by V. K. Powell
“I understand family homes, full of memories, dreams, and ghosts. The house my grandparents and parents lived in and reared their children is still our family home. It’s the place my grandmother and mother lived when their husbands died. All the children were born and two of them married there. Simon, Stephanie, and the twins, and now Bennett and Kerstin live in homes in the same neighborhood, and Jazz and Emory have made an offer on a house across the park from Bennett. Fisher Park is gradually becoming Carlyleville.”
“That’s quite a legacy. It was obvious at brunch that you’re very close,” Finley said wistfully.
“A blessing and a curse. Sometimes I feel not even my thoughts are private.”
“But you still live at home?”
“Sort of. The carriage house out back.” Dylan glanced at Finley who now stared at her with interest. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. They’re my lifeline. I just need a bit of space, a place where I’m not constantly reminded that I’m the baby. The overprotectiveness is suffocating at times. My grandmother lost her husband and son, my mother’s husband, in the line of duty. I have two alpha cop sisters, and a macho brother who tries to ride herd over a family of strong, independent women. Imagine being the youngest child in that family and not carrying a gun.”
“I see your problem.” Finley was quiet for a few minutes before adding, “I like my neighborhood, set between Greensboro College and UNC-G. It’s lively and has a nice mix of historic and new builds, residential and commercial, and it’s also close to downtown. I’ve walked home more than once after a pub crawl at Hamburger Square.”
Dylan noted that none of Finley’s descriptions offered anything personal like her own oversharing comments about family and feelings.
Finley rubbed her hands down her uniform pants, and Dylan felt her stiffen beside her. “Still, overprotectiveness is better than none. At least you know your family cares.” She pointed for Dylan to make a turn.
“What about your family? Any siblings?”
Finley reached for the door handle. “Just stop here at the curb.”
Dylan pulled over in front of a pale gray single-story bungalow with white columns across the wide front porch and a swing to one side. “This is beautiful. Why would you sell?” Finley gave her a hard stare. “Sorry…memories. I get it. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m good. Thanks for the ride.” Finley got out but ducked her head back inside. “Hey, I was wondering…would you maybe want to go…with me…to see Hamilton in Durham?”
“What?” Her pulse trebled, but was Hamilton or Finley asking her out the cause? Was this like a date? If so, she had to say no, but it was Hamilton. “Really?”
Finley started to close the car door. “You can think about it and—”
“Wait. You can’t just lob that out there and walk away. How did you score tickets to the hottest show in the country? I’ve been trying for months, but they’re sold out.”
For the first time since they left the hospital, Finley’s face transformed into her trademark cocky grin, the adorable scar under her lip deepening like a dimple. “I know people in high places.”
“Seriously, Masters, spill.”
“Hank and Becky were going. She gave me the tickets, said I’d earned them. You helped when he got shot too, so I thought you might like it. I’m not really a musical fan and I feel bad about enjoying them when they can’t. And there’s the whole crowd thing. On second thought, maybe I’ll sell them.”
“Now you’re just messing with me. I’d love to go. I mean…I’ll help shoulder your guilt. When is it?”
“Tomorrow night. I know that’s short notice, but—”
“I’ll make it happen if I have to bribe somebody to fill in for me…as long as it’s not…a date because I don’t date cops. And you let me pay for my ticket.”
“I didn’t pay, so why should you? And definitely not a date. I just don’t want to go alone, and it seems a crime to leave a seat vacant when people would almost sacrifice a limb for a ticket. If you don’t want to go because people might get the wrong idea, fine. I’ll ask Anita.”
“Stop. I’m in,” Dylan said.
“Okay then. I’ll pick you up at the carriage house at five tomorrow afternoon. The show starts at eight, but traffic will probably be crazy and we have VIP seats.” Finley’s smug smile grew before she closed the door and walked away.
Dylan didn’t think about her motivation for accepting the offer so quickly—Hamilton, Finley, or keeping her away from Anita—what difference did it make? She was going to freaking Hamilton…with Finley Masters. Nerves bunched in her stomach as she drove home. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Totally all about the play.
* * *
Finley made a show of reaching for her house keys, but when Dylan’s car disappeared on Spring Garden Street, she plopped into the swing on the porch, in no hurry to go inside. She’d spent many nights out here, snuggled under a blanket, head between two pillows, hiding from the stench of alcohol and her father’s weepy stories about how much he loved her mother. If he’d loved her so much, why had she left? She hadn’t even sent a card when he died. Maybe their love had been one-sided. Same story replayed ad nauseam through time. But Finley wasn’t going to be a victim. She’d seen the pain love caused and was just fine playing the field, playing it safe.
She forced herself to focus on something more pleasant. She’d asked Dylan Carlyle on a faux date. But they’d agreed it wasn’t a date. They were going on an outing. Whatever, she felt totally amped that she’d had the courage to ask, and completely shocked when Dylan said yes.
But what next? She couldn’t slip into the carriage house a couple of times a month for a quickie with the protective Carlyles nearby, even if Dylan wanted her to.
Something about her usual game plan seemed off. She’d seen Dylan’s professional side at work, laughed with her about Subarus, experienced her connection to family at brunch, and heard the love in her voice when she talked about them, but something about their interactions bothered Finley. Simple. Dylan wasn’t fling material. Plus, she was too close to her livelihood to fool around with. If her sisters found out—she didn’t want to consider the repercussions.
The rising sun peeped through the trees across the street, reminding her to take things one day at a time. She and Dylan would go to the play and then return to their normal lives. They were simply too different to have anything more, even a fling. With a heaviness she hadn’t felt before, Finley rose and entered her empty house. She had more immediate things to worry about than a date that wasn’t and a woman she’d never have—showering, getting back to the hospital for Hank’s discharge, finding a mechanic who made house calls, evening shift, and finding the second shooter.
Chapter Eleven
Finley waved to Robin and Becky standing in the front yard of Hank’s house and backed her patrol car out of the driveway. Her partner was safely home, surrounded by family, cops, and more comfort food than a small army could handle. He was in for a long recuperation period, but at least he was alive.
She steered her cruiser toward the parking deck at Cone Hospital where she was meeting Phil to look at her dead Jeep. When she pulled in, he was already under the hood, hands dirty, and a happy grin on his face. “Damn, you don’t waste time, buddy.”
“I love being a backyard mechanic. If it paid better, I’d quit the force and do it full time.”
“So, what’s the prognosis?”
“Dead battery. Patsy is bringing a replacement. I’m just unhooking the old one.”
“Your wife helps you on road calls?”
“She loves it. Gives her something to do while the kids are in school and it gives us more time together.”
Finley gave him a skeptical look. “Seriously?”
“Between shifts, bomb squad call outs, and extra duty, we don’t get a lot of quality time at night, so this works for us. You should try settling down, Fin. Not as bad as you think.”
Phil stopped work long enough to give his wife an affectionate hug and a quick kiss before saying, “We can drop it off at Fairview Station on our way home. It’s not out of our way.”
“That would be great. Thanks. What do I owe you?”
“Just for the battery and maybe twenty. Does that sound okay?”
“Does that sound okay? You’re seriously underselling your worth, dude. You’re an excellent mechanic and you make service calls. Way better than AAA.” She handed him the money and added an extra twenty. They had four kids, so it would be put to good use.
She watched them hug again as she pulled out of the lot. Would she ever find a woman she wanted to settle down with and one she missed enough to plan extra time together? With her background and track record, it seemed unlikely. Her cell rang, and she pulled it from the clip on the dash. “Masters.”
“It’s Badger. That guy you were looking for is back at the DRC.”
Finley’s pulse raced and she whipped the cruiser around in the street. “Hold on.” She keyed the mike. “Car 1212.”
“Go ahead, 1212.”
“I’ve received info the Fairview Station shooting suspect is at the DRC. Dispatch a unit to East Market Street near the railroad overpass, one to Lyndon Street on the west side, another to Murrow Boulevard on the east, and I’ll approach from the front.” She waited until the other units had been dispatched and continued. “Give us an operational frequency, have the other cars switch over, and stand by for further.” She returned to her cell. “You still with me, Badger?”
“Yeah. You better hurry. He’s headed for the front door.”
“What’s he wearing?”
“Blue jeans, a green Army fatigue jacket, and a red toboggan. I’ll follow him out…and see if he gets…in a vehicle.”
Badger breathed hard, and Finley followed his pounding footsteps as if she was running beside him. “Just get a description of the car, Badger. Don’t try to stop him.” She keyed the mike again. “All units, I have an informant on site, and the suspect is heading to the DRC parking lot.” She relayed the clothing description. “He might have a vehicle. Will advise shortly.” She floored the gas pedal and flinched when her stitched shin ached in response. She was still too far away to help Badger if he got in trouble or to spot the vehicle if the suspect had one.
“Damn, he’s fast,” Badger said. “He’s pulling out of the lot in a beige Camry, heading east. I’m not close enough to get the tag. Sorry, Fin.”
“It’s okay. Thanks for your help.” She hung up and spoke into the mike. “The suspect is in a beige Camry headed east on Washington Street. No tag available. Unit on East Market, head toward Pastor Anderson Drive. I’ll take East Washington.” The problem was Spencer had three possible escape routes from Washington Street, including doubling back into downtown.
Her sergeant came over the frequency, “Fin, I’m moving more units in to lock down the area. Let us know if you see the vehicle.”
She gripped the wheel tighter and whizzed past the DRC, sliding sideways into the right turn following East Washington. She slammed on brakes after the railroad overpass and glanced to the right down Medley Street. No sign of the car. He’d have more options and a greater chance of escape going forward, and he’d know that since he grew up in Greensboro. She scanned the area but had no idea which path he’d taken. Damn. She pounded the seat beside her. “I’ve got nothing,” she said. Gunning the gas again, she steered straight toward Dudley Street, but when she got to the intersection, if he’d come this way, he was long gone. “No sign of the vehicle.”
After an hour of officers searching the area and stopping any vehicle close to beige, the sergeant cleared the units for calls. Energy drained from Finley, and she felt helpless and angry. She’d blown two opportunities to stop the suspect, once at the original scene and again today. What kind of cop and friend was she?
* * *
Dylan’s earbuds blared eighties dance tunes while she switched from her blouse and jeans to scrubs in the hospital locker room. The changing ritual delineated her personal life from the often horrific professional one, and the music amped her up for night shift. Someone tapped her shoulder as she pulled her scrub top on, and she turned, tucking her phone and earbuds into her pocket.
“How’s it going?” Holly asked. “I tried to catch you this morning in the parking lot, but you were too far ahead. And you were walking with a cop. Was that—”
“Yes.” She forced her breath out normally because the mention of Finley sent her pulse and temperature skyrocketing. Hoping no one had seen them together in the parking lot of the biggest gossip center in town had been futile, and denying or avoiding now was wasting time. Holly would get the truth out of her anyway. “It was Finley Masters, but don’t get any ideas.”
“And wasn’t she in your little yellow bug when you left?”
“Yes.”
Holly backed her against a locker and placed her hands on either side. “Dylan Carlyle, if you don’t tell me what happened, I’ll be forced to make up my own version and spread it around the ER like warm butter on hot toast. By the end of the shift, you’ll be having sex with her.” She pulled back and stared down at Dylan. “Are you? Having sex with her?”
Dylan slipped under her arms and spun away. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“And why not?” Holly wiggled her eyebrows. “I damn sure would be if she’d stand next to me for a few seconds.”
Dylan mentally erased the bad visual. “Uh-uh. She was sleeping in the officer’s room this morning, and we walked to the parking lot together because we were both leaving. Nothing else. And then her car wouldn’t start. And she’d just had her shins stitched after running into rusty railroad spikes. I couldn’t let her walk to College Hills injured. Could I?” She was rambling and offering too much information. Nerves.
Holly grinned. “Of course not. You’re so kind.” She edged closer, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, what’s she like? What did you talk about?”
“Nothing really.”
“You drove all the way to College Hills without speaking a word?”
She’d done most of the talking, and Finley’s revelation about her father had occurred last night, not on the drive home. But sharing anything Finley said with Holly felt like a breach of confidence because Finley was so private. Dylan had to say something or Holly wouldn’t let it rest. Before she could think it through properly, she blurted, “She asked me to go to Hamilton with her tomorrow night.”
Holly’s mouth fell open, closed, and then opened again before she said, “And you refused.”
Dylan’s face heated and she turned back toward her locker to keep Holly from seeing her guilty expression. She took deep breaths, grabbed her stethoscope, and slowly looped it around her neck, buying time before facing Holly again. She shook her head.
“You said yes? Seriously?” She took Dylan’s hands and guided her to the bench in front of the lockers. “Tell me.”
“It’s Hamilton, Lin-Manuel Miranda’s baby. Tickets are gold.” Holly kept staring, and Dylan had to be honest. She relaxed her shoulders and said aloud what she’d only thought and tried to deny before. “And I’ve gotten a glimpse behind her macho butch facade. She might have a few redeeming qualities. I said might. We’ll see. But we’re just going to a play, and I made it clear it wasn’t a date. She understands.”
Holly leaned forward and hugged her. “I’m not sure I do, but just FYI, sex doesn’t have to include dating. I’m happy for you.”
“There’s nothing to get excited about. It’s just—”
Holly’s phone beeped and she glanced down. “Multiple MVAs inbound. We better get going.” She stood. “I’ll see yo
u on the floor.”
“And don’t spread a word of this to anyone,” Dylan shouted as Holly disappeared behind the row of lockers. Holly didn’t need reminding, but Dylan felt better saying the words aloud. She checked her scrubs, retrieved her tablet, and joined the fray. At least work would distract her from Finley Masters and everybody’s advice that she take her on. Maybe she would. The thought of sex with Finley excited her, so actually having sex with her was bound to be at least decent.
Chapter Twelve
Dylan rolled another pair of clingy leggings off and tossed them on the discard pile on her bed. The stack of clothes that hadn’t made the cut for Hamilton teetered near the topple point, and she was no closer to choosing an outfit. This wasn’t a date, but the reminder didn’t make her choice any easier.
“Hey, you in there?” Bennett’s voice sounded at the front door along with her usual triple-tap knock.
“Go away.” She didn’t want Bennett anywhere near her right now. She’d draw the wrong conclusion from Dylan’s indecisiveness. “I’m busy. Come back tomorrow.”
“No can do. Mama sent tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich since you missed breakfast and lunch.” Bennett opened the door, set something down on the counter, and her voice grew louder as she moved closer to the bedroom.
“Don’t come in here. I’ll be out in a minute.” But she and Bennett were too much alike, and the warning cued her big sister that something interesting was happening.
She nudged the door open and leaned against the frame. “Wow. Moving? Purging? I haven’t seen your room this messy since…” She snapped her fingers and grinned. “Since your first date with that jock in high school, the one who took you to prom.” She glanced from Dylan to the discarded clothes. “Oh my God, you’ve got a date.”