by V. K. Powell
Her real job as a district commander was so different from Kerstin’s work. Policing required hands-on, person-to-person, interactive, and often physically and emotionally challenging skills. Kerstin’s more solitary career dealt with figures, numbers, and creative ideas. Maybe Kerstin’s career choice accounted for the more cautious and ordered approach Bennett detected. She couldn’t help wondering how else Kerstin might’ve changed.
What could they possibly have in common after all these years? Some aspects of Bennett’s job could be creative—figuring out how to reach a mentally challenged individual and talking him off a ledge; motivating an experienced officer to embrace new community-oriented concepts; balancing a demanding and dangerous career with an equally demanding and loving family. Maybe somewhere in between they’d find common ground. She looked down at the page she’d been doodling on and the initials KA were surrounded by Xs and Os.
“Seriously, Carlyle?” She ripped the paper off the pad and tossed it into the trash on her way out. She needed to be in the field answering calls, interacting with the officers, and getting the lay of the land in her new district, not mooning over a woman she’d crushed on as a teenager.
Chapter Four
Kerstin rolled over and hugged the long body pillow tighter. The firm mattress suited her, and she didn’t intend to leave any time soon. She nudged her nose from under the covers and barely opened one eye—still dark and the air was slightly nippy—perfect sleeping weather. Snuggling back into the covers, she drifted off again.
Avicci’s voice rumbled through Kerstin’s head, asking someone to wake him when it was over, a theme of hers at the moment. If only. The snappy ringtone repeated over and over until it registered that she needed to get up. Some meeting undoubtedly waited in Manhattan after a long and crowded subway ride. Why hadn’t her mother been in to scold her out of bed and into the kitchen for their usual morning coffee?
She threw back the covers, opened her eyes, and nearly tumbled out of bed. Not home, but Proximity Hotel, over five hundred miles away. The last-minute flights between New York and Greensboro just two days ago were taking their toll, disorienting her to time and place. Plush drapes covering the floor-to-ceiling windows of her corner king loft room couldn’t entirely block the bright sunlight. She tapped off her phone alarm and stared at the time in horror. Nine fifteen. She had a meeting with her police liaison in forty-five minutes on the other side of town.
She turned on the coffeemaker as she headed toward the huge terrazzo shower. She stood under the pounding hot water for several minutes, the tension in her shoulders easing, and then rushed to get dressed. Being late wasn’t an option. She gave the coffee pot a longing glance on her way out and prayed Bennett had been successful in finding a replacement for the substation project. If not, this meeting would be the longest of her life, even if it lasted only two minutes. She refused to dwell on the negative and instead dialed a cab on her way down in the elevator.
When she reached the front door, her taxi was waiting. She’d be on time if he knew where he was going. Greensboro wasn’t New York City, after all. The cabbie arrived in the area quickly but circled the block several times before Kerstin finally called the chief’s office for better directions and a physical description of the temporary District One offices. They stopped in front of a building that looked like an industrial facility at ten thirty. She wouldn’t have chosen this simple redbrick structure as a police substation. She paid the cab driver, hurried through the front door, and wasted more time getting directions to the correct office from a part-time receptionist.
Kerstin stopped short of the entrance to the office and regained her composure. Her stomach knotted, and she regretted skipping breakfast. She smoothed the front of her bespoke suit and was about to knock but heard Bennett’s slightly raised voice.
“The architect is late. Are you sure this is the right day? I know, but we all make mistakes. Okay. I’ll wait a few more minutes, but if she’s not here soon, I’m going to work.”
Kerstin stepped into the room as Bennett hung up. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m still your architect.” She paused, trying to read Bennett’s expression. “I was hoping you’d had more luck getting reassigned.”
Bennett shook her head, her eyes roaming over her body and lingering in places where her suit fit snugly. “Guess it’s my turn to apologize. We’re stuck with each other.”
Bennett wasn’t really sorry. The kidding tone she’d used so often in high school oozed sarcasm. She rose and came toward her, and Kerstin tingled all over, floundering for an appropriate reply. “Guess…we’ll have to manage.” And managing Bennett was exactly what Kerstin had in mind, along with keeping the project moving. “Sorry I was late. I hate tardiness. It shows lack of respect. I don’t want you to think I’m—”
“Kerstin, you’re here now.” Bennett’s tone was calm and soothing as she motioned toward two chairs in front of her desk.
She certainly was and wished she could be anywhere else. Kerstin took a seat and scanned the sterile surroundings, searching for something to define who Bennett was now, how she’d changed, and what she valued, which could prove beneficial in the managing-Bennett effort. The stark walls offered no clues, requiring her to rely on the past and speculation, very dangerous territory.
“I know it’s not much to look at. I only got the job and the office two days ago.”
Tension weighted the air between them, and though Kerstin’s body was on alert, she had to find a way to focus on the job. “Where do we begin?” Why was she asking Bennett? The substation project belonged to her. She reached for the rolled plans in her tote. “Let’s review the current drawings and confirm you’re okay with everything.”
“Actually, could we clear the air first?”
Bennett moved closer, and Kerstin flinched. Her skin heated as she recalled the last time they’d touched and the exhilaration and potential the moment held. Bennett’s eagerness and proximity reminded Kerstin of feelings she’d buried long ago, hope and promise, now blunted by age and experience. Emotion was fleeting and unreliable, and in this case, very dangerous. She had to stay connected to her goals or she’d lose everything.
“What do you mean, clear the air?” Brown eyes settled on her, and Kerstin momentarily wanted to be as honest as she’d always been when Bennett pinned her with a stare. She mentally shook herself and reverted to business. “You mean the project.”
“We both asked to be reassigned. You must be disappointed. I’m sorry…for you.”
The spark in Bennett’s eyes and a mischievous grin relayed more than her words, but Kerstin needed to be clear. “What are you saying?”
“I’m not really sorry we’ll be working together. I’ve waited a long time to find out—”
“Bennett, don’t.” She could barely catch her breath. In spite of her protest and better judgment, part of her wanted Bennett to continue, but another part silently pleaded with her to remain silent. Kerstin clutched the straps of her tote until her fist ached.
Bennett scooted her chair closer and reached for Kerstin’s hands, but she withdrew. “We should probably talk about what happened.”
“No, we shouldn’t,” she snapped, her angry tone a bit too loud. She’d almost convinced herself nothing had happened between them. Bennett’s reminder poked the old wound still tender with scar tissue. “If we’re going to work together, what we really need is to focus on the job, not ancient history.” Damn Bennett Carlyle for being so casual and emotionally reckless.
“Okay. If that’s the way you want it,” Bennett said.
Kerstin couldn’t look at Bennett, afraid of what she might discover or reveal. She pulled her first drafting pen from her bag to distract her from the memories. If she allowed those images to emerge, she’d be paralyzed. “Why is it so important to talk about the past? Nothing really happened, and we both moved on.”
“Of course, but I’d still like to know what happened when—”
Kerstin placed her f
ingers over Bennett’s lips, felt their silky softness, and immediately regretted the touch. She stared for several seconds as the corners of Bennett’s mouth curled up, and then she removed her hand.
“What are you thinking right now?”
“Ben…Bennett, please don’t do this. We need to focus on the project. It’s apparently important to both of us. Let’s not mess it up with history.”
“I need to know—”
“Actually, you don’t.” Was Bennett the brave, mature one, hoping to resolve their issues, or was she totally irresponsible for trying to renew a connection that shouldn’t have happened? Maybe she really had no idea how much their irresponsible teenage actions had cost Kerstin.
Bennett’s eyebrows scrunched together, and the playful smile at the edges of her mouth vanished. “What am I missing?”
Kerstin couldn’t look into those pleading eyes again. She held the ends of her drafting pen in each hand and willed her insides to calm. She mustered a vision of her mother’s current situation to remind her what was important. “The only thing you’re missing is the significance of this job. Are we working together or not?”
Bennett visibly recoiled. “Well, yeah, but it might be easier if we—”
“It won’t.”
“How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Make me feel like I’m behind the eight ball, not quite measuring up.”
The hurt in Bennett’s eyes was old and deep, and she hated that she might have contributed to it. “I certainly don’t mean to, and I apologize if I upset you, but our professions are on the line with this project.”
“What happened to you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You used to be so open and optimistic. Remember the time—”
“Life happened.” Why had she become so circumspect and logical? She shook the question away, not caring to examine it too closely. Bennett Carlyle didn’t get to question her or her choices. “I don’t mean to be rude, but could we get back to the task at hand?” Could she trust Bennett to forget the past for the sake of the project? Could she trust herself? She waited for Bennett to agree and, after a slight nod, proceeded in full work mode. “Why don’t you move back to your desk, and we’ll review the initial list of requirements?”
“The what?” Bennett rose but looked at her like she’d spoken a foreign language.
“Your brief? Your program? The department’s specs for the renovation?” Bennett’s blank stare concerned her.
“I wasn’t on the original team. My predecessor, Captain Warren, worked with your firm initially, and I have no idea what he listed as our requirements, but it probably didn’t have anything to do with real police work.”
Now she was really worried. “Don’t you have a copy of his file on the project?”
“He cleaned out everything in the office except a useless calendar.” She ran her fingers through her hair, an old and practiced sign of discomfort. “Sorry. How do I get up to speed?”
Kerstin hadn’t brought the initial brief, assuming they’d be further along in the process. “I have the original documents at my hotel. Maybe we should reschedule, and I’ll bring you a copy tomorrow. Ten o’clock?”
Bennett nodded, and Kerstin gathered her materials to leave.
“I’m sorry, Kerstin. I’m pretty good at my job, but this kind of stuff is out of my wheelhouse. I’ll catch up.”
“We’ll get there. May I use your phone to call a cab? I forgot to plug in my cell.”
“Why don’t I give you a ride?”
The offer sent Kerstin’s insides into another dive. “That’s not necessary. I’m sure you have things to do.”
“It’s almost lunchtime, so no bother. Let me. Please.”
Coming from Bennett, please was a word Kerstin couldn’t refuse easily. She had to put distance between them, to settle back into her rhythm, but instead heard herself say, “Thanks.”
* * *
“I’ll give you the nickel tour of the area around the station on our way out.” Bennett waited for Kerstin’s response before leaving the parking lot.
“Okay. I’m not familiar with the area, and a tour might help me blend the exterior components with the neighborhood.”
“I had a high school friend who lived down the street, so we hung out on Summit Avenue, Bessemer Avenue, and the old mall. You were probably busy in Sunset Hills and Irving Park, the rich folks’ communities.”
“That’s not true. I—” Kerstin squinted and seemed to be reconsidering her answer. “Maybe you’re right. I was a bit of a snob back then.”
“No comment.” Bennett grinned, then drove across the street and stopped in front of their future site. “Can you picture our sign out front? Fairview Station District One.”
“That’s the substation?”
“It will be.” Bennett heard the pride in her voice, aware maybe for the first time how much this flagship facility would mean to everyone involved.
“It’s different from the pictures. This looks like an old office building or a…”
“A factory?”
Kerstin nodded. “Maybe from the 1950s.”
“Exactly. It used to be a laboratory for a clothing company. In fact, a large section of my district is what they called a mill village back in the day. Cone Mills ran several textile factories along the creek on Yanceyville Street.”
“Guess I thought it would be bigger.”
“We wish,” Bennett said, driving away from the curb. She pointed out the recent changes in the Fairview community as she navigated the longest possible route back to Kerstin’s hotel. “Once the substation opens, the community will have a place to meet, and the officers will feel more connected to them and their issues. I’m really excited about the prospects.” Kerstin gave her a sideways glance Bennett couldn’t quite decipher. “What’s that look?”
“I’m still adjusting to the older, more responsible Bennett Carlyle, who happens to be a police captain now. How did you end up on the force?”
“Well—”
“I’m sorry. None of my business, and it’s unfair to declare part of our past off-limits and quiz you about another.”
“Why? People do it all the time. Ask questions. Please.” At least Kerstin was interested, a very good start.
“I shouldn’t.” Her tone said she wanted to ask but wasn’t happy about it.
Bennett volunteered. “I guess my dad gave me the bug. He snuck me into his squad car after his shift and rode me around the parking lot, like Grandpa did with him. If no one was around, he’d crank up the lights and siren. At that age, I enjoyed the noise, the color, and the excitement most. But the whole time he talked about the importance of family, community, and service, and the noble profession of law enforcement. Pretty heady stuff for a kid, but some of what he said sank in, eventually.”
“But not right away?” Kerstin turned toward her in the seat, her eyes full of interest.
“Oh no. The responsible part came much later.”
“More important things to do or—”
“Wait. Somebody’s in trouble.” Bennett turned the police radio up.
“Car 126, I need a supervisor at 2135 Brighton Street ASAP for a barricaded suspect. Notify the watch commander.”
Bennett checked her side mirrors, made a U-turn, and activated her blue lights and siren. “I have to respond. I’ll have someone at the scene take you back to the hotel.”
“I…I’m…okay.”
Bennett cupped Kerstin’s hand to reassure her and was surprised she didn’t withdraw. “You’re pale, but don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The minutes slowed as Bennett checked intersections and raced through one after the other. George McIntyre, a retired cop and one of her father’s old partners, lived at the address on Brighton Street. She needed to get to the scene before response escalated. Once special teams and detectives arrived, her chances of mitigating the incident reduced dramaticall
y. Whatever was going on with George, she owed him a chance to come out of it with some dignity intact.
She slid her car to a stop at the police roadblock close to George’s house, beside Jazz’s Crown Vic, and started to jump out. Kerstin shouldn’t be so close to the unknown and possible danger. Bennett should’ve dropped her at the station before responding. “I’ll send an officer over to take you to your hotel. Do not leave the car until he comes to get you. Understand?”
Kerstin nodded but grabbed Bennett’s arm, and the situation outside her vehicle faded into the background. The pleading expression in Kerstin’s eyes held Bennett. The warmth of Kerstin’s hand penetrated her rough, polyester shirtsleeve and swirled through her. For an instant, she forgot where she was and why. A shout from outside reminded her that George needed her. The officers counted on her. She reached for and missed the door handle, unwilling to fully disengage. “I should go.” For a second, Bennett thought Kerstin might ask her to stay.
“Please…be careful, Ben.”
“Always.”
Bennett jogged to Jazz’s position, still uneasy that Kerstin was nearby. “What do we know?”
“A neighbor called in. George was ranting about life not being worth living anymore. She said he’d been out of sorts for several days and looked confused this morning when she checked on him. He told her his affairs were in order and for her not to come back.”
“What did the primary officer see?”
“Nothing. George wouldn’t let him inside.”
“I want to talk to him face-to-face.”
Jazz shook her head. “You know the protocol for a barricaded suspect.”
“I don’t care about protocol. This is George, one of our father’s best friends. If you’re okay letting him blow his brains out, I’ll back off.”
“Of course I’m not, but as the watch commander I can’t let you go in either.”
“Sorry, Jazz. If we wait for the special-ops guys, I’ll miss my chance. I’m giving you a direct order. Stand down, Lieutenant.” She headed toward the house but turned back. “Have someone take Kerstin back to the Proximity Hotel. She’s in my car.”