SEIZED Part 1: New Adult Romantic Suspense (Seize Me Romance Fiction Series) (11 page)

I didn’t want to be like him, and make my situation anyone else’s responsibility. Fucking stupid old fool. It was easier for me to deny there was anything wrong than uncover our secret. I hated him back then. I hated myself, too. There were times when the teachers would pull me aside and ask if everything was okay. They knew I was moody for a reason, and they were always talking about how I should make more of my potential. I knew I was smart, but it was easier to mock them, and eventually they left me alone.

Shit, it’s late.
I should get some sleep. I know I need it, but I’m wired and my brain is working too fast to rest. There’s something missing in this equation. Something sticks out to me about Carrie’s story. I just don’t know if she’s told me everything. I can’t get a read on what she’s hiding, but it’s something. And the more I think about it, the more I see it has to be something to do with April. Carrie’s a fierce friend. . She’s obviously used to protecting April, but why? Who else have they been hiding from? And even back then, why would a talented track star ditch her main sport for Judo?

There are so many questions I want answered, but I know Carrie needs to sleep. I can’t push her into telling me about her past, but I wish she would. She still doesn’t trust me. After everything I shared tonight, I don’t know one more thing about her. She either cries or gets angry with me every time the conversation is focused on her.

I smirk like only a cop can. I know she may not want to tell me her story, but I can certainly find out more. Pulling out my laptop, I start to do a search on both Carrie James and Carrie Bonner. The department software gives us access to all sorts of information about people, so I find her on Facebook and scan through photos and posts from the last couple of years. Nothing there, and most of them are work related.

She’s listed on the KPMG website as a senior researcher rather than a reporter. Despite that, a few of the stories on the website carry her byline. She writes well, a little urgently, but well. I wonder how they choose which stories she will cover, and who assigned her the pieces she gets. I find a spattering of women’s style book reviews and opinion pieces, but also an article on the federal government’s changes to school lunch programs. Looking further, I see some liberal political pieces have shown up on other local blogs, and note that she keeps her opinions well in check.

Just then, an email alert pops up on my screen. Scrolling down, I quickly open the video that’s attached to it. It’s the security camera footage from the street of the attack. Vice is able to pull footage from any of the cameras in the inner city network within a number of hours. I watch as Carrie and April make their way out of the club. The tech guy has spliced the footage from several cameras, so I see their jilted journey past the hotdog stand and along the street. But then it cuts off just as Carrie is hailing a cab. The time sequence continues clicking, and it’s as if the two women just vanish. I backspace the video, and press play again, only to see the same result. A time lapse shows a virtually empty street where, just a moment before, Carrie had been hailing a cab.

I scroll back up to the message from the tech, who says this was all he was able to recover and that the cut was done so professionally that it’s irreversible. I’ve never seen this before. The city’s camera network is often hacked, but for someone to break in and doctor a video this quickly, they would have had to get access to the server before the kidnapping took place. It looks like Carrie and April are involved in something bigger than she’s admitting to, and there could be a very real reason for her silence.

I’ve seen the corruption of organized crime leach into the city’s public offices before, and I wonder if her influencer may be among the people I call my team.

The idea is disturbing. I don’t wear blinders, and I know the force has its flaws. It’s bound to, being so full of defective human beings, including me. But I had assured myself that the people at 43rd weren’t party to that stuff. I was sure we were a clean station, yet in front of me I have an evidence report that says the scene was entirely wiped down, and a video has been cut to delete the attack. It was our technicians who attended the scene, and our lieutenant who authorized tech to retrieve the footage in the first place. Could this be an inside job? Christ, I just don’t know.

Stifling a yawn, I realize I’m not going to find everything out myself. I may be wired, but my body is tired. It’s time I take a break and get some sleep. Rinsing the cups and the pot, I head upstairs. There’s no noise coming from Carrie’s room, so I shower quietly before slipping between the sheets of my own bed.

Working the night shift has gotten me used to sleeping whenever I can, so I set my alarm to go off in six hours and close my eyes against a barrage of unwelcome thoughts. I regulate my breathing and start to feel myself slip off. The sheets smell clean. Brenda must have changed them yesterday. They’re soft against my skin. I sleep naked for this reason, preferring the freedom over the restriction of clothing.

My mind drifts to the look on Carrie’s face when we were laughing in the car. She looks the same to me now as she did all those years ago in high school. I shift as the image of her curves comes into my mind. I remember pressing her against me after the state qualifiers way back then. It was the closest we’ve ever been. Her breasts were both soft and firm. I didn’t want to let her go, and she smelled so fucking gorgeous. God, I could have taken her on the field there and then, but she was usually so reserved that it felt wrong.

There was one moment when her lips touched my neck that I nearly exploded with desire. Her breath was hot, sweat was running down the back of her neck in droplets, and her chest was heaving against me with the effort of winning that race. I felt her sink into the shape of my body and I smelled her hair, so soft and smooth. It drove me so fucking insane I didn’t want to let her go.

I shift again against the clean sheets and sigh. I’m hard just thinking about her, and I know I need to shut this line of thought down if I’m going to get any rest at all. Through force of will, I stop myself and begin to drift into unconsciousness. I may be firm in my decision to behave, but there’s a reignited desire going on here that has never felt more fucking powerful.

When the alarm starts beeping, I swear it’s only been a second since I dropped off, but the day has passed and it’s almost four in the afternoon. George and Brenda will be home soon. I know I need to talk to Carrie before then, so I knock on her door on the way to the shower. Ten minutes later, I emerge wrapped in a towel and nearly run straight into her in the hallway. She’s waiting for the shower. She doesn’t look embarrassed, so I decide to play it cool.

“Howdy,” I say, trying to act casual as if I see her every day without clothes.

She half waves at me and as we pass each other. I turn sideways in so as not to brush against her tight little body in the hallway. Her breasts swell over the top of the knotted towel, and the urge to reach between her thighs comes over me like a train. I could take her right now. Press her against the wall and let that towel slip slowly to the floor. My mouth waters at the thought of her skin against mine, and I know she knows what I’m thinking.

We stand there for a second and her eyes are burning into mine, but she does nothing and I do nothing. The challenge in her eyes is clear. I can see she wants me, but as I meet her look with my own burning stare, she swallows and looks down. Her collarbones and neck look so delicate there in the light of the hallway, and seeing the bruises is what spurs me to keep walking.

“Take you out for breakfast?” I fire the question just as she’s closing the door of the bathroom, and she nods quickly, disappearing without saying a word.

Closing the door of my own room, I slump against the back of it. My cock bobs up above the line of the towel and I press it absentmindedly, dying for release but knowing there’s no time. I get dressed, head downstairs, and leave a note on the counter for Brenda to tell her we have a guest. I can hear Carrie moving on the floor above me, and when she comes downstairs I avoid her eyes and tell her we should get going if we’re going to miss the traffic. We’re both quiet on the drive to the café, so I turn on the stereo to break the tension. Physically, she looks better. She must feel better after some sleep, too.

“Did you rest?” It comes out gruffly, but she seems relieved I asked, and tells me that she did.

“I’m sorry for losing it last night,” she says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. So much emotion. It’s unpredictable, you know. One minute I feel fine, then—”

“No need to apologize. You don’t have to pretend to be tough with me, Carrie.” Her mouth tenses up, but I continue. “You were attacked. You’ve been through trauma.”

The tiny shake of her head makes me go on.

“Denying what happened is only going to delay the inevitable. Eventually those feelings are going to come and there’s nothing you can do but let them come. Staying in control won’t work right now.”

She says nothing, so I let it go as we arrive at a place I think she’ll like. There’s good healthy food here, and a selection of smoothies. I know one thing, the woman loves coffee and this is one of the best cafés in town. It might just be a direct pathway to her heart.

She’s lucky that the second interview doesn’t have to be held at the station. Victims of crime seem to struggle more with their recall when they’re in the same environment. I wanted to bring her here. I want her to feel safe. She needs to learn she can trust me.

We both order eggs benedict and black coffee. I add a carrot juice to my order, and think about how I’m going to manage the interview structure. We’re trained extensively in this area during the prep for detective, and I need to remember to actively listen rather than try to force information out of her. Those good cop, bad cop fear tactics only work in the movies. Some cops forget they’re talking to another human, but that’s all it takes, really. Offering them a sense of connection.

Most people, even the guilty ones, experience relief when they tell the truth. It’s simply about finding the right trigger to make them want to. Carrie and I may have a rapport built from shared history, but that becomes an obstacle with the shields she brings to the table. She’s the most covert but seemingly innocent witness I’ve ever met. Maybe that’s why I’m convinced she’s hiding something. So masked up with those tough girl characteristics. I need to see beneath them if we’re going to make any progress at all.

The food arrives. I think I could get used to eating with this woman. We don’t rush, and I can see she is pondering her next move. I sip my coffee and watch her ruminate. The place is quiet at this time of day. That’s the good thing about working nights. I can avoid crowds most of the time, and the worst of the traffic.

“Carrie, today we need to do a second interview.”

“Okay, sure,” she says. “Do we go back to the station after this?”

I see the food has put her in an amiable mood, so I drop into my friendliest tone. “No need. It’s just you and me here, so I’ll ask some questions and we’ll keep it informal.”

She takes another sip of her coffee and says, “Shoot.”

I set up the voice recorder on the table between us, and start gently probing her to go through the events of the night from start to finish.

We talk about the reasons for the New York vacation, and why they both needed it so badly. Carrie had forced April to take a break from work at the vet clinic, and they’d set off with plans for a girl’s weekend with rooms in a hotel.

“We even booked massages,” she says, scoffing at the extravagance.

This woman is not used to having a lot of money at her disposal, and I see how big a deal the trip is. Carrie tells me that April hasn’t been coping with the death of her parents, and that she saw the accident footage before her friend was even aware of their deaths.

We order another round of coffee, and she seems more comfortable here than she did at the station. I assume it’s because I shared my story last night. It may have been a calculated move, but I also wanted to confide in her. I’ve wanted to for years, so I don’t feel it’s manipulation. I’m only trying to help her, like old friends and police officers are supposed to.

Next, we run through the restaurants and bars the girls visited that night. The alcoholic in me feels a small twinge of jealousy as she talks about the tequila shots and the dancing. There’s something so attractive about heading out on the town to cut loose. Yes, it’s an escape, and admittedly I don’t use those to deal with life anymore, but I sort of wish I could.

Unfortunately, much like Robert Downey Junior in
Iron Man
, my first drink always seems to bring on twenty more and a set of handcuffs. I can’t do that shit these days. First of all, my liver couldn’t take it, but secondly, Lieutenant Jacobs would have me on probation so fucking fast my head would spin. I’m glad Jacobs knows my history. It’s good to have an emergency handbrake, as I can’t afford to get fired ever again.

We talk through the attack, and that’s when Carrie starts to cry again. She chokes up as she describes the guy beating April around the head with the gun. Tears run steadily down her face as explains the burns on his hands, and the way he grabbed at April’s exposed breast. I ask my questions as sensitively as I can, but she seems ashamed of what happened, and apologizes more than once that she couldn’t stop them from taking her. I tell her it’s not her fault, but she won’t be swayed, and this is where I sense a window of truth start to open up.

Changing the subject a little, I bring up the concept of fault, and ask her to estimate the odds of one smallish woman overpowering that many big men. She agrees that even with training, it’s not a realistic expectation.

“It’s more than that, though,” she says. “I was supposed to be looking out for April. She didn’t even want to go to Caliber, but I kind of made her come with me. Who doesn’t want free drinks and VIP access to a club like that?” I laugh because I agree, and her humor seems to diffuse the tension.