“That statement prefaces any action I might take by necessity, not choice.”
“If that necessity means that your team stakes out a police facility, that’s unacceptable and we have to talk about that and more. Just not now.”
“When?”
“I’ll be in touch. Until then, stay in the shadows and away from the precinct. I don’t need questions inside my department that lead to problems and neither do you and Walker Security.” I turn and actually start to walk this time, but damn it, I can’t leave yet. I rotate and face him. “Thank you for the cookies and the coffee. And I think I sound angry as I say that but I’m not. It’s sincere.”
“You’re welcome and they’re damn good cookies. I greedily kept one for myself.”
“They were better when my mother made them,” I say, and damn it, my voice hitches, and my response confirms he was right. The cookies matter to me. I turn away from him and this time I don’t stop walking. I have a meeting to get to, and damn it, what is this man doing to me? He just saw more of me than I’ve let any man see in years. And I let him, I opened the door he had only cracked, and I did so despite the fact that I still don’t even know if I like the man.
I fall into step a short distance behind her, my blood pumping, adrenaline punching through my veins. I let the damn cookie thing get personal. What the fuck was that? I don’t do personal on the job. And yet, at multiple times today, I’ve damn sure been thinking about pulling her hair free from the prim and proper braid she wears to work and kissing the fuck out of her. And I damn sure have my eyes on both our surroundings and her tight little heart-shaped ass.
One block. Two. Three. She weaves in out of the clusters of bodies that thicken as we near the DA’s office. I keep pace, ensuring that she is never out of sight, but then, I have back-up. Finn, a new guy, and an ex-Chicago detective himself, is in the surveillance van and I have Adam, king of disguises, and ex-Navy SEAL on foot. Both are connected to me with the earpiece in my ear that I turned off when talking to “the detective” as she wants to be called, and turned back on when we’d started walking. I told myself I’d done that to protect her privacy, but I’m not one to fool myself long. I’d done it to protect both of our privacy.
Jewel, Detective-Fucking-Carpenter, I mentally correct, crosses the street, and I’m not far behind her. She’s just reached the other side, stepped over the curb, and is now in the last block of her walk as I step into the road, when a homeless man lunges at her. I move quickly, doubling my pace to save her, but then she’s no damsel in distress. She uses a judo move I know she learned from her pre-karate college days and with a kick of her leg, the man is on the ground. She then reaches into the bag at her hip, tosses money down to him, and then moves along. As if it never fucking happened, which reminds me that she was a beat cop for two years before moving into a detective training program.
I head toward the homeless man, but a gut feeling, and the certainty that Adam is watching Detective Carpenter, has me pretending to throw something in a trash can, and then tie my shoe to watch him. He lifts to his elbows, grimaces at the money, and looks in Detective Carpenter’s direction. He then stands up and begins to follow her, pulling a phone from his pocket and placing it to his ear. He’s on that call all of thirty seconds when the phone is back in his pocket and he cuts right into an alleyway. Agile, comfortable, not a homeless person who is malnourished and weathered in ten different ways at all.
Suddenly, my gut feeling that there was more to that man and to the threat against the detective than meets the eye that I’ve had from the beginning is feeling pretty damn validated. “Did you see that?” I ask, speaking to my team through my mic.
“I’m on him,” Finn assures me.
I double-step and catch up to Jewel just as she reaches the door of the DA’s office building. I stop walking and step to a wall beside a bank to give her room to enter and head to the elevator. A man exits as she intends to enter, tall, dark, good-looking enough for a guy I decide, one I place around forty-ish, and he’s impeccably dressed. He greets Jewel, and it’s clear in the way his expression lights that he knows her but she doesn’t react with recognition, but rather the kind of obvious hesitation she didn’t show with me. But then, anger drove her reaction to me and damn she’s sexy when she’s angry.
Fuck.
Where did that come from?
I refocus. The man offers her a well-manicured hand, the kind that has never seen a hard day beyond a golf club and a bar in a fancy fluffed-up gym. I have an overwhelming desire to stop her from taking that hand. Maybe it’s that gut feeling about danger that I’ve had all week, or maybe it’s me having a thing for this woman that I shouldn’t have, but the result is the same: I don’t want her to touch him.
But she does.
Jewel shakes his damn hand and he holds onto her longer than he has to, giving her a smile. She doesn’t smile back, but rather tugs her hand free. She disappears into the building and the man grimaces, his expression almost angry. Adam sounds off in my mic. “I’ll find out who he is, but that leaves you the detective’s only coverage.”
“I’ve got her,” I say, pushing off the wall, reminded of telling her the same damn thing, when even that phrasing wasn’t as professional as I’d expect from myself.
I walk toward the building and I intentionally head straight for Mr. Manicured Hands. Once he’s almost directly in my path, with people are on either side of us, I knock the fuck out of his shoulder. He curses at me, and my lips curve with a satisfied smile. I cross the short space to the building and open the door. I walk inside the compact lobby that isn’t much but walls and an elevator, since security is on the upper level. I find the front and rear exit and until I have my team on board, I’m staying right here. I claim the only bench in the place and have a seat.
“Jacob.”
“Yeah, Finn,” I say.
“Our homeless guy walked into a restaurant. I followed and he’s not here. I checked the bathrooms and even the kitchen.”
“Did he exit a back door?”
“He could have exited the kitchen, but I have a hard time believing the joint would allow that. There’s only two options. I missed him and that didn’t happen. Or—”
“He changed clothes and is unrecognizable.”
“Exactly,” he says.
And just like that, my gut feeling is validated. I’m not ready to say that Detective Carpenter is under imminent threat, but I’m not willing to say she’s not at this point, either. Which means I’m not pulling my team back and I’m keeping her real damn close.
I’d much rather be obsessing over why Jacob King makes me hot all over when he touches me than living in the aftermath of Davis York’s handshake, I’d wanted to refuse. I step onto the elevator in the DA’s building and grimace, rubbing my palm on my pants to wipe away the touch. It’s symbolic, of course, but it feels good, because despite his good looks and charm, the man is one of the top criminal defense attorneys in this country. He makes a living getting the same bad guys off that I work my ass off to get arrested. He’s slime just like them. And the man is defending Bruce Norton, the bastard I just arrested for killing his pregnant wife. Unfortunately, the bodies haven’t been recovered, which is why the DA needs me to come across strong on this case in a big way.
The good news, I think, punching my destination floor, is that we’re in an election year so the pressure for the DA to convict is high. I like election years. They deliver results and while they won’t make the bastard who killed his wife and unborn child burn in hell as I’d prefer, I’ll settle for him rotting in a jail cell. The doors shut and my cellphone buzzes in my pocket. I dig it out and read a text message from Jacob: Judo move approved
I smile and type a response: Now you know how easily I can cuff you before I shoot you
What if I know judo, too? he replies.
Of course, you do, I type. You’re a big, bad Green Beret.
Yes, he responds. I really am.
I laugh,
aware that his over-the-top arrogance is now for my amusement and, in fact, he’s mocking his own announcement of his credentials. He can laugh at himself and I’m officially finding it harder and harder to believe he’s the asshole I thought he was this morning. The elevator stops on my destination floor and I exit to greet a security guard who puts me through the typical bag search and metal detector before I’m walking down a hallway to the appropriate meeting room I know well.
I reach my proper doorway, which is open, and enter to find Evelyn Chris, the assistant DA that I’m working with on this case, sitting on the opposite side of a scuffed up wooden table facing me. “Come in, Detective,” she greets, managing as always to be as welcoming as she is beautiful and tough in a courtroom.
I claim the seat in front of her and she shoves her long brown hair behind her ears and fixes me in a hard, steady, green-eyed stare. “The defense council was just here.”
“I saw him downstairs. Pretty boy asshole. Something about him bugs me. He’s too perfect. No one is that perfect.”
“His track record is pretty damn perfect. This case is one hundred percent circumstantial. You know that, right?”
I set my bag down and settle my hands on the table, and give her my hard, steady, blue-eyed stare. “It’s an election year.”
Her lips thin. “I hate that fucking answer. That wasn’t: We got him. We have proof. We have this or that. It was pressure on me to work a miracle.”
“We do have him. We do have proof. And yeah. I believe you can work a miracle. Get a confession. I’m going to give you what you need to get it.”
Her phone buzzes and she grabs it on the table where it sits next to her perfectly manicured nails. She glances at the message. “A witness on another case is here, claiming mind-blowing information. I have to deal with this. But we have to get through this bail hearing tomorrow, so you can’t leave.”
“I brought work and my computer with me. I’m fine.”
She stands up. “For the record, I believe this bastard is guilty as sin and should burn in hell. I want to give you, his wife, and that baby, ten miracles.”
She rounds the table and leaves me with validation as to why I like her so damn much. We think alike. We fight alike. We are alike in all the important, ethical ways, we just play on slightly different fields and thus package our attacks accordingly. I open my briefcase and pull out my MacBook, files, and the bag with my cookies. My cellphone buzzes again. I grab it and read the message from Jacob: Who was the guy in the suit at the door?
I could respond any number of ways, but Jacob and his “I’m professional” self just invites a little baiting. Thus why I can’t help myself when I type: My lover. He’s very good. Did you feel the chemistry between us?
I’d hate to see how you respond to a guy you hate, he replies. You were as stiff as a corpse.
I grimace and type: I was not as stiff as a damn corpse. And you already saw how I warm up to someone I hate this morning. How did that work for you?
My phone rings and I answer it to hear, “You don’t hate me,” Jacob says. “You were confused about that.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I am even if you aren’t, just yet.”
“Just yet?”
“I grow on people. Who was he?”
“Davis York. The defense attorney defending a slime-bag I arrested who I know killed his wife and unborn child.”
“And your relationship with Davis York?”
“If I could fuck him, I would, and I don’t mean in a bedroom or with my clothes off.”
“Understood,” he says, quite formally. “On a scale of one to ten, how likely are you to text me as you head to the elevator?”
“A five and that’s only because I am, at this very moment, holding a cookie in my hand that you bought me.”
“Stalking isn’t easy, Detective Carpenter. I’ll buy you dinner to go with the cookies if you’ll just make my life a little easier here.”
“As in you and me alone?”
“Yes,” he confirms.
“No.”
“We can talk through a working relationship.”
“We will most definitely talk about that relationship but not right now, and not tonight. You and the stalking Detective Carpenter theme for the day is distracting and I have to be in court tomorrow morning.”
“All the more reason to talk tonight and start tomorrow on a different note.”
“Not tonight,” I repeat, “but—and this is a big but—since I’m about to enjoy this cookie you got me, I’ll text you when I’m leaving, but don’t get used to it and don’t expect that to foreshadow future negotiations on our working relationship. I’m just not that agreeable.”
“We’ll see about that.”
My brow furrows. “We’ll see about that?”
“Yes. We’ll see about that.”
“There are no more cookies until April.”
“We’ll find another common ground. I’m sure of it.”
He hangs up and I take a bite of my cookie, the first common ground. The common ground that let him see behind my wall, which is why I turned down dinner. The cookies will be gone by morning, my wall restores, and my weird reaction to Jacob King gone. I’m sure of it. On that note, I grab the cold case files, and find the one that’s piqued my interest, flipping it open to stare at a photo of a Green Beret named Jesse Marks. Thirty minutes later, I’m still waiting on Evelyn and I’ve hit the same roadblock I did with Jesse that I did with Jacob. Jesse’s military record is top secret.
I thrum the table and think about Jacob and my declaration to Royce Walker that I’d know if I was being followed. Right before Jacob walked in with my coffee and cookie. Because I didn’t know I was being followed. But Jacob King is on my side, hired to protect me, which is a waste of him as a resource. Which is why I need to put him to use helping me solve this cold case, and in the process, teach me how to face someone in the elite armed forces and win. Jesse Marks, the Green Beret, who killed his family, is officially my new cold case target and Jacob King is going to help me catch him. In fact, the one thing that defeats my own personal demons and inhibitions every single time, is a good challenge that can lead to catching a killer. My wall and Jacob King’s ability to pull it down, no longer matter. Dinner is on.
Sitting in a surveillance van with Finn is not for the weak of mind or body. The man is an ex-detective, who’s a sharpshooter with MacGyver skills to match that of an uncatchable convict. He also has habits. Lots of habits. He thrums his fingers, runs his fingers through his longish brown hair, and taps his foot. Not to mention the eating. He eats and eats and eats, mostly M&M’s and Doritos, like they’re different brands of cigarettes and he’s got a ten-pack-a-day habit. And I’m stuck in a small space with him for hours.
Come sunset, I’m ready to get Detective Carpenter out of that DA’s office and I’m not afraid to push. I text her. You still alive up there?
Her reply is instant: Yes. Kudos to you. I’m not dead yet.
I can think of about five ways to reply and none of them are professional. None of them are what I would say in this same situation with someone else, because what I would say with someone else would be: Yes, ma’am. That’s the thing about this woman. I had the luxury of watching her for days when she didn’t know I was watching, and just as I said to her, I get her in a way no one else would. She’s like me, carved in blood and loss. And while our response is reserved, mine is quiet and defensive, hers is fresher, more offensive.
I set the phone down and with that gut feeling of trouble nagging me, I refocus on the MacBook in front of me, where I’m going through the past few weeks of footage at the Carpenter building, despite our team doing so already. Beside me, Finn taps his foot a good twenty times before I look at him and say, “The detective won’t have to look far to solve your murder. I’ll be right here, waiting on her, standing over your body.”
He winks. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
I give h
im a silent snarl and he offers me an M&M. I take the whole bag. I’m fucking starving. I eat the entire thing, or what’s left, and forty-five minutes later, there’s no word from Detective Carpenter when Finn taps his computer screen. “I’m talking to Blake on messenger.”
Blake being Blake Walker, one of the founding three brothers of Walker Security. “Isn’t he on another job?”
“Yes, and tied up until morning, but I’ve been looking for cameras to catch our homeless man for hours with no luck. But I’m no hacker and there are a few I can’t seem to access. I need a master hacker like Blake.”
My phone buzzes with a text and I grab it where it rests next to the MacBook. I’m leaving. That’s my last text message of the night.
Good, I think. One-on-one conversation works best, and since I have no intention of doing this one foot in and one foot out routine again tomorrow, we’re having one tonight. “We’re on the move,” I announce to Finn and Adam, who is still on live mic and covering the surrounding areas.
I exit the van, and start walking toward the building at the same time that Detective Carpenter exits. For the next fifteen minutes, I follow her, and she doesn’t take the subway. She walks, as if she’s letting me keep her in sight, which would be odd, since as she said, she’s just not that damn agreeable, if I didn’t get her all over again. She wants to figure out how I followed her and how she didn’t know I was there. She wants to learn and I have to say, I’m a willing teacher to Detective Carpenter. Perhaps a little too willing, but I won’t let this go anyplace that isn’t professional.
That’s a guarantee. Because I’m a professional and Detective Jewel Carpenter is my assignment.
I know Jacob is following me, but damn it, I can’t spot him. I feel him. God, I feel that man way too easily. I spy a subway station and I decide to throw him for a loop. I head down into the next subway tunnel and I am quick on the draw with my pass card. In short jog, I’m through the gates, down the stairs and jumping on the next train. I’m smiling when me and a horde of twenty people step onto a train. There is no way, Green Beret or not, that man kept up with me.
Falling Under Page 4
