by Cabe Sparrow
Free to Love
By Cabe Sparrow
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in adult situations are over 18 years of age.
Copyright 2018 © Cabe Sparrow
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Chapter 1
The headquarters of the Portland Police Bureau were dark and silent. The only light came from Natalie Watson’s office as she leaned against her desk, her mind wandering as she fixed her gaze on the caution tape covering the broken window.
She'd pulled off a convincing performance tonight, but at what cost?
When Turner suggested the plan to catch the killer hiding in plain sight, she was hesitant at best. Her rage at being manipulated by her psychiatrist made her ready to do anything to make that bastard pay.
It disturbed her that she'd been used by someone hired by her own department. Fresh with anger, she agreed to the plan.
Now as she recalled everything that happened since then, including the things she'd admitted while presumably "breaking down", she couldn't help but wonder if maybe she was too convincing, because she was nearing that state herself.
Watson closed her eyes for a second, hoping for some relief, but all she saw behind closed lids were images from the past. Suppressed memories were fighting their way out of her subconscious ever since she realized that she could have killed and not even known it.
The actual act of killing the demented psychopath didn't bother her one bit. If anything, it gave her a bit of satisfaction. What terrified her was that she couldn't remember it, just like her father couldn't remember every single time he'd landed one of his sons in the hospital.
She'd been lucky to be a girl. For reasons she never knew, or maybe the fact that she reminded him of his dead wife, Watson's father never did any physical harm to her. Her brothers weren't as fortunate.
As each of her brothers' faces flashed before her eyes in various states of cuts and bruises, the memory proved to be too much. She opened her eyes, only to be met with the half-amused, half-concerned stare of Eric Turner.
"Thinking about something?" He asked with eyes trained on her from across the room. She blinked, startled by his appearance, but strangely not alarmed. His head of red curls couldted slightly and his blue eyes glinted with interest.
She didn't know what it meant, but despite how annoying, overbearing, and intruding he could be, Turner never made her uncomfortable. If anything, he made her feel safe, which set off warning bells in her head, because feeling safe had been a foreign feeling to her since she was 12 years old...since her mom died.
Even still, he had saved her life not three months ago...
"Natalie?"
She blinked again, raising an eyebrow this time, "Did you just call me Natalie?"
"You weren't responding to Watson," Turner explained, smiling softly as he stepped into the room and leaned against the desk besides her. She had seen so much of him lately, let him hypnotize her, let him into her apartment, into her personal sanctuary.
Yet when his shoulder brushed against hers, a shiver ran down her spine, followed by goosebumps,
Watson looked away, making sure the advisor didn't see the blush that spread over her cheeks otherwise she'd never hear the end of it. "What were you thinking about?"
She heard him this time, loud and clear. The cadence of his tone intimate and shiver inducing. When she looked at him again, his blue eyes the brightest spot in the dark office, the intensity of his gaze made her step back a little.
She wasn't sure how they could go from being playful and sarcastic around each other, to being silent and serious, but yet here they were. He waited for a response with a patient smile on his handsome face and Watson felt a stirring that she had not felt in years.
"Nothing," Watson said too quickly and Turner smiled to himself, observing her, and she felt scrutinized but oddly normal. She was used to his looks; it was the concern in his eyes, his closeness, and him calling her by her first name that she wasn't used to.
"Liar.”
"What are you going to do? Arrest me?" Watson smirked, walking to her chair to grab her jacket.
"I don't have handcuffs."
Watson let out a chuckle, "Did you leave them at home?"
Turner turned around, crossing his thick arms over his dark blue vest, "You've got a dirty mind, Natalie."
The detective rolled her eyes while putting on her jacket, "I have a dirty mind? I wasn't even thinking about what you're thinking I thought."
"How would you know what I thought you were thinking?"
Watson opened her mouth to respond, but then shut it, figuring it would be a lot easier to admit defeat than try to beat him, "Nevermind. Come on..." she motioned toward the door of her office as she shut off the table lamp.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere to celebrate. Somewhere that isn’t the office."
She wasn't sure why she was being so brave, but she was and she didn't question it.
"What makes you think I don't have any plans?" Turner deadpanned, but Natalie didn't even flinch.
"Well, let's see, it's ten on a Friday night and you were lurking around the office. It's safe to say whatever plans you had, mine are better."
"My, my, aren't you insightful?" He murmured, but his voice had a facetious tone to it and he was already following her to the door.
"Yeah, maybe I could be your apprentice?" She quipped as they stepped out of her office. He playfully nudged her on the way to the elevator and they were back to banter again.
The night was warm and quiet as they sat on her porch, working through a bottle of rye. Every time Turner took a sip, his lip curved a bit down and Natalie couldn't help but smile.
"You don't usually drink, huh?" she asked, breaking the silence.
"Am I that obvious?" He grimaced more openly, handing the bottle back to her.
"Kind of, but then again, it's whiskey." Watson pointed out, taking a lengthy pull herself, "It's supposed to taste like shit." she added and Turner sent her a bemused look.
"Tsk, tsk, Watson, trucker mouth." He teased good-naturedly as the brunette detective smirked, "You already said I had a dirty mind, I'm just fulfilling expectations."
"The two go together?" Turner queried and Natalie just shoved him lightly, "You know what I mean."
They elapsed into another round of silence, but this time the blonde advisor broke it, "So which one of your brothers played soccer?"
"Daniel, the oldest one." Natalie replied without thinking, but then backtracked, "Why'd you ask?"
"The jersey you were wearing, number 99 huh?" He recalled and saw the faint blush appear on his colleague's cheeks.
She looked away for a moment, but he smiled anyway.
He'd never tell her, but when he arrived at her house, she had opened the door in nothing but that jersey. Seeing her outside of work in nothing but that flimsy top that had barely grazed her smooth, tanned thighs had caused an unexpected physical stirring him that had been absent for years.
Just as that thought crossed his mind, his wedding band caught the porch light, glimmering, and he paused mid-sip, watching the ring almost taunt
him with its prominence on his finger. He frowned as guilt washed over him. This was why he didn't interact with people outside of work, especially those he couldn't get out of his mind later on.
This is why he should not have overstepped professional boundaries and allowed himself to have drinks with the kind-hearted and beautiful woman beside him. Natalie Watson was dangerous. With just one peak into her life outside of the PPB he was already intrigued, not only intrigued but also concerned for her and he couldn't let these emotions blind him to his ultimate goal.
His main reason for even taking the advisor job was to catch the Red River Killer, avenge his family's murder and he couldn't veer off course. Natalie was about to reply, when Turner abruptly stood. Something had changed in the last minutes of silence, but she wasn't sure what it was.
She didn't possess psychic abilities, but she could read him perfectly at the moment, and her heart constricted unexpectedly when she realized he was trying to keep whatever was bothering him at bay.
"I have to go," He said without an explanation and she didn't push.
"Okay," Watson stood up as well, brushing off her jeans.
''Thank you for the drink," Turner motioned as he started to walk away.
"No problem." she nodded, watching him as he stood ambivalently on the last step of the porch.
He looked lost, but devastatingly handsome. His ginger curls and slightly too-formal attire made him look almost ethereal against the undisturbed dark of the night. On an impulse, she skipped a few steps and grabbed his hand.
"Thank you for helping clear my name today, if you ever need to talk, I'm here." She said, and before either of them realized what was happening, Natalie leaned in and pressed a soft, chadte kiss to his stubbled cheek.
The action spread unexpected warmth through his entire body and he tried his best not to flinch, knowing it would be misinterpreted by his guarded but sensitive colleague. "You’re welcome, I have to go now." He said softly, his lips a hairs breadth away from her face.
Their eyes met in the dark and Natalie nodded with a small smile, but Turner could see she was disappointed. He squeezed her hand before breaking apart, because anything more would have had him pulling her inside the house and never leaving. He couldn't do that...not yet anyway.
"Have a good night, Natalie." He murmured, before walking towards his car.
She leaned against the porch, taking a lengthy sip from the whiskey bottle as she watched him walk away, knowing that he'd be the death of her someday.
It was only when Eric was inside his car that he let the day's events sink in. As he braced his hands on the wheel, his wedding ring caught his eye again. He remembered his ultimate purpose. Looking up at Watson looking forlornly at his car from her porch. A familiar ache spread through his body, and he knew right then, that if he wasn't more careful around the agent, something would happen and he wasn't sure if he would survive the guilt.
Chapter 2
After four days of fleeting looks, momentary smiles, and less loitering on the couch than usual, Watson decided that Turner was actively avoiding her. It was quite ironic to her. She spent the last year trying to get him out of her office and away from her, and now that he was actually doing so, she was annoyed by his absence.
There was a feeling of uncertainty that clinged to her every time she got lost in her thoughts and let her mind drift to the night on her porch. She wanted to pretend she didn’t know why he left so unexpectedly, but when she reflected on the day's events, Watson realized Turner didn't just walk away for no reason.
No, there was a method to his madness and it involved the wedding band that circleed his left ring finger.
It made her angry and slightly humiliated, because while she found herself opening up to him more and more, it felt like he was effectively shutting down all their communication. It made her feel like a fool.
She knew he couldn’t let go of what happened, and didn’t expect him to, but she didn’t deny that things had changed between them in the last few months. Words were spoken, looks were exchanged, and most importantly, trust had been earned.
In a very rare and immature manner, Natalie Watson couldn't help but secretly want to stomp her feet and scream at him like a child, telling him to forget the past and focus on the present. Focus on her.
It was heartless to even entertain the thought, but it didn’t stop it from manifesting, which brings with it its own complications of guilt and anxiety, deepening her frown and further agitating her. Suffice it to say, in the last week no one had dared to cross her.
Watson prides herself on being every bit the professional and amicable leader, but not like this.
When the object of her greatest frustrations was so close by yet so far out of reach, no amount of learned composure could conceal the creases in her forehead or the permanent frown etched on her lips.
Her mood only worsened when, on the fifth morning, she checked her email to find a memo from the department head, Victor Rodrigues, stating that a new therapist was assigned to PPB and she was to report to Dr. Barnett at 10 o'clock sharp for an appointment. The notice was brief, to the point, and there was no room for negotiation.
That didn’t mean she had to like it and, when she stepped out of her office and headed toward the coffee pot, not even the red head of hair peeking from the arm of the couch could brighten her mood. This was going to be an hour she wasn’t looking forward to.
"Agent Watson, very nice to meet you," Dr. Barnett greeted her with a firm handshake and a pleasant smile as she motioned toward the brown leather couch. Watson perched herself on the edge of the sofa, no longer feeling comfortable in this room and far more aware of her surroundings.
"So, I understand this is a delicate situation, and I'll try to make the transition as smooth as possible. I'm here to evaluate you and we could call it a day, alright?"
"As long as you don't offer me any sort of beverage, we should be fine." Watson replied and the short, blond woman smiled knowingly.
She flipped open the small notepad on her lap, crossed her legs and focused her dark eyes on Natalie. Psychiatric evaluations were never supposed to be relaxed or routine. They required some edge, some doubt hanging over them, as you asked yourself if perhaps the job had driven you somewhat closer to crazy than you think.
Perhaps it should have tipped her off that her last therapist made her feel too welcome in his office.
"So, Agent Watson, I don't suppose you have anything to share?" Dr. Barnett broke through Watson's reverie and she had to smile. This woman had the perfect combination of hardness and aloofness in her voice and she didn’t appear to take a lot of crap. Watson shrugged.
"Tell me about your team."
"What about them? They're a great group of hard workers."
"What about Eric Turner? How had your relationship changed since he shot a suspect in your office?"
"It hadn't." She was quick to reply and she supposed that it alerted the therapist even more.
It went downhill from there. For the next half hour, Watson dodged questions about her attitude towards Turner's work ethic and seeming disregard of PPB's rules and protocol. She had to defend her position several times; giving examples of why Turner works as well as he does with her team specifically.
Watson isn't stupid; she knows why Dr. Barnett chose this seemingly irrelevant topic of conversation as a start off point. She tried in a roundabout way to get Watson to open up, but it hadn't worked at all. It was a valiant effort but it just pissed her off, enough that she stormed from the shrink's office after the blond woman dared to ask a question that ran too deep and too personal.
"Does it strike you as strange that Mr. Turner, having never handled a gun, didn't hesitate shooting a man with a firearm to save your life?"
It wasn't fucking strange, Watson wanted to argue, it wasn't supposed to be anything, but simply denying that that day didn't matter and didn't alter things between them wouldn't make it any less true. However, some over qualified an
d over paid psyNganalyst in a fancy suit didn't need to know that. Watson almost feels justified in her hadty exit.
Manny Barnes was halfway through a box of case files when he looked up and let out an inadvertent "uh oh", garnering the attention of his four coworkers. "Here comes Watson and she doesn’t look happy," the analyst murmured under his breath.
The closest to him was Leslie Cranston and the two watched Watson as she stormed through the hall and into her office, slamming the door. The two civilian staff members looked at each other.
"Where was she?" Leslie wondered aloud.
Ng was about to respond, but the readhead dozing leisurely on the couch beat him to it.
"New shrink assigned to the department, today was her first session." Turner explained with a noticeable frown.
He was caught in a difficult situation. She knew he was avoiding her.
Thus, by intruding on her personal space after five days of limited interaction he ran the risk of pissing her off even more than any shrink could. Yet, as she raced passed him, he caught a whiff of something other than the floral scent of her perfume and apparent frustration. Whatever happened during her session, it left Watson feeling vulnerable and exposed at work and that wasn't a good sign.
Anything that challenged the professional image she tried so hard to build over the years launched all her defenses. Considering the attack on her credibility just the week prior, Turner knew that any personal issues they may have could wait. He made the decision to move the rock and break out of the hard place and was in her office before Watson could take her jacket off.
"What do you want, Turner?" She hissed as soon as he walked in, "I'm not in the mood."
"You and Meredith got off on the wrong foot?"
Watson ran a tired hand over her forehead. Of course, he was already on a first name basis with that harpy.
"You could say that." She mumbled, opening her desk drawer and rummaging for a bottle of aspirin.
