SEIZED Part 2: Steamy Romantic Suspense (Seize Me Romance Fiction Series) (4 page)

Carrie

Trying to get whoever is on the other end of those two phone numbers is a fail so far.
Shit
! I head back down stairs again. The kettle is whistling, but I can’t find the coffee anywhere. I grumble now that I have to settling for a black tea.

No one can usually get between Carrie James and her coffee. It’s just a drink and I’m probably addicted, but I don’t care. I love it. It’s my routine, and I don’t have many comforts left right now.

I let the teabag start to infuse, and make my way over to the laptop on the table. It’s time to try plan B. The laptop is not Blake’s. It must be Brenda’s, but I’m past caring. I have to listen to my instincts—and although everything in my body wants Blake Anderson’s skin on mine, nothing in my mind trusts him.

I’m doing what I can for April now. Step one is checking out who these numbers belong too. I do a reverse lookup on the white pages. When it turns up nothing, I type in the address for one of those private lookup databases we have access to at the TV station. Sure enough, one of the numbers is a New York City phone number, but the owner is not listed. The other number is listed to an Erica Morgan in Brooklyn.

The phone number is in an individual’s name—not a business—yet the database is showing a business line with a fax and several extensions attached to the main number.
How confusing
. Normally it’s easier to locate people, and I wonder why all these walls are up. If it’s a realtor trying to rent out an apartment, or a guy calling April to hook up, they’d probably want their numbers to be accessible.

I sit down and sip my tea. This is why the Police have special resources. Right now I wish I was a cop. To find out more about who’s been calling April, I need access to their databases. Blake must have passwords. Suddenly, I’m wishing he was in my corner again, putting more effort into finding April, doing things the way I would, with all the resources he has. It’s my pipe dream, but a girl can hope.

I start to think of the questions he had for me when we ate at the diner. It dawns on me that he couldn’t have known some of the things he raised unless he was already trolling my Facebook page. We’re not social media friends—not yet anyway—so I deduce he’s been checking up on me. It also means he can check up on April.

I’m getting frustrated, but I’m not ready to give up. Plan C would be trying to guess a password, but that’s too hard. I won’t even try. It might also be illegal, so I give up that idea. Part of me thinks I should just go to Caliber and see Jessup. Even if he’s a little creepy, it makes sense that he would make it a priority to find April.

Maybe he would haul ass if he hears exactly what happened directly from me. The Police may be working their angle, trying to entrap him with some elaborate plan that might take months if they follow due process. I try Blake again on the downstairs phone line; there’s still no answer. This isolation is driving me insane.

By now I’m certain he’s avoiding me, and I hate him for it. He’s turned into exactly what he said he didn’t want to be—a power-tripping, game-playing asshole with authority. I wonder if he even gives a shit that I’m stuck here in limbo, or if this is supposed to be punishment. I feel like calling the station and telling his boss I’m getting no help. I feel like leaving. That would show him.

It’s not like I’m going anywhere yet, but that man needs to start showing me some respect—as the woman he just slept with, and as a witness. I deserve more than this push and pull craziness.
God
! I feel like breaking something, but I’m an invited guest in a place with a kid. I feel like drinking, but that would leave me foggy-headed with a headache.

If there were a whole cake or a bucket of ice cream here, I could eat that. I already checked, and there isn’t. I’ve been sleeping too much to have another nap. I think again about reading a book or watching TV. I remember what my mum used to say when I was bored as a kid.
Do something. Write something. Go outside
.

That’s it
! I may not be able to go outside, but I can make something. Words are my art. I pull over the laptop, and settle myself in the chair to start crafting a story. It will probably never make it to air. Still, there’s a chance it could end up on the KCRG website. Not many people are able to provide a firsthand account of a kidnapping and get it published. And it’s about April—an Iowa local who’s kidnapped in the big, bad city of New York. It’s certain to capture some attention.

This is what I should have been working on all along
! I decide I need to email the editor now and see if he can save a place on tomorrow’s home page. Readers will love it. They will care, because it’s April. If I’m lucky, they might even get a local affiliate camera crew down here to cover the story. That’ll show Blake for leaving me here alone like I can’t contribute.

I open a new word document and start typing a draft. A surge of energy rushes through me as the words begin to flow.

Police Use Underhanded Stall Tactics and Endanger Innocent Iowa Tourist

In New York this week, Police have shocked citizens by prioritizing the capture of an alleged criminal over the rescue of a young Iowan girl. Miss April Lee, twenty-five, of Cedar Rapids, was kidnapped from the Time Square area of New York City central district at approximately three forty-five on Sunday morning. There were multiple masked assailants who used weapons to forcibly remove her from the street as she made her way home with fellow Iowan tourist, Miss Carrie James.

In what has been called a brutal attack, the two were beaten and threatened, before Miss James was able to escape and make it to New York’s 43
rd
Street Police precinct to seek assistance. She sustained choking and head injuries during the attack and reports that April was knocked unconscious before being removed from the scene in the trunk of a black sedan.

More shocking than the assault has been the response offered by the staff and Detectives of the NYPD. They have not only failed to devote a competent lead investigator, but have used April Lee as bait. The powers that be are clearly motivated by factors other than the safe return of a young tourist and the reason for this? Family connections. While April Lee may be a simple Iowan veterinary nurse, one of her remote family members is alleged to be involved in some yet unproved dealings within the criminal underworld.

Jessup Lee has never been formally charged or even recently questioned, but is suspected of being involved in a trafficking and prostitution ring. However, these allegations have provided weak justification for Police actions, which have left all parties asking for explanations. In particular, the gagging of the prime witness Miss James has shocked the Press association. As a researcher and reporter for KCRG, she has tried to invoke her right to free speech, but was instead imprisoned in the home of one of the Department’s Detectives pending development of the bait and trap operation.

When asked to comment, Miss James said, “I am gravely worried about the wellbeing of my friend April Lee. I urge the public to please help her by speaking out against the investigative tactics being carried out by the NYPD.”

We are keeping abreast of this story as it develops, and will keep you updated.

Bam
! I know there’s more to say. This is simply a first draft, but at least it got some of the anger out of me. I attach it to an email from my email account, and type in my editor’s email address. I’m about to press send when I decide to give it the overnight test. Blake Anderson doesn’t deserve a stay of execution from the press, so I’ll probably tone it down overnight.

I’m going to submit this article, but I’m sure as hell giving myself a chance to edit it before it comes out with my name on it. I want it to be perfect. I decide to hide the message in one of my archive folders, just in case Blake suspects I’m up to no good with all this free time he’s left me with.

I go back to being bored out of my skull around Blake and Brenda’s apartment, but the wind is now out of my sails. The anger has dissipated. Strangely, in its place is sadness. There was a moment last night when Blake and I were one hundred percent connected. I know he felt it too. It was beautiful, and it made me get my hopes up about what we could become. That was before the phone calls and his booming voice grilling me. It was when we were in bed together. He was stroking my cheek and looking into my eyes.

Normally that sort of thing wouldn’t be a turn-on at all, but the attention he paid me was unexpectedly welcome. It was like his eyes pierced through the bullshit and that wall I put up around myself. He could see everything that happened to me and was washing it all away. He didn’t judge me; it was just the opposite. He accepted me completely. And that’s when it happened.

Without breaking eye contact he placed his massive hand up against my heart. His hand spread over my breast as he connected with me, but I could feel the throbbing of the blood in his veins match up with the pounding of my heart. It was like he was touching me from the inside; it was beautiful.

I was stupid. I thought that meant something to him. That’s when I got hopeful that this chance meeting was fate, and that we were meant to come back into each other’s lives. We made love again after that. It was long and slow, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that tender moment, and it made what followed so much worse. The look in his eyes when he left the apartment this morning left me nauseous and furious.

I’m a fool to have let myself be so vulnerable with him. I loved it then, and I hate this feeling now; like he’s taken advantage of me and I’m dirty. It’s like I was just a body to practice all that intimacy on, and was discarded afterward. I log back into the computer and email the draft to myself. At least I’ll have it if I don’t end up using it.

I’m getting close to rage and I want out. I look desperately at the front door. Logic is telling me I can’t go anywhere—not now with no money, no cell phone, no keys to lock up, and no place to go, even if I could get out of this apartment. And then I think about my hotel room; and about Jessup Lee.

Blake

I’m driving again. It feels like I spend half my life in this car. Driving back and forth from Manhattan to Brooklyn, and through killer rush hour, is a pain. Luckily, the car is comfortable. I’ll never be able to afford to live in Manhattan, and I’m at peace with that. I also don’t mind at all, being away from the people I have to work with, and all the lowlife regulars.

That was one of the good things about living in Iowa back then—no crazy attitudes. It’s the good thing about Carrie too. I’ve been thinking about her all day. It’s hard not to, when she’s calling so much, but it’s more than that. She’s at home, and probably angry at being kept out of the loop, but I need some space. It’s painful not knowing if she’s telling the truth.

I tried to shut her out this morning. It killed me to do it. I saw the look on her face when I told her the harm she had done. I believe she’s innocent; and there’s so much stacked up against her too. If only she could be honest with me. Honest to the heart. Not just about the case either. About what happened to her.

It’s only been a couple days, and it’s crystal clear to me that Carrie moves through life like a woman in pain. When she’s sleeping, those arms are wrapped around her like a shield. She shies away from conversation whenever I turn the subject to her, and I could have sworn there were tears in her eyes when we made love.
If only she would just trust me.

I don’t want to push. A man has done this to her. I can tell. She’s been broken by someone in the past. From my own bad deeds, I know the worst thing I can do is demand she tell me everything. It’s not my business, and it’s not my place to ask. She made damn sure I knew that in high school, and I expect the same now.

That really hurt me back then. Carrie was my lifeline while all the drama was happening at home. She was the only reason I would have stayed in Cedar Rapids. She was worth it. One moment we’re saying goodbye on the track field, and the next she’s been whipped off to some religious resort with her family and that cult-like church in town.

I was gonna ask her out that summer—make her mine. I was willing to wait, too, but she obviously wasn’t interested. I could see it in her eyes when she got back from their summer vacation. She had moved on. She was as cold as steel when classes started again. Fuck, it hurt me.

I try and distract myself with radio. It doesn’t work. Before I think, I’m gazing up at a billboard of a lingerie model, and my mind is on her again. This woman has nothing on Carrie’s curves. Carrie is a real woman. I knew that when she welcomed my tongue inside her. A groan slips out of me just thinking about it.
God, that was hot sex.

The feeling of holding her against me was over the top. Yearning to get inside her, and then feeling her tight, wet pussy shiver and tighten around my cock as she came; there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in her arms. I picture us being completely honest about everything—telling her everything.
But will she reciprocate with the sharing
?

I’m a fool to think any of this. She’s got no good reason to tell the truth after my blowout during this morning’s interrogation. I owe her an apology—for that, and for ignoring her calls all day. That must have made her a little crazy, and it’s my fault. I need to put things right the second I walk through that front door. Most of all, I need to make a decision about trusting her, and just stick with it. Going back and forward like this is getting us nowhere; and worst of all, it’s torture.

My mind is made up as I pull into my parking spot. I see that Brenda and George aren’t home yet. Her car isn’t there, so she must be still at work. I don’t usually pick up George on Mondays as he has guitar lessons and the teacher lives close to where Brenda works. The trash cans are all lined up neatly on the way to the elevator, and I realize I forgot to put out the trash again this week.

I’ll do that tonight. I just need to sort this thing out with Carrie first. I feel better with my decision to put her at the top of the priority list. As the elevator climbs up to my floor, my mood lifts at the thought of seeing her. I’m a different man around Carrie James. There’s nothing I can do to deny her. She makes me hopeful again.

I open the door to find her perched on a bar stool in the kitchen. She’s looking directly at me. I almost flinch as her eyes seem to assess me.
Fuck.
It’s worse than I thought. If looks can kill, I’m a dead man right where I stand. I need to start with an apology and go from there. There’s something about an angry Carrie that makes me deeply uncomfortable—me, a six foot seven inch tall police detective. It’s laughable but it’s true.

“Hi, how was your day?” I greet her and brace myself for the onslaught that’s bound to be on its way.

Instead, she says, “Fine,” and goes back to frowning at me.

“Listen, I’m sorry I couldn’t take your calls today. I had—”

She interrupts sharply, “How would you even know whether I was in trouble or not? Aren’t you supposed to be protecting me, Blake?”

Her questions are accusations. I see I left her alone with her thoughts for way too long.

“You interrogate me, make me feel like shit, then take off like the runner you’ve always been.”

“Hang on now, Carrie,” I say.

I’m mad at myself, because I let this happen, but the situation is escalating well beyond what I expected. I have to give her something to bring things back under control.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I really am. Honestly, it’s been a pretty messed up day, and I needed some time to think. You’re a reporter. I didn’t know whether to trust you or not. Despite every bone in my body wanting to pull you closer and take care of you, I—”

I stop because the look on her face is showing she’s shocked at my admission. Hell,
I’m
shocked at my admission. We stare at each other in the quiet kitchen.

“There’s no coffee either.” Her tone is grumpy, but less intense. She’s probably on the verge of forgiving me.

“Look, I’ve gotten my ass kicked by the press before. Well actually, I fucked myself over, if I’m really honest. They got hold of a story about me losing my temper with a suspect, and the Department couldn’t quash it. It was a PR nightmare. They had a hard time doing damage control because of who it was. So I ended up with a suspension. It was a mess.”

She looks at me quietly and says, “Press or not, we went to school together. You should know that I have nothing to do with April’s kidnapping. You made me feel like a criminal, Blake.”

Now I’ve caused her pain. It’s all over her face. I hate seeing her like this. I’m a fool. I could have been more diplomatic. I just caught her on the phone and felt like she was taking advantage of me. She is close to tears; I need to do something to make it better.

“Carrie, come here.” I pull her into my arms and she rests just below my shoulder. I want her closer. I want to protect her. I take a chance—I pick her up and sit her on the edge of the kitchen counter for more contact. We stay like that and I can’t get enough of feeling her breath on my neck.

“Let me make it up to you. Let me take you out for a nice coffee. I’ll tell you what I’ve learned about the case today.”

She’s still looking at me with suspicion, so I use my body language to persuade her. The one thing I do know is that although Carrie may not trust me, she wants me, almost as much as I want her.

“Hmmm.”

The moan escapes from her throat and I’m instantly hard. Her legs are already parted to allow me to hug her, so I lean on the counter and pull her body even closer.

“Look I’m going to find April, I promise you that.”

I feel her chest soften against me, and I forget everything I told myself about resisting her. Instead, I cup her chin and go in for a kiss. She welcomes it and I take ownership of her mouth—my tongue is exploring and licking and claiming her for myself. She moans and wraps her legs around my hips. On instinct, I grasp her thighs and spread her legs wider so I can get closer. I have no control over myself when I’m with this woman. None.

I pull away from the kiss and wrap her hands around my neck. She begins to lick my earlobes and it’s game over. I pick her up and carry her upstairs, with her legs tight around my waist. I don’t even make it to my room. I get to the top of the stairs—she’s moaning and grinding on my cock, so I lower her onto my couch.

“You’re so beautiful, Carrie,” I say without thinking.

She stands up and pulls the pants she’s wearing down her legs and completely off, and reaches to take mine off too. The sweater she’s wearing comes off too, and I zoom in on her panties. I unbutton my shirt. I can’t stop looking at her gorgeous body. She’s teasing me. She flops back on the couch and slides her hand into her panties. She’s touching herself—moaning and bucking as she waits for me to take all my clothes off, and never breaks from our eye contact. The woman has my cock hard as a rock and I haven’t even touched her.

I kneel in front of the sofa and surprise myself when I rip off her panties. She lets out a squeal like I took the bait, and pulls me down to lay on top of her. She’s so tiny I think I’d squash her in the sofa. So I pull her to stand up.

“I want to please you Carrie. I want you sit on top of me and ride me until you come.”

I sit and reach my hand out to help her straddle me on the couch. My cock is so hard it already wants to burst, but I hold it together to let her take a ride to remember. She lowers onto my shaft, and as my cock touches her opening, she’s so wet and ready. My hands grab her ass and squeeze them as I pull her down to take me deep inside.

“Oh, God,” she moans out as she sucks my ear.

She is so ready for me I’m taken aback. She’s placed her hands on my shoulder and rocks me into oblivion. Her breasts are beautiful and in my face and I can’t resist them. I raise one arm up from her ass and up her back. I pull her closer so I can taste and tease her nipples. I hear her moans turning into a whimper and I feel her tighten around my cock. She’s already coming. The knowledge of her satisfaction takes me by force and so I come too, letting out a wail that sounds like a caged animal got loosed.

I forget everything about the day. She looks so content I don’t want to move. When we recover, I wait until she pulls off me. She picks up the clothes she’s wearing and takes it into the bathroom where she cleans up. I follow suit when she’s done, and we meet back on the sofa. She sits beside me, so tiny next to me that a desire to protect her washes over me.