Law and Order

by Kay Starr

Kansas City 2030

Lt. Tara Coultrane felt like death warmed over as she drove into the underground parking lot of Police Central, downtown Kansas City. Still early, it already promised to be a beautiful spring day. The kind that would have teenagers cutting class and getting into mischief; the kind where office workers would spend the day looking out windows and dreaming of being anywhere but at the office. If she had a window, that’s exactly what she’d be doing too. Well, maybe more specifically dreaming of throwing herself across the massive bed back home with its thick, welcoming comforter and sleeping for a minimum of twenty-four hours.

She yawned as she climbed from her police-issue SUV. She’d just tied up one of the most frustrating cases of her career as a homicide detective, and then spent way too many hours over the weekend struggling with all the tedious paperwork she hated so much. The killer wouldn’t be walking off free if she could help it. At this point, Tara was almost certain there were no loose ends, no possible details left out of her report. Of that she was proud.

It was quiet in the large concrete and steel parking garage. Too quiet. With no distractions she could only think about her actions of this past week, and she would rather not think about them. Doing the job and writing the report had taken its toll on her. She had only managed a few hours sleep this last week, barely more than that over the weekend. Her attitude had suffered almost since the moment she’d taken on the case from hell. She had grouched around as if she were in eternal PMS mode, causing every cop, staff member in Police Central, and even her lifemate to steer a wide path around her. Attitude: bad. Definitely bad. Patience: nil. Cursing: rampant. Disobedience: big time. But, in truth, none of those were exceptionally rare traits for her.

Tara forced herself to take one step after another to the elevator, and then through the main lobby area, toward the long hallway leading to her cubicle. Trouble. She was no doubt in serious trouble. She had once again broken nearly every “rule” in the book they operated by. She had also specifically chosen not to do a number of tasks her commander had ordered her to take care of in connection with the case—not that she wouldn’t make the same choices again should she need to. But, oh yeah, this would not be a good day facing the consequences of her poor behavior and determined disobedience. And she had a headache as well.

She couldn’t bring herself to hurry into her small office as she sometimes did. She wasn’t at all anxious to check her intranet messages, especially the commander’s messages . . . or the demerit section. The last time she’d checked her demerits she’d been awfully close to earning a day of correctional time. Not something she looked forward to or went to without some assistance. And this time, since her demerit list might have shot right off into the holy-hell-she’d-not-sit-well-for-a-month zone, she would not go happily or easily to the Professional Punishment Center.

One of the filing staff drones walked by her, giving her a wary look. Things were really bad when even a computerized android with only limited emotional capabilities was nervous around her. Not one single officer in the fairly crowded main room met her eyes as she passed through. No one spoke to her. She had stepped on more than a few toes lately while focusing on her case. She’d have some serious making up to do, something she was about as good at as blindly obeying everything she was told to do.

With no real choice, she stepped into her tiny space, moved around her desk and her gaze shifted to the wafer-thin computer monitor, which boldly flashed “Messages.” She slumped into her posture-improving-but-horribly-uncomfortable chair. Grayson Temple, her lifemate, slipped into her thoughts. She’d been awakened by an early morning call from him this morning. She couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but there had been something about now that the case was finished there would be some attitude adjusting happening when he got back from his business trip. Not good. Not good at all. She’d much rather make crazy, wild love with him. And they would, eventually. When he decided she’d earned some time bent over his knee while he soundly applied his hand to her bare butt . . . Well, he could be pretty stubborn at times, not swayed by any excuses she might attempt to offer, which would be lame excuses anyway. Her bottom would end up red, hot, and stinging something fierce.

She squirmed in the chair and remembered how Gray had gritted his teeth and put up with her the last few days. There’d been more than one time during the week when he’d looked ready to forget that she was under heavy stress and just deal with her. Yet he’d drawn on some deep well of patience, patience that she certainly didn’t have. Clearly, though, his patience was used up. She didn’t have much, either, at the moment. It was a good thing he was several thousand miles away.

The “Messages” sign flashed again. She knew that some of the messages were from the long list of general ones that she’d just saved and planned to get back to after the case ended. Yet a fair number of the messages were from her commander. She’d scanned them as needed on a daily basis, and noted that most of them were acknowledgments of his additions to the demerit list. Those messages she’d definitely put out of her mind as she focused on the job. As she looked at the most recent messages from him her stomach knotted. Definitely NOT a happy man. And he wanted to see her the second she finished checking messages. As if she’d rush to his office to receive an ear blistering lecture!

Disgusted with this whole demerit nonsense, she touched the screen again to review the demerits section. Oh gawd! She blinked and looked again. Thirteen hundred demerits! That had to be some kind of station record, certainly a record for her. No question about it, when she met with the Commander he’d be ordering her sent to the PPC. With the amount of demerits she’d accumulated, she could be looking at some serious punishment and more than the normal half-day session. She cursed under her breath. She’d definitely feel plenty of discomfort for a few days following the session.

“Lt. Coultrane,” Commander Talmadge’s gruff voice burst at her through the computer speakers, startling her. Heart pounding, she met his face on the telescreen as he continued, “My office. Now.”

His serious image disappeared from the screen before she could even respond. She sat there a few seconds, trying to curb her temper. She was a good detective. One of the city’s best. She should get a little slack on this whole following-orders issue. Maybe she’d remind him about her record. Yes, that’s just what she would do! She raised her chin, gathered her strength of will around her like a coat of armor, and walked determinedly toward his corner office.

Ten minutes and an ear burning lecture later on the importance of following regulations, of doing what your commander says, and half a dozen more issues that she mentally phased out on, Tara’s headache throbbed. She’d sat stiffly across from his large, dark glass desk and gave what she hoped were appropriate nods of acknowledgment. She’d even managed to mumble a few “Yes, I should have” and the occasional “No, I won’t forget the rules next time”—even though she didn’t mean any of it. She just wanted this to be over with.

Finally, he seemed to calm down and she decided now was her chance. “Commander, I might remind you of my record—“

His face turned red again as he interrupted, “For disobeying orders? For foolishly going off without backup? For—“

She shot to her feet and cut him off, “For getting my man, so to speak. For having the best record in all of the homicide division.”

“I am fully aware of your record, Lieutenant. I’m very proud to have you under my command. Most of the time.” He picked up a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Other times, when you step so far out of bounds and need reining in, well, I’m just annoyed. These are your Correctional Orders.”

Tara didn’t want to take the papers, as if that small bit of rebellion would prevent what was to happen. Nerves fluttered in her stomach when she finally took them. The breath seemed to lock in her throat as she glanced at the document. “TWO DAYS?” she questioned, her voice breaking. “Commander, this is just WRONG! I refuse.”

A middle-aged man who had been almost more her substitute father than her commander for nearly five years, had looked somewhat sympathetic an instant before. Now he just looked angry. He ignored her “refusal,” which was a worthless threat anyway. She had no choice according to her employment contract.

“The sentence could have been, SHOULD have been, more and we both know it. This is the absolute minimum I could bargain down with from my superiors. The only reason they agreed was because you’re an exceptional officer, and you did a hell of a job on this last case.” He held her gaze steadily. “I could easily revert the order to the original, much harsher one.”

TWO DAYS at the PPC. It was a good thing she was sitting now, because she certainly wouldn’t be able to do so after her punishment sessions. She blew out a deep breath of reluctant acceptance. “This will be more than enough, Commander.” She swallowed hard, had trouble meeting his gaze. “When?”

“Immediately.” When she looked up, he said, “Grayson is away on business for a few days, isn’t he? I believe that’s what he told me the other evening when we spoke at a meeting. So your being in confinement overnight won’t be a problem.”

“Yes, he’s away right now,” she admitted, silently thanking the fates that had taken him away. But the commander had been wrong. Her being ordered to confinement and earning correction time WOULD be a problem. Gray had the old-fashioned attitude that followed along the lines of if you were punished at school—work in her case, you would be punished at home as well. Of course, he punished her at home for reasons that had entirely nothing to do with her behavior or disobedience problems at work, too. Fortunately there had only been a handful of times when she’d earned the double punishment at the PPC and at home a day or so later. She sure didn’t look forward to telling him about this time. Maybe she wouldn’t mention it. Maybe he wouldn’t somehow hear about it from his good buddy, her Commander. Yeah right!

“Your escort is waiting in the hall, since I figured you wouldn’t go willingly on your own as usual.”

She gave a curt nod, and left his office feeling somewhat numb. The stern-faced female android that met her in the hallway quickly accompanied Tara to her office for her purse, then as she signed out at the main desk, and then to the parking garage. As Tara sat in the big black SUV and punched the destination into the computer, she thought about Gray. Again she hoped he didn’t find out about this situation.They drove in silence and on automatic pilot from Police Central to the PPC. Tara was too frustrated with this sad turn of events to trust her driving skills. A half hour later they pulled onto the street of their destination. If looks could be deceiving, then the beautifully landscaped Victorian house with all its gingerbread trim and wraparound veranda complete with a porch swing and big old rocking chairs was a dream house. A step back into another time, nearly two hundred years back. An extremely odd building nestled in the bustling heart of New Kansas City and surrounded by towering glass and steel structures housing businesses of every sort. A perfectly innocent looking place, seeming to warmly welcome those who visited it…except for the elegantly carved and boldly painted sign out front: Professional Punishment Center. Close this window [X]