Caught in the Chase (Caught Series Book 3)

by Kacey Shea

  “Yeah, mom sent me too.” He rolls his eyes.

  “I can’t find him,” I reply lamely.

  “You check upstairs yet?”

  I shake my head in the negative.

  “Cool. I’ll look there. How about you try the back yard?”

  “Sounds good,” I agree but don’t move.

  “You okay?” He cocks his head with curiosity. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I’m fine.” It’s a lie. My heart is racing. My nerves shot.

  “Hiding from all the bullshit?” Eddie nods. “I get it.”

  “Yeah.” I let the letter drop back onto the desk and take a few steps toward the door.

  “Text me if you find Dad first,” he says before retreating down the hall.

  “Okay.” But I don’t follow or go outside. Instead, I slip back into the office to retrieve the letter. This time I don’t waste a second pulling out the folded lined paper. Three photos flutter out, falling to the desk. I pick up one. It’s of a little girl, and judging by the style of her clothes, it’s got to be at least a decade old. There’s something familiar about her smile, though I’ve never seen her before. I flip over the next two photos and my pulse skyrockets. I can’t breathe. Confusion filtrates my racing thoughts. It’s my father and he’s hugging a woman to his side in a way that’s more than friendly. A woman who’s not my mom. In the other, a young girl sits in his lap. Who are these people?

  With shaky hands I hold up the letter.

  Dear Alicia,

  I’ve tried to reach you many times and I don’t know whether you’re receiving my letters, but I need you to know the truth. I need your help and I’m running out of time. I am sure you don’t want to believe that you have a sister. But I’m begging you, please don’t ignore me. I’m telling the truth. I only found out about you a few years ago. Do you remember me? I tried to contact you on social media, but you blocked me. I don’t blame you. I would have done the same.

  My mother is dying. She’s my only family, and I am scared of what will happen when she’s gone. Our father won’t increase our monthly payments and our bills keep piling up. Please, I ask for your assistance in the matter. Maybe you can convince him to help? I also would love the opportunity to meet you. I don’t want to be alone in this world. Please write back soon. Time is of the essence.

  Your sister,

  Lucía Martin Herrera

  This has to be some cruel joke. A lie. A ploy to extract money.

  I don’t have a sister. My father would never cheat on my mother. It’s impossible. And yet, the memory from years ago, when someone contacted me back in high school under the pretense of sharing a father comes pouring back. I blocked her. I never told a soul. Because it couldn’t have been real. My father would never—I couldn’t believe it. But for the life of me, I can’t recall the name of the person’s account. I wish I could. Because these photos, they’re real.

  I flip over the envelope, shocked to see the return address is located in Spain, a country my father spends weeks in each year for business.

  No. I shake my head. That information is easy enough to obtain. This person is only trying to extort my family. It’s what happens when you’re wealthy.

  Shoving everything back into the envelope, I’m torn what to do next. The letter was opened. Daddy’s already seen it, but it can’t be true. Not if he left it on his desktop for anyone to see.

  My gaze darts to the locked file cabinet, the one with his secure files. He doesn’t let anyone in that cabinet. Only I’ve spent enough time holed up in his office to know where he hides the key.

  I shouldn’t.

  It isn’t my business and I don’t have permission.

  Still.

  I have to look.

  Pulling open the middle desk drawer, I reach underneath and find the hidden compartment. It takes a little jostling before the key releases, and then I walk to the cabinet and unlock it. Pulling the drawer open, I flip through the tabbed files—needing proof and unsure of what I’m even looking for.

  Herrera, L

  My heart lurches as the file folder practically screams out from its alphabetically organized place. Damn it. I clench my eyes shut and exhale a breath. Am I really doing this? Do I even want to know?

  I have to. I’ll always wonder if I don’t.

  Pulling the manila folder, I open it and brace myself for what it might hold.

  Wire transfers. Letters, several addressed to me. It’s all there, and neatly organized. But it’s the birth certificate and photos that leave no question. Lucía Martin Herrera. Born ten days after me.

  Oh, Daddy, what have you done?

  46

  Alicia

  “I threw away an entire year of sobriety over that letter.” I attempt a laugh, but it comes out pained, full of regret and shame. But Chase listens without interruption as I finish sharing the memory of that night. “Leave it to my father to carefully document his illegitimate daughter.” My hands are shaking, my pulse racing. I’ve never spoken about these things. Not even in therapy. Not to my sponsor. Not a soul. “My entire family is a lie.”

  “I know something about that.” Chase rubs a hand between my shoulder blades. He widens his legs from where he sits on the blanket and scoots forward, his body surrounding mine as if he’s trying to protect me. As if he can’t stand to see me hurt. It doesn’t take away the pain, but it does offer comfort. “I’m sorry, Alicia. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s okay.” Memories flood my mind, fresh and cutting like a wound that won’t heal no matter how many times I cover it. “That night, at the bar when you found me . . . that’s why I fell apart. It’s where I ended up.”

  “Why there?” His brow furrows. “Why that bar?”

  “It wasn’t close to Jill or Callie’s and it was the first place to come up when I searched dive bar.” I shrug and we both laugh a little at that, gallows humor at its finest. “I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, but I couldn’t hold it together. Everything just hurt, and I wanted to self-destruct.”

  “I get that,” he says, his gaze somber.

  “But then you walked in.” Now it’s my turn to be confused. “Wait. Why were you there? I never got to ask.”

  “I was meeting up with a few guys from another station. We were going to have some beers and celebrate one of them making captain.” Such an ordinary thing yet it almost feels as if fate keeps pulling us together. Both now and then.

  “I’m sorry.” I sigh. “I ruined your night.”

  “Don’t say that.” He lifts my chin to meet his gaze, the depths of his chocolate eyes intense and filled with concern. “I’m glad I could be there for you, even if I wasn’t much better myself.”

  “You got me out of there.” He saved me from myself that night. I don’t want to think of what might’ve happened if I stayed. “Anyway, that was the only time I drank in all my time sober. I didn’t tell anyone. I was too embarrassed. I couldn’t even admit what I did, and it wasn’t like I was planning to do it again. So, the next morning when I left your apartment, I went to a meeting and I lied. I pretended it never happened, and it became so easy. Scary, really. No one even noticed.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve carried that alone,” he says. “I’m sorry you felt you had to be perfect.”

  There it is. The crux of it all. The thing I’ve been dealing with my entire life. An incessant desire to be liked, to please others, and not upset the apple cart. But perfection is impossible and I’ve wasted so much energy trying to meet these unspoken, invisible expectations just to make someone else happy. It was ingrained in me from an early age, and unlearning those thought processes is an uphill battle. I thought it’d get easier with practice. After therapy. With sobriety. But it’s not.

  “I hate that I care so much about what other people think.”

  “I love that you care. It would be a shame if you hid that from the world.”

  “But I’m tired of always coming
up short.” I sit up taller. “Of failing people.”

  “Who did you fail?” he challenges. “What are you so scared of?”

  “I’m not good enough.” I cover my mouth as soon as the admission flies from my lips.

  “Hey.” He pulls my hand away and draws my stare with his fierce expression. “First, that’s not true. But explain why you feel that way.”

  “I just want to be good enough at something . . . for me. Getting sober was something I did, and even that I couldn’t do right.”

  “Alicia, that is not fair. Relapsing is common. They remind us every day at the meeting. It’s why we fight so hard to stay sober. No one expects you to be perfect.”

  “But I let them down, and I hid it on purpose. I can’t just walk into the next AA meeting and admit that to everyone. I can’t just say, oh, hey, remember all those sober months I’ve been claiming? They’re a lie.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why?” I scoff. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.” He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of my hand. “Why can’t you do that?”

  “Because.” I lick my lips, the greater fear rising with his question. “They won’t like me.”

  “Alicia. That’s irrelevant.”

  “I know that,” I whisper. “But I don’t believe it.”

  “Some people are going to love you no matter what you do or don’t do. Others will find a way to hate on your successes and failures. But you can’t be afraid to let people in. Especially those who’ve been there. Give them a chance. I promise they’ll surprise you.”

  “When did you learn all that?”

  He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the space between us. “This summer. From you.”

  The transformation I’ve witnessed in Chase is not something I can take credit for. Yet there’s a truthfulness to his words that resonates with all the time we’ve spent together. He stopped trying to be someone he wasn’t. He opened himself up, and I like what I see. Hell, I like it a little too much.

  “I’ve surprised you?” The thought brings a smile to my lips.

  “You impress me. You amaze me. You inspire.” He leans forward tentatively, giving me plenty of time to retreat, but I don’t want to run. Not from this. Not from him. His gaze drops to my mouth and he captures my lips in a kiss so gentle, so precious it nearly breaks my heart. “Alicia, you bring out the best in me. I don’t deserve you, or any of this, but I am thankful for you every damn day.”

  His declaration melts the edges of my heart, smoothing out all the broken and bent pieces I try to hide. It’s a thrilling feeling. One I try not to think about too hard because there’s an expiration on what we’re doing. When it comes to Chase I’m playing with fire. I’m just not sure which of us is bound to get burned.

  47

  Chase

  I wipe down the last of the dishes, then fold the towel and place it on the counter. I glance at the digital clock built into the microwave. “It’s almost time.”

  “Fireworks?” Alicia claps. “And dessert?” She crosses her fingers.

  “You know it.” I walk to the fridge and pull out the two mini cartons of ice cream we bought from the store. “I’m guessing you don’t want to chance the beach again?”

  “Will you hate me if I say no?” She slides open the cutlery drawer and grabs two spoons.

  “I’ve got a better idea.” I nod toward the stairs.

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “You trust me?”

  She swallows, her gaze holding mine as she gives a nod.

  It’s the greatest gift she’s given me. I’m not sure she understands how much it means. I’ve broken a lot of trust over the years. To have hers feels monumental. “Come on.”

  We head up to the top floor, and walk through my uncle’s bedroom to the private deck that overlooks the beach. I leave the lights off, grab a blanket from the bedroom, and close the door to keep the room free from bugs. “Here, give me those.” I take the spoons and set them on one of the chairs, along with the ice cream.

  She moves to sit in one of the other chairs, but I shake my head, taking her hand.

  “You’re not scared of heights, are you?”

  “Um.” She glances around. “No.”

  “Good.” I walk us to the end of the deck. “I’ll give you a boost.”

  Her eyes sparkle under the moonlight as I help her climb first onto the railing, and then up onto the roof. She scoots out of sight, but a second later hangs her head over the edge. “Wait. How are you getting up?”

  “I’m a firefighter. I’ve got this.” I hand her the blanket, ice cream, and spoons.

  “Don’t you need a ladder or something?” She laughs, grinning until I pull myself up onto the rail. “Oh, my God. Chase! Be careful!”

  I love that she’s concerned, but I’ve performed far more dangerous maneuvers. Grabbing the roof’s ledge, I heave myself onto the roof. I scoot next to her and then stand, taking the blanket and then helping her to her feet. “The trick is not looking down.”

  “You’re kind of crazy.”

  But you love me.

  The teasing retort almost flies from my mouth, but by some miracle I keep it inside. Fuck, that would be embarrassing, and likely ruin the playful lightheartedness between us. I really don’t want to ruin this. Besides our chaste kiss on the beach earlier, we haven’t done more than flirt and trade heated stares today. Which I’m totally content with. Okay, maybe not all of me. Even now as I lay out the blanket and sit next to her, my body aches for another round like last night. But as much as my cock would like to come out and play, I’m not initiating sex tonight. If she’s interested in more, she’ll let me know. God knows I’m up for the challenge. As indiscreetly as possible I adjust myself.

  “Chase Matthews!” Alicia’s mouth falls open as she hands over my carton of ice cream and a spoon. “Are you getting hard for double chocolate chunk?”

  My lips twist with a smirk. “Oh yeah, it totally gets me off.” I roll my eyes and pop off the lid to my treat. “Smartass.”

  “Don’t feel bad.” She grins, digging her spoon into her own carton. “Dessert makes me horny, too.”

  “That so?” I’m distracted by her lips and the way they wrap around the end of her spoon. Sucking. She’s fucking with me, I know she is, but I can’t drag my gaze away.

  Something cold as ice plops onto my chest. “Shit!” I glance down and watch the scoop of chocolate ice cream that was on the end of my spoon puddle on my light gray T-shirt. “Fuck.” That’s ruined. I set down my ice cream as her tinkling laughter fills the night air. I can’t even blame her for it because I’d do the same. Careful not to make a mess on my shorts too, I scrunch up my shirt and peel it from my skin.

  Alicia’s laughter dies and I turn to make sure she’s okay. She’s staring, still licking that damn spoon but this time her gaze is full of a blazing heat that goes straight through my body. She’s attracted to my body, missing abs and all. That alone only heightens the desire I feel for her.

  “Careful,” I murmur, and I’m not sure whether my warning is more over the fact she’s about to spill her ice cream carton or that she’s seconds away from playing with fire. The energy between us is thick and waiting to explode.

  Whiz! Boom! Pop!

  Our gazes dart away and up to the night sky. Bright colors streak against the darkness. The annual show of fireworks fills my chest with nostalgia, a sense of awe overcoming this moment. I can’t look away. Lying back, I clasp my fingers behind my head and rest on the blanket.

  Alicia sits at my side, her chin tipped up as she watches the show. Each time the fireworks burst they illuminate her profile in different shades of color. Red, blue, pink, or green, she’s beautiful under them all. She glances over her shoulder, smiling softly as our gazes meet. She scoots a few inches closer and lays along my side so our bodies touch. “This okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”
It’s more than okay.

  She smiles, resting her head on my bicep, then glancing back up at the sky.

  My gaze drifts away from the show. I’m more interested in her reactions. I love the way her lips part and whisper exclamations of wonder. How she grins when the grand finale hits and the booming echoes off the clouds like thunder.

  She catches me staring and in the next second those pretty, perfect lips are on mine. We make out like two teenagers who can’t get close enough, which is exactly how I feel. Hurried, quiet movements bring us closer to the edge of release. Long forgotten is the ice cream, probably melted by now. Not that I care. I’m more intent on making Alicia come with my fingers. I slip them into her shorts and she rubs against my hand, rocking her hips while I rub circles over her clit. I swallow her cries of pleasure with my mouth. She palms my erection over my shorts and after she orgasms, she moves down my body, taking my cock in her mouth and sucking me off. It’s not long before I see fireworks of my own.

  She crawls back up my body, a satisfied, wicked smile on her lips. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I tug her back into my side, hugging her close.

  “Best Fourth of July ever.”

  “Yeah.” It is for me, too. This night is more than a celebration of the independence of our country. It’s my own independence from substance abuse. It’s the freedom to pursue a future filled with goodness and joy. It’s the hope that this woman by my side will be there for all of it.

  48

  Alicia

  Chase and I eventually leave the rooftop. He invites me to stay the night in his bed again and I can’t find it in me to say no. It’s scary how much I want to make that man happy. Though it’s not as if it’s a hardship. He’s generous in the bedroom and highly motivated by my orgasms. Sweet and slow or rough and hard, we just fit.

  I run back to my bathroom for my evening beauty routine. Grabbing my cell and charger, I head back to his room for the night. I don’t anticipate anyone needing to get hold of me, but there’s always a chance. We lie in bed together, his arm slung over my hip while the sound of crashing waves through the open window lulls us to sleep. I’m exhausted, but totally satisfied. Content down to my bones.