For one, wouldn’t she have seen him do it? For another, Eric would never do that. He just wouldn’t. Even if he was the type to do that, why would he need to if all signs pointed to him being laid? She already agreed to go back to his place. Typically that meant that he was most likely going to get some.
“I started feeling sick almost immediately. I knew something was wrong when I couldn’t stand by myself to use the restroom because I was so dizzy. I knew in my heart he had drugged me. I told him no. I told him no over and over again, but Eric didn’t listen. He led me up to his bedroom – he had to hold me because I couldn’t walk on my own.
“When we got there, he started removing my clothes one by one. It was such a weird feeling. I kept thinking: This can’t be me. There’s no way this is happening to you right now. Like an out of body experience.
“And then, and then –“ She cut herself up, erupting into a storm of tears.
I frowned at the television, unsure if this was an act or if she was genuinely upset. What frustrated me was that I couldn’t tell. I honestly couldn’t get a read on her. Which wasn’t like me at all. All these emerging emotions from when Eric and I were seeing each other to when we broke up were distracting me from the facts. I needed to get a hold of myself. I needed to move on or else this wasn’t going to work.
“Eric raped me that night. When I woke up, he was gone. I pulled on my clothes and walked home, scared he was going to stop me. Scared he was going to kill me. But the last thing I wanted to do was go to the police. Part of me still felt like it was a dream. And the other part didn’t want to bring down such a beacon for the community. I know it’s stupid but I thought just because he was bad with me didn’t mean he was a bad person.”
“Oh, shut up,” I snarled at the television, and turned it off.
Ryan King stepped forward, all seriousness. Strange. There always seemed to be a glint of mischief in his eyes. I didn’t realize he was this good at pretending to take something serious.
“At this time, there will be no questions,” he said. “Detective Alex Beech has just been assigned this case and we plan to turn over our evidence to him so he can do his job and put away this monster – so it doesn’t happen again. Thank you.”
My heart skipped at the sound of Beech’s name. I didn’t think it was possible, but I knew that that was a good sign. If Beech had the case, I knew he would solve it with integrity.
Even so, something burned inside of me. I didn’t want to, but now I was compelled to take Eric’s case. I didn’t necessarily believe him, but I would find the truth and expose the liar – no matter who that turned out to be.
Chapter 6
The first thing I did after leaving my office was head to the Irvine Police Department. I was almost positive the small parking lot would be overrun thanks to the explosive press conference Ashley and her lawyer threw that happened to take place just outside the city building, on the green grass with the impressive three-story glass building.
It took me ten minutes to find a parking spot and it was close to the daycare on the other side of the parking lot. There were media everywhere, journalists for local news channels, and videographers and passersby with smartphones recording whatever they could.
I wished I had a hat that would cover my face. I didn’t think that anyone would recognize me – I wasn’t that arrogant – but I did have a reputation, and those that might recognize me could put together that I was here on business. That Eric Foresburg hired me to prove his innocence.
I decided to go the long way and head into the back of the IPD building. There weren’t any curious civilians here nor were there media outlets or aggressive journalists trying to get a soundbite. I pulled out my badge and pressed it against the keypad. The blue door popped open and I slid inside. I headed down the dim hallway, passing animal control and the evidence lockup. When I got to the stairwell, I headed up to the detective bullpen and beelined straight for Beech’s desk.
I wasn’t surprised to find him on the phone, his face pinched with annoyance. Being assigned to a high-profile case was not something Beech liked, I knew, not because he couldn’t handle scrutiny and pressure, but because he couldn’t handle the public. He hated dealing with ignorance, with people who thought it was their business to inquire about a crime and waste his time by peppering him with questions he wasn’t going to answer. More than that, they would lodge complaints about his seemingly lack of progress in the case or something along those lines. The only reason I knew this was because he confided in me once a while ago.
I plopped into the chair in front of him. He glanced my way and rolled his eyes at my presence. I gave him a grin, lacing my fingers across my lap and waited.
Even though he was on the phone, different lines of his phone began to ring. His brow wrinkled. He began to tap his desk harshly, each tap pointed and hard.
“Yes, well, I can’t give any quote because I’ve just been assigned to the case,” Beech said. “I haven’t interrogated anybody just yet. Now, I’m going to hang up so I can do my job, and despite what you think, it’s not providing you with a comment.” He hung up before the person – most likely a journalist – could respond.
His phone rang again but he ignored it. Instead, he fixed his gaze on me and waited.
“Yes?” he finally said, pushing up his brows. “As you can see, I’m the most popular guy at the station, so if you need something, you’ll have to get in line.”
I crossed my legs. “Why wait when I have a FastPass?” I asked with a grin. He didn’t take the bait. If anything, he looked tired and he had barely been assigned to the case maybe a couple of hours ago. “I wanted to talk to you about the case. The Foresburg case.”
“Of course.” He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his desk so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess – your father hired you to prove his golden goose isn’t a rapist, right? And now you’re here because your sense of entitlement is nearly as big as my ego and you thought I would just, I don’t know, hand over everything I had just because I know you.”
“Do you actually have anything?” I asked. I wasn’t trying to be a smartass, I was trying to make a point: he barely got assigned to the case. I was almost positive he hadn’t questioned Ashley Dunham yet because her press conference ended an hour ago, and from the exhaustion emanating from Beech, I imagined he had been planted at his desk since the press conference was over, fielding calls and making appointments. “This just broke today –“
“And yet somebody hired you,” Beech said. “You really want to look me in the face and say you didn’t know this was coming, Chalmers? You really want to take me for a fool.”
I sighed. At that moment, two detectives walked by us, one holding an open folder, the other gesturing with her hands. Beech and I both closed our mouths and waited for them to pass by before we continued to speak.
“Okay,” I said. “My dad talked to me about it the other day.”
“So that’s why you’re here, then?” He dropped his hand to the surface of the table. His dark eyes seemed… hurt, but I knew that was the wrong word to describe it because why would Beech be hurt I was here to do a job? “Listen, not from you, okay, Mika? Everyone already wants something from me. The chief wants me to solve this. The people want me to find evidence against Foresburg. People are calling me, telling me how to do a job I’ve been doing for the past sixteen years. If you’re here because you want something –“
“I’m not,” I told him, cutting him off. “I’m here because I want to know your thoughts.”
He blinked. “What?” His voice was flat.
“I’m serious,” I said. “I’m not here to ask what you have and what you don’t. I’m asking to hear what your gut says about this whole thing.”
Beech bent over and opened his bottom drawer before pulling out a water bottle. He cracked it open and took a long sip of water before screwing the cap back on.
“What does it matter what I think?” he asked. “T
he court of public opinion has already spoken. Eric Foreburg is a rapist. Twitter is blowing up. The Buccaneers are locally trending and not in a good way. Hashtag I stand with Ashley is becoming a thing now. I’m getting calls from both women and men about arresting Foresburg and how I must be a sexist conservative who perpetuates our rape culture because I haven’t arrested him yet even though Ashley hasn’t filed a report and I just barely got assigned the case.”
“You don’t actually need a report to arrest him, do you?” I asked.
He pinched the bridge of his nose once again. The phone rang but he ignored it.
“Technically, no,” he said. “But since this is a he-said, she-said, a report with her statement would be incredibly helpful. I know I can just take it from her press conference, which is exactly what I intend to do, but the fact that I can’t question her isn’t going to help me in the long run.”
He opened his eyes and nodded his head at me. “What about you?” he asked. “What do you think?”
“What do you mean?”
He rolled his eyes and grabbed the water bottle. He started shredding the label with his fingers, completely ignoring the small pieces of paper that were starting to build up on his desk.
“Your father coaches the guy,” he said. “He hired you to figure out if he did it or not. You must know Foresburg in some way. Do you think he’s the type?”
I dropped my eyes to my lap and gave myself a moment to collect my thoughts. Beech didn’t know Eric and I dated. I didn’t blame him. In fact, I was glad. I wanted to keep it that way. I didn’t think Beech would believe I was completely unbiased if he found out Eric and I had a history together. And for some strange reason, it was important to me that Beech take me seriously at my job. He might not like me very much, but I knew he respected me the same way I respected him.
“Foresburg has always seemed like a good guy,” I said, meeting Beech’s eyes. I gripped the wooden arms of the old chair I sat in, grounding myself in the moment, reminding myself to select my words carefully. I wasn’t a good liar and I knew this. As long as I wasn’t technically lying, I would be okay. “I don’t know him well, but the time I have spent with him, he always seemed like a genuine person.”
“It’s strange that he’s still single,” Beech said, pursing his lips.
I tilted my head to the side. “What?” I asked. “How is that even relevant to what we’re discussing?”
“I mean, it’s just.” He shrugged. “Granted, I know nothing about hockey, but I always felt that hockey players typically settled down despite the fame and the money. Not all, obviously, but the majority. Think back to personal sports scandals – not many are done by hockey players. Physical abuse, rape, murder, even drunk driving. I bet if I pulled numbers, hockey would have the lowest numbers for a sports team in California.” He turned to me. “Didn’t I hear that he had been dating someone? I think she was related to someone in administration? But they broke up?”
I held my breath, waiting for Beech to remember I was the coach’s daughter who might have information about the only time Eric was serious about a woman in his life, waiting for him to remember that I was the one Eric had been seriously dating during that time.
Instead, he leaned back and lifted his head up. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t give a shit about this.” He shook his head and looked at me. “Listen, Chalmers. I know Daddy hired you, but do all of us a favor and keep to yourself, okay? Stay out of my lane. Do not interview the victim or her friends. Do not insinuate she’s making this shit up. The last thing we need is IPD getting a reputation of being unsympathetic to rape victims –“
“Alleged rape victim,” I cut in.
“Bullshit, and you know it. You think people think he didn’t do it? You think people don’t see this girl as a victim now? Wake up, Chalmers. Come join us in the rest of the world. Even if she comes out and admits that she was wrong, that nothing happened, that she lied, people will say she lied because of pressure or whatever. No matter what we find, it’s not going to matter. Sure, Foresburg might be able to salvage his career if she withdraws her complaint and takes back her words, but people will excuse her or come up with an excuse as to why she backed out. IPD is the one that’s screwed over, and the last thing I need to worry about is some cocky little PI who’s in way over her head.”
“Last I checked, I close ninety-eight percent of my cases,” I pointed out, standing up. I didn’t need to be here. I didn’t need to listen to his bullshit. “When you decide to stop dicking around and need my help, you know where to find me.”
With that, I whirled around on my heel and left his desk, fuming the entire way out.
Chapter 7
I slammed the backdoor to the station open and all but stalked out of the building. I tried to control my temper. I understood Beech now had a lot on his plate thanks to the fact that he was assigned a big case with an important public figure that dealt with a lot of triggers for different portions of society. I understood he didn’t even want the case, considering he was a homicide detective who sometimes worked robbery and burglaries because those types of crime were the most common in Irvine and there weren’t enough detectives assigned to the 459 caseload to get through all of them as timely as the citizens of Irvine would have preferred.
My problem with Beech was what a dick he was being about everything. There was no reason for him to start taking his problems out on me.
Just don’t think about it, Chalmers, I thought to myself, shaking my head. You need to go to the ice anyway.
I curled my fingers into tight fists and all but stomped to my car. I didn’t feel any better by the time I got inside, so I put on some music and tried to forget about it. If anything, I needed to mentally prepare for my encounter with Eric. I had been caught off-guard last time, which meant that I didn’t have control over my emotions and I let them get the best of me. That wouldn’t happen again – especially since I decided I was going to take his case.
It took a half hour to get to the ice rink because of traffic. Irvine had some of the longest traffic lights because they had so many people driving at the same time. With my luck, I hit three red lights in a row, so by the time I finally pulled into Five Point Ice Arena, practice for the Irvine Buccaneers had already begun.
I grabbed a hot chocolate and hung out in the bleachers along with the rest of the public who had come to watch the team play. It wasn’t a huge turnout but only because their social media hadn’t advertised that the practice was open to the public in the first place.
I couldn’t help but be drawn to Eric. He wore a red practice jersey with his two-line mates, indicating that they were on the first line. The second line wore green jerseys, the third line wore yellow, and the fourth line wore navy blue. The defensemen wore black jerseys, and the goalie wore whatever the hell he wanted – typically Matt Stone wore white just because it clashed so much with his teammates and he liked to stand out even though, as goalie, he already did.
The team looked solid for the upcoming season. They worked well together, and there was a good blend of experienced veterans and young rookies. However, if Eric was arrested, if he was suspended – or worse, fired – it wouldn’t matter. Eric was a central figure to how my father and Diego Espinoza, the team’s general manager, built up the team. Eric was a central figure; if he was gone, the team would most likely collapse.
My father’s voice floated up from the ice to the highest section of the bleachers. Many people – including even the most die-hard Buccaneers fans – were intimidated by him. He was bald with a large nose, a mouth that constantly settled into a natural frown, and eyes that always seemed to be narrowed. He wasn’t a large or a tall man which almost made him more intimidating. He was constantly yelling, especially at his team during practice and during games.
But he wasn’t actually a grizzly. He cared a lot about success so he was passionate. And this team, as a whole, seemed to respond best to yelling. Which was why my father chose to coach the wa
y he did. Some criticized it as being old school – where the coach was less sensitive and more insulting – but my father didn’t care what anyone else thought. If it worked for the team, if it inspired strong play and produced the results he was looking for, that was all that mattered to him.
The practice itself last a little longer than an hour. After I finished my hot chocolate, I glanced at my phone, only to see I didn’t get service. It was the one thing that annoyed me about this rink; why put all this money into it when I couldn’t even make a phone call? And I wasn’t the only person who had service issues.
I stepped outside, waiting for the practice to finish while also being able to be on the internet and check any text messages or phone calls I might have received while watching the team. Eric wasn’t my only client, and there were a couple of targets I was keeping an eye on.
Besides a text message, however, no one tried to contact me.
I opened my messages and was surprised to find one from Daniel Boone.
I really enjoyed our date the other night. We should hang out again.
My lips curled up into a grin and I felt my cheeks pinch with color. I hadn’t expected to hear from him again. For one, the guy was gorgeous and he was a cop. Beech made it seem as though he was a rookie, and technically, he was – he was a rookie to the station, but apparently he was a veteran police officer who transferred when he moved from London. Which meant he had the gorgeous accent that just riveted me.
I, of course, was on my best behavior, which always seemed to translate into awkward and aloof. When I laughed at one of my jokes, I knew I wouldn’t be hearing from him again and I was fine with it.
But apparently I was wrong about hearing from him.
Definitely, I responded, and sent it.
I was going to send another one when I happened to look up and see some of the fans trickle out of the rink.
Ice Breakers Page 4