Claiming London

by Becca Jameson

  Pierce led the way. He nearly shoved Hope out of his path as he rushed toward London. And then he was there. In her space. Holding her biceps with both hands, steadying her. His face was white, his eyes wide.

  She lifted her arm and pointed toward the emergency exit. “A man was here.”

  Pierce dropped her and ran toward the exit. And then he was gone, the door slamming yet again behind him. The room filled with people.

  Aaron and Hope crowded London. Hope grabbed her hand. “Are you okay? You’re shaking so hard.”

  Aaron stared at her a moment and then rushed to the back door also. He held it open, scanning the rear parking lot.

  London wanted to go after Pierce, but she didn’t have the energy. Her legs were wobbly. Instead, she managed to sit on the bench.

  Someone put a jacket around London’s shoulders. Several other people had entered the room, but Charles, the bouncer, was corralling them back out the door. Hope crouched in front of her. “I’m so sorry. Jesus. You must be freaking out.”

  London licked her lips. “I’m okay. Thank God you came in when you did.”

  Pierce rushed back into the locker room from outside and jogged toward her.

  “You didn’t catch him…” London said with a shaky voice.

  He shook his head as he pulled her to her feet and smashed her chest against him. “No, dammit. He was fast. I never saw him at all. I’ve called for backup. They’re on their way.” He leaned her back a few inches to meet her gaze. “I’m so sorry. Shit. I should have been here.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  Aaron cleared his throat from beside them. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. The guy didn’t have anything weird on his record, so I gave him a visitor’s pass.”

  “Tell me everything that happened,” Pierce insisted, helping her sit on the bench again. He sat next to her, gripping her hand with one of his, his other resting at the base of her neck. “What did the guy look like?”

  “Average guy, I guess,” London stated. “Brown hair. Medium skin. Dark eyes.”

  “I’ll be able to pull him up on the surveillance camera,” Aaron said. “Be right back.” He rushed from the locker room.

  “It was just so weird. From the moment he approached me, he gave me a strange vibe. I didn’t like it. The hairs on my arm stood up. I tried to blow him off. I said no. Multiple times. He wouldn’t listen.”

  Pierce smoothed his hand up and down her back. “You did everything right, baby. It wasn’t your fault.”

  London nodded, trying to catch her breath. “I shouldn’t have come in here alone. It never occurred to me he might follow. I was just trying to get away from him.”

  Pierce nodded. “I know. And you called me. And the line was still open when you dropped the phone. I heard everything.”

  “Right. Shit. I forgot about the phone.”

  Pierce picked it up from the bench and pocketed it.

  Hope fidgeted. “I can’t believe some sleazy asshole wormed his way into the club.”

  Aaron returned, holding a laptop. He held a screen shot up to London. “Is this the guy?”

  “Yes.” She started to elaborate, but Pierce shot to his feet, grabbing the computer.

  “This is the guy? Fuck. Fuck.”

  “What?” Aaron asked.

  Pierce ran a hand through his hair as he handed the laptop back to Aaron. “That’s the asshole I’ve been following for weeks. Son of a bitch.” He paced away from London, his face turning red.

  A tall woman with blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail stepped into the room, holding up a badge. Her gaze went to Pierce. “What happened?”

  Pierce gave an extremely frustrated huff and settled one hand on top of his head. “It was Roger Cabell. He attacked London.”

  “Shit,” the woman responded, her gaze coming to London. She approached and held out a hand. “Sorry to meet you under these circumstances. I’m Detective Stacy Nagle. I’m Pierce’s partner.”

  Ah. London hadn’t met Pierce’s partner yet, but Stacy seemed to be aware of who London was.

  Stacy returned her attention to Pierce. “He must have seen you with her in the restaurant that day.”

  “Restaurant?” London asked, finding the strength to come to her feet.

  Pierce took her hand and pulled her into his side. “Yeah. That night we ate at the rooftop restaurant. He was there. I hoped it was a coincidence. Until right now, I didn’t realize he knew my identity.” He ran his hand through his hair again. “Jesus.” His eyes closed. “What a fucking disaster. All this time that fucker has probably been following you.” He started to pull away.

  London could feel his tension, so she gripped his hand harder. “It happened. It’s over now.” She rounded to face him more fully. “I’m safe.” No way in hell was she going to let him pull away from her over this. It wasn’t his fault some asshole tried to attack her. She knew he already had hang-ups about his job interfering with his personal life. This wasn’t going to help. But dammit, she had just finally admitted to herself that she could be in a relationship with a man, and she wasn’t about to let him back away from her.

  She stepped closer, met his gaze, and held it. Finally, she spoke in a low enough voice that not everyone in the room could hear. “I can handle this, Pierce. I’m stronger now. Yes, he freaked me out, but he’s gone. You have to trust me that I’m not going to walk away like Janet did. Not over your job. Never.”

  Pierce stared at her for several moments, his gaze intense, searching. Finally, he pulled her into his embrace and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

  But he did. He deserved the world.

  Chapter 19

  London smiled when her phone buzzed on her desk the following Monday. It made her giddy when she got his texts. She hadn’t seen him in five days, and she wasn’t sure when she would next set eyes on him, but she loved the way he so specifically texted her twice and called her at night.

  He had left her with Aaron and Hope that night, even calling her brother and filling him in before he joined Stacy to return to the station. Since then, he’d been too busy to see her.

  She knew he was working night and day to find and apprehend the man who’d called himself TJ. That was an alias. Apparently, Roger or TJ or whoever he was thought he might be able to get Pierce off his back if he came after his girlfriend.

  London found out she had a stiff spine these days. Colin had insisted she come stay with him and Rayne, but London had refused. She wouldn’t be run out of her own apartment and life by some drug dealer seeking revenge.

  Everyone was nervous. They called and texted her constantly. She was certain that level of stress was tenfold for Pierce, but he didn’t mention it, nor did she when he contacted her. Undoubtedly he was also in contact with Colin and Aaron.

  She usually only got a few minutes of his time when he called, but she could hear the stress in his voice—a combination of frustration about the case and concern over how long it had been since he’d seen her.

  The truth was, she had mixed feelings about their text-and-phone arrangement. On the one hand, it was genius of him. It eliminated the pressure of worrying if he might smother her. On the other hand, she found she got a bit deflated after his second text, knowing she wouldn’t get another one.

  Pierce was a man of his word, but under the circumstances, she wished she’d never agreed to this silly arrangement. They were past that now. She wanted to talk to him more often. But she wouldn’t bring it up because she also knew he needed to concentrate. After he caught the perp, then she could have a face-to-face with him about her deepening commitment.

  It was twisted that having someone Pierce was pursuing attack her actually drew her closer to him, while at the same time it created a divide between them because Pierce feared for her life.

  She had canceled her reservation for bungee jumping on Saturday. Somehow the death-defying act didn’t appeal to her this week. She’d taken enough r
isks lately, and, after what happened with TJ, she didn’t need any more adrenaline rushes.

  She had a new mental routine. She waited for Pierce’s two texts each day with anticipation, excited to engage in a brief exchange. And then, after the second one, she slid into another mood in which she freaked out a bit, berating herself for giving a single shit if he texted or not.

  Irrational or not, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was treading into dangerous territory by letting a man so thoroughly into her life. What would happen the next time he shouted in her presence? She’d told him she would be more understanding in the future, but could she?

  She was trained like Pavlov’s dog. Louis had seen to that. Shouting always preceded physical violence. When someone raised their voice at her, it triggered a response to retreat or risk being kicked, punched, or slapped. Could she overcome that and find a way not to flinch?

  Dr. Robbins thought so. In fact, she suggested telling Pierce to intentionally raise his voice around her instead of tiptoeing around. London wasn’t sure how she felt about that plan, but she was considering it.

  Now that she’d dropped her classes and no longer felt the need to jump from heights, she went to the gym every morning and picked up more shifts at Joe’s. She always took an Uber, and though she didn’t mind bartending, she also knew it wasn’t a life calling.

  She needed to find herself. It seemed urgent. Without a purpose and a direction, how could she even proceed in a relationship? It wouldn’t be prudent to lean on Pierce financially. It would make her extremely nervous if she ever found herself reliant on someone else again. It took away her power.

  So, here she was on a Monday afternoon, missing her boyfriend while scanning through the want ads. She’d typed in a variety of keywords related to her English degree in the last several days, and had finally narrowed her search to editing positions.

  For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt excited about something that didn’t involve risking her life or the rush of submission. She had an odd affinity for noticing errors all over the place. Could she put that passion and talent to use making enough money to live off of?

  Surprisingly, there were options. None that appeared to pay very well initially, but if she kept her job at Joe’s and started working during the day as a freelance copy editor, maybe…

  The first application she’d filled out had been with a national magazine. She’d held her breath waiting for a response last week. What if she was overly confident and actually sucked at editing? The position she’d enquired about must have been desperate because they responded immediately, sending her a three-page article as a test piece. She needed to read it thoroughly, make corrections, and send it back. That had happened on Saturday. So far, she hadn’t heard from them.

  As she marked several other places looking for a copy editor, she fidgeted. She realized she couldn’t bring herself to apply anywhere else until she heard back from the first place. Her reasoning was absurd, of course. She feared they would tell her she sucked and wonder why the hell she had been cocky enough to think she could rise to their needs.

  Her foot was bouncing up and down as she moved the mouse around. It’s only Monday. Calm down. It wasn’t as though the magazine could be a windfall. It was part-time. Only a few hours a week. She would need to find more work than that. But it was a litmus test to see if she was up to the task.

  Eventually, she gave up, shut the computer down, and headed for her shift at Joe’s. Working evenings or nights meant it was tricky taking a call from Pierce, but she’d managed so far by waiting to take her break at the moment he called. There was no guarantee that would work forever, but so far she’d gotten lucky.

  Joe’s was busy for a Monday. She was the only person behind the bar, and the orders never let up. By the time she had a second to breathe and looked at her phone, it was late. Much later than Pierce had ever called her.

  She pushed her phone back in her pocket and tried to absorb the letdown, reminding herself she’d known this could happen. He was on this case twenty-four-seven. He might not always be able to call.

  She stuffed her disappointment as deep as she could and finished her shift. By noon the next day, she was both stressed and nervous. No call last night. No text yet today. Her mind started wandering. What if he’d grown tired of contacting her?

  No matter how many times she reminded herself he was at work, she couldn’t shake the idea that he might have changed his mind about their relationship, or decided that he simply wouldn’t enter into a serious relationship while he was still in his current position. She wasn’t trusting enough to believe in someone. Not yet. Maybe he was right. Maybe she wasn’t the sort of person who could stand by his side without freaking out if he disappeared for weeks or months.

  She didn’t want to be that kind of girlfriend. She wanted to trust him, and she needed him to trust her not to run when the going got tough. She also didn’t want to be needy, and the fact that neediness had crept into her system alarmed her almost as much as her concern about him not contacting her.

  It annoyed her that she’d let anyone get so far under her skin that she missed them in any way. That she couldn’t stop thinking about them. That she cared about him enough that she would be devastated if he changed his mind, or worse—disappeared entirely.

  Three days later, she sat on her couch flipping his boss’s business card around in her fingers. She could call him and at least perhaps find out something. Anything. She felt weak and stupid and furious with herself, oscillating back and forth between wanting any piece of him she could get and wanting to break things off as fast as possible to avoid this kind of obsession that caused her pain.

  An hour later, she gave up the battle, grabbed her phone, and dialed the number for Detective Ralston. She had no idea what she might say as she paced her small living room and ran a hand through her messy hair.

  “Ralston. How can I help you?” The deep voice held a sense of urgency. She was interrupting something. For a moment she considered hanging up.

  Finally, she found her voice. “Detective Ralston, this is London Wynne. I’m a friend of Pierce Titus. I haven’t heard from him in several days. I just wanted to make sure he’s okay.”

  “London. Hi. I’m so sorry. I should have called you. Pierce gave me your contact information several weeks ago. I messed up. Please forgive me. He’s on an assignment. I can’t tell you more than that right now, mostly because I don’t even know more. I do know he had to abruptly abandon his phone and his car, which is why he didn’t call you. He didn’t call me either.”

  She gasped. “How do you know he’s okay?”

  “Because I know where he was, and I knew what the possible outcomes were. Going under was a last-second decision. It was part of protocol. I’m sorry I can’t give you more. We picked up his car. I have his phone. I promise I’ll contact you as soon as I know something more definitive.”

  She couldn’t breathe. The room started spinning. Finally, she lowered herself onto the couch so she wouldn’t faint. What if he wasn’t even alive? No one even knew where he was?

  “Miss Wynne?”

  “I’m still here,” she murmured.

  “Please try not to panic. This happens. It’s the nature of the job. Titus is one of the best detectives I’ve ever worked with. He knows what he’s doing. That’s why he’s invaluable to the team. We have to assume he’s doing everything he can to catch the bad guys.”

  She nodded, and then realized Detective Ralston couldn’t see her. “Okay. Sure. Okay.”

  “I really have to go for now, but I promise not to forget you. The moment I know something, I’ll call you. Or hell, Pierce will himself.”

  “Right. Okay. Thank you.” She ended the call but continued to sit without moving for a long time. Eventually, she lowered herself onto her side on the couch, curling into a ball, and wrapping her arms around her legs.

  How the hell had she let this happen? She hadn’t meant to permit hers
elf to get so involved with another human being ever again in her life. She didn’t want to care about someone. Caring always resulted in pain. Maybe this kind of pain didn’t resemble what happened with Louis, but it still hurt.

  She wasn’t strong enough to live through another disappointment. He might change his mind about her at any given point and break up with her because she was out of sight and out of mind. Or worse. He could be killed. His job was dangerous. Why hadn’t she considered that possibility? She couldn’t believe she’d been so breezy about criticizing Janet’s inability to have a relationship with a cop. The worrying was stressful.

  It pissed her off that she had gotten involved enough to care. She missed his texts and calls and the way he held her body tightly against his when he somehow instinctively knew she needed it the most.

  Loving someone was too painful. Maybe they turned on you and beat the hell out of you for five years. Or maybe they had a job that didn’t permit them to contact you for days or weeks or, God forbid, months. The worrying would drive her mad. Was she any different from Janet? Had Janet worried herself sick until she couldn’t take it anymore and sought comfort in someone else’s arms?

  No. London pushed herself to sitting, noticing that the sun was going down. She needed to get to work soon. She stood, reminding herself she was not Janet any more than Pierce was Louis. No way in hell would she cheat on him while he was undercover. She couldn’t, because she was far too consumed with him to crave another man’s touch.

  Hell, she hadn’t been to Zodiac since she’d last seen him either. The thought of performing with other people while he wasn’t there no longer appealed to her. It was possible she might be willing to demo for a Dom while Pierce watched, but not while he was on assignment.

  She hurried to her bedroom and changed into jeans and a long-sleeved black V-neck, her usual work attire. The black hid any stains she might get from splashing liquids on herself. The sleeves kept her from getting chilly every time someone opened the front door.