weren't in the station at the same time, but eight to four was the best because I got off early enough to still be able to do something in the afternoon, but I didn't have to arrive before the sun came up. I spent the last five minutes before my shift change checking on the rest of the cases, but like normal, there was a bunch of nothing on the rest of them.

I attended our morning roll call, and after, when I was out on the street, I made my morning rounds, letting the people in my area know I was there and on the job. Most cops stayed in their cars all day, but I liked to get out, walk, and talk to the people. My assigned area was too big to walk it all in a single day, so I broke it up into smaller sections, walking a section each day, patrolling the rest from my car, and then starting over when I'd completed them all. My method wore out a lot of shoes, but I knew a lot of people by name, and I had a good rapport with the people under my protection.