James (Gates of Heaven Book 3)

by M. Tasia

  He continued to stare at the detective’s profile, noticing the grey threading through Ross’s dark hair.

  Ross turned to look at him. “My niece made lunch for me. She’s five.”

  James backed off, holding in his grin, then turned his attention out the window to the delivery truck backing into an alley a block up the crowded street. The incessant beeping was wearing thin. With a loud huff, Ross pulled away from the curb and James counted down the seconds before the interrogation began.

  “What the hell were you thinking starting a fight in the middle of the sidewalk, in broad daylight?”

  “I didn’t start the fight. I responded to what was put in front of me.”

  It didn’t matter that James had had to cross the street to put the pimp in his path. A little fact he would keep to himself.

  “You’re telling me you weren’t jonesing to knock that pimp into next week?”

  “Well, someone had to do something.” And he happened to be up for the job.

  “You’re not some kinda superhero roaming the streets and protecting the public. You can’t save everyone.”

  “Why not. It could be my new shtick.”

  James grumbled. It was not his intention to become anything approaching a hero. He knew the cost, which was one of the reasons he was way too screwed up to even try.

  “No one is capable of protecting everyone one hundred percent of the time. No matter how hard he tries,” Ross continued with his admonishing.

  James had been treated to a lot of that shit over the last few months.

  It bothered him to hear the defeat in Ross’s voice, and it sounded as if Ross spoke from experience. But who was he to judge. James had his own truckload of fucked-up to deal with, he had no business questioning someone else’s.

  “Duly noted, Detective.”

  The remainder of the drive to the hospital was silent, which James appreciated. He had been fighting back one of his blinding headaches since he’d woken up, and this situation wasn’t helping the marching band doing laps in his skull.

  Building after building flew by and they became a sandy colored blur. If he closed his eyes, he was sure he could hear the hum of the Stryker armored vehicle that had become his home for far too many days and nights. The hum from the powerful three-hundred-fifty-horse-powered engine had often been the last sound he heard when falling asleep and first when he woke. Sometimes it was hard to pull away from the memories, no matter how hard he tried.

  “James. Hey, man, we’re here.” Ross shook James by his shoulder.

  He looked around as the sea of sand slowly solidified into a building. How long had they been sitting in the reserved police parking spot outside the ER doors? He stared at Ross’s crystal blue eyes and was surprised to see concern. That sobered him up faster than the sound of gunfire.

  He shrugged off Ross’s hand and straightened. “I’m good.”

  James opened his door and got out before anything else could be said. He moved quickly and didn’t stop until he was standing in front of the check-in desk.

  James could feel Ross sidle up beside him but refused to look over at the detective. He hadn’t lost himself to his memories in someone’s presence before. He had worked hard to avoid that from happening. He didn’t need anyone to see his crazy.

  “How can I help you, Detective Ross?” a freckled-faced young man asked, from the other side of the glass partition.

  The guy had to be fresh out of nursing school, because no one who worked in an ER looked that happy after they’d clocked in a few years. James could relate. The sight of trauma day after day dragged the happy out of people.

  “My friend needs stitches. He’s a grumpy-ass, so you might want to make it fast, Harry.” Ross told the kid.

  “Hey, I’m right here,” James blustered, knowing it made no difference to the annoying detective.

  “Yes, you are,” Ross shot back.

  “This way, gentlemen.” Harry instructed and led them to a standard curtained walled room with a triage gurney.

  If James wasn’t mistaken, the smaller man was adding a little extra shake to those hips with every step.

  “The doctor should be in to see you shortly.”

  James knew that was code for sit and wait, so he did, but not on the gurney. He would never willingly do that again, so he took one of the two chairs.

  Harry took the clipboard and placed it on a metal hanger before giving Ross a serious once-over without even trying to hide his desire. James had no idea why that bothered him, and he snapped his brows together. The newbie took one look at James and hightailed it out of the room.

  Ross was about to sit, when his phone rang, and after he glanced at the screen he moved into the hallway. The concern on his face made James antsy, but the man was a detective. Most of his calls weren’t happy, happy. That James even cared to notice was disturbing. He had to get a handle on this.

  Since being forced to shoot his father to save his brother’s life, the good detective had been James’s constant shadow. Or at least, it felt that way. James had asked Finn straight out if he was having the detective watch him, and his brother denied it. James believed him. Over the past three months, he had seen more of the man then his own reflection. James avoided mirrors whenever possible. He didn’t need to see the scars to know they were there. It wasn’t so much his ego that refused to accept the deep line that ran from his temple to his jaw, it was the memories it evoked.

  The curtain pulled back to reveal a sheepish Harry and a taller man in scrubs, who James presumed was the ER doc.

  “Hello, Mr. Masterson. I’m Doctor Glazier. Seems you might require stitches. May I see your hand?”

  James lifted his arm and held out his hand so the doc could undo the bandage over his wound. He inspected the three-inch gash that ran from the knuckle of James’s index finger to the middle of the back of his hand. James was sure the gold crowns had something to do with the extent of the damage. Ross came back in as the doc was finishing his assessment.

  “Well, we’ll need to take X-rays to make sure there isn’t anything broken or fractured. Harry can clean out the wound while we wait on the imaging department. After that, we’ll reassess and get you stitched up.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” James replied.

  Harry and the doc turned and left him alone with Ross. The man looked pensive.

  “What’s wrong?” James asked.

  Ross clipped his phone onto his belt before answering him. “A guy got out on bail about an hour ago. I’m being kept in the loop.”

  James was not buying it, but before he had the chance to ask more, Harry came back in with a tray full of supplies. Now, the real fun would begin. The adrenaline had worn off long ago and James’s hand was throbbing something fierce before the nurse dug in.

  Over the next two hours, James was poked, prodded, X-rayed, sterilized, and stitched, until he finally found himself back in Ross’s car. They headed to The Gates, where he was crashing. Ross had been quiet, and it was unnerving not to hear a lecture, a slew of admonishments, or to be yelled at.

  When they pulled into the parking lot behind the building, Ross parked between two of Max’s trucks. The construction crews were busy working on the upper floors of the building, where they were converting derelict spaces into condominiums, even as the restaurant, bar, and lounge were preparing to open to the public. Saint’d had a couple soft openings to work out the bugs, but as far as James knew, everything was ready to go.

  He walked up the metal back steps and pressed his code into the security panel, unlocking the steel door. He walked through a maze of new shelving loaded down by box after box of supplies. The hub, where they lived temporarily, had been walled-off from the remainder of the first floor, giving the occupants privacy. His space wasn’t anything special, a room with bath attached, but it suit him for now.

  The moment he stepped into the living room, he knew he was screwed. James glared at Ross as his brother hugged him.

  “Rat,”
James growled at the infuriating man.

  “Trouble.” Ross replied with a smirk.

  Bastard.

  Then he had the nerve to whip out a red lollypop. “As promised.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Ross watched as Finn hugged James, while the rest of the crew hung back. Saint, Max, Marian, and Miguel kept their distance, allowing Finn his time with his brother.

  Ross didn’t care if the colossal pain-in-the-ass thought he was a rat for giving Finn the heads-up about his brother’s whereabouts. Hell, James was lucky to have people that cared for him. Unfortunately he didn’t realize it, and if he did, he shunned the care and attention.

  Watching the brothers, it seemed there’d be a lengthy discussion in James’s future and Ross had no time to watch the well-deserved tongue-lashing.

  “I’m out.” Ross turned to James. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

  If looks could kill, Ross would’ve been eviscerated. Knowing it would piss-off James, Ross smiled wider.

  Finn let James go and came over to hug Ross. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

  “I’m a damn adult.” James ripped the sucker out of Ross’s hand, then made fast work of removing the wrapper before shoving it in his mouth.

  “Then act like one,” Ross demanded. “You take off for days without a word and turn up with bruises and stitches, scaring your brother half to death. I know you’ve been through hell fighting for our country, and I deeply respect that, but if you’re aiming to get yourself killed here at home, don’t do it on my patch, asshole.”

  James had the decency to lose some of his indignation before looking away.

  “Later.” Ross made tracks to the backdoor and then his car.

  He had to get back to the station and find out what the hell went wrong. The cosmos was working against him. Every stoplight felt like an eternity as crowds mingled in the crosswalks. People laughed and talked as if they had all the time in the world. It felt like everyone was shuffling their feet.

  A bead of sweat slid down his neck, into the back of his shirt. He was tempted to turn on his interior light bar, but that would be wrong. This might be an emergency to him, but it wasn’t an official police emergency.

  When Ross finally pulled into the station’s garage, he was ready to blow. How could Avante have gotten bail after all the evidence against him? Ross had worked the case for over two years, the “T’s” were crossed and every last “I” had a damn dot. The bastard should be rotting in jail while waiting for his trial. He was a proven flight risk and had been implicated in several high-profile murders.

  Ross stepped into the elevator, repeatedly pressing the button for his floor, as if that would magically get him to the third floor faster. He didn’t wait until the doors opened fully, but sidestepped out and strode right into chaos. Phones were ringing and his colleagues seemed to be working feverishly on what he guessed was a new case. There were only six detectives at this stationhouse, so they were a close unit.

  “What’s going on?” he boomed, to be heard over the din of phones ringing.

  The other five turned to him and fell silent. They hung up their phones and ignored the ringing.

  Shit.

  “Ross… um.”

  The elevator dinged behind them, stopping Bev, his friend and sometime-partner, from saying any more. Ross turned around to find the police chief and the district attorney standing a few feet away. This can’t be good.

  “Ross, join us in the conference room,” the chief called. “We need to talk.” He turned to lead the way. “Have a seat.”

  “I think I’d rather stand, sir.”

  “Suit yourself.” The chief sat beside the district attorney. “By now you know that Avante made bail.”

  “Yes. What I want to know is how did he manage to get released? He should still be in a cell.”

  “That’s still being investigated,” the district attorney said.

  Vagueness seemed to be the flavor of the day, which wasn’t going to fly.

  “Anyone ask the damn judge?” Ross shot back.

  The chief drifted his gaze down, leaving the district attorney to answer.

  “We found Judge Watkins’ body roughly thirty minutes after Avante walked out of court.”

  “Money?”

  “No,” the chief replied. “The entire Watkins family is dead. We found his wife and son’s bodies in the basement of their house. So I’m thinking blackmail. We’re trying to track Avante down, but he’s disappeared.”

  Alarm bells clanged in Ross’s head as his heart tried to beat out of his chest.

  “My family.”

  Avante had sworn to kill everyone Ross loved, for putting him behind bars. His niece and sister were in danger.

  “I have to go make sure their safe.”

  “We sent a uniform out to watch over your house,” the chief said as if it were the solution to everything. “They’re safe.”

  “One officer will not stop Avante and his men,” Ross shouted, and flung open the door and ran to the stairs.

  His team was hot on his heels.

  If one hair on his family’s head was touched, there would be nowhere Avante could hide from the hell Ross would rain down.

  ***

  James pulled up behind a black and white, making him wonder if Ross’s Crown Vic gave up the ghost and that he had to take a marked cop car home. He still couldn’t believe he was here in the first place, outside Ross’s house in Pasadena. Ironically, not too far from Finn’s and Miguel’s home.

  After a long dressing, his brother and the rest of the Gates pseudo-family delivered with what appeared to be relish, an order to apologize to Ross for having to put up with his shit. Normally James would’ve told them to go screw themselves, but Finn had a direct line to James’s heart. When the dude got all misty-eyed, James would agree to anything his brother wanted. The little-shit knew how to play him.

  So now James sat outside a modest stucco bungalow, without a clue of how to apologize. Hell, he never asked Ross to get involved in his life. The stubborn man did it all on his own. How was James supposed to say he was sorry for that? Hey Ross, sorry you decided to get involved in my life. I don’t think so.

  He let out a deep breath and opened the car door. He might as well get this over with. James noticed all the drapes in the front of the house were closed, but found it odd because it was not even six in the evening. As James approached the cruiser, he glanced inside and found it empty other than a walkie-talkie sitting on the passenger seat.

  Since he was young, he always seemed to be able to sense danger coming. His unit called him their lucky charm. Except for that last time. However, if his senses were on the mark, there was much more going on here then he could see.

  Instead of walking up to the front door, he decided to have a look around first. He damn-well knew he was paranoid. Hell, if you weren’t a bit paranoid while waiting for the next attack, that got you killed fast in the desert. The two side windows had their curtains drawn as well, but he didn’t chance it and crawled underneath them so he wouldn’t create a shadow. As he skulked in the shadows, he wondered how ticked-off Ross was going to be that James was sneaking around his property.

  When he rounded the back, his senses were on alert. Skills he had honed over the years kicked in at the sight of a black Hummer parked on the street directly behind the house. Ross didn’t strike James as a man who would pay for an oversized gas-guzzler. From here, it seemed empty, and he slid past the patio door and up to the open side door. After a scan of the kitchen to make sure no one was in there, he crouched down beside the door and listened.

  It didn’t take long to confirm his suspicions. He wished he had been wrong.

  “Take them out to the truck while I leave the good detective a note. Ross will regret the day he heard the Avante name. When I’m done with him, he’ll be begging me for mercy.”

  “Yes, boss,” a gruff voice replied, before a woman hissed in pain. “You’re coming with us, bitch.
You give me any shit and I’ll put a bullet in your little girl’s head.”

  “Don’t you touch her, you bastard,” the woman said. “My brother is going to rip you apart.”

  James shook his head. Definitely Ross’s sister. She sounded as stubborn as her brother.

  As the sound of footsteps neared the kitchen, James pulled back around the side of the back deck and waited.

  Light footsteps sounded first, followed by heavier boots on the decking. James watched until the woman carrying a young child passed his hiding spot, and then he inched around the corner. The second those boots hit the grass, James attacked quickly and quietly as he could, not wanting to alert anyone still inside the house. The lackey had no idea what hit him as he crumpled unconscious to the ground.

  The woman turned and James put up his hands to show her he wasn’t a threat.

  “I’m a friend of Ross’s.” Well, maybe friend was pushing it a little, but at this point he was banking on it being enough for her to trust him.

  When she nodded, James lowered his arms and asked quietly, “How many men still inside?”

  “Two,” she whispered, assessing him with her bright blue eyes.

  The little girl shook in her mother’s arms, and he was reminded of his younger brothers and sisters. All of them gone now except for Finn.

  “Plus they tied up the officer in the back bedroom.”

  “You need to go hide at a neighbors’ and call the police.” James instructed as he bent down to pick up the Smith and Wesson the asshole had trained on the woman and her child.

  He held it out to her. “Do you know how to use this?”

  “Yes,” she answered before took it from him.

  The way she gripped the handle with ease confirmed she knew what she was doing. He liked this small woman more and more.

  “Go,” James ordered, and turned back to the house.

  Whoever was trying to kidnap Ross’s family was still in there and no way was that bastard going to escape while James had the drop on him.

  Bringing up all his training, he moved quietly across the deck and into the kitchen. He grabbed two knives from the butcher block on the counter, and readied himself for battle. His mind cleared and focused on the situation before him. The bandages on his left hand would be a hindrance, but he could compensate for that.