A Woman of Valor Read online

  A WOMAN OF VALOR

  Gary Corbin

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the Kindle store and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, incidents, and dialogue are either drawn from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 Gary Corbin

  All rights reserved.

  ***

  To all those who could say #metoo

  For all those who #fightback

  For the allies who say, No More!

  Contents

  Part 1: A Woman With a Past

  Part 2: Harsh Reality

  Part 3: Partner Trouble

  Part 4: Manhunt

  Acknowledgements

  Book Group Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Also by Gary Corbin

  Excerpt from A Better Part of Valor

  Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,

  for the rights of all who are destitute.

  Speak up and judge fairly;

  defend the rights of the poor and needy.

  - Proverbs 31:8-9

  Part 1

  A Woman With a Past

  Chapter One

  Valorie Dawes tiptoed to her roommate’s bedroom door, taking each cautious step as quietly as possible. She could never be sure if Beth had company, or if she’d pulled an all-nighter to study for exams and wanted to sleep all day, or both. Usually, Beth left some sort of signal in their tiny common living space if she didn’t want Val to disturb her before 9:00 a.m. But during finals week, none of the usual rules applied, except one: waking her meant Val would have hell to pay.

  She crept closer to the door, grimacing every time the old floorboards creaked, and listened. Nothing. Maybe Beth hadn’t even come home.

  Val waited another moment, pressing her ear to the door. A soft buzzing sound seemed to emerge from within. Snoring, or perhaps her morning alarm. Maybe if she brought coffee—

  The door swung open, and Val jerked back in a panic. The five-foot seven, pear-shaped figure of her lifelong friend appeared in the darkened doorway, her eyes bleary between tousled locks of brown hair.

  “What are you doing there?” Beth asked, striding past her toward the kitchen in a pale-yellow bathrobe. “And please tell me there’s caffeine. I’ve still got to cram for my Business Ethics final today.”

  “Fresh, dark, and strong,” Val said, pausing for Beth’s stock reply.

  “Like my men,” Beth said.

  Val grinned with relief. Good old Beth.

  Beth poured coffee into a tall ceramic mug and made a pouty face. “I hate that you’re finishing a semester early. I’ll never find a roommate as good as you.” She searched the fridge and dumped a pint of creamer into her mug. “Oh, thanks for getting groceries. Otherwise we’d have starved today.”

  “I’ll be out of here by dinner,” Val said, “once I drop my application in the mail. I was hoping you’d look at it for me...?” She pointed to a stapled set of printouts on the kitchen table. “After you’ve had your coffee, of course.”

  “Dammit, Val, this makes me sad. It’s the end of an era.” Beth poured Val a mug of black coffee and they sat opposite each other at the table. They toasted each other with their mugs and took long sips of the tasty brew.

  “It’s just a few months,” Val said. “We’ll be roomies again once we’re both back in Clayton. That’s still the plan, right?”

  Beth’s gaze floated upward, over Val’s shoulder. “Good morning, gorgeous,” she said.

  Val furrowed her eyebrows. What a curious thing to say. She started to reply, but something moved in her peripheral vision. No, not something. Someone. She turned, and the bare, muscular chest of a large, dark-haired man filled her vision. Close to her face. Close enough to smell his cheap cologne.

  Cologne that brought her back to the worst day of her life—the day a man towered over her, dominated her, hurt her—

  Val leaped out of her chair, hooked her right foot behind the dark-haired man’s left leg, and pushed him to the floor. She stepped over him and spun around, crouched in a jiu jitsu fighter’s stance, fingers curled and ready to strike.

  “Val! What the hell?” Beth shouted, jumping to her feet. Her coffee had spilled all over her bathrobe, drenching her and the floor. “Geez, Rick, are you all right?”

  Rick, who Val realized was Beth’s latest conquest, picked his tall, muscular frame up off the floor and wiped coffee off of his face. He wore only a set of red boxer shorts and a goofy smile. “I’m fine,” he said, laughing. He glanced at Beth, then nodded to Val. “That’s quite the security team you’ve got there. You must be Valorie.” He opened his arms, reaching out to hug her. Val backed away.

  “Val doesn’t hug, Rick,” Beth said. “Go put some clothes on.”

  Rick planted a long, wet kiss on Beth’s lips, grinned at Val, and ambled back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

  “I’ve told you a thousand times, you need to warn me when you have guys over,” Val said. “Where’d you find this one?”

  “Never mind. He’s temporary. Now, let me see this application.” She picked up the stapled pages and read while refilling her coffee. Val busied herself with cleaning up the spill.

  “It looks great,” Beth said after a minute. “But Val, are you certain you want to do this? I mean, given what you’ve been through...”

  “I’ve never wanted to do anything else,” she said. “You know that.”

  “But why Clayton?” Beth sat down again. “With what happened to your uncle there, and to you—”

  “That’s why it has to be Clayton,” Val said, tossing the soiled rag into the sink. “No place needs an infusion of justice more than our own hometown.”

  “That’s what worries me.” Beth set the application down on the table, careful to avoid the wet spots, and rested her chin on her hands. “It feels like—and please, don’t take this the wrong way—maybe you’re not seeking justice so much as revenge. For your uncle, and the whole Milt incident.”

  “Don’t say his name,” Val said, clenching her eyes shut. “And I’m fine. I’ve put all that behind me.”

  “Are you sure?” Beth stood and circled the table, placing her hand on Val’s shoulder. “Val, what if your anger over your uncle’s death, and for what Milt did, drives you to...I mean, what if you get into tough situations with bad guys, and, you know...it doesn’t end well. For them, or for you.”

  Beth squeezed Val’s shoulders and knelt to put her face level with Val’s. “I’m afraid for what could happen to you.”

  “Nothing will happen to me,” Val said in a voice more forceful than she‘d intended. “I’m not out to punish other men for what those scumbags did to my family. I just don’t want other scumbags doing it to other families, and to other thirteen-year-old girls. Or grown women. Or anyone.” She locked eyes with her friend, softening her tone. “I promise. I’ll be safe.”

  Beth’s face crumpled into a sad smile. “I know you will.” She gazed into Val’s eyes for another moment, then looked away.

  Val sighed. She might never convince her friend of how she felt. What unsettled her was that she hadn’t yet convinced herself yet, either.

  ***

  Valorie paused outside the op
en doorway of Lieutenant Laurence Gibson’s cramped office, a shaded-glass enclosure trimmed with dark wood and beige government-issue metal chairs, desk, and filing cabinets. Gibson’s bearlike figure seemed overly large for the room, and his dark brown skin, broad nose, bulbous eyes, and untamed salt-and-pepper hair exaggerated the effect.

  “Come in, Ms. Dawes.”

  Val shut the door. The breeze of its motion caused papers to flutter, pinned to the walls or stuck to the filing cabinets with refrigerator magnets. A quick perusal told her where Gibson preferred to get his coffee, pizza, and sub sandwiches, and, like everyone else in Clayton, Connecticut, he rooted for the Boston Red Sox and New England Patriots.

  “Thank you for meeting with me, Lieutenant.” Val sat in the worn, thinly padded metal framed guest chair. Gibson’s desk towered in front of her, resting on cylindrical risers to accommodate his massive frame. At five-six, one twenty-five, she felt like a kid in the principal’s office, rather than a 22-year-old who graduated a semester early from the University of Connecticut.

  And that simply wouldn’t do.

  She stood and extended her hand across the lieutenant’s enormous, cluttered desk, raising it uncomfortably high above the coffee cups and pencil holders stacked along its edge.

  Gibson remained engrossed in a document pulled from a manila folder. Finally, he noticed her outstretched hand and took it briefly in his.

  “Very impressive credentials.” Gibson peered over his pince-nez glasses. “Criminology degree from UConn, graduated cum laude. Outstanding entry exam. Your essay on community policing was first-rate. And you’re a bit of an athlete, aren’t you?”

  Val allowed a tiny smile. “I ran track in high school and college. I also played soccer.”

  “All-Metro midfielder in high school. Starter on the ACC championship team at UConn. More track ribbons than I could fit in this office. You’ve proved yourself a worthy competitor, Ms. Dawes.” He glanced at her again. “You’re a little small for a cop, but you’ve stayed in good shape. You should have no trouble passing the physical.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Val blushed and held her breath. She should say more, but what? She had no idea. She kept her mouth shut.

  He flipped through her application. “Have you ever shot a gun?”

  She nodded. “My...uncle taught me.” Dammit. She hadn’t wanted his name to come up in this interview. But she smiled at the memory. Uncle Val’s gift of firearms training for her tenth birthday had infuriated her parents, but only endeared him to her more.

  Gibson set the application down on his desk and removed his glasses. “I’ll come straight to the point. The name Val Dawes carries a certain amount of, shall we say, respect around here.”

  Val sat upright and rigid in her chair. “I’m not trading on my uncle’s repu—”

  “You’d be crazy not to.” Gibson sat back in his chair. “Valentin Dawes was a good man and a great cop. One of the best. Some of that must have rubbed off on you.”

  Val‘s face darkened, and she stared down at her hands. “I want to be considered on my own merits, sir. On my credentials, not his.”

  “We wouldn’t have it any other way.” Gibson put his glasses on and picked up her application again. “Your exam was among the best I’ve ever seen. Clearly you’ve prepared for this for some time.”

  “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, sir. Since I was a child.”

  “Since your uncle—”

  “Before that.”

  Gibson’s eyes widened, and he gazed at her a moment. Val sat motionless in her chair, torn between regret over interrupting him and relief over derailing discussion of an emotional subject. Finally, Gibson gave her a closed-mouth smile and a curt nod. Good. He understood.

  “As you may know,” he said, “we’re on a push to recruit more women and minority officers.”

  She shifted in her chair, and it scraped the floor with a harsh, raspy noise. “I don’t want to be an affirmative-action hire. If I don’t out-compete the men—”

  “You do. Don’t worry. That’s not the point.” Gibson pushed his glasses over the bridge of his nose. “Ms. Dawes, we have 335 sworn officers in the Clayton Police Department. Guess how many are female.”

  She shook her head. “Twenty percent?”

  “Ha! I wish.” He exhaled, the wind whistling through his teeth. “Less than thirty. Not percent. Total. That’s even worse than the national average, which is pitiful.” He sighed. “People say that police work is a man’s game, Dawes. It attracts people who are a little more aggressive, controlling, and confident in their physical abilities. More often than not, those people are men. And a lot of men around here want to keep it that way.”

  “Do you?” The words escaped before she could stop them. “Um, I mean, do you, sir?”

  “If I did, you wouldn’t be here.” He leaned back in his chair. “Unfortunately, the Neanderthals outnumber the ones who agree with me. And they can make life tough on a young woman, even one with your qualifications. But given your uncle’s legacy—well, let’s just say I’m hoping that slows them down a little.”

  “So, are you saying...?”

  Gibson smiled. “We’d like you to start at the academy on the first of next month. Can you do that?”

  Val’s heart pounded and she could not suppress a grin. “Yes, sir!”

  “Very well.” He stood and offered his hand. “Welcome to the Clayton, Connecticut Police Department, Officer Cadet Dawes.”

  Chapter Two

  Val jogged to a stop ten feet from police academy trainer Sergeant Matt McKenzie, a side of beef with a razor-sharp silver crew cut and a jaw like a concrete block. First to finish their three-mile “warm-up run,” she hurried to get ready for whatever drill he planned to push the cadets through next. Sergeant Mack, as he preferred to be called, barked orders like an army drill sergeant, and had no patience for cadets who wasted his precious time.

  “Line up, lunkheads,” Mack yelled, clapping his hands above his head. He glared at the twenty-six male cadets from around the state as they trickled in from the running track. “Come on, come on, double time!” He pushed the last few cadets into position with a rough shove around their shoulders. “You guys ought to be ashamed of yourselves, getting beaten that bad by a damned girl!” With that he cast a wicked grin at Val, and not a friendly one. Her cheeks burned, but she’d learned the hard way not to object aloud to Mack.

  A lanky cadet with thick brown hair pushed into line next to Val. She sighed. Whenever Ben Peterson came near, things seemed to go wrong for her.

  “Way to go, Dawes,” Ben said in a low sneer. “Showing us up again. Can’t you cut us some slack now and again?”

  “If that’s request number 206 for a date, the answer is still no,” she murmured.

  Mack glared and pointed a thick, gnarly finger at her. “You got something to share with us, Dawes?”

  Val snapped to attention. “No, sir!”

  “Then shut your trap.” Mack paced in front of the group. “Gentlemen and ladies—lady—we have a special treat for you today. A guest instructor, here to school you on the finer points of hand-to-hand combat. Sergeant Brenda Petroni of Clayton P.D. Sergeant?”

  Val’s breath caught in her throat. After six weeks of men giving her nothing but grief and hostility, seeing a female instructor at the academy—from her own department, no less—seemed too good to be true. She glanced at Petroni, who, like Mack, wore a loose workout uniform and running shoes, despite the chilly morning air. About five-eight, with curly, dark brown hair and a sturdy build, the forty-something woman smiled at the cadets. Compared to Mack, she appeared relaxed, even downright friendly.

  “Thanks, Mack. Cadets, I’ve taught you the basics of self-defense, but the rules of engagement out there are changing.” She scanned the group and locked her gaze for a moment on Val. Her eyes sparkled and her smile seemed to sharpen—or did Val imagine that? Petroni gave her a slight nod, then continued. “To demonstrate, may I have a volunteer
?”

  For a few seconds, no hands rose. Long experience with Mack had ingrained in every cadet a grave fear of volunteering. Too often it involved pain, humiliation, or, at a minimum, extra work. But with Petroni, things might be different. For a woman, anyway. Val raised her hand, and two or three male hands followed.

  “You, and you.” She pointed at Val and Ben. Val gazed up at him in surprise. Ben never volunteered for anything.

  He grinned. “I can’t let you have all the glory.”

  They stepped forward, one on either side of Petroni. Behind them, Mack emitted a low chuckle. Damn. If he expected to be entertained by this, then volunteering was definitely a mistake.

  “Mr. Peterson? Please demonstrate the proper method for restraining this perp, here.” She indicated Val with an open palm and instructed them to face each other. “Ms. Dawes, try to escape your hypothetical crime scene by getting past Peterson.”

  Peterson grinned, then crouched. Val feinted left, then lunged right. Ben hooked his elbow and spun behind her, twisted her arm behind her back and forced Val to the ground. A sharp pain streaked up to her shoulder, and she howled. He dug his knee into her side and forced his arm around her neck, choking her.

  “All right, let her up,” Petroni said, sounding disgusted. “Okay, guys. What did you see here? Anyone?”

  Ben started to help her up, but when Petroni’s gaze turned away, he shoved her back onto the ground. His knee slammed into her upper thigh, pressing all two hundred pounds of his weight onto her. She grunted in pain again.

  “You ladies done over there?” Mack said with a growl. Peterson scrambled off her, his face reddening. Val got up and dusted herself off. The other cadets stared at their feet.

  Petroni shook her head at Peterson and turned toward the group. “Come on, speak up,” she said. “What’d he do right? What’d he do wrong, according to your training?”

  “Well,” drawled a blond-haired cadet off to one side, “he could’ve broken her arm.”

  “And choked her to death,” someone else said.

  “Good, good,” Petroni said. “Would you say he used excessive force?”