Cuffed

by K. Bromberg

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Lyle was just telling me in the locker room that you had a ninety five mile an hour-er the other day, but I don’t see it on the reports anywhere.” He leans his hip on the desk beside me and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “It was an emergency situation. Lady speeding to get somewhere,” I explain as I nod a hello to a few more guys coming in to roll call to grab their assignments. “I was trying to be nice and just gave her a warning.”

  “So, in other words, she was a hottie and you got her digits.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes and take another sip while thinking of Emerson. Her damn defiance and that haunted look she gets in her eyes every so often that makes me want to ask more questions than I know she’s willing to answer. And then there were those little white shorts she was wearing the other day that make me think thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking but can’t help.

  “Earth to Grant.”

  “Sorry. I was just thinking about that first call today—”

  “The asshole husband and sweet little girl? Yeah, they got to me, too.”

  We both fall in silence for a second, and I hate that when I picture little Keely, an image of Emerson leaving school that day superimposes itself over it.

  It’s just because she’s on my mind more than she should be. So much so that I’m projecting her situation onto another little girl when I know better.

  “How about we liven up our day a bit and get some action?” he suggests.

  “I get enough action. Thanks, though.” I chuckle just to irritate him.

  “Fucking, Malone. Playboy cop. One of these days a woman’s going to come along and put handcuffs around that cold heart of yours, and then you’ll be whipped like the rest of us fuckers.”

  “I’ll be cuffed, huh?” I run a hand over my jaw and shake my head. “Sorry, I just don’t see it . . . but if it makes you feel better about the white picket fence you’ll be locked behind, then by all means.”

  “Some days I hate you, you know that?”

  “Yeah, but you also love me,” I tease as Liv, the dispatcher, walks down the hall and gives me a coy smile that makes parts of me regret walking away from her.

  “Shit. I told you she still wants you,” he murmurs as we both watch her hips sway.

  “Me and my cold heart.” I laugh.

  “You sure you don’t want to go out after shift is over?”

  “Nah, I told the chief I’d stay and do some desk work.” Like that’s a fun way to spend the rest of my afternoon. “I’m reviewing the cold case files for him. Trying to prove how great of a detective I’d be. You know, gotta put a good foot forward if I want that promotion.”

  “You’re kissing major ass with the extra hours you’re putting in,” he taunts.

  “And I’m loving the OT pay. I can see a new patio and built-in barbecue in the near future.”

  “The offer stands. A bunch of us are meeting at seven o’clock at McGregor’s if you get done in time.”

  “Thanks, but I have other shit to do.”

  “Ha,” he says as he pushes away from the table. “Just make sure you remember her name in the morning.”

  “Whatever.” I shoo him away as I sit up in my chair to play the role of desk jockey and tackle updating the stack of case files in front of me.

  I shouldn’t be doing this.

  I shouldn’t have let that old case file I went through get to me.

  I shouldn’t have looked at the picture of the victim and thought about both Keely and Emerson.

  I shouldn’t have let my finger hover over the search button on the file archives site where I had typed in “John Reeves, Emerson Reeves” and debated whether I should hit “find” so I could see what exactly it was that happened to her all those years ago.

  And I definitely shouldn’t be driving out to Miner’s Airfield to where Desi said more often than not I could find Em.

  But here I am, looking at the airstrip with hangars lining one side of the field and the airplanes parked to the right of them. On the far side is another parking lot and Blue Skies, an old skydiving business. It’s been there as long as I can remember, owned by the Skies family, who last I heard, no longer had any family members in town to run or even care about the place. The lack of attention shows in the aged building and faded sign.

  Why am I here?

  Why am I chasing after someone who is clearly pushing me away?

  Because I want to apologize to Emerson for the Tampax stunt? Yes and no, since she clearly beat me at my own game with the Viagra request. Or is it because every time I thought of Keely today, I kept seeing Em’s face when she was little and I know it isn’t going to go away any time soon.

  More likely than either of those is the notion that if I see her, make sure she’s okay, befriend her, then it might just ease the guilt I feel over breaking my promise to her when we were kids. My adult self knows it was the right thing to do. The little boy beneath the surface still feels the guilt every time I picture the look on her face as she walked out of Mrs. Gellar’s classroom.

  Em’s always been there in my mind. Sure, it’s been a long ass time since third grade, but in some sort of way, I knew I’d see her again. She isn’t someone I could easily forget.

  Great, now I sound like some goddamn Hallmark movie.

  I scrub my hands over my face, and when I look up, there she is in full living color, walking across the tarmac as if she owns the place. In a flight suit with the sleeves tied around her waist and a purple tank top beneath it. If jumping out of airplanes is what she likes to do to relax after a long day, I can’t imagine what else excites her.

  As if sensing my attention on her, Emerson turns her head to face my direction, and I swear she knows it’s me. It’s the way she angles her head. It’s the immediate straightening of her shoulders. It’s the sudden stalking of her feet my way with a definite purpose.

  I grin, can’t help that I do. I love seeing her all worked up. After the day I’ve had, I’m more than ready for a good fight.

  But fuck if she’s not trying to distract me in other ways. Like that damn flight suit of hers. It should be the most unattractive thing on the face of the earth—dark blue, baggy, manly—but . . . goddamn. I’m a red-blooded male and would have to be dead not to notice how her tits bounce beneath that thin tank she has on.

  I scrub a hand over my face to try to stop my thoughts from going where they shouldn’t, but hell if they don’t have a mind of their own.

  They go there.

  Oh, how they go there.

  When she’s about twenty feet away from me, she stops and plants her hands on her hips before calling out, “Airstrip’s closed for maintenance. No one called for the police. You can turn around and leave now.”

  I stare at her behind my sunglasses with my elbow propped on the open driver’s side window. “I’m off duty. And it’s good to see you, too, Em.” I grin just to irritate her.

  “It isn’t good to see you.”

  “Aww, now you’re just trying to win me over with kindness.”

  She rolls her shoulders. “Sorry, we’re all out of tampons today. You can take your emergency elsewhere.” Sarcasm drips from her voice and only serves to antagonize me to draw this out.

  “No emergency,” I say as I climb out from my truck and lean against the door. “Just out for a drive and somehow ended up here.”

  “Convenient.” She snorts. “You came. You saw. You can leave now because you won’t conquer.” She flashes me a dazzling smile that just might serve to warm that cold heart that Nate swears I have.

  “And you used to be so sweet.”

  “And you used to not be so annoying.”

  “All this fire from you and I can’t remember doing anything wrong.”

  There’s a quick flash of something across her expression but between the distance and how fast it disappears, I can’t read what it means.

  But it’s enough to know my comment got to her
.

  We stare at each other, both of us stubborn enough that we’d hold the line until someone looked away. While it might be fun to push her buttons, I know it isn’t going to get me anywhere. That I know for certain.

  “Is this where you jump from?” I jut my chin to the tarmac behind her.

  “What’s that?” she asks as she takes a step closer and furrows her brow.

  “The other night at Desi’s house, a bunch of you were talking about skydiving.”

  “And your point is?”

  It takes everything I have not to tell her to stop when she begins to put her arms through the sleeves of her flight suit and zip it up. There’s no need to cover up the perfection I was just admiring. And when I meet her eyes again, her knowing expression says I’ve been caught checking her out.

  Can she blame me?

  “Well?” she prompts drawing me back to our conversation.

  “I assumed you guys are on a dive team or something.”

  She cocks her head to the side and chews on the inside of her cheek. “What do you want, Grant? You weren’t just on a drive, and you just didn’t happen to end up here . . . so what is it specifically that you want?”

  Good question. It’s one I need to ask myself.

  I take a few steps toward her as she does the same to me until we’re standing a few feet apart on the desolate tarmac.

  “I’m not sure,” I murmur, more to myself than to her, wishing she’d take those damn aviator sunglasses off so I could see her eyes. At least then I might have a clue as to what’s running through that mind of hers.

  “That’s helpful. I’m sure the chief taught you that if you don’t know what you want, there’s no way you can get it . . . so, uh, good luck figuring it out. Like I said, the airstrip is closed.” She lifts her eyebrows and turns as if to walk away.

  My hand is on her arm in a flash. “What is your problem?” I snarl the words, and fuck if this woman can’t rile me in a flash.

  Why the hell am I chasing a ghost? Why do I even care?

  She jerks her arm from my grasp but doesn’t walk away. At least she’s not running. “You. You’re the problem.”

  “Why’s that? What’s so wrong with being friends?”

  “I have plenty of friends, Grant.”

  “Not like me, you don’t.”

  “Charming.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Arrogance gets you nowhere with me.”

  “What is it, Em? What is it about me that irritates you so much? What did I do that was so wrong that when you saw me on the Fourth you already figured out you hated me?” I step into her, my thoughts flying and temper flaring even though I swore I was going to try to calm the situation.

  “I’m not irritated,” she sneers.

  “Then what do you call it?”

  “Hostile.” She gives me a ghost of a smile.

  “I call it being defensive.” That one hit home. For a split second, her expression falls before she reins in whatever nerve I’ve hit.

  “If you don’t like it, then why are you here?”

  “I keep asking myself the same damn question.”

  “Seems like we’re at an impasse.” It’s that blasé tone of hers that irritates the fuck out of me. It’s nothing but a mask she’s hiding behind, and I want to rip it off so I can examine what’s beneath it.

  “I’m gonna wear you down.”

  Fucking brilliant, Malone. I went from swearing she was too much trouble to now vowing to wear her down.

  “No you’re not.” Those hands of hers find her hips again.

  “I know your type, Emmy. You’re used to pushing people away the minute they get too close. You’re used to calling the shots and being in control. News flash, I don’t budge when I’m pushed and no one controls what I do.”

  “For the record, behind my sunglasses I’m rolling my eyes at your macho bullshit tantrum.”

  “You always did love to roll your eyes.”

  “Stop!” She clenches her fists and fights to regain her composure. “I told you, I’m not the same girl you used to know.”

  “Good thing,” I say as I take a step toward her, “or else we’d be having this discussion while making mud pies in my parents’ backyard and eating those gummy worms you used to love.” There’s a crack in her armor, a slight curl to one of her lips.

  “There’s nothing wrong with gummy worms.”

  I cringe in mock disgust. “And just like you’re not the same girl, I’m definitely not the same boy. I won’t try to sweet talk you into pouring salt on snails or covering your hand in honey to see how many ants we can collect. Bugs aren’t my thing anymore.”

  She fights her smile, her ice melting. “What is your thing then?”

  We stare at each other for a few seconds from behind the protection of our tinted lenses. I know I should walk away. This is complicated, and I don’t do complicated, but instead of doing the smart thing, I dig in the front pocket of my uniform shirt for my card. “Here’s my number should you ever want to call it and . . . I don’t know . . . hang out at CVS with me.”

  This time, I’m granted her smile. “Thanks, but I’m all stocked up on drugstore supplies.”

  I deserve that. “Take the card, Em. I’d love to do something—as friends—and catch up on the last twenty years.” I realize my mistake mentioning the past the minute I say it, but she saves me from fumbling with how to correct the statement when she takes the card from my hand.

  “I’ll take it, but I won’t use it.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  “So sure of yourself, are you?”

  “You’ve never been able to say no to me, Emerson.”

  “Oh. Please. Take your card back.” She shoves it back at me, but she’s laughing and that’s a good thing.

  “Nope.” I take a step back. “You’ll call. I know you will.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You know you want to find out what happened to Miles O’Neal.”

  Her head startles as she remembers the little boy who used to have the biggest crush on her. “Whatever,” she says as she slips the card into her pocket without looking at it. “For the record, Malone, I don’t fall for sweet talk anymore.”

  “Then what do you fall for?”

  Em freezes momentarily as she gets an odd look on her face that I can’t read before shaking her head. “I have to get back to work.”

  Whoa. What? “Work?”

  “Yeah. Work. I’m in the process of buying this place.”

  “The airport?”

  “Blue Skies, the skydiving school.”

  “You are?”

  “Yep.” She turns her back to me and tosses over her shoulder, “Later, Phony Maloney.”

  So she is sticking around. Permanently.

  Huh.

  I watch her walk across the tarmac until she disappears inside the door of Blue Skies. Then I climb in my truck and start the engine but don’t leave.

  Fuck if I know why I’m working so hard for this woman.

  But I am.

  After a bit, I reverse, pull out of the parking lot, and smile.

  She didn’t correct me when I called her Emmy.

  I guess I’ll take any victory I can get, because I have a feeling when it comes to Emerson Reeves, they are hard fought and few and far between.

  The question is, what the hell is the victory for?

  “You really need to clean this place, Em.”

  I glance around the loft and shrug. I have a stack of clothes piled on a chair in the corner that I need to wash, there is a mess on the counter of the kitchenette—if I can call it that—and my bed’s unmade, which is usual.

  “You’re the only one who visits, and since you already like me, it isn’t like I need to impress you,” I say to Desi as I pour some wine into her plastic glass.

  “That’s highly debatable,” she says with a shake of her head and then begins to stack the paperwork on the card table, er, kitchen table—in some sort of order. “This
place isn’t exactly spacious. I’m sure it would look bigger if it were clean.”

  “Yes, mother.” I lean back in one of my mismatched chairs and prop my feet on an opposing one. “Do you know how freaking exhausted I’ve been lately? Between Travis and Blue Skies and the loan, I feel like I don’t have time to breathe.”

  “Then quit one of them.”

  “Easy for you to say. Travis manages the airfield. The odd jobs I do for him give me this glamorous roof over my head and the car to use. My job at Blue Skies pays the other bills. And the loan is going to hopefully be approved for enough so I can buy Blue Skies.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then I can make it what I want it to be. Pull the rest of the money for the improvements out of my ass or something, but I have to have it first to be able to make it mine.” I can see it all so clearly in my mind, but reality makes it hard to believe it just might happen.

  “I have faith that you’ll be able to.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll deal with the exhaustion.”

  “But not too exhausted for sex.”

  “Huh?”

  “Who’s the flavor of the month?”

  I nearly choke on my wine. “Who said there’s a flavor of the month?” I laugh.

  “Hmm . . . well the black pair of boxer-briefs over there in the corner tells me there was definitely a flavor—whether it be for the night or the week or the month is up for debate.”

  “Where?” And sure enough, when I look to where she’s staring, there is a pair of Shawn’s underwear bunched in the far corner of the flat.

  “Which hot stud do they belong to?” she asks, holding her hand up to jokingly go through the possible names by ticking them off her fingers.

  “Those would be Shawn’s.”

  “Shawn? As in three months ago, Shawn?”

  “Apparently.” I bite my bottom lip and wonder how they got left there. “He hasn’t stepped foot in here since asking if I minded feeding him a bottle while he wore a diaper.”

  “Shouldn’t those be a diaper instead of undies, then?” We both snicker at the thought.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m fearful of what else you might find when you actually do clean this place.”