by C. J. Pinard
She was quiet for a second and said, “I’m really sorry, sweetie. Keep me posted once the police leave.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too, girl.”
I hung up and sighed deeply, putting my face in my hands.
Chapter 4
Mason
My desk was as plain as it comes. It sat in a large room, along with a bunch of other hacks, phones ringing, papers shuffling, a dude pushing a mail cart around, a sergeant barking orders and calling people to his office. It really wasn’t too different from the type of office like the crime dramas on TV. I tapped my pen against the back of my head and stared off at the blackboard positioned at the end of the room as I lost myself deep in thought.
What kind of shithead stole computer equipment from nonprofit organizations and companies? Someone looking for a big payout, that’s who. The world was filled with idiots and assholes who didn’t want to work for a living. They wanted an easy payout, a quick fix, some instant gratification. They wanted money, and they wanted it now. Only, it seemed that some of these crimes took a lot of brain power. Brain power that made my own brain hurt, and made me wonder why they didn’t use theirs to get a real job, or perhaps an education. If I thought too long and hard about it, I would get a headache.
My sergeant, Shelton Lange, called me to his office, breaking me out of my musings. “Oliver!”
“I’ll be right there, boss.”
I glanced over at Hunter Jenkins, who had a suspect in the ugly wooden chair next to his desk, and was furiously inputting information into the computer. The guy in the chair was cuffed from behind, and looked like he’d rather be at the dentist.
I walked into Shelton’s office and closed the door behind me. “Yeah, boss?”
“We’ve got another one – a break-in at some kind of nonprofit company downtown. Here’s the address.” He scribbled something onto his notepad and ripped it off and handed it to me. I studied the address. I knew right where it was. I looked up into his tired brown eyes encased in crow’s feet and then to his head, wondering why he bothered to comb over his salt-and-pepper hair when he had none left.
“I’m on it.”
He grunted. “Take Jenkins with you. He’s your partner on this one.”
“Sure thing.”
I left his office and jutted my chin at Hunter once I caught eye contact with him.
I saw him lift the phone receiver and dial a number, and not long after, a uniform came and picked up his suspect.
He made his way over to my desk. “’Sup, Oliver?”
“Boss wants you to go with me to another break-in downtown.”
“Sweet! When do we leave?” he asked.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and sighed instead. “Now.”
Hunter and I walked into the lobby of one of Tampa’s largest downtown office buildings. The floors were a polished black and white marble and the entire front was made up of solid glass windows. The cop in me shuddered at the danger of glass windows and the ease of a break-in, but I pushed it aside and walked to the large, rotund security station set in the middle of the lobby. A guy wearing a security uniform with a shaved head and perfect white teeth greeted me with a smile. “May I help you?”
I pulled out my billfold with my I.D. card and held it up. “Tampa PD. I’m Detective Oliver and this is Detective Jenkins. We’re here about the break-in.”
He flicked his gaze to my partner and said, “Oh, hey, Hunter, how you been, man?”
“Good, thanks, Dimitri. Wife and kids good?”
He nodded his big, shiny head. “Yes, thank you. So the break-in is at Mathis Associates, seventeenth floor.” He pointed at the elevators.
“Thanks, man.” I said.
Hunter and I headed toward the mirrored elevators. He pushed the call button and looked at me.
“You know that guy?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, remember I used to manage this building when I did private security?”
“That’s right.”
We were quiet for a moment until Hunter asked, “Who steals from a nonprofit?”
“An asshole,” I replied.
The elevator chimed our arrival, and once we exited the elevator into a hallway lined with offices, we didn’t need to be told which one had had the break-in. The broken glass littering the gray carpeting in front of suite 601 told the story.
The door had been obliterated and I carefully ducked and stepped through the door’s empty metal frame, and Hunter followed behind me. I didn’t see any employees until a cry caught my attention from the corner of the large office.
A group of people seemed to be huddled into a corner office encased in glass. Hunter followed me to it, and before I pushed the door open, I read the frosted lettering: Harper Mathis, Executive Director.
I weaved my way through the people with a confidence that had grown on me since I’d become a cop. As the crowd parted, I was greeted by a blonde woman sitting behind a large, solid cherry-wood desk. When she lifted her sad, blue gaze to me, my breath caught in my throat. Her smooth face was somewhat familiar to me, yet so new, so beautiful. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a neat ponytail on the back of her head, and she wore a red pantsuit I was sure was hiding a body I would like to see more of. I almost had forgotten why I was there when she spoke.
“You can go home for the day, Mary,” she said to a lady who had been crying into a tissue.
Mary left the office with a nod, and the blonde looked up at us. “May I help you?” Worry and confusion caused her blonde eyebrows to dip into her face, and she looked at me right in the eye.
I pulled out my I.D. “Detective Mason Oliver.” I pointed a finger to my right and continued, “Detective Hunter Jenkins.”
She stared at me longer than necessary, then her gaze drifted to her employees and said, “Please just go clean up your areas and salvage what you can.”
I broke myself from her stare and looked at the employees. “Actually, don’t touch anything. CSU will be here soon.”
The dozen or so employees grumbled their acquiescence and shuffled out of the office. Harper’s stare quickly left theirs and fell on mine once again.
I watched as she wrung her thin hands together and then loosened them to gesture at empty seats in the office. “Detectives, please have a seat.”
We did as ordered. That furrow between her eyes did not leave her pretty face, and her hands went back to wringing.
“Are you Harper Mathis, the owner?” I asked her.
She nodded. “Yes. Thank you for coming.”
I pulled out my notepad from the pocket of my uncomfortable suit jacket. “Start from the beginning, Ms. Mathis.”
She blew out a breath, which caused a stray curl of hair that had been hugging her temple to blow into the air. “Well, I got to work this morning and saw the front door smashed in.”
I sat silently staring at her lovely face, waiting for her to continue. When I didn’t so much as nod, she flicked her azure eyes between me and Hunter, then went back to me. “I was surprised, upset, and shocked, but I managed to pull it together long enough to notice that most of our computers were missing. We keep a cash box in the bottom drawer of Spencer’s desk, and that had been broken open and the money was gone.”
“I see,” I said, furiously jotting notes. I looked back up into her sad eyes and said, “Who is Spencer?”
“He’s the accountant. He keeps our petty cash for small incidentals.”
I nodded and scribbled some more. “Do you know how much cash was in there?”
She gave up a small smile. “I knew the cops would ask, so I asked Spencer this morning. He said about ninety-five dollars, give or take some change.”
“Ah, ok,” I said, still taking notes.
She stared at me, flipped her eyes to Hunter, then back at me. “I think that’s it.”
“So, just some computers and petty cash?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
I took a deep
breath and asked the question I always hated to ask in these situations. “Is there anyone you can think of who may have a grudge or vendetta against you or your company, Ms. Mathis?”
A horrified look passed across her lovely features, and then she firmly placed the professional mask on once again. “No. Absolutely not. We’re a small nonprofit that helps veterans get back on their feet after releasing from the military.”
That comment made my brows furrow deep into my face. I should have investigated what type of nonprofit this company was. The fact that someone had stolen from a company who helped vets made my red, American blood boil under my skin and I’m sure the flush on my cheeks deepened in anger.
“Are you okay, Detective Oliver?”
I lifted my eyes back to hers once again and not breaking her gaze, answered, “Yes, of course.”
Hunter cast a glance at me and then back to his notebook.
“Have you had any disgruntled employees or anyone else threaten you lately?” I asked her, all business.
She shook her head again. “No. I just don’t understand how this happened.” She wrung her pale hands once again, worry lines corrupting her smooth features.
“Crimes like this aren’t really explainable, Ms. Mathis, except to say that some people are greedy and have no scruples. They want what they want, and don’t care how they get it.”
She sniffed. “That’s deplorable.”
“It’s a fact, ma’am,” Hunter said, standing up as if to cue me.
“Well, if that’s all, we’ll be in touch,” I said, handing her my business card. “Please, if you think of anything you missed, give me a call.” I pointed at the card. “My office number and my cell are both on there.”
She looked at the plain white card, then back up at me. “I appreciate it, Detectives.”
I nodded and walked out of her office and back through the broken front door with Hunter trailing behind me. I could feel the stares of the office staff as we left.
I closed the door to the plain, white sedan and as I shoved the key into the ignition, I could feel Hunter’s eyes on me.
Before turning the engine over, I turned and looked at him. “What?”
“She was hot. Like, smoking hot.”
I lifted a shoulder. “So?”
He raked fingers over the side of his hair and regarded me carefully before he spoke. “So, I saw the way she was checkin’ you out.”
I waved a hand at him and started the car, repeating, “Yeah, so?”
“Well, you were checking her out.”
I pulled out of the spot and exited the parking garage. Blinding Florida sun hit me in the face and I slid on my aviator sunglasses as I checked both ways for traffic.
“I have that effect on women,” I said.
Hunter laughed. “Asshole.”
“Well,” I replied, “she was hot, like you said. Even you were checking her out, I’m sure.”
He snorted. “Me? Absolutely not. I’m married.”
“Married, and not getting any, according to you.”
“Fuck off, Oliver.”
I grinned and pulled into the parking lot of the precinct.
Chapter 5
Harper
I had to tell myself to breathe. To inhale and exhale. To pull in air in order to keep living. The minute Detective Oliver left my office, I scrubbed my hands over my face and smoothed the few stray hairs back into my sleek ponytail. I shook my head and laughed. Someone that hot should not be a cop. He looked like he should have been an underwear model or some kind of movie star.
I swallowed hard and smiled a little to myself. This was a ridiculous notion, being so attracted to someone who was obviously not attracted to me, but just doing his job by interviewing me. Yet, he looked familiar to me somehow. I could swear I had seen his dark hair and alluring hazel eyes somewhere before. He had a small smear of dark, sexy stubble on his chin, and the olive colored dress shirt he wore not only matched his name, but made his eyes gravitate toward the green side of hazel instead of brown. His colleague, Detective Jenkins, had been checking me out – I wasn’t stupid and these things rarely went unnoticed by me, but Jenkins wasn’t someone I would have ever taken interest in. He seemed a little overconfident and flirtatious, and the gleaming silver wedding band on his left hand was not overlooked by me.
But Detective Oliver – he radiated a heat and confidence that woke me up a little. This dead and desperate depression I’d been wallowing in for over a year had taken its toll on me. Between the under-eye bags and weight loss, I had little confidence that someone of his hotness and caliber would be remotely interested in me.
I bit back a smile as I thought about how proud Adria would be of me for even having these thoughts. Today was Friday, and work emergency or not, I knew she’d be dragging me out to God knew where, as I had promised her I wouldn’t be spending another Friday night with a tub of Mint Chocolate Chip and reality TV.
I had to shake off the look of Mr. Oliver’s eyes and the way his dress shirt clung to his muscled arms and get back to work. Aside from the mountain of paperwork and endless emails, I now had to deal with police reports and insurance claims, and that was something that I needed a clear head and a no-nonsense attitude for. There was no time for lusty thoughts or lip-biting over a super-hot detective who probably had forgotten about me the minute he had stepped out through my shattered front door.
After filling Adria in about the break-in and what had been stolen, I reluctantly brought up Detective Oliver.
“Get out!” she practically yelled as the Cosmo she’d ordered earlier was paused at her pretty, full lips.
I tried not to smile. I really did. I was trying to remain neutral, for the control I had so carefully put in place to remain there, but my excitement slipped out just a little. “Yeah. But it’s not a big deal, seriously.”
“What are you talking about?” she gushed after swallowing the pink liquid. “If you think he’s hot, then we’re making progress, girlfriend.”
I rubbed my arm where she had delivered a well-meaning punch and looked down to make sure the top button on my black sleeveless top was still securely buttoned. Adria had told me to undo a few buttons and show off a little cleavage earlier, but not only did I not have much to show off, I didn’t really want to.
I lifted a hand in a careless wave. “There’s no progress to make. He’s a hot cop. I’m sure he’s married or has women lined up at his door.”
She lifted a dark, penciled eyebrow at me and folded her muscular legs under the denim skirt she wore. Leaned back in the plush leather yellow chair of the club, I watched as strobe lights danced off her tanned face and dark, color-streaked hair and wondered what else was going to come out of her mouth. The techno music was blaring and I probably wouldn’t be able to hear much anyway.
I took a sip of my red wine and waited for her sassy mouth to say something meaningful. I wasn’t exactly holding my breath, but I knew she’d say something smart. She always did.
“You have his card, right?”
I snorted. “Yes, it’s in my desk drawer… somewhere.”
“So call him.”
And there it was.
I wasn’t her. I wasn’t brazen and bold and beautiful. I was broken and blundering and hiding beneath any sort of confidence I used to have. Even before I’d met Keith, I wasn’t exactly the most confident person in the world as it was. So I simply responded, “No way.”
She huffed. “Did you at least give him your personal cell number?”
I stared at her in horror. “Absolutely not.”
She waved her hand. “You’re dumb. You meet someone that hot and you didn’t give him your number? Did you at least flirt?”
I sighed and set my now-empty wine glass down. Undeniably, the buzz was going to my head, and I had to admit it was much better than an ice cream sugar high. “Flirt? Are you kidding? My company, the one I have built from the ground up with blood, sweat, and tears, had just been vandalized. Flirting was fa
r from my mind.”
Adria smirked around the rim of her cocktail glass and I watched the liquid slide past her glossy lips. “Oh, okay, miss perfect.”
Shit. She was right. I had been in a major crisis, but even then, the sight of him had made me want to flirt. Nobody in the past year had made me want to flirt. Did I even know how? I was 27 years old and had not needed to flirt since I was 20.
Keith had been sweet and I never even had any thoughts of stepping out on him. When he was home – in town and not on some mission or deployment – he was all mine. I was his focal point, his center of attention. I always knew it. I could feel it when his auburn gaze would burn into mine. I would swoon at just a look, and his touch would burn like fire against my skin. So yeah, I was a bit out of practice with the flirting thing but I missed those feelings of fiery touches and butterflies. But, I told myself, I better up my flirt game, because Keith wasn’t coming back, and I was on my own out in this great, big world.
Or at least, here in Tampa.
“I’m far from perfect. I just want to be happy, Adria. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of being sad. It isn’t me.”
A beautiful, genuine smile lit up her face. “There’s the Harper I know and love.”
I stared at her, then slowly slid my gaze to Gage, Adria’s fiancé, who had just returned from chatting with some guys at the bar. He flashed a megawatt smile at me and brushed some brown hair from his brow. “Do you want another?”
I nodded and handed him my glass. “Yes, it’s Pinot.”
He took my glass, and I watched as his tall, thin frame disappeared into the darkness of the club.
I turned my attention back to Adria. “I want me back, Aid.”
She slid herself toward me and placed a hand on mine. “Sweetie, it’s time to let go and be the happy blondie I know and love. It’s time to be you again. I want to help, and while Keith was awesome, he’s gone. I hate it as much as you do… but I need to see the blue flame back in your eyes. I need to see that you’re happy again. I need to see that the excitable, sweet girl I knew in college is still in there somewhere.” She searched my face. “This blackness surrounding you,” she swirled her index finger in a circle in front of my face, “it isn’t you. I love you… and need to see some sunshine in your life.”
