by Layne, Lyssa
Seething, Christine didn’t even bother to try to control her temper. If he wanted war, he was messing with the wrong person.
“I don’t know where you got your information from, but I can only suggest you get your facts straight before you try to ruin a man’s reputation.” Christine’s attention cut immediately to Brad.
Brad seized the moment and pressed past Christine until he stood before the reporter, teeth bared. He covered the end of the microphone pushing it away while he put his other hand over the camera lens. “You have two seconds to step away from Miss Jansen and get the hell out of here. I won’t allow you ruin her evening. If you have a bone to pick with me, meet me on my turf. This place is out of bounds. Got it?” Brad grabbed Cochran by the upper arm and started to shove him toward the front door.
Cochran pulled his arm free from Brad’s grip, and raced back to Christine. He shoved the mic back in her face and pressed on.
“Can’t you see your boyfriend’s brutal tactics for what they are? He killed an officer.”
Christine looked for Brad to intervene.
“Don’t play innocent. Please tell us, what do you really plan to do with the money from this show? I don’t believe the hospice will see a penny of the funds. Are you two planning on a long trip in the future? Maybe sort of tropical rendezvous?”
At this very moment, Brad’s overwhelming anger gave him the insight of what it felt like for a person to want to commit murder. He flinch when he turned side to side and all eyes were on him, questioning Cochran’s allegations.
Before Brad could squeeze through the crowd enveloping Chris, he heard her respond.
“Are you out of your mind?” Christine glared at the audacity of the spiteful reporter. She approached him and called him out. “It’s thanks to reporters like you, with no moral fiber, only out for sensationalism that’s what has caused police departments all over the United States to be viewed at an all-time low by the public. Get your facts straight. Stop trying to create a media frenzy for the sake of your story.”
Cochran whipped around shoving his microphone into Brad’s face. “Yes, Detective Maxwell, by all means, please give us the facts. Deny that you killed Marty Rodriguez.”
Before Brad could give his department ordered ‘no comment’ two security guards arrived to escort the reporter from the building.
With fire in his eyes as the guards removed the reporter from the gala. “Damn son-of-a-bitch.” It wasn’t his place to bring this up, not now, not here. Guilt and shame overcame him. Anger ruled his body as Cochran, continued speaking into his microphone. Unable to hear what was being said, yet dreading the possibility that he’d just ruined Chris’s big chance for success. Brad blamed himself. At the same time, deep in his heart, he marveled that Chris stood up to the reporter, giving as well if not better than she got.
When he turned back toward Chris he saw the questions in her eyes…the same raw emotions that were on everyone’s faces as they stared at him.
Real or imagined it didn’t matter any longer. He just knew he had to get the hell out of there before he destroyed her big evening.
He barely made it outside before he reach for a cigarette and remembered he’d quit. He popped a lifesaver and chomped down on it, wanting and needing vengeance. He popped another and another with the same results. At the rate he was going he should have brought two rolls. He tore part of the wrapper off and flicked it into a nearby trashcan. What he wouldn’t give for five lousy minutes sparring with that jerk in a back alley.
Brad wanted so badly to hurt the man for what he’d done. He just hoped that Chris would forgive him. But with his luck, that wouldn’t be happening. Not in this lifetime.
CHAPTER FIVE
Christine couldn’t let him walk away thinking she believed the reporter. She had to make things right. When she reached his side, he refused to look at her.
“Brad?”
“Yeah?”
“Why’d you leave? Please come back inside, I like knowing you were nearby.”
“Don’t worry Chris, you have job to do, so go back inside. I’ll keep watch from a distance until the gala is over.”
When Christine didn’t move and say anything, he faced her and said harshly, “Go on, your fans are waiting.” Then he turned away. As if the sight of her was more than he could stand.
Christine moved slower than a snail’s pace. Hurt by the harshness in his tone. If she didn’t know he was suffering so much, she might have been angry with him for not acknowledging that she stood up for him. There’d be time enough to clear the air after the evening ended.
After what felt like an eon later, Christine went in search of Brad. She’d been torn up inside when Brad sent her away. She found him outside, his tie askew, his jacket slung over his shoulder. He was surrounded in a misty haze, thick as London fog, as he leaned against the building looking totally bereft.
Christine joined him. It wasn’t her natural inclination to approach a man, but Brad was different. He needed her even if he didn’t know it yet. And while she feared being hurt by him again if he pushed her away, she knew she had to try.
She cupped his upper arm to lend him some strength. It disturbed her to see how the run-in with the vindictive reporter affected him. At the same time she also wondered about the real story, but the expression on his face told her now was not the time to ask.
“Brad, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. Just peachy.” Brad tossed the last lifesaver from the pack into his mouth then flicked the swapper into a nearby trash can.
Her heart went out to him. He looked as if he were dead inside, as if he was sinking into quicksand and didn’t care.
Never would she have guessed Brad capable of such sarcasm, especially to her. It was understandable after all that happened to him. Empathy overwhelmed her, Christine knew she shouldn’t but her judgment flew out the window as she moved closer, taking his hand in hers.
“Look Brad. I don’t know what happened in there, and believe it or not, I don’t buy the line that reporter tried to sell. And, I’m certainly not the enemy here. I just want you to know if you need to talk, I’ll be here to listen when you’re ready.”
Brad moved in slow motion, lowered his eyes afraid to meet her gaze. She had to be lying.
After all, how could Chris not blame him for what had happened tonight? He knew when his eyes met he’d see the accusations dwelling within her.
Accusations that he’d just ruined her show, recriminations for misrepresenting himself as a law enforcement officer, repulsion for taking a life, and regret that they’d ever met.
Yet, when their eyes finally met all he saw was concern. Concern for his well-being, not her own. He felt like a simpering, whiny-assed kid. Here she was, the one person this evening would most impact, and she wasn’t even angry with him. Hell no, she was trying to comfort and console him, to let him know he wasn’t alone.
He knew an angel of mercy when he saw one. Because no woman he’d ever dated had ever been this concerned about his welfare.
Spontaneous had never been his middle name, nothing in his mind could have conceivably pictured that he would bend over and kiss her, but he did. The kiss while short and gentle lasted long enough to leave them both breathless.
“Maybe we shouldn’t—”
Brad impatiently drew her into his arms cutting off the rest of her sentence. Her body melded against his. The strain of the evening began to dim. He breathed deeply, acknowledging only to himself that he was grateful for the warmth her body provided. When he realized she was shivering, he wrapped his tux jacket around her.
He loved the smell of her. The scent from the gardenia in her hair washed away the pain of the moment. The mixture of the fragrant flower and the perfume she had on, comforted him, cleansing the bad memories of the evening from his mind, if only temporarily. He’d have to remember to ask her what the perfume was and remind her to wear it again.
When her arms wrapped around him, he shivered himse
lf. Her arms felt like home. He knew for sure then, she didn’t hold him responsible for the evening’s fiasco.
For the first time in ages he relaxed.
Maybe they would get through this time in his life, and by the time he was back to work, she’d still be there. If Chris was in his life he has all the more reason to clear his name, fast.
***
Christine could no more stop her arms from going around Brad’s waist than she could stop breathing. Trust and giving didn’t come as natural as breathing to her but the scars she still carried were burned into her memory. A simple touch or smile from him had the power to throw her hesitations to the wind. The touch of his hands on her face during the kiss had her tingling to her fingertips and he tasted like tropical fruit. With Brad, the painful past melted away. In fact it was the hardest thing she’d ever had to overcome. Even harder than recuperating after the car accident three long years ago.
She didn’t know why she trusted him, but she did. She had to remind herself Brad wasn’t her father, the man who ran out on her mother before her birth. And he certainly wasn’t that jerk Ray, who dumped her after the accident that he caused.
She fell in against him, nuzzling closer. No, Brad was neither of them. Besides those two men, and a handful of one-date wonders, there had been no others in her life. Jared didn’t count he was her best friend. Other than Jared she never allowed anyone close to her.
His kiss drew murmurs of delight from deep within her throat. That and a feeling completely unknown to her memory banks. As intense and shocking to her heart as being zapped by the paddles bringing her back to life years ago, yet sensitive as though a delicate feather tingled over the nub of her inner being.
She remembered the pain in his eyes when that reporter accused him of killing his fellow officer. She found it impossible to believe he was capable of that, much less being blamed for the shooting. No not Brad. Christine rested her head against his strong chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She’d wait until he’s ready to share and be there for him when he was ready to talk.
She suddenly felt special. He made her feel important, especially when he gave her an extra squeeze and kissed the top of her head. Almost as if he were trying to tell her how much he appreciated her for being so open-minded.
She’d heard about relationships where neither party needed words, but this was the first time she’d seen in action. It also felt like they had a kinetic link between them.
As much as she hated to separate from him, she had to get back inside and talk to her agent. Pulling her head away from his chest, she looked up to see him staring at the moon partially hidden by clouds and a few stars glittering above them in a dark cobalt sky.
“Brad?”
“Hmm.”
“I have to get back inside. Jackie needs to go over a few things before I can get out of here for the night. I’ll try not to be long.
“Mmm.”
“Will you be okay?”
The smile Brad gave her made her feel blessed for once in her life as he smiled down at her. The fluorescent lighting from the street light overhead shadowed his face.
She ached for another kiss. Her lips were swollen from his previous assault.
His fingers wove into the curls spilling over her shoulders and down her back.
When his hands connected with the warmth of her bare skin she didn’t even try to control herself. She reached out and stroked his cheek, pulling his head down, then wrapped her arms around his neck.
He pulled her close.
With a will of their own her lips found his in a gentle, yet promising kiss.
She needed the warmth of his lips to free the ghosts that clung to her. It was as if he was a lifeline that had been thrown to her to prevent her from drowning in a sea of hopelessness.
When the kiss ended Christine stood breathless, teetering on her feet. “Whew, now that’s what I call a kiss.” She didn’t even realize she’s said it aloud.
“Hurry back.”
“I...I will.” Christine stuttered, her fingers pressed to her blazing lips.
Brad released her from his grip.
She handed him back his jacket only to stumble and almost fall when she turned to head back into the building.
Brad reached out to steady her. “Easy does it. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
The night was ending better than she ever expected it to.
He watched her enter the building, casting a last glance at him over her shoulder, disappearing from sight.
Once she moved away from him, he felt a tremor of his own. He didn’t know if the chill was from the air or that he just missed her. He’d have offered to go in and help her but figuring she’d just be bothered with questions. For her sake he stayed put waiting anxiously for her return.
Reaching for another lifesaver he came up empty. His chest tightened, not nearly as satisfying as it had been only moments ago. For once in his life he was grateful he had the inner strength not to go back to smoking after Marty’s death.
Brad waited patiently for Chris to finish her business. His wait wasn’t in vain. Less than fifteen minutes later she exited the building and entered his open embrace as he was still propped against the building.
“That wasn’t too bad was it?” she asked.
“I don’t know? It felt like an eternity to me. By the way, I want to apologize for pushing you away before. I know you’re not the bad guy here. Unfortunately, you were the closest target. With everything that’s happened this past week, I’ve got a short fuse, especially when it comes to Marty. I still can’t believe anyone could think I’d shoot him. I hope you believe that?”
In answer to his question, she leaned in hugging him close. Words really weren’t necessary. Just knowing she was there for him was enough.
He had barely taken her into his arms when he jumped at the sound of excited voices.
Startled, Brad didn’t even get a chance to turn in the direction of the voices, when he heard the sound of gunfire followed immediately by the squeal of spinning tires and the roar of an engine as a dark sedan drove off into the night. All he saw were the taillights as they rounded the first corner to the left.
Christine dropped from his arms hitting the ground. She didn’t go down easy. Her left leg was twisted at an awkward angle. He didn’t dare move her, but tried to assess her condition.
Panic hammered his heart, moving into action, Brad yelled out, “Call 911. Now!”
A crowd began to gather around them.
Someone picked up his jacket off the ground where it dropped. Brad took it from the hand of the stranger and gently placed it under Christine’s head. Heedless of the blood that seeped from the side of her temple, he wanted only for her eyes to open so he’d know she was all right.
Someone handed him a blanket to cover her to prevent shock from setting into her motionless body.
Brad lowered himself to the ground beside her. He stroked the hair he’d come to adore, moving it out of her face.
When he saw her beginning to shake and shiver he tried to wrap the blanket snug against her body.
Where the hell is that ambulance! His prayers were answered less than two minutes later when he heard the blare of the siren on the ambulance coming closer. Christine opened her eyes at the same time.
“Brad.”
Christine’s voice was so soft and raspy he had to lean down to hear her. Her eyes, mere slits trying to focus on him.
“Quiet Honey, don’t talk. Help is on the way. I’m so sorry to have brought this on you. It’s all my fault.” Brad leaned down and kissed her forehead.
Panic and shock beat his senses reminding him that barely a week ago he held Marty just the same way, only with Marty he was saying good-bye. Stunned, Brad began to wonder if the two instances were in some way connected.
Barely five minutes later, Christine was safe within the confines of the ambulance and blissfully unconscious again. Brad had just climbed into the ambulance wh
en two black-and-whites arrived as well as his commanding officer in an unmarked car. “Maxwell, what happened here?” Captain Roberts asked, swinging his car door open as he came to a full stop in front of the opened ambulance.
Brad stepped down, furious that his boss was preventing their departure. “I was here with a friend when out of nowhere someone started shooting.”
“Did you see the shooter?” the captain asked.
“Excuse me—” the ambulance driver interrupted “—but we need to leave, are you coming?” he spoke directly to Brad.
One look at his captain shaking his head was more than he could stand. Brad turned his back on his commanding office, swung the doors closed and banged the door twice, calling out, “Get her out of here, now!”
Vince was insistent. “I repeat. Did you see the shooter?”
“How many shots were fired?” another officer interjected.
“It all happened so fast. Two, no three shots were fired.” Irritated at the officers playing twenty questions when he wanted to be at Chris’ side, he could barely contain his animosity for his boss.
“Come on Maxwell, what else can you tell us?” Captain Roberts challenged.
Brad snapped. “That does it! I may be a trained officer, but I didn’t count on finding myself in a shootout, while on a date. Give me a break, Vince.”
“You’re not exactly the most popular guy on the force right now and you don’t have the best reputation going with the newspapers. Seems to me you’d be avoiding any kind of publicity after what happened to Marty.”
What was his boss trying to insinuate? “Come off it, you know damn well I didn’t shoot Marty. If you’d get the CSI team to give that warehouse a good once-over, you’d find my bullet. But no, you’d rather prattle on here that prove my innocence.”
“We never found the slug that killed Marty, so how are we going to know that any bullet we find isn’t yours? You know we have to match it to ballistics.”
