by Coulton, JC
When asked to comment, Miss James said, “I am gravely worried about the wellbeing of my friend April Lee. I urge the public to please help her by speaking out against the investigative tactics being carried out by the NYPD.”
We are keeping abreast of this story as it develops, and will keep you updated.
Bam! I know there’s more to say. This is simply a first draft, but at least it got some of the anger out of me. I attach it to an email from my email account, and type in my editor’s email address. I’m about to press send when I decide to give it the overnight test. Blake Anderson doesn’t deserve a stay of execution from the press, so I’ll probably tone it down overnight.
I’m going to submit this article, but I’m sure as hell giving myself a chance to edit it before it comes out with my name on it. I want it to be perfect. I decide to hide the message in one of my archive folders, just in case Blake suspects I’m up to no good with all this free time he’s left me with.
I go back to being bored out of my skull around Blake and Brenda’s apartment, but the wind is now out of my sails. The anger has dissipated. Strangely, in its place is sadness. There was a moment last night when Blake and I were one hundred percent connected. I know he felt it too. It was beautiful, and it made me get my hopes up about what we could become. That was before the phone calls and his booming voice grilling me. It was when we were in bed together. He was stroking my cheek and looking into my eyes.
Normally that sort of thing wouldn’t be a turn-on at all, but the attention he paid me was unexpectedly welcome. It was like his eyes pierced through the bullshit and that wall I put up around myself. He could see everything that happened to me and was washing it all away. He didn’t judge me; it was just the opposite. He accepted me completely. And that’s when it happened.
Without breaking eye contact he placed his massive hand up against my heart. His hand spread over my breast as he connected with me, but I could feel the throbbing of the blood in his veins match up with the pounding of my heart. It was like he was touching me from the inside; it was beautiful.
I was stupid. I thought that meant something to him. That’s when I got hopeful that this chance meeting was fate, and that we were meant to come back into each other’s lives. We made love again after that. It was long and slow, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that tender moment, and it made what followed so much worse. The look in his eyes when he left the apartment this morning left me nauseous and furious.
I’m a fool to have let myself be so vulnerable with him. I loved it then, and I hate this feeling now; like he’s taken advantage of me and I’m dirty. It’s like I was just a body to practice all that intimacy on, and was discarded afterward. I log back into the computer and email the draft to myself. At least I’ll have it if I don’t end up using it.
I’m getting close to rage and I want out. I look desperately at the front door. Logic is telling me I can’t go anywhere—not now with no money, no cell phone, no keys to lock up, and no place to go, even if I could get out of this apartment. And then I think about my hotel room; and about Jessup Lee.
Chapter Seven
Blake
I’m driving again. It feels like I spend half my life in this car. Driving back and forth from Manhattan to Brooklyn, and through killer rush hour, is a pain. Luckily, the car is comfortable. I’ll never be able to afford to live in Manhattan, and I’m at peace with that. I also don’t mind at all, being away from the people I have to work with, and all the lowlife regulars.
That was one of the good things about living in Iowa back then—no crazy attitudes. It’s the good thing about Carrie too. I’ve been thinking about her all day. It’s hard not to, when she’s calling so much, but it’s more than that. She’s at home, and probably angry at being kept out of the loop, but I need some space. It’s painful not knowing if she’s telling the truth.
I tried to shut her out this morning. It killed me to do it. I saw the look on her face when I told her the harm she had done. I believe she’s innocent; and there’s so much stacked up against her too. If only she could be honest with me. Honest to the heart. Not just about the case either. About what happened to her.
It’s only been a couple days, and it’s crystal clear to me that Carrie moves through life like a woman in pain. When she’s sleeping, those arms are wrapped around her like a shield. She shies away from conversation whenever I turn the subject to her, and I could have sworn there were tears in her eyes when we made love. If only she would just trust me.
I don’t want to push. A man has done this to her. I can tell. She’s been broken by someone in the past. From my own bad deeds, I know the worst thing I can do is demand she tell me everything. It’s not my business, and it’s not my place to ask. She made damn sure I knew that in high school, and I expect the same now.
That really hurt me back then. Carrie was my lifeline while all the drama was happening at home. She was the only reason I would have stayed in Cedar Rapids. She was worth it. One moment we’re saying goodbye on the track field, and the next she’s been whipped off to some religious resort with her family and that cult-like church in town.
I was gonna ask her out that summer—make her mine. I was willing to wait, too, but she obviously wasn’t interested. I could see it in her eyes when she got back from their summer vacation. She had moved on. She was as cold as steel when classes started again. Fuck, it hurt me.
I try and distract myself with radio. It doesn’t work. Before I think, I’m gazing up at a billboard of a lingerie model, and my mind is on her again. This woman has nothing on Carrie’s curves. Carrie is a real woman. I knew that when she welcomed my tongue inside her. A groan slips out of me just thinking about it. God, that was hot sex.
The feeling of holding her against me was over the top. Yearning to get inside her, and then feeling her tight, wet pussy shiver and tighten around my cock as she came; there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in her arms. I picture us being completely honest about everything—telling her everything. But will she reciprocate with the sharing?
I’m a fool to think any of this. She’s got no good reason to tell the truth after my blowout during this morning’s interrogation. I owe her an apology—for that, and for ignoring her calls all day. That must have made her a little crazy, and it’s my fault. I need to put things right the second I walk through that front door. Most of all, I need to make a decision about trusting her, and just stick with it. Going back and forward like this is getting us nowhere; and worst of all, it’s torture.
My mind is made up as I pull into my parking spot. I see that Brenda and George aren’t home yet. Her car isn’t there, so she must be still at work. I don’t usually pick up George on Mondays as he has guitar lessons and the teacher lives close to where Brenda works. The trash cans are all lined up neatly on the way to the elevator, and I realize I forgot to put out the trash again this week.
I’ll do that tonight. I just need to sort this thing out with Carrie first. I feel better with my decision to put her at the top of the priority list. As the elevator climbs up to my floor, my mood lifts at the thought of seeing her. I’m a different man around Carrie James. There’s nothing I can do to deny her. She makes me hopeful again.
I open the door to find her perched on a bar stool in the kitchen. She’s looking directly at me. I almost flinch as her eyes seem to assess me. Fuck. It’s worse than I thought. If looks can kill, I’m a dead man right where I stand. I need to start with an apology and go from there. There’s something about an angry Carrie that makes me deeply uncomfortable—me, a six foot seven inch tall police detective. It’s laughable but it’s true.
“Hi, how was your day?” I greet her and brace myself for the onslaught that’s bound to be on its way.
Instead, she says, “Fine,” and goes back to frowning at me.
“Listen, I’m sorry I couldn’t take your calls today. I had—”
She interrupts sharply, “How would you even know whether I was in trouble or not?
Aren’t you supposed to be protecting me, Blake?”
Her questions are accusations. I see I left her alone with her thoughts for way too long.
“You interrogate me, make me feel like shit, then take off like the runner you’ve always been.”
“Hang on now, Carrie,” I say.
I’m mad at myself, because I let this happen, but the situation is escalating well beyond what I expected. I have to give her something to bring things back under control.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I really am. Honestly, it’s been a pretty messed up day, and I needed some time to think. You’re a reporter. I didn’t know whether to trust you or not. Despite every bone in my body wanting to pull you closer and take care of you, I—”
I stop because the look on her face is showing she’s shocked at my admission. Hell, I’m shocked at my admission. We stare at each other in the quiet kitchen.
“There’s no coffee either.” Her tone is grumpy, but less intense. She’s probably on the verge of forgiving me.
“Look, I’ve gotten my ass kicked by the press before. Well actually, I fucked myself over, if I’m really honest. They got hold of a story about me losing my temper with a suspect, and the Department couldn’t quash it. It was a PR nightmare. They had a hard time doing damage control because of who it was. So I ended up with a suspension. It was a mess.”
She looks at me quietly and says, “Press or not, we went to school together. You should know that I have nothing to do with April’s kidnapping. You made me feel like a criminal, Blake.”
Now I’ve caused her pain. It’s all over her face. I hate seeing her like this. I’m a fool. I could have been more diplomatic. I just caught her on the phone and felt like she was taking advantage of me. She is close to tears; I need to do something to make it better.
“Carrie, come here.” I pull her into my arms and she rests just below my shoulder. I want her closer. I want to protect her. I take a chance—I pick her up and sit her on the edge of the kitchen counter for more contact. We stay like that and I can’t get enough of feeling her breath on my neck.
“Let me make it up to you. Let me take you out for a nice coffee. I’ll tell you what I’ve learned about the case today.”
She’s still looking at me with suspicion, so I use my body language to persuade her. The one thing I do know is that although Carrie may not trust me, she wants me, almost as much as I want her.
“Hmmm.”
The moan escapes from her throat and I’m instantly hard. Her legs are already parted to allow me to hug her, so I lean on the counter and pull her body even closer.
“Look I’m going to find April, I promise you that.”
I feel her chest soften against me, and I forget everything I told myself about resisting her. Instead, I cup her chin and go in for a kiss. She welcomes it and I take ownership of her mouth—my tongue is exploring and licking and claiming her for myself. She moans and wraps her legs around my hips. On instinct, I grasp her thighs and spread her legs wider so I can get closer. I have no control over myself when I’m with this woman. None.
I pull away from the kiss and wrap her hands around my neck. She begins to lick my earlobes and it’s game over. I pick her up and carry her upstairs, with her legs tight around my waist. I don’t even make it to my room. I get to the top of the stairs—she’s moaning and grinding on my cock, so I lower her onto my couch.
“You’re so beautiful, Carrie,” I say without thinking.
She stands up and pulls the pants she’s wearing down her legs and completely off, and reaches to take mine off too. The sweater she’s wearing comes off too, and I zoom in on her panties. I unbutton my shirt. I can’t stop looking at her gorgeous body. She’s teasing me. She flops back on the couch and slides her hand into her panties. She’s touching herself—moaning and bucking as she waits for me to take all my clothes off, and never breaks from our eye contact. The woman has my cock hard as a rock and I haven’t even touched her.
I kneel in front of the sofa and surprise myself when I rip off her panties. She lets out a squeal like I took the bait, and pulls me down to lay on top of her. She’s so tiny I think I’d squash her in the sofa. So I pull her to stand up.
“I want to please you Carrie. I want you sit on top of me and ride me until you come.”
I sit and reach my hand out to help her straddle me on the couch. My cock is so hard it already wants to burst, but I hold it together to let her take a ride to remember. She lowers onto my shaft, and as my cock touches her opening, she’s so wet and ready. My hands grab her ass and squeeze them as I pull her down to take me deep inside.
“Oh, God,” she moans out as she sucks my ear.
She is so ready for me I’m taken aback. She’s placed her hands on my shoulder and rocks me into oblivion. Her breasts are beautiful and in my face and I can’t resist them. I raise one arm up from her ass and up her back. I pull her closer so I can taste and tease her nipples. I hear her moans turning into a whimper and I feel her tighten around my cock. She’s already coming. The knowledge of her satisfaction takes me by force and so I come too, letting out a wail that sounds like a caged animal got loosed.
I forget everything about the day. She looks so content I don’t want to move. When we recover, I wait until she pulls off me. She picks up the clothes she’s wearing and takes it into the bathroom where she cleans up. I follow suit when she’s done, and we meet back on the sofa. She sits beside me, so tiny next to me that a desire to protect her washes over me.
Chapter Eight
Blake
“Ready for coffee?” She nods. “Grab your shoes and let’s go.”
She looks so cute in my clothes. They’re huge on her little frame. I have to use all my resistance not to pull her in and kiss her again.
“Hmm—you want to get changed, or are you comfy as you are? We can just go to the coffee shop on the ground floor.”
She nods in agreement to stay close to home. I can completely relate. She’s probably dying for a coffee fix right now, yet enjoying her day in pajamas. I wish I could do that with her. I wish there was not so much work to be done.
I sigh as I usher her out the front door. I feel so weak, already breaking this promise to keep my hands to myself. What can I do—the woman is irresistible. As we head downstairs, I’m telling her things are okay to help reconnect, but I have no idea if April is really going to make it. No idea at all. I still don’t know if I can trust the department on this. In the meantime, I’m going to focus on making things right between Carrie and me.
The coffee shop doesn’t have a ton of options. I settle for two espressos while she gets us seats at the back.
“You remembered it’s my favorite,” she says, smiling gratefully.
I see us doing this more. I want to be with her more. Being around her sucks me in. We settle in and I begin to tell her what I know. I talk about having traced the numbers back to two of Jessup’s businesses. I tell her about my talk with Jacob, and that April’s phone is in the lab for processing.
She asks a few questions, but none of them seem critical. She’s just anxious to find out what more I know about April.
“Carrie, did April have any other close friends or boyfriends in New York City?”
She shakes her head. “No. Well I didn’t think she knew anyone her except for her uncle. But that was before I saw the messages to view apartments for rent. She never told me a thing about moving here, yet she went so far as to schedule appointments. We’re best friends. I thought she would trust me with something major like this. I don’t understand, you know? I mean, who does that without telling someone—who ups and decides to move so far away, and keeps it a secret?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s confusing. The calls that came in were definitely from her uncle. Maybe the two of them are closer than she wanted to admit. It must be a lonely for her, having lost her parents. April is vulnerable right now; probably more than any other time in her life. It makes sense that she’d want to
lean on family, even if she doesn’t like them much.”
Carrie is quiet. She’s processing my words and it looks like I’m making sense to her.
“I have no idea what it must be like to lose your parents.”
Her eyes fill with tears at the thought. It’s a painful topic.
“I didn’t think you were that close to your parents?”
“Yes and no,” she says. “We have a few differing opinions on religion is all. When I stopped going to church, I was sort of labeled the black sheep.”
“Why did you stop going?”
The emotion in her face shuts right down and she goes pale.
“I just stopped seeing the relevance.”
I’ve hit on something. It’s big. I just know it. I sense immediately this is where her pain lies. So I don’t push it. Instead, I start to give her something different to think about. I tell her some truths of my own.
“I had my heart broken too, Carrie. I dated this girl not long after we moved to New York. I thought she was a good friend. We used to talk and laugh and have so much fucking fun together. She drank too. She was the only woman I knew who could keep up with me.”
Carrie looks at me carefully. “Did you love her?”
“I thought I did, I wanted to be with her, I wanted to be around her but she was out of control.”
I shake my head at the thought of Erica, and the antics we used to get up to.
“She was so damn cool, Carrie—cool and ruthless when it came to protecting what was hers. I once saw her take a guy down for trying to buy her a drink, just because he went about it the wrong way. She was angry, you know? I’ve never met anyone so angry.”
