Crash Into Me

by L. A. Fiore

  “Kade.” Something dark moved across his expression. “I’ll be there in an hour.” He disconnected and said with regret, “I have to cut the day short.” He cupped my chin to hold my gaze on him. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  Disappointed wasn’t a good enough word, but to him, I nodded and said, “Thank you for today. This was amazing.”

  He studied me; his voice lower when he said, “We’ll pick up where we left off.”

  I was breathless when I replied, “That plan…definitely on my bucket list.”

  Nine

  Molly

  The following morning, I was on fumes. After Kade dropped me at home, I spent some time in my room with my vibrator and fresh batteries, taking the edge off my lust. Then I worried about what had called him away because the change in him was not just notable, but a little alarming. I hadn’t heard from him, though I wasn’t expecting to. After a sleepless night, I was grateful for the case to get my mind off Kade Wakefield.

  “I can’t even find next of kin for Jason Benjamin,” I said, standing from my desk and tossing my pen on it. “No one, no cousins two times removed, nothing. It’s like the guy never existed.”

  “I’m not having much more luck with people he worked with, most are either dead or have nothing interesting to tell. There is one producer who is willing to meet with us. He’s coming to New York in the next two weeks, so we’ll set something up,” Zac offered.

  “Whoa, wait a second. An actual Hollywood movie producer has agreed to talk with us?”

  “Are you seriously fangirling right now?” Zac asked, shaking his head.

  “It’s a Hollywood producer. Which one?” As if I knew all of the Hollywood producers by name.

  Zac shook his head again, but he moved some papers around and pointed at a page. “Russell Bleaker.”

  “Never heard of him.” Okay, I was hoping for Steven Spielberg, Michael Bay or Steven Soderbergh, but I would be looking into Russell’s work.

  Zac pushed back from his desk, spun his chair to face me. “Milton’s comment about Jason changing names, I wonder if he’s onto something.”

  And we were back to the case. “It would explain why we can’t find him.”

  “Maybe the forensic team has something. I’m going to run down there. How about you get us lunch?” He gave me the look, as close to puppy dog eyes as a man like Zac could muster. It was ridiculous, especially on him. I chuckled. “Fine. Sandwiches from Duke’s?”

  “The spicy one you got last time,” Zac said, and pulled out his wallet.

  “Don’t want your money. I’ll be back.”

  Duke’s was a little gem in Manhattan. I’d stumbled onto it a few years ago, shared what I learned, and now, it was a cop hangout. The owner, Duke Alamode, made wicked sandwiches stuffed with meats and cheeses and offered so many different condiments, it made your head spin. Just one of his sandwiches could feed a family of four. I never finished mine, but I did try.

  I definitely intended to introduce Kade to Duke’s. The thought of bringing him a sandwich and our lunch ending with us on that sofa he had in his office was what was running through my head when I yanked open the door. My cop senses went on alert immediately, as my hand moved to my gun.

  “Don’t fucking touch that.” My eyes meeting the blurry gaze of the meth head who’d shouted that warning. Only someone whacked out of his head would holdup a cop hangout. “Money in the bag, man,” he ordered Duke. I scanned the shop to the half dozen scared customers in the back; my gaze shifted, and I caught Duke’s eyes, before I settled my focus on the perp.

  He pointed the gun at me with a shaky hand. “Over there,” he ordered, to where the other customers were huddled. I moved, keeping my eyes on him. I studied him for tattoos, any identifying markers, because he was high. I wasn’t risking taking him here, and I wasn’t thrilled with taking him once he got outside because there were more civilians on the street. He had startling blues eyes, and with his fair coloring and his size, several inches over six feet, I would bet he had Nordic in his backyard. There was a partial tattoo on his arm of what looked like a snake, and he had a scar along the back of his neck that ended at his jawbone. I was sure we’d find his mug shot.

  “Hurry up, old man,” he shouted, as the hand with the gun shook, his shifty gaze going from Duke to the door.

  The door opened again, and based on how young he was, I was guessing the beat cop was a rookie. He was fast, pulling his gun, but it shook almost as much as the meth head’s. Shit. Just what the situation needed. Glancing back at the people behind me, I ordered quietly, “Move to that corner, go.”

  They shuffled, which brought the assailant’s attention to us. “Don’t you fucking move!”

  “Take the money and go,” I said.

  “Shut up, cunt.”

  “This is a cop hangout, and it’s lunchtime. You’ve got about five minutes before that door opens on a wall of blue. Take the money and go.”

  Duke held out the bag, the rookie was looking at me now. I gestured for him to lower his gun; he hesitated, but he did and even stepped out of the path to the door, but I saw the look. He was pursuing once the perp took off and, damn, but he couldn’t have been on the job more than a few months…more courage than sense. Fucking hell.

  “Now’s your chance,” I said.

  He wasn’t as dumb as he looked when he ran out of the store.

  The rookie was ready to pursue, but looked at me for the ok. Letting the perp go, and picking him up later was my preference, but it was lunchtime, and this was a cop hangout, so there were going to be unsuspecting cops heading this way. Would the meth head panic when he saw blue and open fire? By how twitchy he’d been in the shop, I was thinking yeah. Fuck. Chasing down a fucking meth head, who was high and unpredictable, was not what I had in mind for my lunch break. But better me than the rookie.

  “Call this in and get statements,” I ordered, and then flew out of the shop. Running through the crowd, some of who had been pushed to the ground by the assailant, I caught up to him. He swung around, gun in hand, but I tackled him because the priority was to get the gun away, so there was no collateral damage. It went flying out of his hand. He was pissed, shoving me off him, before he landed a punch to my cheek. Stars filled my vision, but I dodged the next punch, and landed one to his gut. He took another swing, clipped my chin. I landed one to his jaw, but I think I hurt my hand more than I hurt him. I charged, using my shoulder to his gut, knocking the air from his lung, but I didn’t realize how close to the curb we were. He went down and dragged me with him. Luckily for me, he hit the street with me falling on top of him and not the other way or he’d have crushed me. He flipped me; my back hit the street, as he lifted his ham-size fist. Before he made contact, he was being pulled off me. Breathlessly, I said to the beat cops that came to my aid, “I tired him out.”

  There was now an audience and other cops because, as previously mentioned, it was lunchtime and a favorite street for the brothers in blue. Vin from Vice grinned. “Lying down on the job, Molly?”

  I rolled my eyes at his comment, but I didn’t move from my prone spot on the street because, damn, the assailant was strong. As the adrenaline subsided, I felt the pain to my face. I was lucky he didn’t break my jaw, but if that last punch had connected, he would have, or my nose, or both.

  “You on vacation?” I glanced up at Zac, he was grinning at me, as he offered his hand.

  I took it, then flipped him off, when I got to my feet. Vin fell into step next to us. “I wasn’t pursuing,” I said. “But there was a rookie at Duke’s, a real Dirty Harry vibe.”

  They both understood immediately.

  “I think the dude broke my face.”

  Vin studied me. “It might be an improvement.”

  I flipped him off, too, and then laughed, which turned into a whimper because it hurt to laugh. “I didn’t order the sandwich
es.”

  “Damn, you’re slacking.” Zac dropped his arm over my shoulders. “My treat today.”

  I glanced up, letting him know I appreciated the gesture, and then said, “I’m getting the most expensive thing on the menu.” I glanced back. “Someone get the gun and money?”

  “Yeah, it’s covered,” Vin said, then tugged on a lock of my hair. “Kidding aside, nice collar, Molly.”

  I nodded then said, “I think I’m eating my whole sandwich today. I earned it”

  I didn’t eat my whole sandwich, so Salem and I enjoyed it for dinner. I had what was salvageable of Frank Harris’ boxes. The television was on in the background, so I saw the clip a few times. In the day of cell phones, everything was caught on tape, so I got to see the confrontation with the meth head about six times. Ethan had been over already, asking me to give him fighting lessons, provided they ended with me lying on top of him. Idiot. I grinned, and that hurt. I had some nice color blooming on my face, too. And I couldn’t eat my sandwich, as it was intended, because my jaw hurt, so I picked the meat out of the roll. My phone pulled me from my research. Seeing it was my dad, I braced.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Don’t you hey me.”

  “How’s Mom?”

  “Molly Elizabeth Donahue. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I was right there, Dad. It was either me or the rookie who was a real John Wayne but way too green.”

  “He was high and carrying a gun. Was it really worth it?” Dad didn’t shout, but this was as close to a shout as I’d ever heard.

  “I wanted to wait, pick him up later, but that wasn’t how the situation played out.”

  “Jesus, Molly.”

  I got it; as my parents, I understood they had to sit back while I put myself in danger. I tried to be smart, but sometimes, the situation determined the action. Was it a risk today, yeah, but I made the collar and got fifteen minutes of unwanted fame.

  “It’s my job, Dad.”

  He blew out a breath. I could practically hear him pulling a hand through his hair. “I know.” Silence followed for a few beats before he asked, “Are you ready to retire?”

  It was me who was quiet for a heartbeat before I laughed out loud. “Not yet, but I’ll be more careful and will try to refrain from going hand-to-hand with any more meth heads.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Love you. Give my love to Mom.”

  “Love you, too. Will do. Be safe. Oh, and Gavin said you looked good.”

  I chuckled because he was the one who insisted I learn how to fight. “Later, Dad.”

  Dropping my phone, I reached for the paper I’d been reading through. Some of the research I’d found in Frank’s boxes didn’t make much sense to me. I wondered if the boxes weren’t all on Katrina and were, instead, his filing system. So far I found nothing on Jason Benjamin. I was sure Frank had looked into him. He would have thought like the cops with Benjamin being the prime suspect. If he unrecovered anything on Jason, I hadn’t found those pages yet. And maybe I wouldn’t, maybe that’s what the man took before he torched Frank’s place.

  I settled back on the sofa. People killed for countless reasons, but most of the time, the motive could be reduced to one factor, money. If we assumed Katrina Dent was murdered, keeping that quiet now by killing anyone looking into her death, was it to protect the identity of her killer or was money the motivating factor?

  The news story on CyberTech pulled my attention. “It’s like we’re living in the movies,” the anchorwoman said in awe. “Prosthetics that are made of living tissue over a metal frame. It’s extraordinary.”

  I turned up the volume. That was extraordinary.

  “The focus will be for our vets,” a spokesperson for CyberTech shared. “A way to give back just a fraction of what they’ve given this country.”

  Curious, I reached for my laptop and looked up CyberTech and discovered it was a consortium, a virtual who’s who in business. Two names stood out, Sinclair Rothschild and Kade Wakefield. I stood and paced, as my thoughts went in a million different directions. If we assumed money had been the underlying motive for Samantha’s death, she attended a Sinclair event and ended up dead later that night. Both Rothschild and Wakefield were big time investors in the CyberTech project. Their prosthetic was being deemed the greatest technological development since the H-bomb. The announcement followed closely to Rothschild’s event, so was it possible that Samantha’s attendance at the event was what prompted her death? I stopped pacing. Frank had found something and was going to leak it, but was it possible what he found wasn’t dangerous in the sense we were thinking, but rather drawing attention to someone who didn’t want attention?

  The timing of the unveiling of the century’s greatest discovery and the deaths bothered me. And if there was a link to CyberTech, that opened a whole new suspect pool, those in the consortium, because the profit projections from, not just the private sector, but government bids, had limitless potential and certainly would motivate some to protect it at all costs.

  Which meant Kade Wakefield just became a person of interest…again. Damn it.

  Cap paced his office. “We got nothing linking this theory of yours to anything,” he said, looking back at me. I’d shared my thoughts on CyberTech and Samantha’s death with Zac over morning coffee. He wanted me to share it with the captain.

  “It might be nothing, but the timing bothers me,” I said.

  “Bothers me, too,” Zac replied.

  “Yeah.” Cap pulled a hand through his hair. “Me too. What we need is someone to talk to Rothschild or Wakefield, get some background information on this project. Meanwhile, we’ll do a little digging on the consortium members and see if there are any interesting skeletons.”

  “Molly can talk to Wakefield,” Zac offered; my head whipped around so fast I pulled a muscle.

  Captain looked over, his brow rising in question.

  “She’s got kind of a rapport with Wakefield,” Zac said, eyes on me.

  “He invited me to a masquerade ball, that’s hardly a rapport.” We so totally had a rapport, and one that was going to end in us naked, but I didn’t share that.

  “More than anyone else has,” Captain said. “Talk to him. See if he’ll share.”

  God, I hoped he’d share, then realized I was having sexual thoughts about Kade in my boss’s office, so quickly said, “I’ll call him.”

  “Good,” Cap said. “In the meantime, keep on the forensic team, Zac. We need to find Jason Benjamin. And do some homework on the project, talk to scientists or geneticists and find out how the hell they made this possible.”

  “On it.” I’d just reached the door, when Cap said, “Nice collar, Molly.” But he was holding back a grin because I’d been sent the clip all fucking morning. “I live to serve.”

  He did laugh then.

  Zac didn’t come back to the bullpen, detouring to the forensic team. I settled at my desk, my thoughts shifting to Kade. I played with my phone. I wanted to see him again, but I didn’t want it to be shoptalk. If I called on behalf of work, though, that would set the tone. I procrastinated in calling him, so I was damn surprised to get his text a few hours later, like he read my mind. Short, sweet and to the point.

  Dinner tonight. I’ll send the car at six.

  All the sensations I’d felt on Sunday came rushing back; my hands actually shook when I texted back.

  I’ll be ready

  I left work early, even had a glass of wine to calm my nerves as I dressed. My heart hadn’t beat in an even rhythm since his text, hell, since I stepped into his office that first day; my hands shook a bit, as I pulled my hair up and applied my makeup, doing my best to cover up the bruises from the altercation yesterday. It wasn’t easy buttoning my wide leg black pants and lacing up my white lace boned bodice tank, or buckling my four-inch heeled black strappy sa
ndals because, all the while, I was imagining Kade taking them off me. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself. I settled on the edge of my bed. I’d never felt so drawn to a person, but I was drawn…like a moth to a flame.

  Stepping outside at six, Levy was waiting for me. “Hi, Levy.”

  “Evening.”

  I settled back on the soft leather, prepared for the hour trip to Kade’s home, but we drove to Broadway, to the Woolworth building. Levy held the door for me. “The elevator in the back, take it to the fiftieth floor.”

  If it didn’t hurt to do, my jaw would have dropped. “He owns the Pinnacle penthouse?”

  “Yes.”

  Holy shit.

  The doorman held the door for me, then escorted me to the elevator and waited until I stepped onto it. “Enjoy your evening.”

  Oh, I intended to. “Thank you.”

  The doors closed, and I ran my hands over my pants. I thought I’d get a few minutes to pull myself together, but the elevator ride was quick. It stopped at the fiftieth floor, and a few heartbeats later, the doors were sliding open on Kade Wakefield, dressed in black pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up. He stood there looking both casually elegant and untouchable. His gaze moved over me in a slow, appreciative sweep, before they returned to my face, settling on my cheek. His expression changed slightly, as a knot formed at his jaw.

  “Welcome, Molly.”

  “Hi, Kade.”

  His lips curved up a bit at me using his name.

  I stepped off the elevator and couldn’t help looking around because the place was amazing.

  “Would you like a tour?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, too quickly, earning a grin from him, before I confessed, “I’ve always wondered what this place looked like.”

  He touched the small of my back, the lightest touch, but it felt like a branding. He led me to the spiral stairs. At first, I didn’t understand until I stood at the base of them. They went all the way up, all eight floors, because the Pinnacle penthouse was the entire green copper crown of the building. The walls were done in a soft smoky gray, the furniture was in varying shades of gray and white, and the wood floors were highly polished. A kitchen was tucked in one corner, a living room in another, a library and study. Another floor had bedrooms, another was completely open with a fireplace, a grand piano but what made it were the huge windows and the view. He took me to the French doors that led out to a balcony that spanned the one side of the building. Exquisite black wrought iron furniture with bright cushions was setup to look out at the view that was breathtaking.