SEIZED Part 1: New Adult Romantic Suspense (Seize Me Romance Fiction Series) (6 page)

With each race, the coaches got more and more tense, but somehow I kept making it through. Only two female runners could represent Cedar Rapids, and because our school had the best facilities, there were girls from schools all over town trying out. The air felt tight and hot to breathe. There were dozens of runners on the track in various states of undress. I was wearing my school shorts, a tank, and my lucky underwear. But I didn’t really believe I could make the cut.

In the end, I did. The moment I crossed the finish line, he jumped over the railings and wrapped me in his arms. I was sweaty, but he pulled me against him and we breathed each other in for way too long. My head was spinning and still breathless from the race. My chest was heaving, but I moved in closer and pressed against him. I didn’t let go, and when he didn’t either, I felt myself relax into his arms. Together we stood, as a field of busy people took no notice, and my breathing started to slow.

My back and the tops of thighs began to come alive as his hand meandered down past my tank top to the space between it and my shorts. I wanted his hands to go lower. I wanted more, but I wasn’t sure of anything, so I just pulled him closer and hoped he’d get the picture. I felt his hips shift against my belly.

Unable to suppress a moan, I unconsciously tipped my head to the side, exposing my neck to his warm breath. Then I felt his long fingers trail up my collarbone, into the hollow of my throat and up behind my ear. He played with my ear lobe and looked down at me; his eyes seeming to smile. We were closer than we’d ever been, and it didn’t feel wrong at all.

The moment stretched on and still he didn’t pull away. I looked at his mouth then back up at his eyes. I was tingling all over, my hips were pressed against his thighs and our bodies were so close.

He raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, that’s a surprise.”

I swallowed; I didn’t know how to take his comment. I thought about it too much as he said it, and that’s when the moment was ruined. A surprise that I would hit on him? A surprise that he’d like it?
What
was a surprise? That I won? I was dying to ask, but I didn’t have the courage and the moment was lost.

Reluctantly, I had pulled away. Someone was calling my name, and I was thirsty. I was off balance physically, and it was more than just the fifteen hundred meter run. I didn’t know what to think, but my heart was pounding. God, I wanted him.

I took a breath, and when I looked back up I saw him do the same. Everything was different. Blake said he had to go, but congratulated me and put his thumb on my lower lip. It stayed there for just a second, but he didn’t meet my eyes, and in that stupid teenage way that wants affirmation, I asked him to call me. I’m sure I was smiling more about our ‘almost kiss’ than I was about the win. My cheeks were burning, but I looked down and pulled it together before I casually said goodbye as he walked away, leaving me to my thoughts.

I wrench myself back into the moment when he offers me a soda.

“You look like you’re ready to collapse.” He’s right, and all I want to do is sleep, but everything feels too big. I’ll head back to the hotel, but then what? It’s not like a nap is going to help find my friend. I don’t even have the key to the hotel, or my wallet or anything. He answers the question for me.

“You’re done here for now, so all that’s left to do is rest. I’ll have the nurse check you again for a concussion, then I think it’s best you stay somewhere else for now. Whoever has April will be wondering where you are, so I suggest you don’t take any risks.”

The thought that they’re looking for me sends a shiver down my spine. I’m tired and hungry, and I don’t have the strength to run again. I’m also cold. My jacket was long gone by the time I got here, and my skin feels prickly. My nose and forehead are less sore, but I gingerly touch my fingers to the bruises on my neck and wince. This is what hurt the most, such ruthless pressure. It brings back a flood of other unpleasant memories that I just can’t handle right now.

I need to get out of here before he sees me cry. I don’t need him or anyone thinking I’m a victim. I tell him that I’ll stay wherever, but I need some clothes. That’s when he sees how cold I am. The bloodstained skirt was short to begin with, but now it rides treacherously up my thighs. I reach over and pick up the blanket again just as I see that he’s going to try to be a gentleman.
Keep your jacket to yourself,
I think to myself, because there’s no way I’m going to turn into submissive little Carrie just because I’m hurt. He had his chance to be a hero ten years ago. But he missed out then, and I’m sure as hell not going to give him another chance now.

My coffee arrives and I wrap my hands around it. Then I decide to let him do the talking. I need to find out as much as I can before I go. If he’s going to muscle me off like a sick kid, then I’ll do my own investigating.

Blake

S
omething in her eyes seems to be mocking me. I can’t work it out. I just offered her a jacket, for Gods’ sake. It’s not like I strapped her to a stove, and said, ‘cook me some eggs, bitch.’ Jesus, I don’t understand women. One minute they’re crying and needing a cuddle, the next they freeze up if you offer to open a door. No wonder therapists make so much money. It’s like translating between two foreign languages.

I can see she’s had enough of the questions, though. The weight of the night’s events is showing in the tension around her neck and shoulders. But she still looks beautiful. Carrie has always been beautiful. Even when she’s been rolling under cars and fighting off thugs. My thoughts are interrupted by a crash of something heavy against the door of the interview room. Carrie flinches, and I instinctively grab my gun. I motion her to quickly get under the table, and when I hear a woman’s screech through the wall, I throw open the door, weapon drawn.

The station hallway is a mess, but not because of a lazy shift. Paperwork and folders are flying from the fingers of the most outrageous and angry looking hooker I’ve ever seen. She’s one of our regulars, but every time she ends up here, I marvel at the poison she spews around. She’s dressed to the nines this morning in a flesh colored bandage dress that barely covers her breasts, and heels that make her nearly as tall as me. It’s a sight to be seen. The desk officer meets my eyes. He looks horrified as he tries to move her along, but this woman has something more to say to him at the top of her lungs about her supposedly unjust visit to 43rd Street.

“You don’t fucking know.” Her shriek has become a snarl now. “Sitting here playing high and mighty while the rest of us just get by. How dare you judge me!”

I feel Carrie edge up and stand beside me, and we watch as the woman seems overtaken by an itch that runs the length of both arms. She’s slashing at her skin, the diamantes and sequins on her acrylic nails twinkling, and she forgets whatever it was she was saying in order to satisfy the itch. I can see her arms from here. There are no bugs or welts except the ones she’s laying into them now. She must be on the crack pipe to be acting this way. I do feel compassion for her. After all, addiction is a disease, but mostly I’m annoyed. I don’t have time for this shit. I want her out of here.

Just then, more papers swirl as she swipes at the flyers pinned up on the community bulletin board. It’s getting out of control, but the desk officer seems out of his depths. I remember that feeling from when I was a rookie—that sense that I shouldn’t man-handle a pretty woman. But just as I learned, he needs to learn now. Pretty face and scanty clothes or not, if she’s causing trouble, she needs to be dealt with. I look around and realize that most of the team is still in briefing. Lucky for him, because I know Lieutenant Jacobs would freak if she saw the ruckus going on out here.

I give the desk officer an affirming look, and he moves in toward the wild looking street worker. He’s trying to calm her like one would calm a wild animal.

“Come on, Janey, let’s sit down and talk it through.”

His caution is understandable. The effects of crack and meth are scary. I can see that Janey has been awake and causing trouble for a few days by now. Her hair is dirty, her voice is hoarse, and her eyes are luminous discs in their sockets. They are dilated and manic. She’s on the edge of snapping. I recognize that point, the place where only one thing matters, and I know it’s important we get her under control before she loses her shit entirely.

Past and personal experiences tell me this woman is running on overdrive. She’s insane, so every reaction is out of proportion to what it should be. If she wants to say something, the best we can do is let her say it. Meth and crack, or whatever she’s been smoking, causes extreme elevations in emotion. If there’s a random unjust scenario going on inside her head, the quickest way to shut her down is to acknowledge it and then just listen to whatever she has to say. It’ll probably come out in a jumbled prattle, and it’s likely it won’t make sense, but it’ll be as good as letting air out of a tire when it comes to shutting her up.

Janey must be in her mid-thirties. She’s not covered in tattoos, but her fake tan is getting leathery from malnutrition and her make-up is making her look older rather than younger. I wonder what age she was when she started in the game. I wonder what she imagined she’d be when she grew up. It’s tragic. There’s no such thing as fairytale endings on the street. By choice or by accident this woman has had a hard life, and it shows.

“You need to watch your back.” Her threat is directed at me now, and it sounds ludicrous, like she’s trying to mimic a line from a movie. But she’s still looking my way with a snarl on her face that doesn’t crumple for a second. “Lips will get you, she’s coming for you.” Just then, the desk officer gets Janey’s hands behind her back. She’s spitting and kicking at him but he administers the cuffs and drags her away with an apologetic look on his face.

I glance over to check on Carrie. Something in me wants to protect her from this stuff, but she’s not flinching or looking away. Instead, she’s just watching the situation with interest and sadness in her eyes.

“Mad old Janey,” I tell her. “She’s in and out of here most weekends. Means no harm, she’s just hopped up after a big night.”

I see in the set of Carrie’s jaw that she’s not shocked or disgusted by the woman, and my heart opens, too. The scene that’s just played out would appall most of my friends, but Carrie seems to take it in stride. I wonder again what the hell she’s been up to since high school. You don’t get that blasé from watching movies, that’s for sure.

I shepherd her back into the interview room and close the door. We look at each other, and she picks the blanket up from the floor. Meeting my eyes, she starts to laugh but says nothing, and I get the distinct feeling she’s not the type of woman who’s used to taking shelter under tables. Carrie always had a calm energy, though. It’s hot now, and it was hot back then compared to all those giggly high school girls. It was a relief to hang out with her when I was a teen. I’m cursing that I never took the chance to tell her that.

Truth is, I didn’t know what the fuck to think or do back then. Living in Cedar Rapids was hands down the hardest time of my life. Brenda and I were trying to do the best we could, dodging the daily debris of an alcoholic family. My mom was driving herself and the neighbors crazy trying to keep Dad in line. For years, she went at his disease like it was something she could control, but he just kept up the same old shit. Drinking to black-out then stumbling home late or not at all.

We lived day to day, doing what we could, and stayed out of his way as much as possible. I wanted to floor him some nights. It was easier just to leave.

Carrie is looking at me intently. She’s going to ask a question but it comes out as a demand. “I want to get out of here—now.”

It’s getting late, and she’s surely not had much to eat, but I’m not giving in so quickly.

“Well, I can’t take you back to the hotel. It’s not safe. If the guys who took April find out where you were staying, that’s the first place they’ll look.”

She looks at me, exhausted. “So, where am I supposed to go? All my stuff is there, I’ve got nothing.”

Department protocol and common sense won’t let me leave an unsecured witness alone with this type of threat, but I see the look on her face and try to ease the blow. “Look, it won’t be forever, just until this is over. For now, you’ll get a bed at one of the department safe houses.”

She still doesn’t look happy, and the resistance in her eyes starts to annoy me. It’s as if she thinks she could get past those guys a second time. She’s mad. What sort of woman chooses to purposely put herself in that type of danger? I do know the type, they’re normally the ones with nothing to lose. But Carrie seems the opposite; she’s got so much going for her. Her pleading continues.

“Look can’t I just go back to the hotel and keep you on speed dial?”

“No Carrie!” I don’t realize how loud I am when I cut her off until she startles in her chair. For a second, there is real fear in her eyes. This woman has suffered at the hands of somebody. I can see it. She’s trying to hold herself together, but her hands are shaking.

I’m itching to reach across and comfort her but I continue firmly. “You need to look at this, now.”

I pull out my iPad, type in my password, and tap up a photo file of a kidnapping victim who was found downtown last month. The pictures are gory. It’s not something I should be showing anyone, but she needs to see what happens to the women who
don’t
have Judo training, the ones who didn’t get away, the ones who stupidly put themselves in more danger for no reason.

Carrie looks doubtful now. Seeing Janey lose it in the hall may not have bugged her, but there’s a sharp intake of breath when I turn the screen toward her. Not much is comparable to seeing what happens when a group of savages are let loose on a young woman’s body. The tragedy of it makes me cold with anger. I want Carrie to realize that this is a serious business, and it looks like shocking her out of her denial might have been just the ticket.