Protecting Her Son. Joan Kilby

socks. The tip of his tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth, he concentrated on laboriously tying his laces in a bow.

      “You’re doing great,” Paula said, her voice too tight to really be encouraging. “You’ve nearly got one. Do you want me to do the other?”

      “Nope.” He moved on to the other shoe, his small fingers clumsily manipulating the black laces.

      The phone rang again.

      Paula walked slowly to the doorway to the kitchen. What did he want from her? A chill flowed over her. Jamie?

      “Aren’t you going to answer it?” Jamie demanded, still struggling with his shoelaces.

      Her crepe-soled shoes squeaked slightly on the tiled floor. Her heart thudded in her chest. Her hand shook as she answered the phone for the third time that morning.

      “H-hello?”

      “Hello, darling,” her mother said in the cheery voice she used when she wanted to settle down for a good long chat.

      Paula’s knees gave way and she leaned her elbows on the counter for support. “Mum, I can’t talk now. Jamie’s school starts in ten minutes and I’m late for work. I’ll call you tonight.”

      * * *

      POLICE CONSTABLE RILEY HENNING opened his locker and took down his protective vest and checked over his equipment—baton, pepper spray, ammunition, handcuffs, police radio and a semi-automatic .38 Smith and Wesson—making sure every component was clean and operational.

      The order and discipline, the camaraderie of the guys at the station, reminded him of the army. He liked that. He also liked that pleasant leafy Summerside, his hometown, was light years away from bleak, dusty Afghanistan.

      His cell phone rang. Shift hadn’t started yet so he answered it. “Hello?”

      “Dude, did you get my email about the reunion in Canberra for the ANZAC Day parade?” Gazza, his old army buddy from the Special Air Service, said. “It’s less than two months away. If you want to get a cheap airline ticket, you should book now.”

      Riley sat on the bench in front of the row of lockers. He and Gazza had trained together and fought together. They were bonded as only soldiers in combat could be—like brothers. And yet he’d avoided answering that email.

      “Sorry, I meant to reply but it’s been hectic. I’m in the middle of moving houses. You know how it is.”

      The truth was he didn’t relish attending the annual ceremony to honor Australian soldiers. He’d been out of the SAS for nearly a year. His injuries from the suicide bomb explosion that sent him home had healed. A reunion would mean an inevitable swapping of stories, reminiscing about the dangerous and difficult tour of duty in Kabul. Maybe one day he’d be open to that, but right now he wanted to forget, to enjoy his new life.

      “So are you coming?” Gazza said. “The guys are all going to be there.” He paused briefly and his voice went quiet. “We’re worried about you, dude. After the bomb explosion you disappeared—didn’t answer anyone’s emails or phone calls.”

      “I’m fine.” Riley didn’t need to force the note of contentment. “Don’t worry about me. I’m healthy, happy. Glad to be back here among friends and family. Got a great job. I’m living the dream.”

      “Cool.” Gazza sounded doubtful. “But if you ever want to talk about stuff, I’m here. Kabul, the explosion, it’s a lot to process by yourself.”

      “To be honest, I don’t remember much about that so it doesn’t worry me—”

      The door to the locker room opened. Delinsky, Crucek, and Riley’s partner, Jackson arrived. Lockers clanged. Laughter and boisterous talk rang out.

      “Gaz, I’m going to have to call you back sometime. Shift is starting.”

      “Okay. But you think about ANZAC Day.”

      “Sure.” Riley said goodbye and hung up. He turned his phone off and put it away. Then he strapped on his vest, adjusting it so the weight settled evenly over his torso.

      “You’re always here first, Henning. Did you even go home last night?” Jackson, his partner, said good-naturedly. “What do you do with your time?”

      Jackson was forty-three-years old and comfortably married with the beginnings of a paunch and a receding hairline. No doubt he spent his evenings happily watching TV with his family.

      “I did some target practice at the shooting range last night, if you really want to know.” Riley closed his locker and spun the combination lock. “This morning I got up at six and went for a run. Early bird gets the perp. Anything else?”

      “Guys, I’m starting a football pool.” Crucek straddled the bench with a clipboard in hand. With his large nose, carroty hair and mottled complexion, he was no male model. “Who’s in?”

      “Put me down,” Riley said.

      “Me, too.” Delinsky, who had blond good looks and a buff body Jackson and Crucek could only envy, was stripped down to his boxers. “The new cop starts today. I saw her in John’s office as I came in.”

      “I wonder which of us lucky stiffs will get her as partner.” Jackson pulled on a starched navy short-sleeve police shirt.

      “Better not be me,” Riley said. “I hear she’s trouble.”

      Rumors had been flying about this woman for weeks that she was bent. Until her fall from grace seven years ago she’d been a hotshot detective at the Melbourne Police Department. Her infraction, related to her final investigation, a covert drug bust, was apparently so serious it was never made public. No one knew exactly what she’d done but they all agreed it had to be bad.

      “I’ll take her.” Delinsky combed his hair in front of the mirror. “She’s a babe. You should see her ass.”

      The door opened and Senior Sergeant John Forster entered. “Delinsky, I hope you weren’t referring to our new recruit in such crass manner. These walls aren’t soundproof.”

      John Forster was tall, with a swimmer’s shoulders and sun-streaked blond air. He might look like a surfer dude but he commanded the men’s respect.

      Delinsky wiped the leer off his face. “No, boss.”

      “Listen up, men.” John looked to each in turn.

      Jackson hastily tucked in his shirt. Crucek rose from the bench and put his clipboard with the footy pool in his locker. Even Riley, who’d been best mates with John since high school, came to attention.

      “I want to go over the new roster,” John said. “Jackson, from today you’re partnered with Crucek. Delinsky, Stan Grant is switching from night shift to partner you. You boys okay with that?”

      The men exchanged glances then nodded. But Riley knew no one liked a shake-up, least of all him. He was a little pissed, to tell the truth. Over the past six months he’d gotten to know Jackson, liked and respected him. He’d expected they’d be partners for a good long time. Now the stability and continuity he craved since getting out of the army had been ripped away.

      John turned to Riley. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to your new partner, Paula Drummond.”

      A chorus of whoops and jeers from all but Riley met this news. John cleared his throat pointedly and the noise died down. “Dismissed.”

      The men went about the business of getting ready to go on duty. Riley followed John out to the bull pen, an open area of desks, computers, photocopiers and filing cabinets. Over in Dispatch, red-haired Patty answered the telephone with her distinctive Irish lilt. A couple of admin staff were talking by the copier.

      “Why me?” Riley asked as he and John wove through the desks to John’s office on the far side of the bull pen. “I’m the new guy on the block.”

      “Our new