by Mia Carson
“Detective Christine Harrison.” A man snorted her name. “In the flesh, so to speak.”
“Who is this?” she demanded, sitting up and pausing the movie.
“Wouldn’t you like to know? I’m sure you would after that nasty accident today.”
Her blood ran cold, and she stood, peering out the front windows. A patrol car was parked out front, watching the place. The cop spotted her, looking ready to step out of the car, but she shook her head and smiled. No need to panic, not yet. Cautiously, with her hand on her Glock, she moved through the house. Tim was still upstairs, thankfully. He didn’t need to see her doing another check on his home.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied finally. The back door was secure, as were all the windows on the ground floor.
“That red Mustang was a beauty. Too bad it was ruined.”
“Too bad you missed your mark,” she snapped and raced upstairs to find Tim. She knocked gently on his door until he opened.
“Chris?” he asked, but she placed a finger to her lips and pointed to his cell sitting on his dresser. He hurried to hand it to her, and she dialed Merriweather’s number, handing the cell to Tim and mouthed for him to keep him on the line.
“Who said I didn’t get exactly what I wanted?”
Chris’ eyes widened. “And what exactly do you want?”
“Oh, now, that’s not how we play this game. You couldn’t save the first one. Did you really think I’d make it so easy for you to save the second? I hope you enjoy your night, Detective Harrison, especially the fireworks.”
A loud click echoed in her ear, and Chris dropped her cell.
“Chris?” Tim asked again, holding out his cell for her. “Merriweather—”
“Run!” She grabbed his arm and yanked him out his bedroom door. He took off ahead of her, scooping up a meowing Mini on the way, and sprinted down the stairs and out the front door with her on his heels. When they hit the sidewalk, the cop in the squad car jumped out, asking her what was wrong. She sucked in a pained breath, turning around to glare at the townhouse. Nothing happened.
“Damn it,” she snapped.
“What’s going on?” Tim demanded.
“Detective Harrison?” the cop asked as he hurried to her. “Is someone inside?”
“No, a weird phone call,” she told them both. “I guess I overreacted.”
The word was barely out of her mouth when the townhouse exploded, the blast throwing all three of them into the street and reducing the home to rubble. Chris coughed, grimacing in pain as she sat up on her elbows and stared at the flames rising high into the night sky.
“Or not. Tim? Officer Taylor, are you all right?”
Two grunts of pain answered her, and she took them as good enough before falling back to the pavement. Sirens wailed in the distance. Chris closed her eyes, bracing against the pain as she pushed to her feet. She patted down her pockets, searching for her cell, but she’d dropped it inside the house. She’d have them trace the number. Whoever was after Tim was not only after him, apparently. He was after her as well.
Sarge couldn’t know. He’d pull her off this case before she even had a chance to understand what was going on. No, she’d keep this information to herself. Something about the voice jostled memories in her mind, but of whom she wasn’t sure. She clenched her jaw because she knew who it sounded like, but it wasn’t the same man. His voice was deeper, with more of a lilt to the end of his words. This guy was a new player. One way or another, she would find out, and they would rue the day they messed with her.
Chapter 8
“I don’t like it,” Merriweather growled in his office, staring Chris down. Bandages covered her hands where they’d hit the pavement and she held an ice pack to the back of her head. “This is not how this night was supposed to go.”
“Tell me about it,” she grumbled, remembering how hot and tempting Tim had looked in nothing but a towel. “However, I think Tim will be safe with me at my place. Give me a few extra uniforms to cover the front. I have four windows total and an arsenal in the closet. And before you benched me I was the best detective on the force,” she added hotly.
Merriweather paced angrily around his office, muttering curses under his breath as he held his hands behind his back. “I’m not sure that will be enough. We have no idea who’s doing this to him, and if they’re going so far as to try and blow him up, we’re looking at more than simply embezzlement here.”
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, jumping to her feet. “Don’t you dare take me off this case, Sarge. You want full-scale bitch Chris? Taking me off this case will bring her back in a shot!”
He raised his brow at her anger. “Is that so?”
“I haven’t seen action like this in years, and frankly, I’m the best one to keep him safe and you know it.”
“Are you telling me because you think it’s true or because you want to see how far you can go with your new lover boy?” he challenged.
Chris flinched. Was that why? No. No, she was good at her job. She was good at it before all the shit happened with Jeff, and this was her chance to prove she hadn’t lost her mojo as one of the best detectives on the force.
“Yes, I believe it, and so do you,” she answered. “Sarge… Rick, please, don’t take this chance away from me.”
They were tracking the number that called her right before the explosion, but so far, had come up with nothing. It came from a burner phone, but several detectives were headed to the location the call was sent from anyway. They wouldn’t find anything, Chris knew it in her gut. Whoever was after Tim was gunning for her too, or only for her and using Tim as bait. She didn’t say it out loud, but she would not put Tim in a safe house. She needed him, just like she needed to stay accessible so they could draw this person out. She needed time to do some research and see if any of the people she had put away had recently been released and were still in Boston. Her instinct said to tell Sarge everything and not be an idiot, but that man had taunted her. Now it was personal.
From the grimace on Merriweather’s face, his mind ran the same train of thoughts and he wasn’t happy with where he landed. “Fine,” Merriweather told her roughly, “but you will check in with me every four hours.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And you are not to go off gallivanting around the city, understand me? If you need to go somewhere, you take backup with you. They’ll stay out of sight, but I will not have you get yourself killed. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, sir,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her back.
“Good. Go get Tim and move yourselves to your apartment. Be happy Cheryl managed to get you some furniture before you dragged that man over there.”
Chris’ hand froze on the door. “She did what?”
“We had some old stuff we were getting rid of,” he said casually. “You can thank us later. Get out, Harrison. Go do your job and keep yourself and him alive.”
Screwing her face up and mocking his words under her breath, she trudged out of his office and wondered what Cheryl had done to her place. At least her keys had been in her pocket when she’d bolted from the house, but she’d lost her laptop and most of the files, and her bike was damaged.
“They had to hit my bike,” she said as she picked up her dented helmet, then tossed it back in her office chair. “You ready to go?”
Tim still looked pale and barely bobbed his head as he stood. Mini slept on his lap, her fur slightly singed from the heat of the blast but otherwise unharmed. Tim boasted a few bruises and scrapes.
“Tim, you’re allowed to be freaked out. No one’s going to judge you,” she told him gently.
“You’re not shaken up,” he pointed out.
“To be fair, I’ve been blown up before, a long time ago, and a long story though highly entertaining. Maybe I’ll tell it to you later. Come on, Manny is driving us home, and he’ll stay parked out front for a while,” she assured him, holding out h
er hand for his. “You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” He squared his shoulders and planted a grim smile on his face.
Chris gave the man credit. By now, most people fell apart after learning someone wanted them dead badly enough to blow up their home, but Tim took it in stride. She was sure he would eventually break down. As he held her hand, holding the cat with his other arm, she tried to convey she was there for him, no matter how he dealt with this dilemma. A few drinks didn’t sound like a bad idea, and since she wasn’t going anywhere until Monday, she’d finally open the bottle of whiskey in her kitchen.
Manny drove them home in his unmarked car, no one saying a word. “I’ll be outside,” he told Chris as he parked outside her building. “Anything weird, you call me, got it, girl?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it, old man,” she teased but squeezed his arm. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing. Get inside and lock that door. We’ll be checking on you in a few hours.”
Dawn was only four hours away. Chris was exhausted. Tim dragged his feet behind her as they entered the building and stepped to her door. She flung it open and blocked Tim from entering, giving her place a very thorough sweep before allowing him inside.
“I’m afraid I only have the one bedroom,” she informed him, closing and locking the door. “You can have my room. I’ll take the couch currently in my living room.”
There was indeed a couch, along with two new chairs, no more crappy recliner, and a couple new end tables to match. She recognized it all from Sarge’s house and grudgingly thanked Cheryl for looking out for her so well.
“No, I’m fine with the couch,” he tried to argue, but she turned him towards the bedroom.
“I insist. Get some rest, Tim. I’ll be just outside the door if you need anything.”
He didn’t let go of her hand and she let him hold it, watching the color slowly return to his face and his body relax. “How do you manage to do that?” he whispered.
“Do what?”
“Calm me down when everything spirals out of control in my head?”
Walking around to stand before him, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “It’s a gift.”
“That is one hell of a nice gift.” He turned his face slightly and their lips met. The kiss was soft, gentle, and over far too quickly for both their tastes, but she was as tired as he was. “I guess good night then.”
“Night, Tim,” she murmured as he slipped away from her.
“Oh, and thanks for saving my life—twice.”
“All in a day’s work,” she said and watched him disappear into her room, closing the door behind him. Mini purred around her ankles, and she patted the tiny cat on the head, happy to have a furry little beast for a change.
When she was alone, her body sagged and she staggered to the couch. She’d crashed on it enough times at Cheryl’s house to know it was comfy. She kicked off her boots, unhooked her bra to remove it, and curled up on the overstuffed cushions. Mini hopped up to join her, curling against her chest and falling asleep instantly. Cat food and litter… she would have get the stuff in the morning. She closed her eyes as the voice on the phone replayed repeatedly in her mind. Sleep took her quickly, dragging her down into a world of darkness overtaken by flames and screams.
Tim considered arguing more about letting Chris have her own bed in her own apartment but gave in to the shock of losing not just his car, but his home and everything in it, except his poor cat. All of it. There was nothing left except the burnt-out shell of his house. The neighbors on either side of him had suffered damages as well, and he’d heard a few of the officers tell them it was a gas leak and the gas company would take care of it, but they were fine. All of them were fine because they were not Timothy Jones, the man with a target on his back.
Something else was going on, though. He’d seen it in Chris’ eyes. Whatever she didn’t tell him bugged her, making her right eye twitch like it did when she was nervous or pissed. The person on the other end of the phone call… he was the reason she knew to run out of the house. If it was the man who wanted Tim dead, then why call and warn her unless he hoped they wouldn’t get out in time? The insane notion Chris was more of a target than Tim tugged at his mind, but she didn’t say anything about having someone after her.
Grunting in frustration, he rolled over in bed, letting the strong scent of vanilla, leather, and something more masculine surround him. Teakwood, maybe. He breathed it deep into his lungs, letting it flow over his skin and relax his mind. Unable to sleep, his eyes wandered around Chris’ bedroom with a single dresser and bed. Her entire apartment was sparsely decorated, and he’d noticed the look of surprise when she saw the living room set. He wondered who was nice enough to furnish her place for her. After all of this was over, he’d buy her a whole new place if she managed to keep his ass alive. She deserved nothing less than that.
And you could be in that place with her if you play this right, he mused.
The idea had merit. The two of them certainly had a connection, and when he could think straight again, he was eager to explore it further.
A few pictures covered the top of the dresser, and he threw his feet over the side of the bed to look at them. One was of Chris surrounded by Merriweather and other detectives he recognized from the station. They were smiling brightly, and she held up a brand-new badge beside another man doing the same.
“You must be Jeff,” he whispered.
The man was fairly attractive and had a solid build. Chris’ eyes weren’t so icy in this picture. They shone with life and, he hated to say it, but also love. If she lost the man she loved to some tragic circumstance, was there a chance she would really move on? He glanced at a few more pictures, watching her face change from bright and cheery to dark and depressed. An article lay on the dresser, pinned down by a framed photo of Jeff and her. Glancing at the door, Tim made certain she wouldn’t bust into the room before he picked it up and skimmed over the words.
Jeff Carson, longtime partner of Chris Harrison, was gunned down in an alley by a murder suspect during a case they’d worked together. The article was dated nearly four years ago and said the man was still at large.
“No wonder she’s all messed up. They haven’t caught the bastard.”
Careful to replace the article just the way he found it, Tim pondered his next move. He thought at one time he’d suffered from a broken heart, but Chris’ wasn’t broken. It had been shattered into a million pieces.
“Why are you trying so hard?” he scolded himself. “You hardly know the woman.”
Running his hands over his head, he paced around the room, more confused than he’d ever been in his life about a woman. Saturday was one of the happiest he remembered in a long time. And that teddy bear. He frowned, realizing it had gone up in flames. He would never be able to explain it, but he liked her, liked how she made him feel, liked how since being with her, his temper fizzled out until all he was left feeling was a strong attraction to this sexy woman with a gun and badge.
He was about to splash water on his face and try to go to sleep again when a scream echoed from the living room. “Chris,” he breathed and sprinted out of the bedroom.
He stared around the room, but the front door was still locked. She lay on the couch, her eyes closed, and screamed as she fidgeted in her sleep. Mini sat on the coffee table, staring intently at her as Tim rushed to her side and grabbed her shoulders.
“Chris, wake up,” he growled, giving her a solid shake when her eyes refused to open. “Chris!”
Suddenly, she shot off the couch and head-butted him hard. He groaned, staggering backwards from the hit as she cursed. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped, holding her forehead.
“You were screaming in your sleep,” he grumbled through the pain. “Could your head be any harder? Damn it, woman.”
“I do not scream in my sleep,” she insisted hotly and pushed to her feet.
“Me and the cat beg to differ.” He watched her ca
refully as she stomped to the kitchen and pulled out a beer. She held the cold bottle to her forehead first before popping the cap off and chugging half of it. “Care to share?”
“Not on your life,” she seethed. “Go back to sleep.”
“No,” he challenged. “What were you dreaming about?”
“I’m not going to tell you, so give up now. You won’t win, remember?”
“You’re scared, Chris, I can see it.”
She bristled. “Am not.”
“Your face is so white it matches the countertop,” he pointed out, “and your hands are shaking. Talk to me, please.”
“Why should I?” she yelled, slamming the beer down on the counter so hard it flowed out the top, splashing over the counter. “You think you’re so different from all the others? You think you’re going to fix me? Make me feel better?”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve already started that process,” he said smugly, folding his arms across his chest.
Her mouth fell open, but a flicker of hunger appeared in her eyes again. “You bastard.”
“I have my moments,” he agreed. “I am different. And so are you, which is why I would like to keep getting to know you better. I know you like me, even if it’s only a little. Why else would your boss threaten to tear me a new one if I hurt you?”
Her eyes widened and her free hand curled into a fist. “He did what?” she sputtered.
“You clearly have people who care about you if they’re willing to confront someone like me about dating you.”
“I’m going to kill him,” she whispered and chugged her beer until it was empty.
“He’s only looking out for you, which is what I’d be willing to do if you let me.”
“I’m the one with the gun, remember?”
“I didn’t mean like that and you know it!” he ranted, losing the control she’d given him on his temper of late. “You need someone to help you mentally before you plummet back into whatever darkness your boss seems to think you’re headed for fast.”
