Captive (Lace Underground Trilogy Book 1)

by Tess Oliver

Olson stays inside his tent but moves closer to the opening. "See if you can get to know him. I tried and he wanted nothing to do with me." I glance through the netted opening. Olson has switched out the flasher style coat for a worn out ski parka. The downy stuffing is poking out through numerous holes. I can't hold back a laugh.

  "What?" he asks.

  "Nothing. That coat is just so, so sad. But it's better than the other one. I'm going to see if I can charm my way into Rowan's friend circle."

  It's his turn to laugh. "Yes, charm him by all means, Ten. Just be careful. I'd say a guy like that only wants one thing from a pretty new friend like you."

  I smile and stand up from my crouch. "You think I'm pretty. I'm going to tell everyone at the station," I tease in a sing song voice before heading into the bathroom.

  But the moment of levity is quickly tamped down by a sudden darkness that creeps into me. I look at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks and nose are red from the cold air, but my hair has stayed firmly locked in the braids. I decide I need to drop the young innocence act and go for something bolder when I talk to Rowan. I pull the bands from the braids and shake out my hair. The color has been described as everything from rust to copper but to me it's just red. It's filled with waves. I'd braided it wet, after my last luxury shower where I spent a good ten minutes just letting hot water run over my skin. It's only been two days, but my scalp is starting to yearn for the avocado oil conditioner I've been using on my hair. Maddox had teased me that it smelled good but that he kept having an urge for tortilla chips when he was near me. And that memory takes me even deeper into my suddenly dark mood. Somehow my mention of the station sends a cold chill through me, and the notion that I might never see it again takes hold. There was no basis for the grim prediction. There was just something internal that suggested it. Might have been intuition, might have been just latent worry about the dangers of my assignment or it might just have been a dash of homesickness.

  I take a deep, steadying breath. I can't let myself go down that particular rabbit hole. It was one of the mental hazards of being undercover. After having lots of people around who supported you and had your back, suddenly you were completely alone in an unknown place, filled with strangers, including yourself. I am no longer Detective Angie Tennyson with a strong, capable partner, a shiny badge and a reliable weapon on my belt. I'm Tawny Smith with little girl braids, no money or phone and one bite of a stranger's sandwich in my hollow stomach. I let that sink in for a second, then head back out to the park. I'm not sure if Rowan is a good place to start or a waste of time, but he's next on my target list.

  9

  Maddox

  Ten's car isn't in the lot when I pull in a half hour late for my shift. I'd spent a good chunk of the morning staring blankly at possible sites for the wedding. After an hour or so, where I gave no more feedback than the occasional 'sure if that's what you want' answer, Tiffany snapped shut the laptop and left in a huff to have breakfast with her sister. I was certain my lack of interest in wedding details was going to be the main topic of conversation.

  I climb off my motorcycle and pull off my helmet. Partner intuition tells me something is off. I knew Ten left angry yesterday, and she had every right to be mad. She was also not someone who held a grudge. I check my phone but she hasn't returned a text or replied to my voicemail.

  It occurs to me on the way into the station that Brady or Brodie or whatever the fuck his name is might have dropped her off at work. She mentioned a movie date. Maybe she stayed overnight at his place and she didn't have her car. That scenario made my teeth grind against each other.

  Activity is buzzing and booming as usual in the station as I push through the hallway to the central offices. I'm relieved to see that the excitement about the engagement announcement is over. No one mentions it or slaps me on the shoulder on the way through, which is good. A slap on the shoulder wasn't a good idea with the way I was feeling.

  My gaze shoots straight to Ten's desk. It's empty. Even her usual clutter has been straightened into a semblance of a rational pile. I catch a glimpse of Clark heading into his office and pick up my stride.

  "Hey, Clark." It seems he purposely ignores me and shuts the door behind him.

  I stop and debate whether or not to just barge in. It wouldn't be the first time. Instead, I walk to my desk. Detective Rogers is sitting at her desk filling out paperwork. She and Ten are two of only three female detectives in the precinct. They take lunch break together whenever they are sick of their male counterparts.

  "Hey, Rogers," I say as I drop down onto my chair. "Have you seen Ten?"

  Rogers is nibbling on a rainbow sprinkle donut. She glances toward the captain's office before answering, like she needs a cue card or some kind of instructions to say the right thing. "Cap'n said she took a leave of absence. I thought you knew."

  "Knew what?" I'm sitting up straighter now.

  "That she took a leave of absence," she repeats unhelpfully. "I just assumed since she's your partner that she would have told you."

  "So she told you?" I ask, sounding like a jealous sap.

  Rogers shakes her head and her pale yellow ponytail swings side to side behind her. "She didn't tell me. I heard it from Captain Clark."

  My chair rolls two feet across the tile floor as I get up and head to Clark's office. I knock once, hard, and don't wait for the damn invite. Clark picks up the phone in an obvious attempt to avoid talking to me.

  "I'm just about to make an important call, Maddox. Come back later."

  His laughable ploy doesn't stop me. I walk to his desk and sit down in the chair.

  Clark puts the phone down. "Or have a seat," he mutters. "Nice work on the tainted heroin case. The guys in Texas just called me to let me know that Vinny's tip was right. They shut down the whole operation."

  I'm never one to mince words. "Where's Tennyson?"

  "Leave of absence." Clark's never one to mince words either. He doesn't usually avoid eye contact, but he's pretending to be interested in something on his desk. "Now get out so I can make my call."

  "Why? Why the hell would she take a leave of absence, and why wouldn't she tell me?"

  "Maybe she just needed a break from you. Like you needed from her."

  I stare at him over the pile of work on his desk. The files for the billionaire murder cases are sitting under the file for the missing girls. "She's not answering her phone."

  Clark's big round shoulders bob up and down. "See. That proves my theory that she needs a break from you." He reaches for his phone. There is just enough sweat on his upper lip to assure me he's lying. It's his Pinocchio's nose.

  "Not leaving until you tell me where Ten is."

  "You'll leave if I have you dragged out in fucking handcuffs." He picks up the phone. "Yeah, it's Clark. Tell Silvana to get his ass in here. His new partner is waiting." He hangs up and flinches when he sees my face.

  "You are not partnering me with Silvana."

  "Well, I can put you back on traffic patrol with Winston. Like the good ole days."

  Silvana knocked weakly on the door. His jowly cheeks peered around the corner. "Hey, Cap'n, you wanted to see me."

  "Yeah, come on in, Detective." Clark looks coldly my direction. He's a good captain, but he gets his trousers in a bunch when someone questions his authority. Something I do on a regular basis. His mouth is twisted tight signaling that I've pushed him to the edge. "Detective Maddox finds himself temporarily without a partner, so you're filling in for Tennyson."

  Silvana has those big, bushy kind of eyebrows that make him look as if he's wearing permanent joke glasses only there are no glasses. They bunch up like fuzzy caterpillars as he casts me a wary look. "Maddox? Really?" I can't tell if he's fearful or excited, but I know exactly how I'm feeling.

  "Yeah, really. Now both of you get out of my office. I'm busy."

  I stand up and loom over his desk for a second. Clark doesn't look up.

  "I'll get my stuff," Silvana says enthusiastical
ly.

  I turn to Silvana and stick up three fingers. "Three rules. You don't talk to me. You don't shoot that damn gun . . . ever. I don't want to end up like your last partner with a bullet in my ass. And if you fart, you're riding in the fucking trunk."

  Silvana nods emphatically. "Right. But just to let you know, I've been working on my target practice. I'm like Sundance Kid these days, without the Redford good looks," he chuckles. "And the doctor gave me something for the—"

  I point at him. "Not a good start, Silvana. You're already breaking rule number one."

  "Right. Good point."

  I yank open the office door hard enough that it swings open and smacks the adjacent wall. Silvana plods quickly out behind me.

  "Hey, Maddox, how is this gonna work," Silvana sputters between breaths. "You know—partnering without talking?"

  "Rule number one," I remind him but he continues.

  "Just one thing so I know what's in store for the day. I hear you and Ten were working on some drug ring that was pushing tainted heroin. Is that what we're working on?"

  "Sure," I say after a pause. "But first we're going to find Ten."

  10

  Angie

  The guy I know only by his first name, Rowan, a name that might very well be an alias like Tawny, has pulled his shirt off to catch the few rays of sun squirting through the viscous clouds overhead. The rain has left behind the fragrance of soggy asphalt and wet tent canvas. The sweet, pungent smell of marijuana drifts up from the joint tucked between Rowan's fingers. He has a smattering of tattoos across his knuckles, but I can't make them out.

  I slip the coat off my shoulders as I sashay over to the park bench that is chained to the sidewalk a few feet outside his tent. The bench has every inch of its blue surface covered with graffiti. I drop my coat over the back of it and sit down on an artist's impressive felt tip drawing of a pirate ship. I turn and put my feet on the bench and bring my knees to my chest. I don't say a word and wait for him to speak first.

  Rowan takes a long drag on his joint. His chest, also covered in tattoos, puffs out as he holds the smoke in before releasing it with a single cough. He squints at me through the stream of smoke curling up into the cold, humid air. "Where are you from, Taw-nee?" He pronounces the name with a slow, southern drawl even though I don't detect any genuine accent.

  "Here and there." I spin on my bottom and put my feet on the ground. I motion to the joint. "You going to smoke that all by yourself?"

  His faint smile is appealing. Just like with Yoli, it's hard to fathom how someone like Rowan ended up living in a tent in a remote city park. He sits back on the rickety beach chair, stretches his legs out and holds the joint toward me.

  I get up slowly and add a little shake to my shake as I walk toward him. He boldly watches my lower half, then lifts his gaze to my face as I take the joint. It has been a long time since I've had a hit of pot. It burns my throat as I inhale. I have to work hard to subdue the follow-up cough.

  "Thanks," I mutter as I hand it back to him still trying to stifle the cough. I haven't eaten or slept much in two days, and the pot goes straight to my head.

  The chair creaks with each movement. "So you've got secrets then, huh Red." It's not a question. "I like your hair down. Better than those country girl braids."

  I shrug to let him know I'm not that easily wooed. Even though something tells me he's a highly skilled wooer. The flaps on his tent are pinned open. Never able to leave my detective's curiosity behind, I glance inside. A large downy sleeping bag and fluffy pillow are piled in the corner. A small table is set up with toiletries, toothbrush and paste, a comb, which from the looks of it, he rarely uses. There's even a razor. "Nice set up," I comment. "Do you have a sugar momma somewhere keeping you comfy out here in the park?" My teasing provocation is deliberate. I've found it's always easier to pry secrets out of someone who is on the defense, but Rowan seems unfazed.

  Rowan dabs the joint out on the cement near his feet and pushes it into his pocket as he stands up. His pants drop low on his hips, and his rock hard abs roll out in an impressive six pack. He walks toward me. It's hard to read his expression. I stand my ground to show him that a muscular build and cool, even stare don't intimidate me.

  He's close enough now that I can smell a dab of aftershave on his skin. He's either a fastidious, extra vain homeless person or he really is being kept by someone. He steps closer. I look him right in the eye. His gaze shifts down to my lips.

  "That is a million dollar mouth, Red. You could be making a fortune just with those damn lips. What exactly are you doing out here in this park?"

  My muscles tighten as I perceive some suspicion in his tone. "I'm just out here trying to survive like everyone else." I worry that I'm just wasting my time, breath and who knows what else by messing with this guy. I've already got him pegged as someone who sleeps around just to get perks and money. I'm convinced he has nothing to do with the Lace Underground.

  Rowan's gaze is magnetic. I drag my eyes from his, finding it easier to move on with my fake persona. As my gaze sweeps the flattened cardboard in front of the tent, a sort of welcome mat in front of his home, I see some lettering. In its former life, before it became a welcome mat, the box had contained soda. Cherry Cola to be exact.

  I tamp down the rush of adrenaline by clamping my hands into fists. Detective Olson found only one real clue during his time on the street, and that clue was Cherry Cola. There was no other context to the cryptic clue, but I knew I wasn't standing on 'just a coincidence'.

  Seconds ago, I was ready to brush this escapade off as a waste of time. My interest is piqued. I need to warm up again and keep Rowan's attention. I lift my gaze and find that keeping it won't take much effort. His eyes land on my lips again, then his scrutinizing gaze drops to my breasts. I purposely push them harder against the thin, cotton fabric of my t-shirt.

  "You are a piece of candy, aren't you, Red?" He moves even closer. I can see a short scar on the side of his nose and another on the side of his chin. It seems he's been in more than his share of fights. "How are you at keeping secrets, Red? I mean real secrets, important top secret kind of shit?"

  I shrug and bite my lip flirtatiously hoping to use my feminine wiles to knock him off guard. Maddox would have a hearty laugh about my plan.

  "What kind of secret?" I ask. I lift my hand and drag my fingertip down the hard muscles of his chest. His abdomen contracts a little as my finger continues seductively to the button on his jeans. I let my hand fall away. He hasn't taken his eyes off of my lips.

  "Hmm, let me think of a good example," he drawls. "If I take you into that tent, strip you naked and fuck you hard, would you keep it a secret?"

  I flinch inwardly. To do undercover right, you have to resort to anything that keeps your cover solid. I wonder just how far this will go.

  I take a shuddering breath to let him think he has me turned on. "I could try and keep it a secret," I say. "But what about when I scream your name as I come? People will hear."

  Rowan steps so close now I can feel the heat rising off his naked chest. He lifts his hand and presses his fingers over my mouth. "I could cover your mouth. But then I think it would be much more fun to hear my name on these lips." He pushes my hair back and leans his mouth close to my ear. His breath tickles my skin as he whispers. "And I would definitely make you scream, Red."

  A dry chalky taste clutters my throat. I swallow discretely to clear it.

  "I've got no doubt of that. Is that your big top secret shit?" A coquettish laugh slips from my mouth. I silently congratulate myself on how convincing it sounds. I sidle closer and jump into flattery mode, a sure fire way to get a guy like Rowan off his game. "Any girl can just look at you and know you've had many girls scream your name inside that tent. But I'll bet you have more secrets to share." Desperate measures are needed. I can't let this guy slip away. He might be my only chance to make this assignment a success.

  I press myself up against him and am not surprised when
my belly rubs against a rock hard erection. He groans when I push myself a little closer.

  "Shit, Red, you are testing my willpower here."

  "Then give in to your sweet tooth and taste the candy." I briefly imagine Maddox and me having a good laugh when I recant the story of my undercover flirtations. I switch right over to being angry with myself for even thinking about the jerk. The touch of irritation makes me more bold. I'm determined to make this assignment a big fucking success just so I can rub it in Maddox's face.

  I reach between our bodies and rub the back of my knuckles along his rather impressive erection. He surprises me by grabbing hold of my wrist to stop my slow tease. I'm astounded at how insulted I feel. Maybe Maddox would have every right to laugh about my attempt at seduction. It seems I can't even entice a guy living in a tent in the park.

  Rowan surprises me again by squeezing my wrist just a little too hard. He lifts my hand to his mouth and drags his tongue across my knuckles. "You are sweet, Red. But I can't risk it."

  "Risk what?" I ask airily as if I really don't care.

  "If you're chosen, the boss doesn't like spoiled goods."

  I laugh to pretend I think he's just teasing me, but he looks plenty serious. "And just who would the boss be? That bearded guy who snores like a bear? Or maybe it's that little lady at the end of the park who likes to talk to the birds."

  Rowan smiles at me and winks. "You'll see soon enough, Red. Just be ready. Now since you've got me rock hard, I need to go inside and take care of some business." He turns to go into his tent but takes one last, appreciative look at me. "Fuck, I might just be up for a bonus this time," he says out loud, but it seems the words are just meant for him.

  I scurry away, not wanting to be anywhere near when he takes care of business. Olson has dragged his filthy self out of his tent. He's standing against a tree near the bathrooms smoking a cigarette. I walk to the drinking fountain nearby and take a long drink. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and mutter to him as I walk past.