The Chase

by Adrienne Giordano

  The big ape known as Sergeant Gabriel Townsend slid into the driver’s seat, shoved the key in the ignition, started the engine and stopped. Just halted right there.

  He looked straight ahead at the side of the brick building. “I worry about you.”

  What? “Articulate. In other words, what the hell does that mean?”

  He turned back to her. “You put yourself in danger constantly. You think you’re being careful by not going alone or by wearing wigs, but it’s not enough. These vendors are figuring out who you are. You’re gonna get hurt. We’re talking billions of dollars here and, if you’re right about the guy running this thing, he won’t pack his toys and go home when you’re the one causing him to lose money.”

  He was worried about her? The more important part of his little admission would be the warning about her getting hurt, but there was something quite fascinating about Gabe caring enough about the pain-in-ass lawyer, as he referred to her, to admit it.

  The pain-in-the-ass lawyer got a sudden hot flash. For months she and Bev had shared endless private jokes about the hot ESU sergeant, but out of respect for the man’s work ethic, his ability to complete tasks in an orderly and thorough process, and simply make things happen, they’d always kept their comments on the down low.

  Somewhere in the span of the last few minutes, the banter she and Gabe typically exchanged had turned personal. Never before had he mentioned worrying about her. Instinctively, she knew something was about to change between them. And she’d probably be the one to change it.

  Because she wanted to see him without a shirt.

  Okay, sister, back off. She hit the window button and stuck her face out.

  “You okay?”

  She bobbed her head. “Hot flash. Early onset menopause.”

  He burst out laughing and jammed the car into reverse. “You are an effing trip, lady.”

  Finally, her traitorous mind controlled itself and she put the window up. Not all the way. Just in case the flash sparked again. “I appreciate you being worried about me. I am careful, but I’ll keep what you said in mind. I know I can’t stop the counterfeiting, but I can put a dent in it.”

  And we’ll both be superstars.

  He pulled into traffic and immediately honked at someone. “Beat it,” he yelled at the driver in front of them screaming at a cabbie. “Crazy-assed people.” He drove around the scene and maneuvered by a delivery truck. “We can dent it, but you need to start thinking about staying in your office and off Tower Street.”

  “Blah, blah. I hear you, Sergeant. I’ve been advised. I’ll be careful. Can you go back to yelling at me? That, I know how to deal with.”

  “I don’t yell. I speak loudly. Big difference.”

  Right. “It’s okay. I yell too. It’s how I communicate. Doesn’t necessarily mean I’m mad.”

  “Exactly!”

  He hit Broadway and floored the gas pedal. Jo grabbed the door handle and prayed she’d survive.

  “Relax, Counselor. You’ll live.”

  “Let’s talk about the warrant and get my mind off my impending death.”

  He caught a red light, swore under his breath and stopped. “I hate driving in this city. You get nowhere fast.”

  “That’s why I use public transportation. Much easier. My warrant?”

  “You’ll get your warrant. Every time we shut one of these illegal vendors down, the mayor gets to taunt his adversaries with the success of his task force.”

  An idea she’d worked tirelessly for. “It’s a win-win. My clients are happy, I’m happy and the mayor’s happy. If we can figure out who the smuggler is that’s driving the volume, we’ll blow this thing wide open.”

  And I’ll get my national task force.

  “We’ll get him. Nobody is talking yet. The vendors are too scared, but eventually someone will give us a name. Just takes time.”

  The light changed and he shot through the intersection. Thankfully, her office was only three blocks up. He knew that, as he’d visited her there a couple times for various reasons. None of which required him to be without a shirt.

  Jeepers. With plenty of effort, she pressed the window button.

  “Hot flash?” Gabe cracked.

  “Big one.”

  That response only led her to thinking about other big things and—wow—bad, bad, Jo. “I have to get out of this car.”

  He braked at the curb in front of her building. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Jerking on the handle, she kicked open the door. “Aside from the carnal thoughts? I’m terrific.”

  Gabe’s head dropped forward. “Pardon?”

  “Gotta go, big boy. Call me about my warrant.”

  “Jo!”

  Before he could question her, she sped through the revolving doors and ran into the stairwell. The elevator in this ancient building was a snail and she didn’t want to get stuck waiting in case the hot sergeant pursued her carnal thoughts.

  What had even possessed her to say that? Seriously, she needed medication. All this time she’d kept quiet. Maybe she’d noticed him noticing her every once in a while, but he was a man and men were pigs. It didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to get up close and personal.

  She darted up the stairs, her briefcase and laptop making her ascent a chore. Her punishment. Had to be. She may have been psychic because it appeared her premonition about being the one to change the vibe between her and Gabe had come true.

  Once again, she’d opened her big mouth and now she’d have to deal with it.

  Chapter Two

  At ten-fifteen the next morning, Jo stood on the sidewalk on Tower Street listening to the yelling and general insanity that came with an ESU bust. Customers and employees inside the clothing shop where she’d bought the knock-off tote hollered, some fearful, some angry, as Gabe’s team moved through the shop, their actions swift and precise.

  Gabe was somewhere out here. Today he was the U-boss, the sergeant leading the warrant and as he sometimes did, had stayed outside when his men had gone in.

  She craned her neck, hoping to see a signal from one of the men that it was safe for her to enter the building and start sorting through merchandise.

  Nothing.

  She needed to get in there, but the men would have to complete their search for occupants before they called in the precinct guys to seize contraband. With the size of this building, she’d be here all damned day.

  Go in. “They’re not ready,” she muttered. “He’ll kill me.”

  The rubbernecking woman next to her scurried away. As if it wasn’t normal for someone to talk to herself on the streets of New York? Please.

  Still nothing from Gabe. And the precinct guys were still waiting.

  Behind her, traffic crawled around the NYPD vehicles, drivers honking, some yelling profanities. All not unusual, but Jo found herself restless. Itchy. ESU had to be done with the first floor by now. She nibbled the edge of her cup. Good thing the coffee had gone cold. More caffeine in her already hyper system would not be good. A slew of people were ushered out by members of Gabe’s unit. Okay, getting somewhere now. Clearly, ESU had taken control of the store. Which meant the room she needed was probably safe.

  Screw it.

  She scooted behind one of the officers leading the group out and entered the store.

  “Jo,” he barked.

  Still moving, she waved. “I’m good.”

  Perfect nonanswer. Just enough to give the impression that Gabe, wherever he might be, had given her the all clear. Except the precinct team was still outside waiting to be given the go-ahead to begin their search.

  No way around that one. He’ll kill me.

  She knew she was pushing the boundaries of her agreement with the P.D. when it came to being on-site at these raids. But anticipation was evil and she wanted to get in there and see what volume of fake Barellis she’d find.

  At her core, she was a lawyer trying to please her client. The sooner she got inside, the sooner she’
d make a call to Barelli Corporate.

  At least the officer she’d run by wouldn’t get in trouble. No. All of Gabe’s anger would be directed squarely at her. For a moment, her stomach pitched and she swallowed the bile forming in her throat.

  She’d worry about Gabe’s wrath later, because just in front of her, at the end of the narrow hallway, was the door to the room with the merchandise. Inside, two officers were dealing with what looked like a couple of customers and one of the employees, a slight man with thick dark hair. He glanced at her, looked away and then slowly looked back.

  Ignoring him, Jo stepped behind the glass counter, spied the assortment of watches she’d seen yesterday, slid the door open and reached for the black display box.

  There they were. The little buggers she’d been hired to find. She reached for them, ready to stash them in the plastic garbage bag she’d brought. Her own shopping trip.

  Just as she pulled the box from the counter, her thoughts reeling over the successful raid, a flash of silver entered her peripheral vision. The back of her neck tingled and she swung her head toward the flash. A man stood next to her clasping a thick metal pipe in his raised hand. Jo’s head whooshed. Move. She flinched a mere second before the pipe slammed across her right hand.

  She stared at her hand as her knuckles disintegrated. For a few seconds, there was no pain, only the numbing shock and the bizarre image of this maniac attacking her with ESU guys in the room.

  That changed when crushing agony barreled into her hand, a fierce blast of icy pain that brought every nerve ending in her body to screaming. The whooshing in her head evaporated. Tears—surely a reaction to the pain—filled her eyes.

  Movement to her right. She turned toward it. Her attacker, someone she could probably bring down even without the use of one of her hands, loaded up for another attack. She snapped her hand back and yelped at the fresh round of pain from simply moving it.

  “Drop it.” Gabe’s voice. From by the door. Uh-oh. “On the ground. Now!”

  A rapid and constant click, click, clicking sounded. The man dropped the pipe as his face stretched long and his lips rolled open. His body seemed to lock up and the clicking sound droned on. Finally, after releasing a high-pitched howl, he collapsed to the floor and the clicking stopped.

  She glanced to the doorway. There stood Gabe, his massive body just inside the room’s entrance and that cannon of a .45 he carried aimed at his target.

  An explosion of activity surrounded her. Gabe shouting demands, the third officer hustling screaming people out and the second officer standing over her attacker, stun-gun in hand. All of it came at her in a fierce, agonizing assault and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to concentrate.

  Gabe moved closer, his weapon still aimed while the attacker was dealt with by Carlson.

  And—wow—in the name of everything holy, her hand was killing her. She dared to look at it and found already purple knuckles. “Damn you,” she hollered at the man. “Look what you did to my hand.”

  “Carlson,” Gabe shouted in a voice so rough it somehow, despite all the times she’d heard him yell, stunned her. Poor Carlson. He’d been an exemplary cop for over five years, but he’d just been accepted into the elite ESU and that made him a rookie all over again.

  And if the tone in Gabe’s voice were any indication, Carlson was in big trouble. He must have been the one to screw up by not cuffing pipe man when they’d first entered the room. Bum luck that the combination of Jo’s impatience and Carlson’s mistake led to her now broken hand. This would surely earn her a lecture.

  With Carlson standing over their prisoner, Gabe holstered his weapon and stepped the two feet toward her. “Let me see your hand.”

  Suddenly, he was in her space—all six-foot-three of him—and she stepped back. His face had hardened to carved granite.

  In short, this was one pissed-off sergeant.

  “I’m not going to yell,” he said. “Let me see it.”

  Oh, he’d yell. She knew him well enough to understand that. And worse, he’d just warned her to stick to the safety of her office because the vendors were beginning to recognize her.

  She held her hand out and waited. Nothing. Only breathing. Heavy, nerve shredding, mad sounding breathing.

  Maybe she could minimize this situation. “It’s a bruise.”

  He scoffed. “Right. Carlson! Get a bus.”

  Jo shook her head. “No. I need to bag and tag some of these items to send back to Barelli. They need to see it.”

  He turned those coal black eyes on her. “We’ll get them bagged. Your hand needs to be looked at. Carlson. Bus!”

  Another officer entered, did a swift scan of the room and headed for their prisoner.

  Jo was grateful for the momentary distraction and took a breath. “Gabe, seriously. It’s not that bad. Look.” She tried to bend her fingers and a stabbing sensation shot up her arm. My God, the pain. She should earn an Academy Award for keeping her features intact and not wincing. “I can handle it. Just let me bag a few things and I’ll go to the ER.”

  He folded his arms. “Why are you so friggin’ stubborn? Carlson! Forget the bus. Get over here and help Ms. Pomeroy bag this crap while Hutchins deals with that mope.”

  Yikes. Carlson would be in the doghouse for a week. And Gabe’s doghouse couldn’t be fun.

  —:—

  Gabe stepped into Jo’s ER bay just as the doc slapped her X-rays on the screen. He’d known that hand was broken the second he’d seen it. Not broken, that sucker was demolished.

  Thanks to him, the idiot who allowed her to talk him into her accompanying them on hits. Sure, he always made her hang back, but she didn’t belong there and he knew it. Plus, she sucked at following directions. How many times had he told her not to step foot into a store until ESU cleared it and he gave her the go sign.

  How many?

  He always did have a weakness for leggy blondes.

  Jo watched him walk into the room and her blue eyes got that hard, ready-for-battle look. Lawyers. Always brewing for a fight. “Don’t start yelling.”

  He ignored her and turned to the doc. Phillips. “Should I wait outside?”

  The doc nodded at Jo. “That’s up to the patient.”

  “He can stay.” She paused, but didn’t look away. “Thank you for coming. You didn’t need to.”

  Yeah, I did. “Someone needs to take you home.”

  “Okay,” Phillips said. “Here’s what we’ve got. Looks like the second, third and fourth metacarpophalangeal joints are fractured.” He pointed to the injured knuckles on her hand. “I’ll need to refer you to an orthopedist, but we can get it wrapped for you.”

  “So, my knuckles are broken.” She looked up at Gabe and their eyes met. “The little weasel broke my hand.”

  Gabe nodded. “Yep.”

  Don’t yell. Still in his tactical uniform, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his cargo pants and curled his fingers. Before this was over, he’d be yelling. No two ways about it. He was pissed enough to make sure she never came within half a mile of any building ESU was in. But damn, he was trying not to lose his shit on her.

  Or maybe he should be losing his shit on himself for letting her be there in the first place.

  “We’ll stabilize it,” Phillips said. “But you’ll need to see an orthopedic specialist. I’ll get you a list.” He checked his watch. “Call them today. You still have time this afternoon.”

  “I’ve got a good ortho guy,” Gabe said. “She’ll call.” He’d make sure of that.

  “I will,” she assured the doctor. “I’m an obedient patient.”

  Her? Obedient? Not in this lifetime. “That’s funny.”

  The doc laughed. “Okay, guys. I’ll get someone in here to wrap that hand.”

  Joe waved her good hand at him. “Thank you, Dr. Phillips.”

  Once the doc was gone, she lowered her hands to the bed and drew one knee up. Damn, she had long legs. He hated those legs, theoretical
ly speaking. They had taken up way too much space in his brain. The rack too. What kind of shit luck got him working with a leggy, large-breasted, smart-mouthed lawyer that he actually enjoyed?

  It was the mayor’s fault. Blame him.

  “Did everything get bagged?” she asked. “That was a big haul. We’re getting closer to catching this guy. I know he owns that building.”

  Gabe gave up on curling his fingers. Probably looked like he was playing with himself. Great. He snatched his hands from his pockets and folded his arms. “Yeah. We’re getting close.”

  She flopped her good hand on the bed. “Oh, for crying out loud, just yell already. You know you want to. I appreciate that you’re not, but really, I like it better when you’re yelling. At least then I know where I stand.”

  Ten months he’d been working with this woman. For five of those months, her aggressiveness had made him insane. She annoyed him, pestered him, sometimes told him how to do his job and basically nagged him until he let her accompany ESU on hits.

  Miracle of all miracles, he hadn’t killed her. Yet. The thing that had saved her was the last five months. In that time, he learned one simple fact: Joanna Pomeroy loved her job. Much like him, she thrived on righting wrongs and throwing herself into the middle of the dogfight.

  Big-time companies expected her to earn her money, and she took any risk necessary to find and confiscate the counterfeit goods that represented trademark infringement to the tune of $250 billion a year.

  Gabe pressed his fingers into his biceps and took one huge breath. Don’t yell. “You’re done. From now on, you stay in your office. That’s it.”

  “What happened today wasn’t my fault. I waited.”

  Stay calm. He pulled air through his nose, let it out his mouth. For maximum self-control, he counted to five. “No,” he finally said, “you didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  Don’t yell, don’t yell, don’t yell. But holy hell, his blood pressure had reached epic heights. If he didn’t do something fast, his goddamn head would fly off. “Then how the fuck did you wind up with a broken hand?”