Falling Under

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “And I too, need your trust but there is no big secret here. My father was killed on a mission. My oldest brother was still enlisted. I had this burning need to enlist, and find my way to the Berets and protect him, despite him being the seasoned soldier.”

  Realization slides over her face. “He’s dead.”

  “Yes. Two years after I entered the army he was killed in combat, and on our first mission together. He died in my arms a year to the day my grandmother died of cancer without ever telling me she was sick.” I intend to stop there, but I don’t. For some damn reason I add, “It’s pie for me, detective, not cookies. Coconut pie at Christmas. No one makes a coconut pie, like she did.”

  She studies me for several long beats, holding her breath I think, her expression as unreadable as most would say mine is on any given day. One second passes. Two. Three. And then she leans forward, her hand next to mine, but not touching it. “I know you know this,” she says. “I know you’ve told yourself this a million times over, but I’m going to say it again for you. Sometimes there just isn’t a right choice.”

  “How many times a day do you tell yourself that?”

  She sits back. “Twice. When I wake up and when I go to sleep, but we aren’t talking about me. How long has it been?”

  “Twelve years for my grandmother,” I say, taking a swig of beer, before I add, “eleven for my brother, and thirteen for my father.”

  “Three years in a row.”

  “Yes. Three times are not a charm for me.”

  “Seven, four, and two for me. Best friend, mother, uncle, in that order. All murdered. All victims of crimes.”

  “You joined the police force after your best friend died,” I supply, knowing her history well. “Detouring from medical school to the police academy.”

  “I knew I had to make a difference,” she says.

  “A doctor makes a difference,” I point out.

  “It wasn’t the way I was supposed to make a difference.” Her jaw sets, her mood shifting in fierce immediacy. “And that’s why you’re here. I’m doing this thing with you for my father, but the integrity of my job is critical. So that brings us to rules.”

  “Yes, detective,” I say. “Let’s talk about rules.”

  “My rules,” she says.

  “I was thinking more of mine.”

  “Good luck with that,” she says. “You don’t get to set the rules.”

  “I’m protecting you.”

  “From what? A soft threat from a note writer?”

  “I’ve seen people die with less warning.” I don’t give her time to reply. “This doesn’t work unless you cooperate and communicate. If you can’t do that, I’ll go to your father and excuse myself from this job, and tell him why.”

  Her eyes sharpen, right along with her tone. “Did you really just say that to me?”

  “I’m doing my job here.”

  “Right. Your job. I can’t forget that.”

  “Don’t take that to places I didn’t intend it to go.”

  “I’m your job. It’s all professional, all business. I get it. But I too, have a job to do.”

  “Then let’s negotiate terms we both can both live with.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “We don’t know if we don’t try. You go first. What can I do to make this work for you?”

  “I work with you and you alone. No one else follows me.”

  “Then I’m your personal protection,” I say. “I’m with you twenty-four seven.”

  “That’s not even possible. You can’t go to work with me. You damn sure aren’t sleeping with me.”

  “I’ll escort you to and from without chasing you in the shadows,” I say, offering her the compromise that keeps me out of her workplace and her home, the latter of which, where we’d end up naked. “You give me your schedule,” I add. “You text me before you leave any location.”

  “This is nuts, and don’t say I won’t know you’re there because I’ll just say what I’ve been saying. I’ll know, damn it.”

  “I’m glad you’ll know, detective,” I say. “That means you also know that you’re protected. Because I can promise you this. No one will hurt you with me on the job. Use me while you can. I’ll help you take down the bad guys, whoever they are for you right now.”

  “Is that an official offer?” she challenges.

  “Yes. It is.”

  “Then let’s get started.” She reaches to her seat and sets a file in front of me.

  “What is this?”

  “You’ll know when you open it.”

  Curious now, I tear my gaze from hers and glance down at the file. Flipping it open, I find myself looking at a photo, and I don’t have to look at the name. I know who Jesse Marks is, the details of which I will never tell her. I shut the file. “What is this?” I ask, my tone hard, unemotional, any thing personal we’ve shared tonight shut down, gone.

  “I’m in charge of cold cases now,” she explains. “I’m now hunting Jesse Marks and I chose him for an obvious reason, beyond the fact that he killed his family and disappeared. He’s a Green Beret and you can help me get that family justice.”

  “You will not touch this case.”

  “You can’t tell me that.”

  “I can, and I did.” I reach in my pocket, grab cash and drop it on the table. “You will not touch this case,” I repeat.

  “I can, and I will.”

  “If you do,” I say, leaning forward, “you’ll really need me to keep you alive.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “You have no idea what would come at you,” I bite out.

  “Tell me,” she says. “Explain.”

  “No.” I stand up and take the file with me.

  She stands up. “You can’t take my file.”

  “I already did.” I start walking and I don’t stop. I exit the restaurant, round the corner to a quiet alleyway and pull out a lighter, which I always keep with me for just such an occasion. I hold out the file and I set it on fire with my mind racing. She must have made calls about Marks. She dug where she shouldn’t have dug and that is a problem.

  Detective Carpenter rounds the corner. “What the hell are you doing?” she demands, rushing towards me and my bonfire.

  I reply by setting the other end of the file on fire and dropping it to the paved ground.

  She double-steps and stops in front of it and me, but it’s too late for her file. It’s all but ash and she’s not pleased. “I’m just going to pull the computerized records,” she says, “but I think I’ll do that after I arrest you for interfering in a criminal investigation.”

  I step around the fire and offer her my hands. “Cuff me, detective. Or maybe I should call you Jewel since we’re getting kinky and shit now. But wait. Detectives don’t carry cuffs, now do they?”

  She reaches under her jacket and pulls out zip ties. “I do.”

  “Zip ties?” Now I laugh. “Really?”

  She slides them around my wrists and pulls them tight. “Really,” she says, her hands on mine.

  “Are you arresting me?”

  “No,” she says. “I’m just leaving you the fuck here.” She turns and starts walking.

  “You know I can get out of these,” I call after her.

  “Have fun,” she calls out.

  I lift my arms and shove my fists against my waist and the zip ties bust open. The file is complete ash now, but I stomp on it to be certain the fire is out, and then I’m on the detective’s heels. She’s a block ahead of me by the time I catch her, and I don’t even try to hide. She knows I’m here. We cover another block and we arrive at her building. She opens her gate, and never looks in my direction. She enters her courtyard and walks up the steps, pausing at the security panel but instead of reaching for the panel, she kneels down as if she’s dropped something. Only I didn’t see her drop anything.

  She stands again, studying something in her hand and then keys in her code. I’m at her gate at the
same moment she disappears into her building, but this doesn’t end here. Not after she showed me that file. It’s a game changer. Any distance that I thought was the way to keep this professional is no longer an option.

  I give her a sixty-second lead and walk to the security panel where I key in her code that I know thanks to Blake’s hacking. Once I’m inside the tiny foyer, I wait until her door opens on the second level and shuts before I head up the stairs. At her door, I ring the bell. Smart girl looks through the peep hole and then opens the door. “How are you even up here?”

  “How can I protect you if I can’t get to you?” I step closer and force her to back up or let me walk right into her, which would be my preference: her body against my body. She backs up just enough that we’re toe-to-toe.

  “What are you doing?” she demands.

  “We had a deal. I’m your one-on-one protection. That means I stay with you. That means I sleep here with you.”

  I expect her to push back after my announcement that I’m staying the night with her, and she does. “Turn around,” she says, blocking my entry into her apartment, “and walk right back down those stairs behind you. You aren’t staying the night with me.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation, detective,” I say. “I’m staying.”

  “Detective is the key word in that statement,” she says. “So, I repeat. Turn around, and walk back down the stairs. And do it now.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation,” I repeat, and then add, “Jewel,” before backing up those words.

  I step forward, crowding her with the intent of forcing her to retreat. She doesn’t budge, which leaves me no option but to make her budge. My hands settle on her slender waist, and I’m also walking her backward, until we’re inside her apartment and I’m kicking the door shut behind me as I do.

  Her hands go to mine, an obvious attempt to control me, but all she does is make me hot and hard, when I have no business being hot and hard. She’s my client. “You’re out of line, major,” she snaps and right when her knee would land painfully in my groin, I catch her leg, turn her to press her against the door, and capture her legs with mine.

  “Jacob is the name,” I say, flipping the lock by her head into place while she reaches for her weapon. I catch her hand.

  “You don’t want to do that,” I say.

  “I don’t like being manhandled,” she says. “Back off.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I say. “I’ll do what I have to, to protect you. Because that’s my job.”

  Her eyes sharpen. “Your job, is it? Well sleeping here with me isn’t your job.”

  “Around the clock protection is my job. If I sleep with you, it would not be part of my job. It would not be with our clothes on. But it would most definitely be because we both wanted it.”

  “You arrogantly say that like it’s ever going to be an option.”

  “It won’t be. Not as long as you’re my duty, but I am staying here tonight. You need me. We both know that’s no longer in question, but if you want to shoot me, do it. Let’s just get it over with or don’t do it at all.” I release her and push off the door, stepping backward to give her just enough space to pull that gun.

  She steps right back up to me, and twists my shirt in her hand. “You talk to me. You don’t manhandle me. You don’t shove your way into my apartment. And that’s non-negotiable.”

  There is a sudden whiplash effect of energy between us, sexual tension that can’t be ignored. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just stand there, with that mouth of hers tilted in my direction, tempting me to kiss her, and I’m not the only one thinking about it. She looks at my mouth, and fuck, I want to pull that braid of hers free, and dive my fingers in her hair.

  But I can’t.

  I won’t.

  Her fingers ease from my shirt and then fall away. She steps back but doesn’t look away. “Non-negotiable,” she says before she rotates and starts walking.

  I don’t stand around like a scolded puppy. I pursue her past a living area, vaguely noting the stone walls and modern gray seating area, my attention focused on her as she rounds the gray wood-framed island. She presses her hands to the surface and watches me, waits on me. Obviously readying for battle, and I’m up for whatever battle is before me. I step to the island across from her, my hands also planted on the smooth surface.

  We stare at each other again, a push and pull between us that is damn near combustible, and since we can’t fuck, I prepare for the fight to follow. But when I expect her to head down the Jesse Marks rabbit hole, that’s not where she travels.

  “Do you have men on my father the way you do on me?” she asks, instead.

  I narrow my eyes on her, certain that Royce had to have covered this. “We have a full detail on your father, and we’re revamping the company procedures as well.”

  “Who’s watching him and how closely?”

  “There were no threats against your father,” I say. “If that wasn’t clear this morning with Royce, I’ll make it clear now.”

  “But he is he being protected?”

  “Yes,” I confirm. “Rick Savage, also a former Green Beret, is in charge of his detail. And Rick is a crazy insane, killer that would take a bullet for your father and makes me look small.”

  “Did you serve with him?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “He’s good at his job,” I assure her.

  “That’s not a declaration of trust.”

  “I trust him,” I say, her interest in my trust telling me she knows I’m competent. “Do you want to meet him?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  I don’t miss the polite request that tells me she’s in a completely new zone, one that I haven’t seen to this point. “Done,” I say. “I’ll arrange it. Now tell me what changed between the restaurant and now. And don’t tell me that I distracted you, and you are circling back to your father. We both know it’s more than that.”

  She tilts her face upward and looks to the ceiling, her actions tell me something happened in the last twenty minutes, which leads me to the only place it can lead me. “Why did you squat down by the door?”

  She lowers her head and looks at me. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “I would have been dead years ago if I did.”

  She opens the drawer next to her and sets a plastic baggy with a dead orange and black Monarch butterfly on the counter. “That’s what I bent down and picked up. It’s butterfly mating season, which I know because it became relevant to the forensic evidence in a murder I solved last year.”

  It could be symbolic to her. A reminder of the murder that changed her life. But I don’t think that is where this is headed. “What does that mean to you?” I ask, watching her closely.

  “Before I answer that. You studied me. You watched me without me knowing, thus why you now have your stalker nickname.”

  “I’d prefer protector, just an FYI.”

  “How about asshole?” she challenges.

  “I’ll be whatever it takes to keep you alive.”

  I expect a snap back and once again I don’t get what I expect. Her lips thin and a two-second beat passes before she asks, “Did you know that my best friend in college, the one that was murdered, was obsessed with butterflies? Jewelry, clothes, figurines… you name it, she collected it.”

  “No, I did not,” I say, and then I go where she is leading. “You think someone left this for you.”

  “My gut says that’s exactly what happened, and if that’s the case, this person knows where I live. This person found out more about me than you and your Walker team of experts. This person is dangerous. Which is exactly why I tried to send you away.”

  “Explain.”

  “We don’t know who this person is or how they might react to you, or Walker being involved.”

  “My being involved tells them that I’m protecting you. It tells them to back the fuck off.”

  “Or it tells
them to find a way around you, and that leads to the precinct, where this person might attack others. Or a public place. Or a redirect to my father.”

  “We have your father well covered.”

  “What about the entire precinct? Or innocent people around me? We don’t know who this person is or what they are capable of. But we do know that if they really did leave that butterfly, they’re steps ahead of us.”

  “Something we can agree on.”

  “And at this point,” she adds. “I’m not sure you being here makes a difference. We had dinner. We were seen together. Anyone who figured out the butterfly connection will figure out my connection to you already. Whatever nerve we might have hit, we’ve hit. Whatever set of actions we’ve set into play, are already in play.”

  She’s right. I feel it. Trouble is coming and it’s not gentle. It’s fierce. It’s angry. It’s deadly. And it’s definitely two steps ahead of us.

  “Pack a bag,” Jacob orders. “We’re going to my place, which is in the Walker-owned, and secure, building. You’ll be safe there.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I say in instant rejection.

  “You just told me that you had a gift left on your doorstep. We aren’t staying here where that doorstep exists.”

  “An improbable gift.”

  His jaw sets hard. “Let’s recap. You yourself said that if that improbable gift was a real gift, we have a problem. And as a point of considerable reference, that living butterfly is now dead.”

  “If the butterfly was alive,” I say, “it wouldn’t be of much interest, because it would have flown away. If it were alive, it wouldn’t potentially represent yet another person in my life who ended up dead. Furthermore, what you leave out of your brilliant summarization of my own words, while using my own words against me, is the part about you being a trigger that could get my father killed.”

  “Your father’s well-protected. And if this person we’re dealing with is as smart as these actions indicate, your father choosing to hire protection was anticipated.”

  “And most likely expect me to reject it.”

  His brow furrows. “Based on what?”

  “Based on my job and studying my behaviors. No male detective on the force would accept a bodyguard, which means if I do, I look weak.”