SEIZED Part 1: New Adult Romantic Suspense (Seize Me Romance Fiction Series) (9 page)

Even though it’s the last thing on my list, something makes me turn and ask Carrie, “Do you want kids one day?”

She seems to have settled into her own thoughts, and looks a little shocked that I brought it up.

“Why do you ask?”

I don’t really know the answer to her question, so I fudge it.

“Well, you’ll probably run into George a lot, so I thought I’d better warn you that he’s a talker. He’ll ask you endless questions. Questions to infinity.”

She laughs, and her face changes totally. I think I love her in that moment, and I can’t believe how this woman is affecting me.

“Oh right...to infinity,” she says in a mock serious tone that brings me back to my senses. “I forgot about infinity. It’s the number that trumps all numbers. I’ll make sure George has his fair share of question and answer time, but I used to babysit, remember? I’m pretty sure I can deal with a curious kid.”

She doesn’t answer my initial question about kids, but it doesn’t matter. It’s clearly a sore spot because the brief slice of humor I saw has retreated back inside that shell. Either that or she’s just exhausted and starving.

“How about I buy us burger?” I ask. She doesn’t look like a stick figure, but I didn’t even consider that she could be a vegetarian, or gluten free. There’s always a risk in offering meat these day. I don’t want to seem like a caveman, but I’m starving, and all I want is to wrap my chops around a cheeseburger before I hit the sack.

I need not have worried. The look on her face is priceless, almost joyous, and I’m glad. I like a women I can eat with. Plus, there’s a burger place right next to the supermarket. It’ll be fast and easy. At this time of day, it won’t be busy, so we can slip in there before I stock up on groceries. She’s gonna need supplies at my place. Brenda will lend her clothes, but there’s no way she’s using my toothbrush or going without one. I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy, let alone my star witness, and I have a special budget the Lieutenant approved to make sure she gets what she needs and stays safe.

I pull into a parking spot outside the burger joint, and Carrie looks pretty bedraggled. I figure she’s not up for going inside, so I offer to get the burgers for us. She shakes her head.

“I’ll come. It’s not like it’s black tie.”

She ditches the blanket in the back seat of the car, and we head into the old-fashioned place together, toward the wall of booths. It’s one of those sixties-style diners, with a jukebox and everything. I don’t know what song is playing, and neither could the teenager behind the counter I’m sure, but I’m not picky about ambiance when I’m hungry. Not with burgers that are as amazing as this place makes them.

We walk quickly but not before I notice those legs. Jesus, she’s covered in scrapes, but they still look amazing. I have another inappropriate thought. This is getting ludicrous. There’s no way she can’t know what I’m thinking. The energy was so intense back at the station I thought I was going to grab her right there in the interview room. I can just imagine the look on Lieutenant Jacobs’s face if she finds out I have feelings for the one person who can help us bring down Jessup Lee.

It’s not just about ego for Jacobs, either. She used to work on the special victims unit, handling solely the cases involving sex workers. She never talks about it, but every day would have been a cluster-fuck of grief. Most of them were women, many of them prostitutes who’ve been treated like shit and used until they were broken. Something goes out of their eyes after a certain amount of time. I can’t explain it, but it’s like every fucking John takes away a small piece of their soul. Busting Jessup’s ring isn’t about notoriety, it’s about stopping the abuse of innocents, and I know Jacobs would be furious if she could read my mischievous mind.

The question is, do I really give a fuck what my boss thinks right now? The answer is a resounding no. Carrie’s pull is too strong. I know she used to have a crush on me. There was a time we nearly—

“So, what do you want to eat?” she asks, as she summons the waitress and orders a burger with everything on it, plus fries.

She’s a goddess. I order the same, and top it off with a strawberry milkshake. I wouldn’t normally stack on the fatty foods like this, but despite the situation, seeing her feels like a celebration. I know I’m thinking too much, but it’s hard not to. There’s so damn much to think about.

I should be asking her questions and finding out what she’s been doing, but I just feel clumsy. It’s like anything I do or say is going to be taken the wrong way. I’m not just her assigned officer, but I’m not sure if we’re friends yet, either. The boundaries are fuzzy, so I stay silent and let her be peaceful while we wait for the surly teen to bring our food.

The food comes, and we eat. She’s not dainty, but she’s not a fiend either, and I’m relieved when she doesn’t try to make small talk and devotes herself to eating her meal as whole-heartedly as I do. Lost in my meal, I start to think about what I should tell Brenda and George when we get back. Brenda will definitely remember Carrie from Cedar Rapids. There’s no doubt about that, so I won’t lie to her, but I’ll just tell George she’s an old friend who got mugged on a visit to New York and is too scared to stay alone. I don’t want him thinking he’s in danger, but I’ll make sure Brenda knows to be extra careful. I’ve been checking for a tail since we left the station, but I think we’re okay, and the doors are always triple-bolted at home. Security is my thing.

I pay the bill, and we head next door to the grocery store. I know she’ll need a few different things, so I tell her to pick up the essentials and meet me at the magazine rack. She looks embarrassed. I wonder if it’s because she’s used to shopping at more expensive places, but then she stutters out, “I don’t have any of my cash or cards on me.”

I’m struck at the look on her face. She’s really worried about it. Most women would have just assumed I was picking up the bill and shopped up a storm, but I see she’s in real discomfort at the idea of not being independent. It’s unnecessary; even if I didn’t have the witness budget, I’d pay for her stuff.

“Oh. Sorry I forgot to tell you,” I say. “These expenses are covered by the department’s witness protection budget, so make sure you get enough supplies to last. Who knows how long this will take.”

Again, the flash of vulnerability in her pretty face. Little miss control freak reporter must not like being so powerless. I suppress a laugh. It’s hard not to remember that face as it was back in high school. The same intense look when she didn’t understand an equation in geometry, or didn’t get a good test score in English. Carrie is such an overachiever. It must be hell to be so out of control now.

Somewhat appeased by the new arrangement, she grabs a cart and begins making her rounds. I read a magazine for a while, but I watch her in the security mirrors mounted in the corners of the store. Shampoo and conditioner. Deodorant and moisturizer. A 6-pack of G-strings and vests with the spaghetti strap. She travels the aisles with quiet precision, getting what she needs and giving way to other shoppers. She walks with her head up, and I see that she’s trying to ignore the funny looks her outfit is garnering. Especially from the older audience. We arrive at the counter together, and I use the police card without a second thought. I’ve picked up some of the yogurt I know she used to love. I pass it to her just as we get back in the car, and that’s when her face crumples.

“You’ve been so kind.”

She starts to sob. I try and comfort her, but what can I say. She’s totally confusing me. On one hand, so tough and resilient. Trained to fight. On the other, a victim of crime, a vulnerable old friend, and the hottest crying woman I’ve seen in a very long time. I get out of the car, walk around to her side, open the door, and squat down next to the car so I can look into her eyes.

Our faces are close now, but I want her to see that I mean it, so I don’t move away. I just hold her hands and say nothing as the tears keep rolling down her cheeks. She doesn’t try to talk, and neither do I. We’re taking up two car parking spaces with the passenger door open, but I don’t care. She’s hurting right now, and I want to be there.

The tears begin to subside, and I see a softening in her face. Her lips are swollen and her eyes shine but she clears her throat anyway.

“I want you to tell me that you’ll try to help her.” It’s the last thing I thought she’d say.

“Carrie. Of course I will. It’s my only goal.” She looks back and bites her lower lip before shaking her head.

“But it’s not. Her uncle is more important to the investigation than she is. I know how this works. I’m not stupid, and it makes sense. If he is guilty of everything you say, then April is just bait.”

Again, she breaks down, and that’s when I realize how far down the line she’s gone with her assumptions.

“Carrie, listen to me.” She looks up tearfully. “Yes, we do want to talk to Jessup Lee, but right now finding April and keeping you safe is our main priority. It’s my job to keep you safe, and I want you to trust me. I need you to trust me if we’re going to make any progress.”

Her hands start to relax in mine as I reassure her. I can see she’s not totally won over, but I don’t know if she ever will be.

“The truth is, Carrie, you could be in a whole lot of trouble here. It’s not safe for you to be in New York while this is going on. Someone is pissed enough at April’s uncle to target his family despite his connections. This is
big
. There is a lot more than we can comprehend that’s at play here.”

Carrie takes a breath. “So, what if we don’t find her in time, what then?”

“Carrie, you know I can’t answer that question.”

The tears start again, and my heart shatters for her. I want to make everything okay, but I just can’t promise anything when it comes to Jessup Lee.

“Carrie, to be perfectly honest, the best place for you right now might be back home in Iowa. Away from all of this.” I try to say it gently, but the resistance from her is immediate.

“There’s no way. That’s not happening, so don’t try to make me.” The rebellion in her tone surprises me. This woman is complex, and I don’t know what to expect from one moment to the next. “April is my best friend. There’s no way I’m leaving.”

Her tone is vehement, and I get it. Their friendship takes precedent. Something has happened between these two, and I’m not going to be the one to challenge it. I just want to get her safely home and settled in. She needs to sleep and get her head back in the game before the second interview. She can’t take much more today, and I don’t want to be out in public with her, even this far away from the city.

“Let’s go.” I squeeze her hands and close the car door gently. The NYPD stripes look crisp on the sedan. I’m reminded of my duty here. In this situation, she is not an old friend, or a beautiful woman. She’s a witness, a traumatized witness, and I need to be extra careful with her. She needs respect and space. For the love of God, I hope I can give it to her. Not that I like to rely on God. I just need something, anything to help me be strong.

It’s been months since my last date. I keep meeting the wrong girls. They order tiny salads with no dressing, and are so uptight I can’t ever imagine sharing a bed with them. Or they’re raucous party girls. Since I quit drinking, I’m like a magnet for women who have a problem with alcohol. It’s exhausting. I’ve given up on dating anyone lately. I mostly just focus on work, or looking after George and Brenda. It’s been a while since I’ve been around any women, or felt this way, but I have to be strong. I start the car, and resolve to keep my shit together. The air between us is full of unsaid words, but we make the drive in silence.

Carrie

W
ow. The entire conversation was frigging intense. I’m sure I’m covered in sweat, on top of the layers of street grime and blood. I’m such a mess right now. I get that this situation is bad. Really bad. But when someone holds my hand and tells me to trust them, I can’t help being suspicious. How can I? That’s how it all happened back then. His gesture kind of annoys me. He should know better than anyone not to trust people.

He grew up rough, and he’s a cop. Surely, he knows we’ve all got to look out for ourselves. That makes me wonder why he even bothered with that little speech. Don’t get me wrong, I like being looked after, and it was sweet to tell me April is their priority—but how can she be? There’s no way they’ll give up the chance to get Jessup, and jeopardizing her safety is the best way to make him do something stupid to get her back.

If what April’s told me about the money he keeps offering is true, then I’m sure he’s willing to go a lot further than Blake knows to make sure she’s okay. There’s so much in this I don’t understand. Ego, family pressure, and history I don’t even know. She’s in real trouble, and I’m not sure if Blake is admitting that to himself, or if he’s just not that good of a cop.

The truth is, I have no way of knowing if he’s any good at his job. I don’t know him at all, and trust is the very last thing on earth I’m capable of. When he was looking into my eyes, I wanted to pull my hand away. I know I’m broken. Incapable of intimacy. This is according to everything I’ve read about abuse on the internet. There was no way I was visiting a counselor back when it happened. It would have been like a red flag to my bullish parents. But I am a researcher, so I know how to get information for free. There’s no way I’m paying someone to sit there and ask me questions about my teenage years. The more information I have, the more I can handle any situation. Knowledge is power. It gives me control. Right now I know everything there is to know about victims of abuse, and how we respond to the world, and because of that I’m safe.

We drive in silence. I’m glad he’s letting me be. I have nothing to say. I just need to process what he’s said. The thing that sticks out the most is his request that I leave town. Was that something to do with not wanting me to stay, or does he just want me and my nosy questions about the case out of his way?

Most cops hate reporters, and that’s because we make them accountable for their actions. There’s no way I’m going to let the NYPD get away with sacrificing a witness for the good of a bigger case. That stuff may make sense to them, but I’ll tell the world if they put April in a single bit of unnecessary danger. The police don’t have the power they think they do, and Blake Anderson needs to know that our old friendship isn’t going to stop me from making sure April is protected.