by Alexa Grace
“Blake, I’m going to give you some advice that was given to me at one time about partnering with a female.”
This was rich. Lane Hansen, of all people, was about to give him partner relationship advice. It wasn’t as if most of the staff didn’t know about Lane and Frankie getting married shortly after playing undercover roles as husband and wife. No hanky-panky going on there. Right. He glanced at Lane then back at the TV.
“There’s this saying, 'you don’t screw with your partner and your partner won’t screw with you.’ Understand?”
“I think I’ve heard that saying before.” Blake responded, praying the conversation would end with the remark.
“I’m not saying anything about Jennifer and you, but just keep things between you professional, not personal. There have been too many operations that went to hell in a hand basket because a cop got emotional. Because he or she let it get personal with his or her partner.”
Blake’s jaw tensed and he continued to pretend he was watching the TV. He wanted to ask Lane how that worked out when he went undercover with Frankie. It was curious how they got married shortly after that operation. Through the long mirror in back of the bar, he saw Jennifer enter and cross the room to where Lane’s wife, Frankie, sat in a booth. Why hadn’t he noticed Frankie before?
He’d decided after leaving Jennifer’s house the night before that he was going to ask her out for a romantic dinner out-of-town. Out-of-town and away from watchful eyes. That plan got drop-kicked the second their boss made them partners. Blake hadn’t had a chance to talk to Jennifer alone all day. It wasn’t that he was looking forward to discussing partner “rules” with her, but it was unavoidable now.
<><><>
It was Friday night and the Hoosier Sports Grill was packed with the loud TGIF crowd, just as Jennifer knew it would be, which is why she didn’t want to be there. But a promise was a promise — especially if that promise was made to her cousin, Frankie.
Jennifer was an only child and Frankie was the sister she never had. When ’Jennifer was abducted, Frankie — along with Lane and her dad — had rushed to her rescue. The abduction was a time she’d rather not think about in daylight hours, it was enough that her regular nightmares reminded her.
A balloon popped near the bar, and several women screamed in alarm. Jennifer’s hand instinctively went to her Glock, which wasn’t there because she’d changed into her faded jeans, red tank, and black leather jacket after work. Jennifer couldn’t remember the last time she went out after work on a Friday. It was easier to turn on a Lifetime movie, have pizza delivered, and settle in for the night on her sofa. But Frankie had insisted that Jennifer join her for drinks, something they hadn’t done for a couple of months.
Jennifer scanned the crowd and couldn’t find Frankie anywhere. She was starting to think she was the first to arrive when she noticed Frankie standing near a booth, waving her arms like she was on an airfield directing a 747 into a parking spot at the gate. Once she reached the booth, she slid in across from her cousin and noticed a large strawberry margarita in front of Frankie.
“Non-alcoholic, I hope,” asked Jennifer, referring to Frankie’s allergy to alcohol.
“Of course,” replied Frankie as she waved to the waitress, who brought Jennifer the strawberry margarita she’d ordered earlier for her.
“How’s Ashley?” Jennifer asked, before she sipped her drink.
“My little girl is moving from her terrible twos right into her terrible threes. Last night she tried to wrap Hunter up with toilet paper. She’d used two rolls before I caught her. I couldn’t believe the Giant Schnauzer let her do that.”
“Bet Hunter was glad you came to his rescue,” said Jennifer as she smiled at the visual. “Speaking of Hunter, I heard Mrs. Smith wandered away from Shady Oaks again. How did you find her?”
“Lane and Sam Brown went up in the copter and searched for her using the thermal imaging camera. I love the thermal imaging technology; it makes objects that emit heat visible in the dark. Anyway, they spotted what they thought was human in that wooded area next to the park on Elm Street. Hunter and I went in and the rest is history.”
“What condition was she in?” asked Jennifer.
“Not bad for being missing for eight hours, a little dehydrated. She’s eighty-years-old and walked at least five miles. Do you believe it?”
Jennifer shook her head sadly. “She was my first grade teacher.”
“Mine, too.”
“It makes me sad that a woman who used her intelligence her entire life to help others now has a disease that robs her of the ability of even recalling her name. I hate Alzheimer’s disease.”
“This is getting depressing; let’s change subjects. How’s your love life?”
“What love life?” asked Jennifer with a nervous laugh. There was no way Jennifer was telling Frankie how attracted she was to Blake. She’d never hear the end of it.
“What are you doing about getting one?”
“No match-making, Frankie. We’ve discussed this before.”
“Just observations.”
“What?”
“I just happened to notice that when I visit my husband at work, there are some hot and available men there.”
“I can’t believe you’re suggesting I date one of them. Aren’t you the one who always told me not to date a cop because they lie too easily?”
“Well, since I married one, I’ve changed my philosophy.” Frankie’s eyes scanned across the room and landed on her husband. “Speaking of tall, ripped and hot, there’s Lane at the bar.”
Jennifer followed Frankie’s gaze until she saw Blake. Their gazes locked and a spark of heat flashed between them.
“Isn’t that Blake Stone with him?” asked Frankie. “Speaking of smokin’ hot and available.”
Suddenly, Jennifer felt a desperate urge to leave the bar. Flustered, she grabbed her purse and eased out of the booth.
“Where are you going?”
“I just remembered that I need to feed my cat.” With that, Jennifer rushed out of the bar.
Frankie thought for a moment, and then said aloud, “What cat?”
<><><>
Dorothy was right when she said, “There’s no place like home.” And Jennifer couldn’t get to hers fast enough. She turned her car onto her street and drove the five blocks it took to slide into her driveway. Clutching her purse, she walked to her front porch, bounded up the steps — then froze. Her front door was ajar. And Jennifer distinctly remembered locking it before she left, along with turning on the porch light. Slowly and silently she eased open the screen door to enter. Her first priority was to find her Glock; then she’d search the house. Unfortunately, she’d left it upstairs in her nightstand.
Jennifer crept into the kitchen, grabbed a steak knife out of the drawer then inched up her stairs.
<><><>
Blake watched Jennifer leave the bar, then made an excuse to leave himself. Whether he wanted to have that partner conversation with her or not, he needed to talk to her. He pulled his SUV in front of her house and got out. Something was off. It wasn’t until he reached the sidewalk that he realized her front door was wide-open. The security-conscious Jennifer he knew would never leave her door open like that. He pulled his gun out of his holster and moved into the house. In the living room, he called for her. No response.
Gripping his firearm in front of him, Blake moved around the living and dining rooms with his back toward the wall. The rooms were clear, along with the kitchen. Stopping to listen, he heard a soft creaking of a floorboard coming from the second floor so he moved to the staircase landing.
At that moment, Glock in hand, Jennifer bounded out from her bedroom shouting, “Freeze!” Seeing Blake, she lowered her gun and leaned against the wall, her heart beating wildly.
“Damn it, Blake, I could have killed you.”
Ignoring her remark, Blake whispered, “Did you clear the upstairs?”
“Yes.”
�
�Then put away your gun. Come down here and tell me what’s going on?”
She tucked her gun in the back of her jeans, then followed Blake down the stairs and into the living room. “When I got home, my door was open. I know I locked it when I left, right after I turned on my porch lights. Someone has been in my house.”
“Did you check to see if anything was missing?” Blake asked as he eyeballed the room.
“No, I was just clearing the rooms when I saw you.”
“Let’s do it now. Where do you want to start?” Blake clenched his jaw and focused on remaining calm, which was difficult to do because he wanted to kick the ass belonging to whoever broke into Jennifer’s house.
“Nothing looks missing in here,” said Jennifer. “It’s odd that someone would break into a house and not take a flat-screen TV.”
“No kidding.”
Blake followed Jennifer into the dining room and almost slammed into her when she came to a standstill at the long table. She pointed at an object sitting in the center of the table. It was an iPhone in a hot pink case, with the name ‘Catherine’ written in script across the center.
“Catherine Thomas’ cell,” whispered Jennifer.
<><><>
Reminded by the crime techs not to touch anything, Jennifer sat on the front porch swing in silence. Blake paced back and forth in front of the living room window as the techs brushed Jennifer’s doors and windows for fingerprints. He was livid that the sick bastard who killed Catherine Thomas had been inside Jennifer’s home. He’d already called Lane, who was putting a deputy on her house 24/7.
“He knows who I am,” said Jennifer softly. “He’s taunting me because I can’t catch him.”
Blake had come to the same conclusion. To say that he was alarmed that a murderer knew who Jennifer was and where she lived was an understatement. “That’s pretty fucking brazen to break into the detective’s home who is trying to catch you.”
“He thinks he’s smarter than we are. He doesn’t think there’s a slim possibility that we’ll catch him,” Jennifer replied.
“You can’t stay here, Jennifer. Move in with your parents until we catch him.”
“Not happening. I’m not running from him.” Her home was her oasis and she felt violated the perp was inside her home looking at her things. No one was going to run her out of her own home.
“Jennifer...”
“Drop it,” She interrupted.
“You’re not safe here.”
“If it were your home, Blake, would you let him chase you out of it?”
She watched Blake avert his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”
The slamming of car doors drew her attention to the street. Lane and her father had arrived. Jennifer sighed. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was her father’s concern and her own guilt over having caused the concern.
“Have they found any prints?” Lane directed his question to Blake.
“Not yet. He probably wore gloves.”
“What about the cell phone?”
“It looks wiped down but they’re going to take it apart to see if they can find prints inside it.”
Lane looked at Jennifer. “Are you absolutely sure the cell belongs to Catherine?”
“Yes. Her parents gave it to her for her birthday. They gave me a photo of her holding it up to the camera. It’s in her file.”
“How are you doing?” He asked with concern in his voice.
Jennifer glanced at Lane, noting the apprehension written all over his face. Lane was acting just like her dad and she didn’t appreciate it one bit. “I’m a law enforcement officer. I’m fine.” She folded her arms across her chest.
Tim moved closer. “Jennifer, your mother and I want you to move in with us.”
Jennifer rolled her eyes and said, “Seriously, Dad. I’m not a kid. I’m not moving home.”
“Just until we catch him.”
“No, Dad. I’m sorry, but I’m not moving from my house.”
Tim gave Lane and Blake a meaningful glance then said, “Fine. We’ll move to Plan B.”
Jennifer looked at the three of them, afraid to ask, but did. “What’s Plan B?”
“Your partner moves in with you.” Tim’s glare and dare-to-object expression did not go unnoticed. “That’s not your father talking, it’s your sheriff. Consider it a direct order.”
<><><>
Tiffany Chase had never gone camping in her life, nor had she wanted to. Why anyone would sleep out in the wild with bugs and creatures was beyond her. But that was before she laid eyes on Lance Brody in her college Educational Psych course. He walked in the first day of class, with shoulders a yard wide, tall, hot, and athletic — just her type. And thus began a series of erotic dreams starring Mr. Lance Brody and involving wild, monkey sex in every position.
That Tiffany was already engaged to her community’s youth minister evaporated from her brain the instant Lance moved into her presence. Ed. Psych was the only class she’d ever taken that she’d even made an attempt to arrive early. But every Tuesday and Thursday, Tiffany was one of the first to arrive, because she knew Lance would be there.
Tiffany had never had trouble engaging young men in conversation with her big blue eyes, dark hair, sexy lush lips, wearing her usual tight tees and jeans. But Lance Brody was the exception. Hell, he played football and even that topic didn’t seem to interest him. But one day she overheard him talking to another student about camping that weekend. His voice was filled with excitement and she knew she hit pay-dirt. She’d spent that weekend at the library, reading anything she could get her hands on that even remotely had to do with camping.
The following Tuesday, she arrived even earlier than usual and waited for Lance to arrive.
“Hi, Lance. How was your camping trip?” Tiffany leaned toward him, her blue eyes brightened with interest.
“It was great, but how did you know I went camping?”
“Last week, I overheard you talking with John about it. Where did you go?” She spoke in a tone of inquisitive wonder. At least, that’s what she wanted Lance to think.
“I pitched a tent over at Bear Lake.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ve camped there, but I’ve pitched a tent plenty of times over at Deer Run State Park. Do you know it?” She smiled brightly and noted a gleam of interest in his dark eyes.
“Absolutely. I’ve camped there since I was a little kid. There’s nothing like sleeping under the stars, listening to the sounds around you. That’s cool you camp, too.”
<><><>
Two weeks later, Tiffany trudged behind Lance, admiring the muscles in his legs and his tight ass as they made their way to his favorite campsite inside Rocky Cliff State Park. The pack on her back felt like it weighed a ton and her feet were killing her. What was she, a pack-mule? The only thing that kept her going was the thought of Lance, naked, sharing a sleeping bag with her under the stars — not that they’d notice the stars much if she had her way.
Finally, after passing about a dozen campers, they reached Lance’s favorite camp site. It was away from the others and privately nestled in pine trees near a small stream. Lance pointed out a deer path nearby and promised they’d see a doe or two during their stay.
“We need to take advantage of the daylight. I’ll go find wood for the fire and you can go ahead and set up the tent,” said Lance over his shoulder as he headed toward the trees.
Set up the tent? Tiffany felt the panic sliver up her spine. She’d never set up a tent in her life, and she didn’t recall any instructions in the camping books she checked out. This whole camping thing was way too much work. Tiffany unrolled one of the sleeping bags and sat down as she tried to visualize how a tent might be set up. Before she knew it, she was lying down and fast asleep.
Tiffany felt hands touching her, stroking her, pushing her hair out of her face and away from her neck. Was she dreaming? Had Lance returned? She sighed with pleasure.
“Hey, sleepyhead. What happened with the
tent?” Lance asked. He’d started the fire to ward off the chill of the early evening.
She jerked upright. The tent! She scrambled to her feet. “I must have dozed off.”
He ruffled her hair with his fingers. “Come on. We’ll set it up together.”
With Lance taking the lead, they set up the tent and arranged the sleeping bags inside. He opened her bag and took out a package of hotdogs, buns and marshmallows, which Tiffany arranged on a nearby picnic table. As they roasted the hotdogs over the fire, Tiffany began to think that maybe she was wrong about camping. Maybe it was not that bad after all.
As the evening wore on, Lance hadn’t made any romantic moves, and secretly, Tiffany was grateful. Every muscle in her body cried out in protest from the four trails Lance made her hike before they set up camp. She felt like she could barely move, let alone muster up the energy for sex. Tiffany reached into her backpack and pulled out a roll of toilet paper. If she didn’t go soon, it would be too late. The thought of having to use a public restroom had made her put off this visit for most of the afternoon. Ick. She waved at Lance then made her way to the old log building he’d pointed out earlier. Two little boys scrambled out of the place and ran toward their campsite.
Once inside, she realized the women’s side of the restroom was empty and she felt a flicker of apprehension course through her. She’d seen an old horror movie once where the hockey-masked slasher had trapped and hacked his victim in a vacant public restroom. Tiffany rushed into a stall, finished her business, then scrubbed her hands with soap and water at the sink. She shuddered as fearful images of a masked slasher built in her mind, and she wished she were already back at the campsite with Lance. Grabbing the roll of toilet paper, Tiffany rushed out of the building, slamming into what felt like a brick wall. She brushed herself off, then felt embarrassed when she realized who she’d run into.
“Sorry about that. I guess I need to watch where I’m going.”
