Survival Clause: A Savannah Martin Novel (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 20)

been an edge there, but not enough of one to make him sound threatening. Or any more threatening than he usually does, at any rate. “I’ll take care of this.”
Tucker hesitated. He glanced at the kid, and he glanced at the other cops. Finally he glanced at the crowd, and that seemed to make the decision easier. Looking surly, he brushed past Rafe, close enough to bump him with his shoulder, and headed for his car.
Rafe didn’t bother to watch him go, just turned his attention to the other two cops.
“We were just providing backup…” one them began as the cameras turned toward them. Tucker slammed his car door, and a moment later, the engine revved before the squad car took off up the street with a roar of the engine.
Rafe took advantage of the noisy interlude to have a quiet word with the two officers, neither of whom I knew personally. Maybe they were attached to Sergeant Tucker’s unit and not traffic. But they knew Rafe, and were obviously willing to take orders from him. Or suggestions, at any rate. By the time Tucker’s car engine had faded in the distance and everyone’s attention had shifted back to them, they were both nodding pleasantly. “Yes, sir.”
Rafe nodded back. As he turned toward me, or more likely, toward the kid who was still standing like a statue next to the right fender, the other officers headed toward the second squad car. It might have been me, but it looked like they weren’t wasting any time doing it. You couldn’t call it an escape, exactly, but it came close. I could practically feel their relief at being able to get away without anything worse happening.
“Nothing more to see here,” Rafe told the onlookers as he walked back toward the Volvo.
“What’re you going to do to him?” someone piped up from the back of the crowd. There were maybe eight or ten people standing there altogether, and I counted the glow from at least four phones.
“Who are you?” someone else called out.
I held my breath as Rafe stopped and turned toward them. He held still for a beat, maybe to make sure they were listening, or else because he was trying to decide what to say.
Or maybe just because it made for good television.
In the end, he went with the truth. “My name is Rafael Collier. I work for the Columbia PD.”
He pulled his badge out of his pocket and lifted it. And then he waited for the rumbles to die down before he added, “That’s my wife and my baby girl in the car. We were on our way home when Chief Grimaldi heard about what was going on, and wanted somebody to take a look. When I’m done here, I’m gonna take my family home and put my baby to bed. But first I’m gonna talk to the kid over there about what happened to him.”
“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” someone wanted to know.
I’m sure Rafe wanted to roll his eyes. I rolled mine, since no one was filming me. Rafe probably didn’t, since he had several cameras trained on him. His voice was vaguely irritated, though. “You don’t. But you can watch me do it. And if I do something you don’t like, you can put my face all over social media. You’re prob’ly gonna do that anyway.”
Probably. And while part of me was a little worried about what might come of it if they did, the other part rejoiced in the fact that it would make it even more impossible for him to ever go undercover again. He’d spent ten years doing undercover work before we got married, and I’d happily take anything that would stop him from doing it again.
Even unwanted social media attention.
The cell phones swung toward the car as Rafe headed that way. I wondered whether they could see me through the windshield, and decided they probably couldn’t. But I’d refrain from picking my nose, just in case.
Rafe stopped in front of the young man, by now quivering like a young birch. “Name?”
The kid opened his mouth, and had to clear his throat. “Curtis.”
I waited for Rafe to ask him his last name, but he didn’t. “What happened, Curtis?”
“I was in the store down there,” Curtis said, pointing down the street with a finger that shook. “It was me and a couple of friends. And we… um…”
He trailed off, flushing.
Rafe sighed. “What did you take?”
“Nothing, man!” He shook his head frantically, and his hair, twisted into spirals on top of his head, swayed. “I didn’t take nothing. But my friends, they grabbed some chips and sodas and stuff, and then they ran. I didn’t even know they were gonna do it, man! And they left me there…”
He wound down again, sounding sincerely baffled that his friends would do such a thing. I winced. Rafe probably wanted to.
“Lemme guess,” he said now. “Your friends got away, you got caught, the owner called the cops, and Tucker showed up. When you said you didn’t do nothing, he didn’t believe you.”
Curtis nodded.
“Did he ask you for the names of your friends?”
Curtis winced. “No. Guess we didn’t get to that part.”
Rafe nodded. “I ain’t gonna do that, either.”
Curtis looked relieved, until Rafe continued, “You’re in enough trouble already. Besides, by the time I tracked’em down, the evidence’d be long gone.”
Curtis nodded, looking glum.
“I’m not likely to be as understanding next time, though,” Rafe added.
Curtis looked up at him, and he elaborated. “If I get another call like this, and I find out that you’ve let your friends talk you into another trip to the market, whether you steal something or not, I’m not likely to be understanding of you putting yourself in this situation again. You’re either lying to me—”
“No, sir!” Curtis shook his head. “No, I ain’t.”
“—or your friends planned this without telling you, and then they left you holding the ball while they ran away. Either way, I don’t wanna come back here and