Devoted (Lace Underground Trilogy Book 3)

by Tess Oliver

  "And have you come to grips with that?"

  I mull the question. "I suppose, but that's probably more because I lost him at a young age. His way of parenting ended abruptly. It left a hole in our lives but it also made my life a little easier. I think realizing that made me feel even more guilty than my terrible last words to him. I felt a little freer without him and I felt awful about that."

  "Everyone experiences latent guilt throughout their lifetime. It's just something you have to grapple with. There are always many ways to look at it. Journaling can help you with that. Did you do a free-write on the topic I assigned you? The topic of your feelings about your undercover assignment."

  "Uh, the dog ate my homework?"

  Her perfectly drawn brow lifts a bit. "Well then, let's just talk about it." She flips back to previous notes. "We've talked about how finding out Detective Maddox had asked for a new partner and also that he had gotten engaged on the same day were a few of the triggers that made you decide to ask for the assignment." Her lips purse a second. "And we've gone over some of what happened to you when you were in the Lace Underground. Now that it's over, do you think you'd do the assignment again?"

  "Knowing what I know about it?" I ask to clarify.

  She nods.

  I sit back and rub my chin in thought. "I don't think so. I know I made the decision rashly because I was heartbroken. And I wanted to see if I could handle it, handle a big job without the support of my partner and my captain. But I don't think I was ready. It was my first real undercover assignment. I'd done a few stints as a junkie and a prostitute, but I'd never done an assignment where I had no support systems in place. I had no idea how emotionally draining it would be to become someone entirely different and leave behind all the familiar faces of my real life. I got lost in my undercover persona. Of course, the drugs sort of helped that along, but I found I liked being Tawny. I liked leaving behind Angie for awhile."

  She finishes writing some notes and peers up over her glasses. "Why is that?"

  "Hmm." I tap the arm of the chair. "Tawny was vulnerable, dependent, cared for, pampered, even. It was a nice change."

  "How do you feel about Tawny now? Or have you left her completely behind?"

  "I'm glad to regain my independence. That came slow too, even after I left Lace Underground. But I think Tawny is still there, lingering occasionally. And I'm glad."

  "I know you've had a wide range of emotions and feelings when it comes to Kane Freestone. What are your thoughts on him at this stage of acceptance?"

  "Learning about his severe childhood, one that was so exceptionally terrible, helped me see more sides of the man. I think, as smart as he is, he's lost in this world. Just as I'm sure he was growing up. He had a terrible secret to hide, all while pretending to be a normal kid in a normal life. I respect that he tried to help people to make up for it. I just think his altruistic view got twisted somewhere along the way. As a mental health professional, I'm certain you can see how his childhood would have left him internally scarred for good. I miss seeing him but I'm glad that the whole experience is being put behind me."

  Dr. Hoffman uncrosses her legs and repositions her notepad on her thighs. She's wearing a summery yellow pantsuit today, a lighter, more fun version, of her usual outfit. She's even pinned a sun shaped rhinestone brooch to her lapel. She hesitates before her next question, which makes it easy to predict.

  "Have you spoken to Detective Maddox?"

  It's the one subject that is toughest of all. After all I've been through, losing Maddox has left me still empty with despair.

  I shake my head. "No, nothing. I don't expect to hear from him."

  "What do you think will happen when you go back to work?"

  My eyes widen. "Will that be happening soon?" I ask nearly hopping out of the chair.

  She presents her most subdued smile to remain professional. "I'll be recommending your return to work in two weeks. We'll have some more session time during those weeks just to discuss your work. It's a subject we haven't really covered. But since your job entails being exposed to life threatening danger as well as a depressing and desperate side of life, I think we should talk about it."

  "Sounds good to me, Dr. Hoffman. I'm anxious to get back to being productive."

  "In addition to talking about the work, we'll have to talk about the obvious—how it will be working in the same precinct with Detective Maddox."

  His name causes an uproar of butterflies in my stomach. I've thought about going back to work so often, I can picture everything about the first day. Slipping my gun into the holster. Meeting with Clark to get a briefing on a case. Sitting at my messy desk drinking coffee that was either too bitter or too weak. And listening to stories about weekend adventures or crazy busts. The only thing that is always missing from my work daydreams is Maddox. It's too hard thinking about to even let him into my head.

  I sit back with a sigh. "Thank you for this news. I needed it. I can't wait to get back to my job."

  23

  Maddox

  I'm just about on my way out for the weekend when Clark waves me into his office. Nothing about his expression looks happy. I walk inside and he shuts the door.

  "Shit, you already ripped me a new one last week for breaking precious Junior's arm. Am I still going to hear about it?"

  "No, I'm done talking about Junior. Besides, he deserved it. And it's been a week so maybe his dad has decided to let it go. Just don't expect any tips from X-crew anytime soon."

  "I've got plenty of connections on the street. Don't need them. Why did you call me in here? You have that serious expression on your face that usually means a shit storm is about to follow."

  Clark sits down behind his desk. "Not a shit storm. Just some news I thought I'd share with you."

  I sit back. "News?"

  He looks across the desk at me. "Tennyson is coming back in a week."

  My body tenses but I work hard not to show any reaction. "Yeah? That's good. Means she's doing better."

  "It seems so. I'm relieved too. There was a time when I worried that we'd lost her for good. Just wish we could have had Freestone behind bars before she came back on duty."

  "What difference would that make?" I keep the edge out of my tone.

  "Just think it would help with closure on that chapter of her life. Which brings me to another troublesome chapter." Clark's aged a few years in the past months, the time since the Lace Underground episode began. The wrinkles on his forehead are deeper as he gives me his concerned dad expression.

  "There's nothing troublesome about it," I say, knowing full well that I haven't dealt with the idea of Ten coming back to work. I pushed it out of my head to keep my sanity.

  "Are you sure? Obviously, she'll need a new partner. I was thinking about pairing her up with Yates."

  I sit forward. "Hell no, he's a reckless twit."

  Clark's graying brow does a little dance. "Nothing troublesome, eh? Glad I told you today. It'll give you a week to see just how the hell you're going to handle her return."

  "Yeah, fine. Can I go? It's Friday night and somewhere out there is a beer with my name on it."

  He waves me out.

  I grab my helmet from the locker room and head out to my bike. My phone rings on the way out. It's a private number. I let it go to voicemail and stick the phone in my pocket. I fire up my motorcycle and pull on my helmet. A few days away from this place will do me good.

  I take the long way to the bar. My bike is running great and a good fast ride is always the perfect way to clear my head. The bar parking lot is just starting to fill up for a long Friday night.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket as I climb off the motorcycle. It's another private number but it's a text. "You should really listen to your voicemail."

  I stare at the odd text for a second, then click over to voicemail as I head to the bar. "Detective Maddox," the voice is hoarse and low and unfamiliar. I stop to listen to the message. "Hey, no hard feelings about Junio
r's arm." A creepy laugh. "Just kidding. How's that cute ginger partner of yours doing these days?" The caller hangs up.

  Adrenaline sends my heart rate into overdrive. I'm a good half hour from Ten's apartment. I dial her as I race back to the bike. "Come on, Ten, answer." It goes to voicemail. "Hey, it's me. X-crew is looking for revenge and they might be heading your way. Call me as soon as you get this message." I call 911. "Yes, this is Detective Maddox of the Mountain View Division. Get the nearest black and white to 865 North St. Apartment 12. Occupant could be in danger. Proceed with caution."

  I pull out onto the road, lean down over the handlebars and twist the throttle. I race through the streets certain I'm going to catch the attention of a patrol car. I manage to reach the stretch of road that leads from the city to the unincorporated area where Ten lives. My pulse is thrumming through me as I race toward her apartment. The pounding in my ears drowns out the sound of the car pulling up next to me. It's a two lane highway. I'm speeding but the car is trying to pass.

  I glance back as the headlights move closer. I speed up. The car does the same. I can't see the driver's face in my side view mirror but I don't have to. I know who it is. I let off the throttle just as he cuts over into my lane. I swerve and lose control. I release the handlebars and bail out. I somersault through the air. The last thing I feel is my body slamming the ground.

  24

  Angie

  It takes me a second to recognize the sound of the doorbell through the roar of the shower. It rings again and again. I turn off the water and half dry myself before pulling on my sweats and a t-shirt. It rings again on my way to the front room.

  "I'm coming. Hold your horses." I peek thought the peep hole. Two anxious looking uniformed officers are standing outside the apartment with their guns drawn.

  "Police, open up."

  I swing open the door and put my hands on my head to show them I'm unarmed . . . and still dripping from the shower. "I'm Detective Angie Tennyson of the Mountain View Division. Can I help you?"

  The officer with a bushy moustache and confused look pokes his head into my apartment to glance around. "We got a call that the occupant of the apartment was in trouble."

  "I had a little trouble getting the shampoo bottle open in the shower but I didn't make the call. Maybe it's the wrong apartment or address," I suggest.

  The officer pulls his phone out. "865 North St. Apartment 12?"

  "Hmm, yep that's the right address. I'm sorry for the mix up. Not sure who made the call but it wasn't me. As you can see, there is nothing going on here except a woman dripping water on her carpet."

  The officer hesitates, seemingly to see if I'm being forced to say everything is all right by some madman sitting in the back room.

  I smile. "I'd invite you guys in for a cup of coffee, but as you can see, I hopped out of the shower to answer the door."

  "Right." He nods politely. "Sorry to bother you. Call if there's any problem."

  "I will. Thank you and again I'm sorry about the mix up." I close the door and lock it.

  I finish drying my hair and switch to a dry pair of shorts and t-shirt. I grab my phone and notice there's a new voicemail. At first I'm so thrown off by the sound of Maddox's voice, I ignore the content of the urgent message. I listen again. He's upset and rambling off some warning about X-crew and revenge. Silvana had mentioned a bust last week where Maddox got pretty rough with Junior, the eldest son of the gang leader. It's not surprising that they are threatening retaliation. What is surprising is that somehow I'm thrown into the thick of it.

  I call Maddox but it goes straight to voicemail. I'm relieved but somewhat disappointed too. "Hey, I got your message. I'm armed again so no worries. There's only one way into this apartment. You don't have to make a trip over here. Unless you weren't planning to anyway. In which case, I'll hang up in embarrassment now." I end the call. "Fucking hate leaving messages."

  I walk to the nightstand and pull out my weapon. After six weeks of therapy, when it seemed I finally got past the deep depression, Dr. Hoffman gave the release for me to have my gun back. It seems I got it back just in time.

  I make sure the deadbolt is locked and grab an apple from the kitchen. It's an exceptionally quiet night in the building. The two kids who live two apartments down have been sick with the flu. I've hardly heard them all week. My next door neighbor usually has his music vibrating through the building for a few hours after he gets home from his landscaper job but he must have a date or be out with friends.

  I sit on the couch and absently watch an old episode of Big Bang while combing through my memory for details about X-crew. I know they were playing both sides. They'd negotiated a nice deal when they had dirt on a massive shipment of cocaine coming over the border. In exchange for the information, the department looked the other way on some of their lesser transgressions. Murder and rape were off the table though. One of the gang members must have crossed a line far enough to come face to face with Maddox. It was a typical deal with the devil. There was some reward. But in the end, the devil always finds a way to screw up or make you pay for it.

  The thought of heading back to work in a week has me both thrilled and terrified. I've hardly spoken to or seen anyone from the precinct since I went undercover. I knew the place well. Gossip and rumors were an integral part of the entertainment, something to lighten the mood and help people face the brutal realities of the crime world. I have no doubt that the rumors about Angie Tennyson and her sordid adventures into Lace Underground are a huge topic. Add to that the convoluted and comically short term romance between Ten and Maddox and I'm certain I've kept the lunchroom abuzz for months. But I don't give a shit about what any of them think. My biggest fret is facing Maddox again. It would be a much easier transition if we spoke on the phone first. It might be based on a revenge threat by a notorious gang, but it seems we have an excuse to talk now.

  I pick up my phone and check it for texts or voicemail. No word from Maddox. A surge of schoolgirl giddiness hits me when it occurs to me that he can't call back or text if he's heading my way on his motorcycle. Another round of silliness follows when I quickly rush to the bathroom to brush my hair and put on a touch of mascara. My fingers are trembling just enough to assure me that I'm an idiot. For weeks I've been trying to convince myself that it was for the best and that it was good we never really got started on a real relationship. I was sure I would eventually be asking myself why I wanted him in the first place. Apparently, I haven't reached that phase yet.

  A knock on the door makes my pulse race. I stare at myself in the mirror. The dark rings are gone and there is color in my cheeks again. Then a wave of reality strikes. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Maddox will still look at me as the woman who spent two months high on drugs and mostly naked in Kane Freestone's underground sex den.

  There's a second knock. I take my time getting to the door, mostly because I need a moment to slow my breathing. "Play it cool, Tennyson," I mutter to myself.

  I take a deep breath and peer through the peephole expecting to see that annoyingly handsome face staring back at me. Silvana's round face peers up at the hole. His usual smile is gone. He knocks again. "Ten, let me in. It's important."

  I adore Silvana but there's no way to deny the profound disappointment I feel from not seeing Maddox on the other side of the door. I open it.

  "Hey, Sil, did Maddox send you?"

  His face blanches pale white. "Maddox?" he seems befuddled. Stunned. "No. Clark didn't call you?"

  "Clark? No, I had a voicemail from Maddox that X-crew was out for revenge and that they might be headed my way."

  His apple cheeks fall with a deep frown. "I knew it was them. I knew it." He's visibly shaken.

  I reach for his hand. "Come sit down, Sil. You look like you're about to pass out."

  He shakes his head and doesn't let me take his hand. "No, Ten. We need to go."

  "Go where? You're kind of freaking me out, Sil."

  "Clark just called me
. There's been an accident. Maddox was on his motorcycle. It's bad, Ten."

  My legs wobble enough for Silvana to grab hold of my arm. I pat his hand and nod. "I'm all right. Can you drive?" My voice is giving out on me. "I don't think I can, Sil."

  "That's why I came to get you instead of calling. Let's go."

  25

  Angie

  The window at the end of the hallway on the way back from the restroom looks out over a giant parking lot. The faded pink light of dawn colors the sky above the hospital. Silvana and I have been waiting ten hours for further updates on Maddox's condition but so far the information has been vague and sporadic. The emergency room physician couldn't even put a solid number on how many broken bones Maddox had suffered when he was thrown from the bike into the surrounding landscape. The doctor concluded that some of the thick, dry shrubbery lining the road helped soften the impact. Witnesses said he was traveling fast, maybe fifty miles per hour, when the car forced him off the road. The paramedics who wheeled him into the emergency room said they weren't sure he would even survive the trip to the hospital. It was a statement that knocked the wind out of me. I clung to Silvana the rest of the night as we waited with sick stomachs and weary heads for the waiting room door to open and a doctor to walk in with a grim expression.

  Other members of the department popped in and out to get updates but we had nothing to tell them. The only good news was an hour earlier when the attending doctor came in to let us know he'd made it through the night and was stable enough to be wheeled into surgery for a compound fracture of the femur. Apparently, his left leg took the brunt of the impact.