by Virna DePaul
“I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t. My dad—he slapped my mom around.”
It was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say. “What?”
“It didn’t happen very often, but once in a while, when I was little, he’d lose control and hit her. And she’d forgive him. Saying that she baited him.”
“Oh, my God. That’s twisted. As a cop, she would have known better.”
“She did. But she loved him.”
“And you’re afraid you would hit a strong woman?” She shook her head vehemently. “That’s ridiculous, Jase. You have more honor and integrity than that. I practically bit your ear off and you didn’t raise a hand to me. You’d never hit any woman.” She thought of the way she’d slapped him in anger. “But I hit you. I’m so sorry.”
“I know why you did. I understand. Which isn’t license for you to do it again, by the way.”
“But you heard what I said, right? About you being nothing like your father?”
“I know it’s wrong, but so does he. And he doesn’t do it anymore. He hasn’t for a very long time, certainly not since I became old enough to do something about it. But he used to do it, Carrie, and I’m like him in a lot of other ways. I even look like him.”
“So they’re still together?”
“Yes. They’re still in Texas. My mom stood by him, and he got help. And part of me is glad. Despite everything…I’m glad. We’ve never talked about it. Any time I tried, they both denied it. But I know what I saw. I’ve always known.”
“I imagine it would be hard to bring up. But I meant what I said, Jase. You don’t have to date passive women because you fear you’ll lose your temper and become your father.”
“No, I don’t have to, but it sure makes things easier that way. The job takes so much out of us. I never want to worry about how I’ll act in my personal life because of it. So what about you?”
“What about me? You wanted to open yourself up to me, not the other way around. Besides, I have nothing to share.”
But even as she said it, she knew she was lying. And she could tell that he knew it, too. Before he could call her on it, however, her phone rang.
“Special Agent Ward,” she answered.
“Detective Ward? This is Officer Ian Bellows at SFPD. There’s been some trouble at your house.”
Her eyes widened and she glanced at Jase, who was frowning. “Trouble?”
“Vandalism, ma’am. Or more specifically, arson.” As she listened to Bellows recount the details, Carrie felt the color slowly drain from her face. She reached out a hand as if to steady herself, which was odd given she was already sitting down.
“Carrie—” Jase began.
“I—I’ll be right there,” she told Bellows. Shakily, she hung up the phone. She tried to get in enough air, but she suddenly felt as if she was suffocating.
Immediately, Jase was at her side. “What is it?”
“My house,” she said, still stunned. “Someone threw a Molotov cocktail through the window. It was firebombed. The fire department’s there but, according to the officer who just called, it’s bad.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
AS JASE STOOD NEARBY, Carrie spoke with Officer Ian Bellows and the lead firefighter outside her house. From the street, the place looked fine, but the inside was a different matter. The fire department had gotten there in time to stop the fire from spreading, but Carrie’s living room was charred and smoking. Ironically, the files spread out on her dining-room table had been spared, while the photo albums and other personal items in her bookshelves had been lost.
“It was definitely arson,” the firefighter said. “We have witnesses who saw a group of boys enter the building just before the fire began and your front door’s been kicked in. From the descriptions we have of the boys, it looks like gangbangers are involved.”
“Did they mention any particular gang?” Carrie asked.
Jase instantly understood. “Porter was in a gang.” It infuriated him that even in death, Porter continued to put Carrie in danger. If she’d been home when—
“Yes,” she said. She was pale, but her voice was calm. Still, he’d seen the devastation on her face when she’d stared into her damaged home. It had reminded him of her expression when Martha Porter had railed at her. And though he knew she was tough enough to take it and recover just fine, he resented the fact that she had to. If he could, if she’d let him, he’d do almost anything to protect her from feeling pain again.
“Afraid not. And I’m sorry, but you’re not going to be able to stay here for a while,” the firefighter said. “Not with this amount of damage. I’ll give you the number of a good cleanup crew, but until they’re done—”
“She’ll stay with me,” Jase interrupted.
Carrie started. “What? No, I can’t.”
“Why not? It’s late. You don’t have anyplace to go. And we’ll be seeing each other early tomorrow morning to get started on the case again. It makes sense.”
She said nothing until the firefighter walked away, an amused glint in his eye. “Sense is the last thing it makes, Jase, and you know it.”
“Why? Because of what happened this morning after I worked out?”
“That and other things.”
“Afraid you can’t keep your hands off me?”
“Honestly? Yes. A foot massage is one thing. I’m not stupid enough to think I can stay with you at your house and not have anything happen between us.”
Her bluntness startled him, then filled him with pleasure. He wanted to crow at her admission that she wanted him so badly, but he knew that wouldn’t be wise. Instead, he said, “Let’s at least have dinner, then. We’ll drive separately. You can go wherever you want after we’re done. How’s that sound?”
He expected her to resist again, but she was obviously more stunned by the evening’s events than she wanted to let on. With a sigh, she said, “Fine. I guess I could eat. But first I need to finish up here.”
He waited while she got the number of that cleanup crew and finished filling out some paperwork. It took about an hour, but then she was ready to go.
“I’ll work on getting the place cleaned up beginning tomorrow. They said it shouldn’t take more than a few days. Where do you want to eat?”
He suggested Ernesto’s, a Mexican restaurant with the best salsa and guacamole in town, as well as a full bar. Since it was still early, the normally packed restaurant was quieter than usual, but still busy enough to provide background noise and soothe Jase’s raw nerves.
They ate their meals in relative silence. Part of it, he knew, was because she was still in shock from having her home burn down. The other part, however, was because she was distancing herself from him. Seeking solace from the day’s incredibly disturbing events. He wanted to give her that comfort, but at the same time he wanted to break through her protective walls.
More than once, Jase started to ask her about the panic attack she’d had after the Porter woman had gone off on her. Somehow, he knew it hadn’t been her first one. She’d been too controlled, both during and after it, as if she’d had a lot of practice dealing with them. That thought didn’t sit well with him.
He didn’t like to think of her in pain, emotional or otherwise. But with what they did for a living, how could she not let it affect her? With all the pain and tragedy she saw on the job, it was bound to seep into her on some level. And whether she liked it or not, it had to affect her differently because she was a woman. Didn’t it? Hell, he truly didn’t think of himself as a chauvinist, but while he indisputably viewed her as a strong cop, he never forgot she was a strong female cop. If that didn’t make him a chauvinist, what would? Still, he wondered if she had anyone to talk to. If she had a friend to confide in. To cry with or laugh with. Somehow he didn’t think so.
For the first time, he truly saw how isolated Carrie’s life must be. He felt a stabbing pain in his heart and realized what it was. Sadness for her. And for him. Beca
use he knew she deserved more. And he wasn’t sure if he was capable of giving it to her.
He didn’t want to think of Carrie as sad or lonely. Understandably, however, she still looked troubled. Hell, she’d just had the mother of all bad days—something he’d unintentionally contributed to—and she’d just been evicted from her home. Sure, she was handling it, but he could tell by her distant expression that his plan to distract her from her troubles with dinner hadn’t quite worked.
He wasn’t giving up, though. He wasn’t about to ask her about her panic attacks or anything else that would make her retreat from him even further. So he’d stick to the safest topics possible. For now.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled teasingly at her. “So what’s your favorite color, flower and TV show?”
Startled, her gaze met his. “Are we going to play twenty questions now?”
He shrugged. “What I know about you personally I only know from sneaking a look at your photo albums. I need to do some catching up.”
She smiled just slightly, but it was enough. “Red, peony and I don’t watch TV.”
“Not even cop shows?”
She shook her head and took another sip of her wine. “Are you kidding? Sometimes they’re good for a laugh but that’s about it.”
“Tell me about it. It’s so much more complicated than TV portrays. But you can give me the inside scoop on something. What was it really like being on SWAT? Did you learn any cool SWAT secrets?”
“SWAT secrets? Like…?”
His plan was working, he thought. For the first time since learning about the fire, her gaze seemed clear. Focused only on him. “I don’t know. Anything us lowly special agents might not already know.”
She snorted. “‘Lowly’ is the last thing I’d describe you as, Jase.”
“Good to know. But let’s be honest here. I’m a badass, sure, but SWAT? That’s a whole other game altogether. So spill.”
Leaning forward, she crossed her arms on the table. “Well, they gave us advanced training on hostage situations. Not only how to escape a potential kidnapper, but how to work as a team. That’s one of the things I liked about SWAT. That team feel that even being a part of SIG doesn’t satisfy.”
“So how would a team work to escape a kidnapper?”
“Let’s say a suspect takes me hostage and you’re there. He orders you to drop your gun. We both know you can’t give it up, right?”
“Right. If the hostage is a civilian, it might be a different story. But when another cop is involved, if it’s a choice between letting a dangerous suspect get away to hurt others or saving a fellow cop, well, there’s no choice, really.”
“But every department should have a signal for such a situation. Something they can use against the bad guy.”
“And SWAT had such a signal. What was it?”
“Saying the captured officer’s middle name. We all knew that if another cop said our middle name in a crisis, that was our signal to duck and cover.”
“And what’s your middle name?”
“What’s yours?” she asked.
“Tit for tat?”
“Something like that.”
“David.”
“Jase David Tyler. That’s so…I don’t know…normal. That’s not fair,” she pouted. “Certainly not worth telling you mine.”
With that exaggerated pout on her lips, he could almost convince himself she was flirting with him. He decided to play along. “Why? You have a strange middle name?”
“Maybe.”
Of course she wouldn’t give it up that easily. What would be the fun in that? “You should tell me. Otherwise, how will I be able to give you the signal if I need to?”
“I can always just give you a made-up name for that.”
True. But she also could have done that already. The fact that she hadn’t pleased him. It was almost like she wanted him to pry the information from her.
But he didn’t have to. He already had it. And it was darn good information. “But you won’t. Will you? Katherine Katrina Ward.”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know my full name?”
“It was on a page in your scrapbook. Kitty Cat. I like it.”
She crinkled her nose at him in an adorable gesture that almost knocked him off his seat. “Yeah, well, that’s exactly why I never tell anyone my real name. Carrie’s much more respectable.”
He cleared his throat and tried to remember why they were here. So you can distract her from her troubles, Tyler, not so you can get your hands all over her. Yet that’s exactly what he wanted. He wanted to get down and dirty with Katherine Katrina Ward, but she was talking about being respectable. Or, at least, choosing a respectable name. “Carrie’s not just respectable, is it? It’s androgynous. Which is what you would have wanted when you joined the military. And the police academy. Right?”
She shook her head and finished her wine in one long swallow. “Carrie was a nickname given to me by my brothers. Appearances to the contrary, denying my femininity had nothing to do with it.” She stared at her empty wineglass, the light mood they’d achieved evaporating.
Smooth move, Jase. But before he could answer, the waitress refilled Carrie’s glass. She took another sip of wine and then leaned her chin on the palm of her hand. “You row, right? Why? Is it just for the physical challenge?”
Instead of answering her, he took a sip of his own drink and asked a question of his own. “Why did you decide to become an MP in the army?”
She shrugged. “That’s easy. I wanted to help people. Serve my country. Make a difference.”
He swirled the wine left in his own glass. “Yes, but you could have done that a number of different ways. Become a teacher. Or a doctor. Why a military cop? I mean, I know your dad was a cop and so were your brothers, but shouldn’t that have made you less likely to become one, given you knew what a tough job it was? And joining the military took things up a notch, didn’t it?”
Seconds passed before she answered. When she did, her words were slow and measured. “I knew I had a special gift with my shooting. It’s what people seemed to validate the most. The fact that I was good at something that most women weren’t. I guess I got used to that kind of adulation. Wanted it to continue. And I’d always been more comfortable around guys. Things seemed less complicated with them. I always knew where I stood. It seemed natural to pick a male-dominated career. To prove that I could do that as well as any man.”
“Did the guys in the military respect you?”
She nodded. “For the most part. But it wasn’t until I made SWAT that I thought I found my place in things.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I felt like an invaluable component. We were truly a team, combining our strengths and watching each other’s backs.”
Her eyes lit up as she talked. It made him a little jealous of what she’d shared with her SWAT team. SIG was a team, too, but a slightly fractured one. They didn’t typically enter dangerous situations where the only thing standing between them and possible death was their ability to rely on their partners.
Despite the misgivings he still had about Carrie working The Embalmer case, he had no qualms about her having his back. Ever. She’d give everything she had to protect someone on her team, just as she’d give everything she had to working a case.
He leaned forward. “What was the most challenging aspect for you? When you tried out for the SFPD SWAT, I mean.”
“Physically?”
“Yes.”
She blew her hair out of her eyes. “I suppose it was the solid six foot wall we had to climb over to pass the physical exam. I couldn’t do it at first. Wasn’t sure if I ever could.”
“But you did.” Of course she had. He could picture her training, determination stamped on every inch of her face as she worked on overcoming anything that could be perceived as weakness on her part.
She nodded.
“And how did that make you feel?”
She didn�
�t hesitate to answer. “Powerful.”
Her answer didn’t surprise him. He’d felt that same power on many occasions, too. It was part and parcel of being a cop. He could only imagine how intense that power would feel when you were talking about the kind of situations SWAT put you in. “So why’d you leave? You weren’t feeling powerful anymore?”
She hesitated a few seconds before saying, “No. That wasn’t it.”
“Then why?” As he waited for her to answer, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of dread. Deep down, he knew why she’d probably left.
She shrugged. “Let’s just say that in the end, SWAT, especially SFPD SWAT, wasn’t any more ready for female members than the military was.”
Her answer confirmed what he’d thought. It made complete sense that her gender would have provoked others to challenge her. Still, the fact that she’d actually allowed that to influence her… “I never would’ve pegged you for a quitter. Not because someone was trying to run you off.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re a man and it would be harder to run you off, right?”
“Is that a snippy retort meant to remind me that I’m a chauvinist or a hint of exactly how men tried to run you off?”
“It’s neither, Jase,” she said tiredly. “Come on. I thought we were trying to get to know each other better, not cut each other down. If that’s what we’re going to do, we might as well get back to work, don’t you think?”
She had a point. “Fine. You asked me why I row. For the same feeling you felt when you got over that wall. To get past that moment when I don’t think I can go on any longer. For that rush when I make it across the finish line. Knowing that, despite the struggle, I was strong enough, determined enough, to do it.”
She lapsed into silence, teasing the rim of her glass with her finger, touching it in a soft, undulating circle that hypnotized him. She cleared her throat and looked up at him through her lashes. “You’re certainly strong.”
He quirked a brow at her, wondering if she was tipsy.
Then, unable to resist, he reached out and caressed the hand she’d rested on the table. Her skin was smooth and warm, yet tempered by a strength that was sexy as hell. “Yeah, but as you know, being good at a sport isn’t necessarily about physical strength. It’s about knowing your body. How to move it. How to reposition it in space. It’s about creativity, learning to adapt and to reserve your energy for when it’s most important.” He lifted her hand and twined their fingers together.