To Love a Cop

He chuckled. “I kind of doubt that.”

“I don’t know.” At least she’d remembered to lock the front door as she flew out. Inserting her key, she said over her shoulder, “He’s been a real pain in the butt this week. It’s like having a rabid teenager in the house.”

Her reward was a deep laugh, so close behind it stirred the hair on her nape and made her shiver. “Sadly,” he murmured, “my mother would know exactly what you’re talking about.”

Despite everything, Laura found herself smiling, too, as she opened the door. “She would, huh?”

Jake was waiting in the hall leading from the bedrooms, his mouth dropping open at the sight of her. “You’re not mad anymore.”

“I’m still mad. I’m just...” She tried to decide. “I did what I could. Monday I’ll go talk to your principal.”

“I thought Uncle Tino would hit you.”

Laura crossed the room to gather him into her arms and press her cheek to his. “He wouldn’t have done that. In his world view, it wouldn’t have been manly.”

“Really?” Her son’s voice squeaked.

“Really.” She smiled and kissed his forehead. “I don’t know if I accomplished anything, but I didn’t blow it as bad as I would have if Ethan hadn’t showed up to talk some sense into me. So thank you for calling him.”

His expression was so incredulous, it made her laugh.

“I thought you’d be mad.”

“You mean, even madder.” She grimaced. “I was. Until he talked sense into me. Now I’m not.”

He exhaled a huge breath. “Oh.” Then a frown crinkled his forehead. “What did he say? Uncle Tino?”

“Actually...not much. Mostly, I didn’t give him a chance to talk.”

“He said he was sorry,” Ethan said quietly, and she turned.

“You were looking at him. Do you think he meant it?”

“Yeah. He was crying, Laura.”

“Crying?” He’d said that, but it hadn’t sunk in. Now, she tried to picture the oldest Vennetti son breaking down. “Tino?”

Jake looked stunned. “Wow.”

Laura gave herself a shake. “Have a seat, Detective.”

His eyes smiled at her. “Ethan.”

“Ethan.” Why had she even bothered to try to distance him? “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“I’d love a cup of coffee.”

“Sugar? Creamer?”

“Black.”

He chose the same place on the sofa to sit as the last time he’d been here. When she went to the kitchen, she heard his and Jake’s voices. Fortunately, she had some decent coffee on hand and returned reasonably quickly with two mugs.

Ethan took his with thanks. “I usually bring a travel mug with me. Kind of hurried out the door this morning.”

“Jake said you investigate assaults and...bias crimes? Does that mean specifically anti-gay or whatever?”

“That’s right. Did you know Oregon has a hate crimes law? It makes the penalty harsher for any given crime than it would be for one that wasn’t motivated by dislike of someone’s race, color, religion or sexual orientation.”

She frowned. “There was something on KGW news about a fire and a swastika spray painted on the driveway.”

He winced. “That one’s mine. I’m...getting a lot of pressure on it. Do you know how many Portland residents have last names that sound Jewish or that some idiot could interpret as Jewish when really they’re Polish or Russian or who knows what? City hall is getting a barrage of panicky phone calls, which means the police department brass are, which means...”

Understanding dawned. “You are.” No wonder he’d had that expression on his face a minute ago.

“What’s a swastika?” Jake asked, predictably. Normally he’d have watched the news with her, but he’d been sulking in his room.

Ethan explained, his tone grim. “The home you saw on the news is the fourth instance of vandalism within two weeks that included the spray painted swastika. First place it was painted was on the garage door, second house, on the front window, third, on the lawn. Those earlier ones were mostly garden-variety vandalism. Eggs, rocks thrown through windows, that kind of thing.”

Mostly. She wondered about that, but didn’t want to ask with Jake here. She thought Ethan would have said otherwise.

“Vandalism doesn’t sound significant enough to justify all the anxiety, but the fire is a significant escalation,” he continued. “We’re afraid someone is going to be hurt soon. There’s always the possibility a home owner with a gun will use it, too.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Jake said. “I mean, that’s why people want guns. So they can protect themselves.”

Good? Laura thought in shock. He knew how vehemently she opposed the whole idea, and still—

“It is,” Ethan agreed, raising her ire, but went on before she could jump in. “The problem is, your average person hasn’t practiced enough to be able to use their weapon effectively. They get scared and are more likely to freeze up than they are to shoot the right person at the right time. A dad panics, shoots and kills his teenage son who was sneaking into the house late at night. Or it’s a burglar, Dad points the gun, but the burglar wrestles it away from him. And here’s the bigger question...”

Laura was as mesmerized as Jake. Ethan wasn’t saying what she’d expected from him. And, thank God, he’d been tactful enough not to include in his little litany, Kids get their hands on their parents’ guns and tragic accidents happen.

“We have the death penalty in this state.” He leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs, and looked and sounded even grimmer. “Someone has to have been convicted of aggravated murder to receive death as a sentence. So, if we as a society agreed that’s the only crime that we can justify putting someone to death for committing, is it all right for a home owner to shoot and kill someone breaking into his house?”

“But...it’s self-defense, isn’t it?”

Laura was glad to hear that Jake sounded unsure.

“It’s usually ruled to be. And sometimes it is. A woman is certainly entitled to protect herself from a man who intends to rape her, for example. But the average burglar doesn’t intend to hurt anyone. He’s sneaking in, hoping to grab some hot electronics, maybe some jewelry, and sneak back out without anyone hearing him. If the home owner were to yell that he’d called 911, the guy would bolt. These idiots who target people with a Jewish last name were committing only vandalism until this last time, when they set a fire, too. Their form of vandalism was ugly and indefensible, don’t get me wrong. But a capital crime? Not in my view.”

“So...if you were, like, staking out a house and they showed up and started, you know, painting the swastika and throwing rocks and maybe setting a fire, you wouldn’t pull your gun?” Jake asked in disbelief.

Ethan smiled faintly. “I would, because it would give me the upper hand. I’d be less likely to lose control of the situation. I would use the weapon as a threat to achieve an outcome that didn’t include violence.”

“You mean, they’d put their hands up and do what you tell them. Like that.”

His smile widened and he bent his head. “Just like that.” But the smile was gone when he went on. “The difference between me and the average home owner is that I put in many, many hours at the range practicing. I know when and why I should actually pull the trigger. In that situation, with the vandals, I’d be prepared to defend myself, but otherwise I wouldn’t shoot anyone.”

“You’d let them get away?”