CHAPTER ONE
2040 Words
CHAPTER ONE
Police cadet Ashley Hope’s sparring opponent faked a move to her right and then struck like a cyclone. Cadet James Mobley slammed his palm against the side of her head, hooked his right foot behind her left ankle, and jerked her leg out from under her. Ashley fell backward onto the exercise mat, her pride injured more than her body.
The gaze of a gymnasium full of students burned into the side of her protective helmet.
“Watch your stance, Hope,” Sergeant Paul Newell, their defensive tactics instructor, barked from the sideline. “Those pretty blue eyes won’t protect you. Keep your feet apart. Your center of gravity low.”
Ashley’s cheeks flushed. She’d realized her mistake the moment it was made, a split second too late to defend against the attack.
One of the most important lessons she’d learned from her nine weeks at the Highland Rim Law Enforcement Academy in Cedar View, Tennessee, was to anticipate the actions of the people around her. To prepare for any and all moves they might make. In this case, she’d broken that rule. She’d allowed her opponent to lead her in the wrong direction. Had brought her feet too close together, her center too high, instead of sprawling low to guard against the takedown. As a result, she’d been forced to the ground. A position that could prove fatal for a police officer.
Her sparring partner leaned over and offered her his hand.
“You make a tough opponent,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.
The encouraging assessment surprised her, but the kind words didn’t dull the sting of her defeat.
The compassionate expression on Cadet Mobley’s face revealed that he took no particular satisfaction in his victory, unlike some of the other students who’d managed to wrestle her to the mat. She grasped his palm and pulled herself up. Not because she needed help standing, but because she didn’t want the added attention that refusing his gesture would create.
One of only five women in the current class of forty-one students (shaved down from a starting count of fifty), she tried to keep a low profile. She trained hard, followed the rules, and never complained about the sexist remarks uttered by a few of her male instructors.
Sergeant Newell—tall, bald, and at least twenty years her senior—ranked at the top of the offenders’ roster. His comment regarding her eyes was the latest in a long list of references he’d made to her physical features. Whether his behavior was a tactic to give her a taste of the real world and help make her a stronger officer, or if it was an attempt to force her into another profession, didn’t matter.
She’d realized early on that ignoring the innuendoes would be the key to her staying focused. She wasn’t about to let the sergeant’s attitude—regardless of the reason behind it—prevent her from reaching her goal. She planned to become one of the best cops the state of Tennessee had ever employed. And she’d already gained a fair amount of experience.
Ashley had been instrumental in ending the b****y reign of serial killer Ethan Barrett—who also happened to be her ex-husband. Her involvement in the case coupled with her master’s in criminal justice put her well on her way to achieving her dream.
“Listen up, cadets,” Sergeant Newell shouted. A hush fell over the gymnasium. “Give me twenty push-ups, then line up and wait for dismissal. Except for you, Hope.”
Ashley’s face grew warm again as the instructor singled her out, directing the attention of all the other students her way.
“I’ve got something for you when you’re done,” he said, his dark eyes boring into her skull.
She slipped off her protective headgear, dropped to the floor, and began the exercise, wondering what the sergeant had planned. Probably an additional three-mile run. It seemed to be the punishment he favored for students who dared to disappoint him—which wasn’t hard to do. It was as though his life’s mission was to w**d out the weak. He’d already been the catalyst responsible for nine cadets in her class quitting the academy. With three weeks left to go until graduation, she wondered how many more would fall.
As her push-up count hit seventeen, she caught sight of Sergeant Newell’s black athletic boots out of the corner of her eye, just beyond her elbow. He was obviously waiting for her to finish. After her twentieth rep, she took a deep breath and pushed herself to her feet, bracing for the penalty she would have to pay.
Whatever the physical activity consisted of, she could handle it. She’d amazed herself by the level of strength she’d achieved. The first week of the academy she could barely complete five push-ups. Now, pumping out twenty was a breeze.
“Cadet Hope, meet your new sidekick,” Newell said.
Ashley’s eyes widened as the sergeant passed her a black kettlebell. The cast iron weight tipped the scale at eight kilograms, equivalent to eighteen pounds.
“What do mean by sidekick, sir?” she asked, gripping the handle with both hands. Was he adding an additional workout to her daily schedule?
“For the next week, everywhere you go on campus, the bell goes with you. Unless you’re running or doing PT, it can’t leave your side.”
Seriously? He expected her to lug the weight around the campus along with her laptop and stack of books? Her classrooms lay scattered across the sprawling grounds the academy shared with Highland Rim State University, each several minutes apart. Her Ethics and Professional Conduct class was located at the top of three flights of stairs. The building—constructed in the late 1960s—lacked the convenience of elevators.
She glanced at the line of students forming at the side of the gym. Cadet Mobley met her gaze and rolled his eyes in a conspiratorial gesture, as if he thought Newell had gone too far.
The sergeant continued, “When the week is up, maybe you’ll have a better understanding of how gravity works. Now join the lineup.”
“Yes, sir.”
Struggling to keep her irritation from showing on her face, Ashley took her place in the line and stood at attention, the kettlebell dangling from her right hand.
Sergeant Newell paced in front of the group assembled in rigid format.
“Next week we’ll focus on baton maneuvers,” he told them. “As always, I suggest you lay off the alcohol this weekend. And come to class prepared for battle. Cadets dismissed.”
Ashley glanced at the clock hanging above Newell’s head. It was already fifteen minutes past three. The class had run long, which seemed to be a pattern on Fridays. As if the sergeant found joy in delaying the students’ highly valued time off.
With a sigh, she headed for the women’s locker room. She didn’t normally shower at the academy, preferring to wait until she got home. But today, with little time to spare, she didn’t have a choice.
As she strode toward her locker, she yanked the white scrunchie from her ponytail and let her blonde tresses fall to her shoulders. Sergeant Newell had suggested she get her hair cut on more than one occasion. A short style would be more practical for the academy; the fact was obvious. But she refused to give her instructor the satisfaction of following his recommendation. She stripped off the gray athletic shorts and T-shirt with her last name emblazoned on the back, and stepped beneath the ancient shower stall’s lukewarm spray.
Bruises covered her arms and legs. The result of her defensive tactics training. If a stranger were to see her, they would most likely jump to the conclusion that she was a victim of domestic a***e. Ashley realized that the assumption wouldn’t be too far from the truth.
Just a few short months prior, her ex-husband had broken out of prison and embarked on a killing rampage, stalking Ashley and her then fiancé, Brett. The couple had barely escaped with their lives. Bringing Ethan down, making sure he would never kill again, had been the most challenging thing she had ever done.
Actually—the second most challenging. The hardest thing was getting over Brett—something she hadn’t quite managed to do yet. Although finding out about his infidelity had cut deep—was something she couldn’t force herself to forgive—a part of her still loved him.
After toweling off, Ashley dressed in a pair of chocolate slacks and a silk blouse. It was important she look her best for her appointment. For her own peace of mind. She blow dried her hair and applied her makeup under the harsh fluorescent lighting, careful not to go too heavy.
Once she was finished, she pulled her cadet uniform—a pair of navy BDU (battle dress uniform) pants and a white polo—from the hanger in her locker, folded it, and placed it in her duffel bag along with her gym clothes. The kettlebell sat on the bench in front of the row of lockers, taunting her.
“I hate you,” she said out loud.
The stress of the academy had finally reduced her to berating a hunk of metal. But since she couldn’t voice her opinion to the real object of her ire—Sergeant Newell—harassing the weight would have to do.
Her hands full, she shouldered her way through the locker room door, cut a sharp right, and almost plowed headlong into Cadet Mobley.
“Sorry,” she said, stepping to the side.
“It’s okay. I was waiting for you.”
She noticed a sparkle in his hazel eyes and her stomach fluttered.
He continued, “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
The offer flattered her. James Mobley stood around six feet tall with a runner’s physique, strong jaw, and sandy hair a tad longer than military style. His personality seemed just as attractive. Under different circumstances, she’d be quick to say yes. But with the wound of her last failed relationship still fresh, dating wasn’t on her current agenda. It would probably take months before she was ready to risk her heart again.
“Thank you for asking,” she said, “but I’ve got plans with my family this weekend.” A statement which happened to be true.
Mobley’s smile faded. “Okay. Well, maybe a different night then.”
He hesitated, waiting for her answer. She wondered whether she should say maybe, or if she should just confess that she had no interest in dating at the moment. The truth won out.
“I just recently broke up with my fiancé,” she admitted. “And I’m not really ready …”
“Hey, I get it,” he said. “Just … keep me in mind.”
“I will.” And she meant it.
He glanced at her duffel bag. “Do you need help getting your stuff to your car?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” She motioned with the kettlebell. “And I can’t let go of my buddy.”
Mobley smiled and nodded. “Well, I guess I’ll see you Monday.”
She watched his toned body retreat down the hallway before heading toward the exit in the opposite direction. She noted the time on the clock hanging above the door. Almost a quarter to four. With the afternoon traffic, the drive to Briarwood would span just over an hour and a half. She had to be at the attorney’s office at six to sign the papers transferring ownership of the home she had shared with her ex-fiancé to the new buyers. Unless there was an accident on the highway to slow her down, she should make it in time.
A wave of dread washed over Ashley as her thoughts turned to Brett. Almost three months had passed since she’d last seen her ex-fiancé. And she didn’t know how she was going to face him.
- Writer
