An Offer She Couldn't Refuse
Officer Charlotte Naomi Bellamy - Charli to her friends and family - loved her new assignment. She was only the second female motorcycle officer in the history of the Jacksonville Police Department, and she already knew this is exactly what she needed to get herself right - both physically and mentally.
Charli was a twenty-eight-year-old police officer who had been on the department for seven years. After two years in patrol, she was assigned to the Detective Division where she first worked in Sex Crimes before transitioning to Homicide for four years. Charli thought Homicide was going to be her forever assignment, a job she would happily do for the next twenty years, until she was assigned as the lead detective on the disappearance of an assistant district attorney, Ms. Phoebe Quinn, a little more than two years ago.
The evidence pointed toward foul play, so the Homicide Unit took the lead on the case. Assistant DA Phoebe Quinn was a gorgeous woman and a phenomenal attorney who was on the fast track in the county prosecutor's office. When she disappeared, the list of potential suspects was ridiculously long - from former lovers, criminals that she had put away and their acquaintances, and a jealous ex-husband - but no leads panned out, no trace of Phoebe Quinn was ever found and every bit of new evidence led to brick walls or even more questions.
Charli had an addictive personality - a trait she personally loved and fostered - but that personality ate away at her. She took the case too personally. She thought she had so much in common with Quinn, that Charli kept seeing herself as the victim and doubled down on trying to solve the mystery of her disappearance. After a while, Charli was up to all hours of the night going over all the case files, she stopped working out, drank way too much, she stopped hanging out with friends, her personal life ground to a halt and she even stopped going to church. Her dynamite good looks took a downward spiral as she gained weight, became increasing pale, had bags under her eyes during all waking hours and flew off the handle at every little perceived indiscretion.
She lost friends, her fiancé ended their three-year relationship - which at the time did not concern her in the slightest - and her work product suffered. Finally, her supervising lieutenant ordered her to the department's psychiatrist. After a short time in therapy, Charli could see what the Quinn case was doing to her and knew she had to get as far away from it as possible for her own health, sanity and well-being. She talked with her lieutenant and sergeant and asked if the case could be reassigned, and if she could be transferred out of Homicide until she got her mind right.
Because she was a fine detective, and because her supervisors knew the case had driven her to this point and not because of any lack of effort, they bent over backward and got her assigned to wherever she wanted to go. Charli had always loved riding motorcycles since she was a teenager, and the thought of riding one for her job topped the list of assignments she wanted.
Her bosses got her into the proper training classes, got her police motorcycle certification and used some leverage to get her into the unit as soon as a vacancy opened. During all that time, with no Homicide cases to investigate, specifically the Quinn case, she was able to clear her mind and steady her life. She stopped drinking alcohol. She began working out every day - a mix of weight training, running, MMA and high-intensity interval training - and the exercise paid dividends. Charli was always considered very attractive with her 5'7" athletic frame and her jet-black hair, but the intense working out had sculped her body to where she was now a muscular 130 pounds.
She worked a steady day shift, Monday through Friday, and enjoyed enforcing traffic laws and investigating simple traffic crashes. She wrote more warnings than tickets, met many different citizens throughout the day and felt herself finally starting to enjoy her job and her life again. She had even attended church service a couple of times and was thinking about entering the dating pool in the near future.
She loved riding the powerful motorcycle eight hours a day in the beautiful Florida sun. Charli especially loved the uniform, if truth be told. Especially since she had gotten into phenomenal physical condition. The dark navy blue, short sleeve uniform shirt adorned with the silver badge over her heart and yellow patches on the sleeves looked great with her defined, yet feminine, arms. The soft Kevlar body armor and sports bra she wore while in the uniform shirt could not totally hide her perky 32C breasts. The navy blue Alpinestar Vika v2 women's pants, a mix of leather and stretch aramid fabric, which were skin-tight, showed off her tone and athletic legs and ass. The knee-high Bella Napa leather boots just looked amazing on her. The white helmet over her French-braided hair and topped off with the Maui Jim Mavericks aviator sunglasses completed the ensemble. She knew she looked amazing and, in turn, felt amazing. Charli loved being a cop again!
She continued to attend counseling to keep the demons at bay, because it was extremely hard for her to completely stop trying to work the Quinn case in her head. Fortunately, she knew that was a part of her she had to keep in check less it would destroy her personally and professionally.
Charli glanced at her watch just above the black Hugger gloves and saw that she had less than an hour before her shift ended. She had one more traffic complaint on this particular Friday that her sergeant had assigned her - speeders in a well-to-do neighborhood - and then she could start her weekend. She was planning on going to the subdivision in question, run radar for about an hour and then head to the house when a white panel van blew past her doing at least twice the posted speed limit.
She gave the bike more throttle and easily closed on the speeding van. She keyed her helmet mic and said, "Headquarters, this is 8222, 10-50, Atlantic and Penman."
After telling the headquarters dispatcher she was about to conduct a traffic stop at Atlantic Boulevard and Penman Road, and the dispatcher acknowledged her transmission, Charli continued.
"Florida tag, Echo-Bravo-Foxtrot-six-six-Lima on a white Chevy panel van. Unknown number of occupants."
The dispatcher repeated the information back to ensure it was logged correctly and that all units listening on the radio frequency knew where an officer was conducting a traffic stop. Charli then activated her blue lights and siren.
The van's brake lights illuminated but continued east on Atlantic Boulevard. Charli ensured she could be seen in the driver's side mirror and motioned the van to pull over. The van slowed but continued another half mile before it pulled into the empty parking lot of a closed down K-Mart. Charli was not too worried, even when the van pulled as far as possible from Atlantic Boulevard and stopped on the side of the abandoned building, but she did remind herself to pay attention to her surroundings.
She stopped the Harley-Davidson Police Road King at least ten feet from the driver' side rear door of the panel van. She could she the driver in the sideview mirror, but he was in shadows and not moving much. She stepped off the motorcycle and slowly approached the vehicle.
Her radio chirped, "8222, tag comes back to a white 2019 Chevrolet Express Cargo Van. Registered to a Thomas Kincade of Ponte Vedra, Florida. No wants or warrants on the vehicle or registered owner."
Charli keyed her radio and replied, "10-4 Headquarters. Final stop in the old K-Mart parking lot."
"Are you 10-77?" inquired the dispatcher, asking if the situation was under control.
"I'm 10-77," she replied.
With her right hand on the butt of her Glock 17 9mm service pistol in the holster on her right hip, she approached the driver's window which rolled down as she got closer.
"Is there a problem, officer?" the man said from the gloom of the interior of the van in a gravelly voice that belied too many years of smoking.
Peering into the interior of the van, Charli could see that the two front seats were the only seats in the van, and the driver was the sole occupant. A solid metal wall was behind the seats separating the cab from the van's interior.
"Good afternoon, sir," Charli said. "I'm Officer Bellamy with the Jacksonville Police Department. May I see your driver's license, registration and insurance please."
"I asked," the man said, "is there a problem?"
"You were doing eighty in a forty mile per hour zone," Charli said. "I'll need to see your license, registration and proof of insurance, please."
The man shook his head slowly. "You don't need to see my license, Charlotte."
The use of her given first name did not get past her. Charli peered intently at the man and asked, "Do I know you?"
The man smiled a humorless smile. "No, Charlotte, you don't, but you want to..."
Charli sighed in frustration. "Step out of the vehicle, sir."
The man slowly unfastened his seatbelt, opened the car door and stepped out deliberately. Charli took a few steps backward toward her motorcycle, never taking her eyes off the driver and looked him over. Shoulder length brown hair, clean shaven, darks sunglasses, a Bass Pro Shops ballcap and medium build. His rumpled t-shirt and jeans gave nothing away, and he did not look even the slightest bit familiar to Charli.
With her hand still on the pistol grip of her pistol, she said, "I'm going to need to see your license, sir."
He smiled that humorless smile again and said, "Are you enjoying your new assignment, Charlotte?"
She cocked her head in confusion. "Who the hell are you, mister?"
"Do you miss the days looking for Pheobe Quinn, Charlotte?" the man asked.
Alarm bells sounded in Charli's head! She took another step back, drew her service pistol and pointed in center mass at the man in front of her. "Keep your hands where I can see them!"
The man did not flinch. Just continued smiling that creepy smile.
Charli reach to activate her portable radio, but before she hit the transmit button, the man said, "I've grown bored with Phoebe Quinn, Charlotte. I'm going to give her back to you - safe and sound - but if you call for the cavalry, I'll just claim I have no idea what you're talking about. They'll think you've got off the rails again. That you've relapsed. Trust me when I say, my bona fides will check out. They will think you're going nuts again."
Charli was trying to process what he was saying. "Get on the ground now! And put your hands behind your back!"
"If you arrest me, Charlotte," he said, "Phoebe Quinn will die. I left her in quite the predicament. If I don't get back very soon, I promise you that she will expire, but if you come with me, I'll let you take her back to her friends and family..."
For the first time in a long time, Charli had no idea what to do. She had no idea if this guy was legitimate, but something deep inside her said this had to be the guy who abducted Pheobe Quinn over two years ago.
"8222, 10-77?" the dispatcher radioed.
The speaker in her motorcycle helmet was loud enough for the man to hear and he said, "You should tell her that you're okay, Charlotte. I for one don't want to be disturbed right now."
Charli removed her left hand from the Glock, keyed the helmet mic and said, "I'm 10-77, headquarters. Thank you."
The man's smile widened. "Excellent. Now we can go get Pheobe and you can be the hero who rescued her."
Charli adjusted the grip on her pistol but never stopped aiming at his chest. "How do I know you're for real? How do I know you still have her and she's still alive?"
