What did it mean?
And why would Cawfield reference both my father and my boyfriend? Because that’s what he’d done, when he’d mentioned the types of people who frequent a venue such as Sweet Hell. The emphasis on “firemen” earlier had been purposeful, followed up by that cunning look on his face which could only be taken one way. And now, the crude allusion to the fact that I was Superintendent Ethan Keen’s daughter and that alone would get me through Sweet Hell’s door. Mix that in with the connection between my father and Kyan Marcroft and it was something, as a detective, I simply could not ignore.
I started walking again, coming abreast of my car and slipping into the driver’s seat. My fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel for a few seconds. Damon. My father. And Eagle. All somehow wrapped up in Sweet Hell.
My fingers curled around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.
I couldn’t find Eagle. He’d gone to ground.
And out of the two other men in my life, there was only one I’d willingly confront.
I started the car and headed towards HEAT, while dialling Pierce on my cellphone to let him know I was following a lead.
A bitter taste entered my mouth. My heart missed a beat inside my chest. Sweat beaded my upper lip.
Fuck it. Was there no man in my life I could ever truly trust?
Chapter Four
“Sometimes it’s the small things that trip us up. Sometimes they’re so fucking big we can’t see past them.”
The carpark behind the old Pitt Street Fire Station was packed. I had to circle twice to find a vacant spot. The annual Firefighter Sky Tower Challenge raised a lot of money for leukaemia support, and Pitt Street Station was a hub for those participating. Some of these vehicles would have belonged to off-duty staff, all attending the tenth climb to the top of the Tower.
I glanced at my watch. There was a chance those HEAT members participating were still climbing as well, or doing their post climb meet and greet at Sky City. I should have called here first, but my usual foresight and planning had fallen by the wayside since my emotions had taken over control of my mind. I was finding it harder and harder to think clearly. Not at all a good thing for a cop.
Sometimes it’s the small things that trip us up. Sometimes they’re so fucking big we can’t see past them.
Carl had been right when he’d said that. I was in danger of being blinded by my emotions. Of hiding behind a brick wall of feelings I had no hope of ever toppling.
A knock sounded out on the side of my window, making me realise I’d been staring at nothing for too long and finally been spotted. I jerked in my seat, my hands fisting the steering wheel, knuckles going instantly white, and turned my head to look into dark brown eyes full of concern and something else I chose right then to ignore. Still, a long breath of air did escape me, and with it the weight of so much weariness it almost made me gasp.
Damon did that to me. He took some of the load without even asking, and I had no idea how he managed it, at all.
“Are you getting out?” he asked through the still closed window. “Or should I bring the coffee out here to you?”
Why? Why did Cawfield have to make me second guess this man?
“I’m getting out,” I said, offering a smile. I feared it might have been as fake as the one I’d just given Marcroft.
Damon stepped back and then took the door when I opened it, pulling it wide to allow me to climb out.
“How did it go?” I asked.
I was a coward. I’d never been a coward before. I was a coward hiding behind an emotional brick wall.
Damon let out a laugh, his whole body relaxing. I’d missed the tension when I first looked out the window. But the absence of it now made me notice.
“Torture, as usual,” Damon said on another laugh. “Flack beat me.”
I flicked my eyes up to his. He didn’t seem too concerned about losing out to his second.
“You’re getting old,” I quipped. “It’s to be expected.”
“Ah, love,” he murmured, moving closer, pushing me back against the now closed door of my car. His hands landed on either side of my body, on the roof of the vehicle, caging me in. His face tipped down, hot breath washing over my lips. “It’s not old age, it’s contentment,” he whispered, leaning forward and brushing his lips across mine in a featherlight kiss. “Besides, it’s not Flack I wish to impress.”
A hand wrapped around my hair at the base of my neck and he tugged my head back, lifting my face to his for a deeper kiss. Confusion warred with wonderment, battled against turmoil and doubt inside my mind.
Damon pulled back and looked down at me. Silence stretched as he searched my guarded face.
“What’s happened?” He’d always been too astute and I was performing well below par.
“How about that coffee?” I suggested. His eyes darted down my body, noting the placement of my hands: hanging ineffectually beside my thighs, not on his chest where they usually would be, if he’d just kissed me senseless, like he’d done right now.
I saw something flicker in his dark eyes. I could have sworn it was fear, but Damon didn’t show fear. Not even to me. I doubted what I’d seen immediately. And then cursed myself internally for a beat.
I’d never been very good at this relationship thing. I’d either throw myself too deeply into them in the past, or not deeply enough. Finding a happy middle ground was not natural for me. All or nothing. That’s how I operated. Black and white. Right and wrong.
But my professional and personal compass was out.
Carl was not dead as I’d once believed. I’d let him go, when I should have arrested him for going on a killing spree. I’d failed to follow the letter of the law, something I’d been raised to do instinctively.
And now I was looking into the beautiful eyes of the man I thought I might just love but couldn’t seem able to fully trust for some reason.
Everything was grey. Everything was hovering between right and wrong. I couldn’t decide. I couldn’t seem to make myself choose one or the other.
Everything was grey.
I closed my eyes, let out a wretched breath of air, and felt utter defeat. I was drowning here, and the one man who had kept me afloat for the past three weeks was drifting away from me.
“Coffee,” Damon said softly.
My eyes opened. He reached up and tucked a portion of hair behind my ear. His gaze resting on the blonde strands, almost mesmerised by them. Damon had thick, dark, curly hair, such a contrast to mine. I had a thing for his hair, but it paled in comparison to his obsession with mine.
“You need coffee,” he semi-repeated. But we both knew the words were a euphemism for something else.
I needed help. And he was trying. He was doing his best. But even that wasn’t enough.
I was drowning.
I nodded my head and let him lead the way into the Station, bypassing the watch area downstairs, and heading up to where the HEAT offices were based on the second floor.
The Hauraki Emergency Assistance Team worked out of Pitt Street Fire, as a branch of the Fire Service. But also as liaison to both the Police and Ambulance when required. They consisted of three divisions: Investigation; Prevention; and Rescue. Today, all three divisions were on station. Possibly not all here to work, but certainly not in any hurry to leave either. They were brothers to each other, that’s why the recent spate of arsonist attacks against them were hitting them hard. And making it harder for me to convince Damon that he needed to look at each member of his collective team more closely.
Damon still believed the culprit was someone from the watch: a front-line firefighter. I couldn’t get him to see otherwise. Not that I had a suspect in mind at all, but to be able to consider other avenues would have been nice. Not to mention, an appropriate way to carry on the investigation.
We entered into the middle of a loud discussion, Gus and Jude from Prevention arguing with Flack and Spence from Investigation. It had obviously started to get
heated, but I couldn’t make out what it was about. Several of the men lounging around the periphery of the room were heckling those on centre stage, offering their two cents worth. Marc was in the kitchen with Stretch, banging pots and pans - I was thinking in an effort to drown the argument out - all the while a couple of guys from Rescue were turning the volume up on the flat screen TV in the corner, as though the fate of the world rested on daytime soap operas; occasionally throwing disgruntled looks over their shoulders at the scene escalating in the middle of the room.
It was chaotic, but only in the way big families can sometimes get. I didn’t come from a large family. There’s just my father and myself left. But I’d learnt to go with the flow at CIB, to allow the “brotherhood” a certain amount of free rein. I’d also learnt to enjoy it. That messy, unruly camaraderie. Because once the call came in, the argument would be forgotten, the TV turned off, the pots and pans left where they were, and every single one of these men would be there for the other. Backing them up. Helping to keep them safe. Working as a team.
I stood in the doorway, watching Damon weave his way through the throng as though the upheaval was perfectly normal and acceptable, making his way to the kitchen, sharing a word or two with Marc and Stretch, as he grabbed two cups from the cupboard and began to pour us coffee from a freshly brewed pot. And I realised how precarious this fellowship, this team spirit, could be.
Because I was seeing it at CIB. I was living it. I was walking that fine line between trusting my fellow brothers and doubting them. And I realised now, that was why Damon refused to consider the arsonist as one of their own. Not before all other avenues were investigated, all other possibilities were put to bed. Because to bring doubt into this fine ecosystem, this delicately balanced and intricately woven world, could prove disastrous. For his men. For the HEAT divisions. For him.
Hart had decided to keep the investigation into the traitor at CIB between just Pierce, himself and me. I understood why now. I acknowledged his reasons even as I recognised the horrific position he’d placed me in.
He’d said it could be a career breaker.
He’d failed to point out that it could also just break me.
“Keen, you gonna just stand there and look pretty or are you brave enough to step into the room with the big boys?” Gus called out from the long rectangular table that stood sentinel in the middle of the room. The argument was over, and I hadn’t even realised. Hadn’t even worked out what it had been about.
My eyes flicked over the several amused faces watching me and landed on Damon, still standing over in the open plan kitchen, now holding two cups of steaming coffee and wearing a look that said I was not hiding my emotions at all well.
I’d been trained by the best. Could hold my own with any snide, borderline indecent comment thrown my way by the likes of Joe Gutter-Snipe Cawfield. Could hurl a sharp witted barb back without lifting a finger or having to think.
But the best was now a rogue criminal.
And my training put into question by more than just me.
I ran a hand over my face and the room fell silent. I was breaking apart in a much too public way.
“You’ll never guess what Clarke did halfway up the steps of the Tower,” Jude’s low, rumbling voice said right at my ear.
A plate of chocolate biscuits appeared in front of me, a dark skinned hand holding the offering steady before my eyes. I reached out, mortified to see my hand shaking, a well of emotions bubbling up and threatening to drown. The biscuit had no taste when I automatically bit into it.
“Keen’s not interested in the newbie’s mishaps,” Flack said on my behalf, pulling out a seat beside him and patting it in an obvious invitation for me to sit.
I felt Jude’s large hand in the small of my back directing me as the “newbie” Russel Clarke muttered, “I ate something bad for dinner last night, that’s all.”
“So, it had nothing to do with the thirty plus kilos of firefighting gear on your back?” Spence shouted from across the room.
I took a seat, my legs damn near giving out as my butt hit the chair. Flack pushed a plate of sausage rolls towards me. Then pushed them closer when I didn’t take the hint fast enough. I picked one up and nibbled on it, my breaths settling, before I’d even realised they’d been way too fast before.
“What Lara wants to hear about,” Flack added next to me, “is how slow her old man is.”
Just as Gus said from across the table, “So, how did you get all those chunks of regurgitated carrot out of your BA gear, Clarke?”
Everyone groaned, but no one stopped eating.
Flack leaned closer to me and mock whispered, “Five minutes. Five whole fucking minutes, Keen.” Then louder, “Getting old, Michaels.”
“Or getting soft,” Jude rumbled.
“What do you feed him, anyway, Keen?” Stretch asked.
“It’s not what she feeds him, it what she let’s him get away with,” Marc added, from his lean against a kitchen bench, a smirk gracing his stubbled face, piercing blue eyes dancing.
I sucked in a breath and found myself saying, “You’re all wrong.” And received a suspended moment of silent anticipation in return. My blood thundered in my veins, but the familiar banter seemed to somehow bolster me. Bring me back from a place I didn’t even know I’d been. “It was the threat of what he’d miss out on if he strained a muscle climbing those damn stairs.”
A beat, then raucous laughter followed, and just like that I could breathe freely again. They weren’t my family. They weren’t my brotherhood either. But they made me feel like I belonged. Like they’d back me, help keep me safe. Let me be part of their team.
Damon ran a fairly tight ship, but this moment was all on the men he’d chosen for HEAT. Their hearts were as big as their oversized fire-fighting bodies. Their friendship as beautiful as their many varied and rugged good looks. I felt as welcome here, maybe more so even, as I did in CIB.
In the Criminal Investigations Bureau I was the lone female detective. The daughter of a prominent South Auckland cop. At HEAT I was simply Keen.
“All right, that’s enough!” Damon shouted, when the dirty jokes started coming out in full force. “I believe I’d like to convince my girlfriend that I am in one piece.” The dirty jokes slipped into the gutter. Damon winked at me and nodded towards the corridor to his office.
For a second, I hesitated.
For a second, I contemplated hiding again.
But I am a good cop. A damn fine detective. Trained by a rogue criminal or not.
I stood up from the table and moved to follow him from the room, ignoring the many jibes. But also feeling completely at home amongst them. This was the world I knew and loved. I may be drowning, but I could see the light reflect off the top of the water when I was with these guys.
I just hoped the same would apply when I walked into CIB.
Damon held the door to his office open, his steady eyes locked on my face as I walked past. I held his gaze, even as my heart rate rocketed. Knowing what was about to come next. Fearing it more than I had ever feared anything before.
It should have been easy. There should have been no doubt. But doubt was smothering me of late. Mixed in with confusion and indecision, and layered in years of mistrust.
Cawfield’s timing couldn’t have been worse. I was aware I was on the brink of losing it completely. Flailing desperately to hold on.
But what was I holding on to? And would it be easier to just let go?
The door clicked shut behind me, and I felt Damon walk up to my back, where I stood staring at his cluttered desk. Running HEAT required paperwork. A lot of it, by the looks of this dishevelled mess.
Hot breath washed over my cheek, as his arms came around my waist and he leaned in over my shoulder nuzzling my hair.
“What happened?” he asked softly, laying a tender kiss against the side of my neck.
I wanted to relax back into him. I wanted to give in and let him take some of this wretched load.
But the image of a strangled woman lying on the filthy pavement outside a nightclub on Karangahape Road flashed in front of my eyes. Making the desk disappear and the room feel too close.
My hands fisted. My chest rose and fell too fast. Damon would have been aware of it all. He always is.
He knows me.
Why did I not feel I knew him as well?
I sucked in a deep breath of air and held it. Damon stilled, his arms warm bands around me, the heat from his chest scorching my back.
“What do you know about a members only club called Sweet Hell?” I asked, the room closing in further. My heart rate drowning out all other sounds.
But I heard him. I heard it over the roar inside my head. I heard him.
He sucked in a sharp breath of obviously startled air.
Chapter Five
“Life has a tendency to surprise us, Keen. But it’s yourself you gotta watch out for. Sometimes the biggest shocks come from within.”
I looked down at the floor, but my eyes didn’t make it that far. Damon’s arms were still around my waist, his hands loosely overlaying each other. The knuckles were scraped and some of the skin was torn, as though he’d been in a fist fight.
I pulled out of his frozen embrace, and turned around swiftly to face him. My eyes darting all over his face, trying to see the man I knew there. He couldn’t look me in the eyes.
My stomach plummeted to the floor.
“Damon?”
He brought a bruised hand up to his neck, moving to rub the back of it. But as soon as he recognised the tell-tale move for what it was, he quickly brought it back down again, now in a tight fist that had to hurt. His gaze caught on the cuts across his knuckles, or maybe the clenching drew his attention instead.
Something was going on and I’d missed it. The man I practically spent every evening with had been in a fight and hidden it from me. What sort of detective was I?
“When did you do that?” I asked, nodding at his hands, but he still wasn’t looking at me, so he wouldn’t have seen it. He answered anyway.
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