by Coulton, JC
“You want me to get you some water?” I ask, feeling slightly amused at her efforts to distance herself from me after we’ve been so close.
“Um. No, no thanks.”
She quiet and I can tell she’s about to ask me to leave. But I can’t, though. Jacob would kill me. So I take the pressure off.
“Carrie, you need your space.”
She turns sharply, “How did you..?”
“I know you, Carrie James. I’ve always known you. But I’m not leaving you again tonight. I’ll sleep over there.”
I motion towards the couch and she looks so relieved to not have to ask me to go. She reaches out her palm to mine, interlacing our fingers for a second.
“Thank you.”
I just nod. I’m not offended. I know how scared she was tonight. I grab one of the pillows and put my clothes back on before getting on the couch. I’m ready to watch her fall asleep.
She smiles a little and then turns towards the wall. “Night, Blake.”
“Night, Carrie.”
I switch off the lamp on the table beside me and dark, cool silence settles over the room. I can hear her breathing become steady, but my mind is stuck on one the conversation Ryan and I had downstairs. What can I do? What can I say to get her to stop what’s she’s got planned. Even more importantly, will Ryan agree to delay telling Jacob what he learned?
The situation is complex. There are blurred lines, competing loyalties and confusion. I have no clear answers. It’s too much for my sex-drunk brain. I don’t know if there will ever be a solution. I do know that right now, all I need to do is sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
Carrie
It’s been different between us since that stalker followed me to the hotel. He’s been different. Something inside of me changed after fearing for my life. I don’t regret the change. Something opened up. I’m not sure what it is, because my doubts about him haven’t disappeared. I just feel different, like the war between us has stopped.
Men are so confusing. It’s hard to know what they’re thinking. Sometimes I catch him looking at me, just looking. I want to ask him what he’s staring at, but I say nothing. There’s no need to push the issue. I guess it will come up one day. ‘What are you thinking’ is the question that every woman wants to ask her man.
In the meantime, I’m still counting the days that April has been missing, and my hope wanes with each sunset. I watch it from the balcony now. I have a little view from my room that overlooks the west of the city. When I see each sunset, I wonder whether she’s looking up at the same sky. I’m naïve for thinking this way. Blake is trying to prepare me for the inevitable—that’s she’s likely gone. He is solemn when I bring her up, and tells me that he has less hope than I do. I think he expected to have her back by now—but she’s not here.
Instead, I’m with him in this hotel room. My life in Iowa is on hold. I have no idea what to expect from work when I finally get back there. I haven’t been in touch with them. That doesn’t mean I’ve given up on finding the truth—just that I don’t think I can write a story that will hurt him. I don’t know for sure what the police are up to. It would be damning if I submitted a piece now. It would break his heart, and I don’t know if the article will help anyone but myself, if even.
It’s been ten days since April got sucked into the back of that vehicle, and I’ve learned nothing new; nothing helpful. Jessup hasn’t contacted me again, and I’ve not put myself in danger either. I mostly stay in the room or in the lounge downstairs. The hotel staff are extra vigilant with me, and Blake comes back most nights to stay on the couch.
He protects me and I can tell that he cares for me. If only April were back, I could be happy. If only. Until then, I sit and think and wonder. I thought not working would drive me crazy with boredom, but I like the peace and quiet. I like that I can just read and go online. I’ve downloaded some good books lately. I love reading those juicy, old fashioned romances.
There’s a small part of me that thinks I could spend my entire life here—shutting myself away in a world where everything is going to work out for me. How great it would be, to live in a world where you don’t suspect the man in your life is hiding something big from you. That’s what it’s come down to with Blake. As sexy and persuasive and strong and wonderful as he is, there’s some fundamental dishonesty.
It’s a big, black hole in the corner of the bright, airy room we visit when we connect in our minds and bodies. At first, I thought it was about the case. It isn’t. It’s something bigger. He disappears to work and to meetings on a regular basis, and I wonder if he’s got a girlfriend shacked up somewhere. There are holes in his story. To start with, he insists he’s never had a serious relationship, but the photo album at his apartment tells a different tale.
We’re in this together, though. There’s no way I’m going to a safe house, or letting anyone else near me. I don’t want to end up with a cop who doesn’t care as much as Blake does, even with that big, fat secret he’s hiding. There’s also something about knowing April that drives him to work harder. And there’s me. He wants to solve this case to help me and keep me safe. He cares about me. It’s in his eyes and his actions. I just don’t know how to let him in, or to trust that he’s only got my best interest at heart.
I haven’t tried calling Jessup again. There would be no point. I have kept up with the local news and on what his crew is suspected of doing. He’s always referred to as an associate or a suspected crime boss. He must have a sharp legal team—they make sure the precious Lee name isn’t tarnished in the media.
His other appearances are in the gossip magazines and society pages when he shows up with his wife. They still attend functions and donate to a range of charities. Every time I see them photographed together I feel queasy. She looks constantly stoned, like she’s had too much Botox or gin. Who knows what goes on behind those eyes.
Other than mainstream news outlets, I haven’t been able to find out much. Blake tells me whenever he gleans new information. I can’t tell if I’m still in danger this long after she was taken, but he insists that I am. The only time I leave the hotel is with him. We walk in central park. Sometimes we hold hands; sometimes we go for dinner.
I always check behind me, though. Maybe I’m still traumatized, but I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched. If April were here, she’d tell me I’m imagining things. I’m not taking any risks anymore. I can’t bear the thought of being chased again. In a way, the stalking scared me more than when April was taken. I was alone and unprepared, and it was the unknown that wraps its claws around your mind and gets you in the end. I never want to be in that situation again.
I start to wonder what Blake has planned for dinner tonight. I know his favorite foods already, and his routines. I ask him about George. I’m not sure why I’m doing it. I think about Blake more than I think about myself. I can’t help myself. I justify it by telling myself it’s the least I can do after all that he’s done for me. But the truth is, it’s obsession. If I were honest, I’d admit I’ve fallen for him wholeheartedly.
I haven’t ever felt this way about a man. How does anyone know they’re in love, that first time? If I judge based on attraction alone, he gets a top score. Blake Anderson is the hottest, hunkiest guy that I’ve ever met. He’s gorgeous in every way. When he showers here after work, just the thought of him naked in there drives me insane. I sit on the bed trying not to think about it, but I can think of nothing else.
It’s the way he’s been so kind to me too. I love being treated well, and it makes me want him more. Since the night that person followed me, I’ve been more drawn to him than ever. I wake up before he does and stare over at the couch. My body wants to sleep in his arms, but my mind won’t surrender. As soon as we’re finished making love, he knows the dismissal is coming.
I guess I’m healing or processing something, because I’ve never slept this much before. Or maybe it’s just all the sex. Sweet baby Jesus, that man plays my bod
y like an instrument. I can’t get enough of his hands on me—or his mouth. Yesterday he massaged me. I couldn’t believe it. There was oil all over me. It was his day off so at first, he was at home with George. Later in the evening, he came over to sleep here, and rubbed sandalwood into my skin. It was beautiful. I nearly cried again, but I held it back, thank goodness. I don’t want him to see more of my crazy just yet.
I know he senses something happened to me when we were younger. Every now and then he talks about the therapy he’s done around his own stuff, and I can feel the subtle hints flying my way. He knows it’s something when I pull away from him after sex. I’m not strong enough to deal with it yet. I’m certain I’m not—and maybe he can tell that too, because he’s not pushing me to get help, and he never brings it up.
I guess that’s what they do in AA—someone shares their experience and hopes it catches on with everyone else who shows up at meetings. I hate being told what to do and being controlled. There’s nothing to be gained from barking instructions at me. Luckily, he hasn’t tried, or it would be a recipe for disaster. I’m already trapped in here, lusting after him and wondering about April. It would drive me to the edge if he tried to drag this out of me. He would take away my last tiny bit of control.
Blake is a dominant male, but he’s good with letting me take the lead. I love it when he lets me control him. I like to build it up—slowly undressing and tempting him without much touching, then straddling him and rubbing my wet slit over his hardness. I’m a shameless slut around him—and I love it. My desire for him outweighs my sense of contrived dignity. I may not like being told what to do, but I’d probably obey his every word in the bedroom if it came down to it.
He’s not pushing for anything more, and that feels so enticing. He’s letting me come to him, I guess. The orgasms he gives me are epic. My hips move involuntarily just thinking about the one I had last night. It ripped through my body like a whirlwind, leaving me panting and sweating. I’ve got to stop thinking about this. I need to make some sense of today, and obsessing about his cock and how it thrills me isn’t going to help. I’ve got a book to read and dinner to plan. I haven’t checked the newspapers yet to see if there’s been any mention of similar kidnappings or of Jessup Lee. I’m like a hawk each day but still nothing. Sigh.
I make dinner plans. I call his mobile from the phone in my room. They added a cordless phone in my room, so now I can sit on the balcony and talk to him. From here, I can almost see the roof top of his 43rd street station. It makes me feel good to know that he’s right there working away, even if I’m stuck back here.
He picks up. “Hey Carrie.”
His voice is friendly and warm. I find myself smiling.
“Just making dinner plans. Want to join me this evening?”
New York might seem relatively safe on a weeknight, but it’s not. I want him there with me if I go out anywhere.
“Sure Carrie, I won’t be home until nine, though. Is that ok?”
“No problem, see you then.”
I smile because he just referred to the hotel as home. I am becoming the place he calls home and that feels scary as hell—but good too.
I grab an apple to snack on, and sit down at my laptop. I begin to scan the headlines of the daily news alerts that come to my email. There’s lots going on in New York City, and then I see an article about a warehouse acquisition and land deal gone wrong in New Jersey. The name of the vendor is Blue Star Office Products and I recognize it instantly. This is Jessup’s company. I send an email to the reporter saying I’m interested in learning more and I get an almost immediate reply.
Hello Carrie,
Thanks for your interest in my story. It was a strange one, in that it almost didn’t go to print. The story length was double what got approved, but an email from the local real estate association made a special request to the editor to limit the published content.
If you are a private party and not a news source, I can share more, however what I can share is that the police were called to the site of the auction several times on the day of the sale. I can only share one incident as the others were censored. It’s a report of hearing a woman’s screams coming from inside the warehouse.
The realtor and vendor insist the noise was a celebration of the property sale with investors. As discussed, the sale is now subject to an investigation and we are unable to release more information at this time. If, however, you can demonstrate you are a private party and not a news media contact, you may access an incident report on file by presenting yourself with the required identification.
Kind regards,
Beau Thompson
New Jersey Herald
There’s screaming coming from a warehouse that used to house one of Jessup’s companies. A quashed article and a junior reporter who just broke all the rules and shared confidential information through email. Oh My God. Oh My God. I can’t believe my luck. The chances of gathering information like this in one go are remote. I really do have a gift for this.
I have to tell Blake. The police were involved, so he must be aware of it. It may have slipped through the cracks too, as it’s in another state. It could be another one of those little things that come together to help me find April. I don’t want to think it, but reading the words ‘A woman’s screams’ makes my heart pound in fear for my friend. What are the chances it’s her? I mean, if it is, and if the police are involved, she could already be found! I have to check. I can’t let go of something this big.
With phone in hand, I try all of the contact numbers that Blake has left me. He’s not answering on any of them. What’s the deal with him? Whenever I feel like I need to talk to him, he doesn’t pick up. God, it’s frustrating. I wait and think and look out over the city. What to do, what to do—I know I should wait until I see him tonight, but there’s still a few hours of light. If I’m going to be sneaking around the back of a warehouse in New Jersey, I’d rather it be daytime. Shit, shit, shit. I promised I wouldn’t do this. I try him again and then sit down to think.
If I don’t go, I’ll regret it forever. I can probably get back before he does. If I wait until he gets back, he’s going to insist on sending a team, which will take longer—days, maybe. And maybe they can’t get involved because it’s outside of their jurisdiction. But I can…
If it were me who was kidnapped, and April was facing this choice, I’d want her to do something. I would tell her to put on some sneakers and dark, comfy clothes, disguise herself and pretend to go for a jog in the area. Nothing more. No need to show up in heels looking suspicious or attracting attention. Just run past, check it out then get her ass back here on time. Part of me knows how angry he’s going to be, and part of me doesn’t care. My friend’s life is at stake. I can’t worry about his feelings. I may well regret this, but I have to do it anyway.
With that, I gather some gear together. I’ve still got enough cash from the advance that reception withdrew from my card, as Blake’s department has been covering my hotel and food expenses. I had planned to take a run in central park during the trip, so I’ve got a set of gym gear. I put my hair up and throw a baseball cap on my head. My sunglasses complete the disguise. No one’s going to recognize me in this getup. If I need to run away I’ll be perfectly prepared.
I slip on my sneakers and pack my small carry-on backpack with water, cash, and my phone. I sit down and reread this email and the entire article. The warehouse address isn’t in there, so I use Google Maps to track down the location of the Blue Star office building in that area, and work out how I’ll make it there.
The map shows it’s really close, so I’ll do myself a favor, flag a cab and stay off public transport. At least Blake can’t complain about that. I’m not stupid, but I am desperate. He’s just going to have to understand that I’m doing what I have to do.
I head into the bathroom to put on some deodorant—I’ve got to smell good when I’m snooping around—and stare at myself in the mirror. I look sporty. I look ready.
I bounce on my toes for extra confidence. All I’m going to do is run past. I’ll be fine.
Just then, a weird ring starts to go off behind me. It takes me a second to realize it’s my phone. It’s the first call I’ve received on that little crappy burner phone. I bet it’s Blake. I hope it’s Blake. He’s the only one who has the number. It would be better if he came with me. I unzip my bag and pull out the phone. I don’t recognize the number this time. I answer it anyway.
“Hello?”
“Is this Carrie?”
The voice is husky. For a second I think it must be a joke so I giggle. “Yes. Who’s calling please?”
“Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”
The instruction shocks me. “What?”
“I said, whatever you’re doing with Blake Anderson, cut it out.”
I’m silent as the shock passes. Then I ask, “Who is this?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am, you just tell him that Neon Lips has a message for him.”
I should ask questions, and draw out the conversation, but what comes out instead are the words of a worried teenage girl.
“Is this his girlfriend—are you and Blake together?”
“No, you stupid twat.” She’s hissing at me now and my stomach tightens up from anxiety. “Just back off the Jessup Lee case and leave Blake the fuck alone.”
She hangs up and I’m left holding the phone to my ear, eyes wide and face pale in the mirror of the hotel bathroom.
Chapter Twenty
Blake
I finally get a chance to charge my phone. It’s been an uneventful day. Someone organized a mandatory ‘team building’ workshop. When it was over, I needed a workout to get over that crap. I had to hit the gym. I’ve had enough of my day shift colleagues so now that I’m back, I ignore the chatter of the other detectives in the cage.
