Indecent Exposure_The Academy

by Tessa Bailey

  “Can I help you?”

  I nod and produce my ERU badge, looking past the officer down the busy corridor. “Yes. I’m Garda McCoy, here to meet with Commanding Officer Kirkpatrick.”

  The man ceases his interested perusal of my badge, giving me a skeptical head tilt. “Is he expecting you?”

  “No, but we met last week. His exact words were, ‘don’t hesitate to get in touch if you need anything while in New York, McCoy.’ And I’ll wager he’s not the type to make empty gestures. Don’t you think?” I give him my best smile, a smidgen amazed when his cheeks go pink. “So I need a personal helicopter tour around Manhattan. With Jay-Z as my guide. Think he can arrange it?”

  He backs up a pace. “Uh, yeah. Listen—”

  “Ah sure look, I’m only messing with you, love. Your face is classic.” I give the hallway behind him a loose-wristed wave. “Five minutes of his time would be grand. That’s it.”

  Officer Blushkins has no idea what to make of me. I wish Jack were here. He would be busting his sides laughing. Or better yet, Jack would play along without missing a beat. A tiny ripple fans out in my stomach at how easily I paint Jack into the scene now. In a short space of time, he’s become the person I want standing beside me in all situations.

  “Let me go check if he’s available,” says Blushkins, adjusting his belt and ambling off down the chaotic hallway, moving through a sea of blue uniforms. Two minutes later, he returns, giving me a chin jerk I’ve come to associate with New Yorkers since arriving in town. It means, getcha ass over here. Well, he doesn’t have to tell me twice. Apparently this newfound confidence is working for me, because I’ve just gotten an audience with the CO.

  He’s on the phone when I enter his office, earning me another chin jerk. The leather seat creaks in welcome as I sit down, my eyes scanning the wall full of accolades as Kirkpatrick wraps up his call. Dust motes swirl in the air, slices of sunlight pouring in through wooden blinds. Then the phone smacks into its cradle and I’m being scrutinized by one of the sharpest minds in the NYPD. Not intimidating whatsoever.

  “What can I do for you, McCoy?”

  “Thank you for meeting with me, sir.” Something tells me my helicopter joke wouldn’t get a laugh, so I cut straight to the point. “Part of my assignment was to recommend a recruit for ESU.”

  The computer sitting on his desk gets a chin jerk. “Burns emailed me with your pick.”

  “Yes, the lieutenant is very efficient.” The animosity in my tone seems to amuse him, twin sparks twinkling in his eyes. “I’m here because there’s another recruit with a high proficiency for firearms, sir. I’d like him brought to your attention.”

  “Why didn’t you recommend him?”

  Heat prickles my face. Discussing Jack when he’s not around makes me feel disloyal, but I remind myself doing nothing, never saying his name, would be worse. “He didn’t have the best home life growing up. As a result, he has some issues. Issues he’s sorting through. Actively.” He starts to speak, but I interrupt. “All due respect, sir, if you tell me your job is to conform men into team players . . . or groom them for something larger than themselves, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

  His right eyebrow lifts in increments, as if operated by a crank. “That is my job.” I open my mouth to issue the rejoinder on my tongue, but he holds up a hand. “But it’s only half my job. Teamwork is certainly a value we ingrain in our men at ESU, but most of them were loners before I got a hold of them.”

  Something that feels like hope climbs my arms like ivy. “Maybe the best men and women learn to be strong alone, before they merge that strength with others.”

  “That’s catchy.”

  My chin lifts. “It’s the truth.”

  Kirkpatrick leans forwards, resting his large frame on his forearms. “I like you, McCoy. You seemed like a timid mouse when we shook hands last week.”

  “I was focusing on not breaking my neck in those high heels.”

  A laugh rumbles out of him, whipping the dust motes into a frenzy. Several beats pass as the CO settles back into his chair. “Is Jack Garrett really as good as you say?”

  My forehead wrinkles. “I never . . . I don’t think I told you his name.”

  “Lieutenant Burns included Garrett’s name in the email.”

  I whistle low and slow under my breath. “Well, that was unexpected. I might have to amend my judgment of the lieutenant.”

  Kirkpatrick shrugs. “He’s a prickly bastard. Don’t take away your resentment—it’s what fuels him.”

  “Why?”

  The humor dances out of the older man’s eyes. “It was a bad scene when he lost his partner. Well before he made lieutenant.” He taps a finger on the desk. “I’ve seen it before. Officers react one of two ways. They get numb and slowly burn out. Or they work triple time and grow obsessed with procedure. Guess which option Burns took?”

  “The latter.” Guilt slithers through my ribs. “I see.”

  “What do you propose I do about Garrett?”

  “Meet him,” I say without thinking. “Watch him shoot. The rest will take care of itself.”

  I’ve given myself away. My affection for Jack weighs down every word out of my mouth. But I don’t flinch under the knowledge in Kirkpatrick’s eyes. There’s a point in a woman’s life when she has to trust that her accomplishments, the way she’s lived, can speak for itself and earn enough respect to redirect any and all bullshit. And I do believe I’ve just reached that point. My relationship with Jack is not why I’m here and I dare him to accuse me otherwise. “I’m here because I refuse to let someone with that much talent get lost in the shuffle.”

  Kirkpatrick studies me a moment. “I’ll meet with Garrett. If I think he can be an asset to this unit, I’ll offer my support while he figures his shit out.”

  “Thank you.” I’m not so brave that I can’t admit I’m about to begin sobbing, so I stand abruptly and put out my hand. “I appreciate your time, sir. The boys back in Dublin will be delighted to know you’re as fair and tough as your reputation.”

  “That’s it, huh?” The CO takes my hand in a firm shake. “Back to Ireland.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “If you ever decide New York is more your scene, I’ll have you on my squad as an instructor.” His mouth tilts at one end. “I told you, McCoy. I like you. And I hate pretty much everyone.”

  Sobbing shall commence in three . . . two . . . one . . .

  “Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me.”

  As I jog down the corridor with burning eyes, hearty laughter trails after me.

  Chapter 23

  Jack

  Shit is starting to get real.

  Two more nights with Katie. Then it’s wheels up.

  I’m surrounded by my best friends, new and old, going to town on some guacamole. There was a tense moment when the waitress accidentally set down a margarita in front of me, meant for the next table, but I survived. Even laughed. I’ve got an arm around this amazing girl, holding her up against my side so tight, they couldn’t pry her away with the Jaws of Life. When she opened her hotel room door, though, looking so sexy in a loose red dress, I almost dragged her down onto the floor then and there. It hit me square in the face—definitely not for the first time—that we’re temporary. Impossible when I swear she has always been here.

  All my life, I’ve turned every problem into no big deal. Batted them away like flies, while they got worse under my surface. Pretending is my goddamn stock-in-trade, but I can’t fake normalcy right now. The conversations are moving around me like marbles swirling downwards in a funnel. I can’t seem to hold on to any of them, or catch their meaning.

  Ask her to stay.

  Right. Ask this beautiful gold medalist with the shining law enforcement career to gamble it all on someone who only attended their second AA meeting this afternoon? I’m trying my best to be proud of myself for walking into that basement alone today. Fo
r sitting in that hard seat and listening to harder truths. I’ve only begun to recover, but I haven’t had a flashback to that night in days. I’m lighter for having gotten that memory off my chest, setting it free and unshackling myself in the process. I’ve started on this path that could lead to a better future for me if I don’t fuck it up. But I’m nowhere near being in a position yet to keep Katie here in New York.

  God, I can’t stand the thought of her leaving. Missing her would be an understatement. Thinking of her missing me is almost worse. She didn’t have an easy time staying away from me, either, when we spent those four days apart. That first kiss in the alley after being separated is still seared into my memory like a brand. Going indefinitely without her mouth and arms around me, her encouragement and sense of humor, just her . . . I’m beginning to panic imagining what it’ll be like. And while I’m trying to remain true to my word, that Katie isn’t responsible for my recovery, I’m not too proud to admit I’m on shaky ground. When she goes back to Ireland, I’m worried those tremors could develop into a full-blown earthquake.

  “I’m celebrating tonight,” Ever says, holding up a Coke, which I know she ordered on my behalf. They’re all drinking soda, actually. At some point I hope they won’t have to do that, but not going to lie, knowing my friends care that much kind of blows me away. “Guess who just scored the catering contract for your graduation ceremony next month?”

  Ever and her roommate own Hot Damn Caterers, a small start-up that operated out of an old Brooklyn donut factory and their two-bedroom apartment.

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t the competition,” Danika responds, clinking glasses with Ever. “That’s big-time. Congrats.”

  “Thanks.” Ever jabs Charlie in the side with her elbow, but the poor sap just smiles like a heart eyes emoji. “Some people might not take kindly to their boyfriend’s bureau chief father earning them preferential treatment. Turns out, I am not one of those people.”

  “Hey. The only time my father has ever asked for seconds in his life is when you made him dinner. He knows a good thing when he eats it.” Wait for it. “So do I, as it happens.”

  Ever slaps a hand over her face and Danika groans. “How am I supposed to eat tacos after that?”

  Katie snorts into her cloth napkin at that, which makes the whole table erupt in laughter. She’s been somewhat quiet since we sat down, but I’ve learned how she operates by now. She might start out shy, but a little encouragement and she’ll do that adorable rambling thing, charming everyone within a hundred yards. I’m split between wanting everyone to witness that side of her and needing to keep it all to myself awhile longer. In the end, being proud of her wins. “Speaking of your pops, Charlie, does he ever tell stories about the mob?”

  As predicted, Katie straightens in my hold.

  “Oh my God, yeah,” says Charlie. “I remember when I was a kid, before my mother split, she talked him into a dinner party at our house. About halfway through, one of her friends begged my father for a story about his police work. Let’s just say she regretted it, we never had another dinner party and my dad slept on the couch that night.”

  “You don’t happen to remember the details?” Katie asks, trying to be subtle, but her grip keeps tightening on my knee. Not that I’m complaining. She can grip me anywhere.

  Charlie squints, probably flipping through the million and a half details catalogued in his police brain. “Something about a barbershop—”

  “Oh.” Katie’s spine snaps straight. “I know this one. Early nineties. It was an assassination of the family boss, perpetrated by the new one who stepped into power. Was your father involved?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Dinner and a chat are probably impossible after spending all day working that type of case. Did your scandalized woman at least get dessert and tea out of it? Is it terrible to wish I was there?”

  “Not sure if there was dessert,” Charlie answers, clearly enjoying Katie. “But I remember everyone needing refills of their drinks halfway through the story.”

  “Yeah. A refill and a tranquilizer,” Danika says, her smile hesitant and she looks at Katie. “Charlie’s father will be at our graduation. It’s only a few weeks away—maybe you could extend your trip a little and hear some stories in person?”

  My heart starts to hammer and Katie must feel it, plastered up against me as she is. At first, I’m grateful to my best friend for making the suggestion. For looking so hopeful, along with Charlie and Ever. But as soon as two seconds of silence pass, as soon as tension creeps into Katie’s frame, I wish the subject hadn’t been brought up at all. Because her physical reaction is as good as an answer.

  “I-I . . . well, I’m due back at work on Monday,” Katie says quietly. “My bills are crammed inside my mailbox by now and my da, he’s . . . he’s looking for an answer from me about the next Olympics. Whether or not we’re going to train again.”

  “What?” I barely register the fact that I’ve spoken too loud, because all my focus is centered on Katie. “I thought you were done. Thought you didn’t want to do it again.”

  She takes a fast sip of her drink, her cheeks going pink. “Yes, but he’s not having an easy time.” Subtext: because of her brother. No one at the table knows about his passing except me, though. Or how much weight she’s carrying on her shoulders over his death. Over her father’s reaction to it. “The training would give him something to focus on and . . .”

  “Something to focus on? You mean you, Katie.” The idea of her being unhappy and alone again makes my stomach go sour. “Four years of your life.”

  “Yes,” she says with some heat. “My life. Maybe I’ve changed my mind. I’m allowed.”

  The waiter chooses that moment to arrive with our food. But I might as well be watching the scene play out from a different planet. Ten minutes ago, I was considering the idea of asking Katie to stay in New York. For me. All this time, though, she’s been considering another run at the Olympics without even confiding in me about it. Was I an idiot to think her future could include me? Or that I could somehow make life with a recovering drunk seem appealing? Back in Ireland, she has another shot at Olympic glory, if she wants it. Here? A boyfriend with two roommates who hasn’t even made it through graduation at the academy yet.

  No one speaks as the waiter takes off, the sudden distance between me and Katie clear. Finally, Ever shifts beneath the arm Charlie has draped across her shoulder. “Ooh, Katie. I love your purse.” She points at the emerald green clutch wedged between Katie and Danika on the leather booth. “Where did you get it?”

  “She made it,” I rasp, before clearing the rust from my throat. No way am I letting tonight be ruined over something I should have already realized. Katie is better off without me, as I am right now. This man who hasn’t even begun to steer his life in a good direction. But this unexpected time with her is a gift and I’m going to live in it as long as possible. “By hand, she makes them. They’re incredible.”

  Katie grants me a flash of worried blue eyes. “Thanks.”

  I draw Katie closer, determined to eat the full meal with my left hand, even though my appetite is gone. “How can I buy one?” Ever wants to know, making funny grabby motions. “Are there more colors?”

  “Black or gray?” Danika asks hopefully. “I don’t do cheerful.”

  The women launch into a discussion about handbags, giving Charlie the opportunity to give me a snap-out-of-it look across the table. He’s right, and I’m fucking trying, but I still shoot him the finger because that’s how we roll. There’s no more talk of Katie’s imminent departure throughout the rest of dinner, but it’s no use.

  My blood refuses to relax. I’m restless. The more I think about Katie leaving, the harder it becomes to remember what I was going to offer her in the first place. To make her stay. My honesty, my protection, shit, my heart. I would have spent every day growing into who I want and need to be. The man she deserves. Now Sunday is firing at me like a bullet and my fingertips are clinging to the edge of
a cliff. I’m desperate to commit to memory the way only Katie makes me feel, lucid and present. Grounded. Healthy.

  Every time Katie’s hand slides over my knee, the desperation flares brighter. Every time she crosses her legs and the red hem of her dress skims over smooth thighs, I curl my fingers into fists. Those tiny buttons keeping her tits hidden seem to strain, begging my fingers to rip them open. Need her. Need, need, need.

  There’s a ticktock in my mind that drowns out the conversation. Only two more nights to spend with Katie. Two more nights to commit myself to her memory. Katie crying out my name echoes in my head. I was her first and I’m desperate, determined to mark her as mine so thoroughly, she thinks about me for the rest of her life. God knows I’ll spend mine missing her.

  By the time the dishes are cleared, my cock is tunneled down inside the leg of my pants, my abdomen permanently flexed, my throat dry. We are part of the late crowd, so the lights have been dimmed, candlelight and loud music turning the busy establishment into more of a boisterous lounge. Drinks are clanking all over the place, ringing in my ears, but I’m only thirsty for the girl beside me.

  Charlie and Ever excuse themselves and head to the dance floor, located in a separate room beyond the service bar, salsa music now in full swing. Danika gets a phone call—either fake or real—and heads off to take it, leaving us alone at the table. My fingers brush down Katie’s bare arm and she shivers. I think the tension between us from earlier has melted away during the ease of the meal, but when she glances up at me through her lashes, doubt creeps in.

  “Just heading to the ladies’,” she murmurs in my ear. “I’ll be right back.”

  Unease coiling in my gut, I watch Katie weave though the tables towards the back of the restaurant. Only about two minutes pass before I follow.

  Chapter 24

  Katie

  Every inch of my body is covered in gooseflesh.

  I’m one of three women in the restroom, but I don’t let an audience stop me from patting cold water on my cheeks and attempting to restore my equilibrium. I don’t even think Jack realizes how much sexual energy he gives off, but my hormones sure do. They’ve been riding roller coasters for the last hour, screaming their stupid little heads off, while Jack brushed his fingertips along every exposed portion of my skin. Sending me shameful promises with his green eyes. Groaning each time I crossed my legs.