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    One Day at a Time
    One Day at a Time
    One Day at a Time
    Ebook63 pages53 minutes

    One Day at a Time

    By Dawn Douglas

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    DEA agent Pete Olivera has lived some hard times, so when a local cop is forced to shoot a teenage boy in the Indiana city Pete’s temporarily assigned to, he’s uniquely qualified to understand what Officer Joseph West is going through. Joseph’s actions were justified and saved lives—his own and those of the people around him—but knowing he did the right thing doesn’t ease his guilt.

    Pete knows Joe needs to come to terms with the shooting. But neither man realized that the friendship and love growing between them would be the most important step on the journey to peace—for them both.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDreamspinner Press
    Release dateJul 4, 2012
    ISBN9781613725580
    One Day at a Time

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    Reviews for One Day at a Time

    3.5/5

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    • 3/5
      3.5 stars.

      Big info dump in the beginning to get the reader up to speed. It would have been more interesting, more suspenseful if we'd seen the action in 'real time'. I'd rather read a longer book than a short story where my attention wanders before I'm 5% in because of all the telling. Show me the action!!

      Apart from that, there was nice chemistry between the MCs, the writing was tight with just enough detail and emotion and humour. And the sex was HOT!

    Book preview

    One Day at a Time - Dawn Douglas

    One Day at a Time

    THEY were talking about the shooting in hushed tones when I walked into the locker room. I was coming off the combination of an all-night training session and a two-hour workout. I’d powered through the gym time to take out some frustration left over from training a green meth-raid task force that was probably going to get itself blown up the first time they had to take down a major lab in less-than-ideal conditions. I was dead tired, and my first instinct was to ignore the conversation entirely. Even though my body was exhausted, my brain didn’t have an off function, and I couldn’t un-hear the words that floated over the bank of lockers that separated me from the officers talking.

    —fucking protestors. The funeral is tomorrow. You’d think they’d cut him some slack.

    Has anyone talked to West? I know the chief told him not to come in until the attention died down. The whole thing sucks—it was a justifiable action. Man’s got to be having a hard enough time as it is.

    I stripped off my sweaty workout gear. The guys clearly either hadn’t heard anyone come in or didn’t realize who’d joined them; if they’d known I was the one listening, they wouldn’t have been talking. With just over two hundred and fifty sworn officers, the police department in Evansville, Indiana, was a close-knit organization, and I definitely was not part of the family.

    That was fine by me. From what I’d seen, Evansville was a nice little city—safe, wholesome, in the grand scheme of things—but it wasn’t anywhere I planned to be long-term. It wasn’t the kind of place I usually found myself at all, actually. But a growing meth problem in the area had caught the attention of the state’s junior senator, who happened to be in a foursome on the links with my boss. I’d been between assignments, so he’d offered to send me down as a training consultant. I’d been in town a little over a month and still had sixty days to go on the schedule we’d laid out. Considering I wasn’t operating under the radar in a Colombian jungle, I’d have to say it wasn’t the worst assignment I’d ever been stuck with, but it wasn’t the best, either.

    Even being firmly in the outsider category, I knew about the shooting. The kid’s name was Lucas Kingsley, and he’d just turned fourteen years old. He’d apparently been a good kid, played Little League baseball at the American Legion every summer for most of his life. According to the case file on the shooting, his mother died of cancer two years ago, and he’d bounced from a grandmother’s house to an aunt and uncle, and eventually landed with his biological father, a confirmed loser who lived in probably the only neighborhood in the city that could reasonably be classified as dangerous.

    Gang activity in Evansville wasn’t in the same universe as I’d seen in larger places, but it was still out there. The one that sank its teeth into Lucas was Zoe Pound, a Haitian faction operating mostly out of Miami. With an active port on the Ohio River beset by a shortage of monitoring staff, ZP had zeroed in on Evansville as a minor transport hub for its trafficking network. The day Lucas died, he’d been spotting for the Pound and had seen Officer Joseph West pull up to a convenience store across from the house he was watching.

    The cop had spooked him.

    Lucas knew who West was, not only by the uniform, but because he’d helped coach Lucas’s baseball team three summers running. That and a general fear of cops had probably created a little bit of hero worship that made West seem more threatening than he was. Whatever the case, Lucas hadn’t seen Joe, his old coach, or even Officer West, a not-quite-rookie beat cop on patrol, stopping for a cup of coffee. Looking at the man through eyes bleary from the doctored joint he’d smoked just before he came outside, what Lucas saw was a threat.

    According to West’s debriefing, Kingsley had screamed, Five-Oh, and, without warning, thrown himself out from behind the dumpster he was using as a hiding place, opening fire on West and the convenience store parking lot, where several people were loitering. With the instincts of a cop, West hit the pavement and returned fire. He hadn’t known who was firing at him, but even if he had, it was a justified shooting. It had easily saved his life, and probably prevented any of the scattered pedestrians out on the street that morning from getting caught in the cross fire.

    Lucas Kingsley fired twelve rounds and hit nothing but a few cars and a scraggly tree; West fired four and hit nothing but Lucas Kingsley.

    I didn’t know Officer West, but I thought about him as I methodically scrubbed and showered. He was going to be fully cleared of any wrongdoing by the investigation, no doubt about it. But I knew from personal experience that words like appropriate situational response and "justified police

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