Find Me in Manhattan (Finding #3) (17 page)

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Those little fantasies kept playing in my head all day long, driving me beyond crazy, making me check my phone every chance I had for a missed call or text from my favorite veteran.

Out of respect for the veterans in the study, I usually kept my phone turned off during interviews. I was lucky enough to get these soldiers to come see me so I couldn’t afford rude interruptions on top of their possibly unstable mental state. But today, the hope of hearing from Michael made me forgo my usual decorum.

Instead of hearing from Michael, I had a more disconcerting call. My first interview of the day had just walked out of my tiny office when my phone rang. I quickly wrapped up with Staff Sergeant Quinton Mills and answered my phone.

“Hello?”

“Sarah Grant?” a gruff voice said my name like a question. He sounded like he smoked three packs a day and had been yelling for several hours.

“Yes. This is she. May I ask who’s calling?”

“My name is Detective Ray Thompson. I understand you filed a report against Jameson Carmichael.”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“I’d like to meet with you. I have some information that I think you need to hear.”

“You can’t tell me over the phone?”

“This is the kind of thing you need to hear in person.”

The second I told Michael where I was headed, he insisted that he come with me. He met me at the VA then we took the subway to meet Detective Ray Thompson. The police station was a flurry of activity, but Michael seemed to have no trouble navigating his way to the second floor where a smorgasbord of people awaited in a dingy reception area to address their business with New York’s finest.

Michael must have sensed how uneasy I was because he took my hand and held it in his lap. “It’ll be okay,” he reminded me. I tried to smile reassuringly, but it came out pained instead.

“Miss Grant?” a large man called out. He was intimidating, yet friendly. Still, knowing that I was about to get information I didn’t want to hear filled me with unease. Once we made introductions, he instructed us to follow him. I was thankful he didn’t take us into one of those mirrored interview rooms. Instead, we followed him to his office where his desk was littered with files and coffee cups. It reminded me of Dr. Wright’s office where Jameson and I once sat side-by-side while Dr. Wright welcomed me to the study and assigned me to work with the man who single-handedly complicated my life beyond recognition. That felt like a lifetime ago, but truthfully, it had only been a few months.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a small round table off to the side.

Michael waited until I sat before he took the chair beside me. He and the detective were chatting amicably about the military. They found they both served in the Special Forces from some medal Detective Thompson had hanging on his wall.

They could chitchat later. I needed to know what was going on. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but what is it that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” I snapped. My mama would tan my hide if she heard me speak that way, but I was about to jump out of my skin with my nerves like they were.

“Yes, of course. A report you filed came across my desk. Jameson Charmichael?”

“Yes, sir,” I confirmed nervously.

“Darrin Houser, the ADA assigned to your case recognized the name and forwarded the complaint and subsequent information to me. I had worked on the Carmichael case fifteen years ago, and he thought I would know more about this guy whose lawyer seems to get him out of everything. Houser is having trouble building a solid case against him even with your testimony.”

“Why is that? Has he been arrested? Wait, what Carmichael case? I’m sorry, but I’m not following what you’re saying.”

He set his reading glasses on his desk then spoke candidly. “Fifteen years ago, I investigated the brutal murder of the Carmichaels, Jameson’s parents. They were well liked by everyone. We couldn’t find any motive for their deaths.”

“No.” I shook my head harshly making my brain swim. “You must be mistaken. Jameson’s parents aren’t dead. They own a penthouse on Fifth Avenue. He talked about them all the time.”

“But you never met them, did you?” Detective Thompson asked knowingly.

“No, but…”

“Here’s what I think, Miss Grant. You met Jameson. He’s a good-looking guy with impeccable behavior then one day he gets angry. Maybe he loses control a little. You ended it with him, and he didn’t take it so well. He decides to follow you, beg for your forgiveness. When that didn’t work, he started threatening you using means that were difficult to trace back to him. Now it’s your word against his. He had a high-powered attorney, and you have us.”

“I…I-” I didn’t know what to say.

“More or less,” Michael spoke for me. “What are you getting at? What does all this mean?”

“There’s more to the story. Jameson was home at the time of the murder. He didn’t handle it well, so child services had him evaluated. Eventually, they sent him to a mental facility upstate, paid for by the family’s estate. The first time he came home, he met a girl. She was a sweet girl, often alone while her parents traveled. They dated briefly then suddenly she disappears. We investigated him again, but there was no evidence of foul play. She just vanished. Through the investigation, Carmichael remained composed. He was emotional at the right time and angry at the right times as if he were being directed. I’d always wondered if he played us with his parents’ murders, but after the girl, I was sure of it.”

My stomach rolled, and I felt myself pale. Michael grabbed my hand, and I was sure he could feel my body shaking. I felt like I was going to be sick, right there in the Captain’s office. “Make your point, Captain,” he demanded while I sat there reeling from the information.

“I think you may be in more danger than you think. The sly son of a bitch keeps evading arrest. I’ve had officers outside of both his building and in front of his parents’ where he maintains ownership. We can’t find him. He’s made no calls on his phone, and his lawyer claims he hasn’t seen him. After making a few phone calls, I discovered some interesting news.”

“Let me guess. He stopped taking his meds,” Michael guessed crossly.

“I have no idea,” the Captain responded to Michael’s snide comment seriously then continued. “My radar went off when I read the report you wrote. You said you both worked under the supervision of Dr. Frank Wright?”

“Yes, sir,” I confirmed.

Captain Thompson spun a file around on the table and pushed it toward me. He pointed to a name on the file next to the words
Attending Psychiatrist
. It said Linda Wright, M.D., which didn’t make sense to me.

“I spoke with Dr. Wright, Dr. Linda Wright. She evaluated Jameson when he was a child and has provided psychiatric care for him since the incident with his parents.”

“But he’s a student at one of the most prestigious schools in the country,” Michael commented derisively.

“Under Dr. Wright,” I reminded him, making the connection Captain Thompson was trying to show us.

“He was inpatient at the mental health facility for a short time then maintained the relationship while he completed high school at one of the most prestigious private schools in the city. Turns out he was a smart guy, earned a full ride to Colombia, and was admitted to their graduate program upon completion of his undergraduate degree. Of course, it helps when your supervising professor is the brother of the woman who had watched you grow up under her nose. It seemed a little suspicious to me.”

Brother.
That one word told me everything I needed to know. My heart was pounding, and I felt like I was drowning with how difficult it was to simply breathe. Michael clarifying the situation didn’t help my state, either.

“Let me make sure I understand. Her professor is the brother of the woman who treated him when he was locked up in the loony bin.”

“It appears that way.”

“Oh, God,” I said as I started rocking back and forth. “This is bad. This is really bad. Dr. Wright knew he was dangerous or unstable at the very least.” I was sure the contents of my stomach would be returning to us momentarily if the detective shared any more information. By some miracle, I was able to tune them out while they continued to talk because the next thing I registered was that we were on the subway headed to Michael’s apartment. I didn’t know where my brain was that whole time, but it wasn’t present. It was like it blocked out everything without me even being aware it was happening.

We were lucky the train was relatively empty. Michael was holding my hand tightly when I registered where we were headed. “I still have work to do,” I told him with little intention of following through.

“Not today. We’re going back to my place.”

I frowned but nodded my head in agreement. He tucked me into his side and kissed my temple. As much as I didn’t want anyone taking care of me, I appreciated what Michael was doing for me. It felt like I couldn’t process the fact that I not only dated a crazy person, but he could also be a potential murderer that I effectively ticked off.  Again, I wondered, what was so wrong with me that I only dated men with issues? As the minutes passed, I started to believe that maybe I did need to go home where Mama and Daddy could take care of me. At least then, I’d be safe and unaffected by my weak decision-making skills.

Michael

Sarah was still hardly responding by the time Lana and Tony showed up with dinner. I started to share the information the Captain gave us, but I didn’t get far. Sarah hadn’t even taken a bite of her food yet. As soon as I mentioned the part about the murder of Jameson’s parents, Sarah’s fork dropped to the table noisily and she darted out of the room. I gave her a moment, thinking she was upset from hearing about the scandalous information about Jameson again. She must have been scared. The guy was a certified lunatic, and to make matters worse, her professor was aware of it and still paired them to work together. The same professor supposed to help her file a report with the university. That was now questionable since we knew he had a significant relationship with Jameson.

After I had waited forever, three minutes to be exact, for Sarah’s return, I needed to check on her. I needed her to be okay because if it came down to it, I would put that son of a bitch in the ground for simply upsetting her. I didn’t even want to think about the things I wanted to do to him for physically hurting her.

It was difficult to think about how quickly Sarah became part of my life. There was a good, solid reason for me to avoid relationships, especially one where I never wanted to be away from her. The nightmares were a concern, but really, what it truly came down to was the fact that I was weak. I couldn’t protect her from me. What if I broke down? What if I got lost remembering what happened? Memories or warped versions of memories played like movies in my head, and I couldn’t escape it, couldn’t get back to reality, to the present, until it released me. Sometimes it happened while I was asleep. Sometimes I was awake, and those were the most terrifying. To know I had no control over what went on inside my head meant I would never be enough for Sarah. She unquestionably didn’t need to go from one crazy man to another. Still, I couldn’t let her go. She was everything that was good in the world, so I found myself knocking gently on the bathroom door. “Sarah?”

“Give me a minute, please.” She sounded like she was crying, and I couldn’t stand it. I quietly tried to turn the doorknob, but she’d locked it.

“Open the door, sweetheart.” I hated that my words came out with an edge, with a warning, but I couldn’t take her crying alone in there. I needed to make it right. It was my job to fix this.

“Go away, Michael.” She didn’t sound sad. She sounded…angry? With me?

Instead of going away like she asked, I grabbed the key from the top of the doorframe. Opening the door to find Sarah crumpled on the floor wiping her eyes with a tissue about killed me. She looked like a child curled up and crying like that.  All I wanted to do was grab her and make her feel better, but knowing how fragile she was feeling made me tread carefully.

“I tell you to go away, so you open the door?”

“You’re crying.”
Nice Michael. I’m an idiot.

“I’m upset.”

“Yes, I realize that. How can I fix it?”

“Not barging in the bathroom after I tell you to go away might be a good start.”

“Sarah, I’m not going to let you sit in here all night and cry.”

“I’ve been in here for three seconds, Michael. I’d hardly call that all night.”

I looked at my watch. “Seven minutes and thirteen seconds, actually.”

“You timed me?” Her eyes widened with disbelief.

“He times everything. It was his job,” Moretti said from the door before taking a bite from the sandwich in his hand. “You guys gonna come eat?”

“Give us a minute, Moretti.” And I thought I was insensitive…

“Okay.” His eyes flicked back and forth between Sarah and me for a second before he frowned and walked away.

“See how he walked away. That’s what you’re supposed to do. Now go!”

“You’re not pissed because I came in the bathroom. Tell me why you’re upset.”

I watched as her face went from a heated expression to one of resignation. Then her head dropped, so her forehead was resting on her curled up knees. “I’m not upset. I’m humiliated.”

“What? Why?”

She raised her head to scoff at me. “My ex is potentially a sociopath and a murderer, and you are wondering why I’m humiliated?” Then she went in for the kill. “Tell me, Michael, what the hell do you want from me because I’m about all tapped out.”

“Sarah,” I sighed. That was all it took for her to start crying again. Without a moment’s hesitation, I pulled her in my lap and whispered, “Don’t you know, Sarah? I want to be everything
for
you, and I want everything
from
you. I don’t even know how to begin, but somehow you’ve made me want to be the guy who holds you, the guy who rescues you, the guy who goes to sleep with you only to wake up next to you the next morning. You know exactly what you’re getting with me, and it might not be pretty, but it’s real and incredible and a little scary.”

“Don’t do that,” she cried into my shoulder.

“What?”

“Don’t go sayin’ all the right things.”

This made me laugh. “I’m just telling you the truth. I figured now’s as good a time as any.”

She shifted on my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. “They say relationships that begin from intense situations never work out. Are you going to end up in the regret pile, Michael?”

“I hope not, but I also don’t think you should take relationship advice from Sandra Bullock movies.”

“Hey!” she said with an edge of seriousness. “
Speed
was an important study of how people respond to immediate trauma.”

“Yeah? And I’m Keanu Reeves.”

“Oh, honey. You’re far better lookin’ than Keanu Reeves. You’re taller and more muscular. Let’s not even talk about your natural tan that makes me want to spend the next three days getting sprayed to match you. You have way better hair, and this,” she rubbed my unshaven jaw, “I find this very sexy.”

“If you want to leave this bathroom anytime soon, you should stop.” I watched as her eyes flared in response. Knowing the power she held over me turned her on, and suddenly her tear-stained cheeks were flushed with heat.

“Who said I wanted to leave this bathroom at all?”

Right when she finally leaned in to kiss me, a knock at the door pulled her back. “You all right?” Lana asked Sarah.

“Gettin’ there,” Sarah told her then shot me a small smile that knocked me right in the chest.

“Okay, you two. Come eat so you can tell us the rest of what you found out. I want this bastard locked up. Once that happens you can do whatever the hell you want on the floor of your bathroom,” Lana announced then left us.

“Oh, fine,” Sarah groaned and rolled her eyes.

I helped her climb off me and let her think she helped me up from the ground. My body was a little stiff and uncomfortable, in more ways than one, but the pain in my back was a constant reminder that I wasn’t the man I once was. Even if I wasn’t that man, I couldn’t seem to let Sarah go. I hated the idea that things with Sarah might not work out, but the idea of saying goodbye to Sarah was far worse.

“I’ll be out in a minute. I want to clean up first,” she said while wiping the smeared make-up from under her eyes.

“You look beautiful,” I told her honestly and gave her a quick kiss.

She looked at me like she didn’t believe me then said, “No, I don’t. I’m an emotional mess hanging on by a thread, and it’s okay for now. I just needed a minute to myself. Now, go. Tell them what Captain Thompson said. I won’t be any help anyway. I tuned most of it out after he told us Dr. Wright’s sister had been treating Jameson.”

“I’ll wait to tell them the rest when you’re out there. You need to hear the rest.” I pressed a kiss to her hair and headed back out to find Moretti and Lana setting up what looked like a command station in my kitchen.
Great.

Sarah

After Michael finished filling Lana, Tony, and me in on everything I should have heard at the police station, they spent the next few hours finding out everything they could on Jameson Carmichael. They pulled newspaper articles while Michael called a friend from their unit who now worked for the FBI. I sat in awe of what they were able to do in such a short time. As they continued to act like my own personal security team and discuss what to do to keep me safe, I realized I was going to have to call my brother. I was in trouble, and the last thing I needed was for our twindar to set him off. If you weren’t a twin, it might seem like a crazy thing, but our twindar was a real thing. Sometimes I knew he was having a bad day because something happened in my day that made me think of him. My brain didn’t let it go until I talked to him. Sure enough, every time this happened, he’d had a crummy day. It was the strangest thing, but we chalked it up to being womb-mates.

“I need to call my brother,” I told Michael and moved to grab my phone from my bag, which was by the front door.

Michael stopped me with a hand and a look of concern. “You gave your phone to Captain Thompson, so he could look into the texts and emails. You left it with him.”

Strange how I didn’t remember any of that, but then again, I didn’t remember much after reading the words
Attending Psychiatrist Linda Wright, Ph.D.
.

“Oh.” That was all I had to say about that.

“Use my phone. I programmed your brother’s number in there. He’s probably been trying to reach you anyway.”

I was about to hit send when Michael’s phone started vibrating in my hand. I handed it back to him, and he frowned when he looked at the screen. “Hello?” he answered, suspicious of the number.

He listened for a few moments before his eyes widened and turned to me. “I understand. Thank you for the call.”

I waited for him to explain. My energy was dwindling, but I feared I wouldn’t ever be able to sleep again while wondering what was next to come. Michael stood and started pacing the length of the kitchen. “Are you going to tell me what that’s all about?” I waved my finger back and forth indicating the path he had just followed across the kitchen and back.

“It was Captain Thompson. They sent officers to his apartment with a warrant. It looks like he hasn’t been there in weeks. They’re looking for him, at least. He said they spoke with you professor. He claimed he hasn’t seen Jameson in a couple of weeks. Something doesn’t sit right with this. I feel like we’re missing some information.”

“Like what? We looked at the file. I may not have registered much, but surely you did. You’re trained for this kind of stuff, aren’t you?”

He stopped and thought for a moment. “I wonder if he’s hiding out upstate or if his parents had another property.”

“Wouldn’t the police know that, though?”

“Yeah, but once they served him the order of protection, he would have known to get out of town. He knows the police would recognize his name and would probably do anything to avoid arrest. Why would he be sending the flowers and messages? Did they stop when you gave Captain Thompson your phone? Can you check your email? See if there is anything there. Think, Sarah. Where else could he hide out, Sarah?” Michael was like a dog with a bone. His rapid firing of questions made me regret challenging him about looking through the file.

“I think you’re giving him too much credit. He doesn’t have some grand plan. He’s only trying to scare me, make me regret hurting him even though he hurt me first.”

“How would you know? You thought he was charming up until he backhanded you across the face.”

I gasped then immediately froze with my mouth wide open. I couldn’t believe this man, who only hours before had held me on the bathroom floor while I cried, just accused me of being a stupid, naïve girl. It might have been true, but I didn’t need him to remind me of how foolish I had been.

Michael rubbed his face then bit out, “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean that.” The apology sounded forced, but I believe he didn’t mean to say it aloud. That didn’t mean he wasn’t actually thinking it.

“It’s fine. If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow your phone to call my brother.”

He passed me his phone looking more apologetic now, but his apology wasn’t what I needed right then. I stepped out of the room into the spare bedroom I had slept in the first time I was at Michael’s.

“What’s wrong?” Seth answered gruffly.

“Seth!” I wailed, letting loose all my fear and frustration on my brother.

“Sarah?  Sarah, what’s wrong?” He sounded hysterical. “Sarah, talk to me.”

The words rushed out of me. I wasn’t even sure they made sense, but it was like my brain was on hyperdrive. I couldn’t tell him everything fast enough. “He’s messed up, Seth. We spoke with the police. They suspected he murdered his parents twenty something years ago but could never prove it. After he had left the mental hospital, my professor’s sister treated him. That’s how he got into school! It all makes sense. Now the police can’t find him. They think he might try to hurt me.”

“You’re coming home, Sarah. I know that Ph.D. is important to you, but your safety matters more. You can transfer to Auburn, or God forbid, Alabama. The school isn’t important.”

“No Seth,” I said as firmly as I could, given my emotional state. “I’m not leaving.” My refusal didn’t have quite the same punch as it did a few weeks ago.