Falling Under

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Still holding the detective’s hand, I lead her in the direction of the subway three blocks from her apartment, and for a full sixty seconds, things are uneventful. The instant we’re crossing the first roadway that changes when she tugs unsuccessfully against me, trying to separate our hands. I hold onto her, bending our elbows and dragging her next to me. “Don’t go blowing the cover story I just set up for us,” I warn as we step onto the sidewalk again. “We’re fucking, remember?”

  “What happened to being professional, Mr. Robot?”

  “It was my professional assessment that we should kiss.”

  “Really?” She glances over and up at me. “That was a professional decision? To kiss me and not ask in advance?”

  “It was absolutely a professional judgment that I kiss you at that very moment,” I confirm. “I just happen to be enjoying my job a little more than usual today. And judging from the way you kissed me back, you are, too.”

  She cuts her gaze, but not before I spy the heat in her cheeks. “I don’t know why I kissed you back.”

  “Because you wanted to?”

  She cuts me a sharp look. “I considered kneeing you instead.”

  “Because you didn’t actually want to kiss me,” I press.

  “You shouldn’t have turned us into a peep show.”

  I stop and pull her around in front of me. “Us?” I demand softy, liking the sound of that far more than I should.

  “My mistake,” she amends. “Me. You made me a peep show.”

  “I made you mine to everyone watching.”

  “I’m not yours or anyone else’s.”

  “Now you are,” I say, my tone damn near guttural and I don’t even know the fuck why.

  “I don’t want anyone to think I’m weak enough to be your bimbo.”

  “And here I thought you were empowered enough to make me your fuck buddy, not the other way around. I didn’t warn you because I needed you to be authentic.”

  “What if I really would have kneed you? Then what?”

  “I gambled on you wanting to kiss me.”

  “Because everyone you protect wants to kiss you?” she challenges.

  “Do you think that’s who I am, detective?” I bite out.

  “You barely know me, and you kissed me,” she says, jabbing at my chest, as if she wants to be certain that everyone watching knows that we’re fighting.

  “I barely know you, woman, and I’ve talked to you about things I never talk to anyone about.”

  “Am I supposed to believe that? Why would you do that?”

  “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” I say.

  “You—”

  “Wanted to kiss you? Yes. If you don’t want to admit that you wanted to kiss me, don’t. If you don’t want me to do it again, I won’t. It was done until you started this confrontation and that means it has to happen again. After that, dig for your phone and you’ll have an excuse to ignore my hand when we start walking again.”

  “After what?”

  I pull her to me and kiss her firmly on the lips. “That. After that and since you seem to hate my fucking kisses, I made it quick. Now, if you want it done, it’s done. I’m going to let you go. Do as I say. Dig for your phone.”

  But that’s not what she does. I let her go and her hand that rests on my chest curls around my shirt, and she steps closer, her legs pressed to mine. “Kissing me, and me kissing you back, does not give you the right to overstep boundaries that we have yet to set.”

  “Understood,” I say.

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “Understood, detective,” I repeat more firmly. “We’ll set the boundaries together. We’ll do this, all of this, together.”

  “If you mean that, then I’m in. If you don’t, your Green Beret skills won’t save you. I will hurt you.”

  “As much I might enjoy that,” I say, because she’s standing so fucking close to me right now, it already hurts, “I’m a man of my word.”

  “Good,” she says. “Because I have questions for you that I expect real answers to.”

  “I’m aware of that,” I reply, also aware that she’s talking about Jesse Marks.

  “This doesn’t, and won’t, stop me from looking into that case file,” she adds.

  “Don’t you need to get to court?” I ask, because now would not be the right time to tell her that her investigation is permanently closed.

  “I’m only letting you get away with dodging a direct answer because yes, I need to get to a bail hearing.”

  She tries to pull her hand back and I catch it, covering it with my own. “Did you want to kiss me, detective?”

  “Yes, asshole, I wanted to fucking kiss you.”

  I arch a brow. “Asshole?”

  “It’s your nickname, remember? Spoken fondly, of course.”

  “Fondly,” I say, fighting a smile. “Got it.” I wrap my arm around her neck, keeping her in front of me, my cheek sliding to hers, lips by her ear. “You feel it, right?” I ask, and I’m not talking about how much I want to kiss her again.

  “Yes,” she says, and when I pull back to look at her, she confirms her understanding. “We’re being watched,” she adds softly, “and not just by your people.”

  “And now they know they have to come through me to get to you,” I say. “You might not see the value in that, but your slayer does, I promise you.” I don’t give her time for her normal bravado, that one way or the other she’ll figure out she doesn’t need with me. “Come on,” I say, turning her, my arm settling around her shoulders, and setting us back in motion.

  “What if you’re wrong?” she asks as we cross the next intersection. “What if you just pulled that trigger with the slayer that I’ve been trying to avoid?”

  “I’m more worried that I’ve driven him into a hole. Someone this smart, and this devious, is better lured out than left to plot and plan on their own.”

  “And if he acts rashly?”

  “If he was meticulous enough to find out about a butterfly fetish that is years old, that’s unlikely. But if he does, is rash really better than calculated?”

  “Calculated would most likely be focused on me.”

  “How do you know that calculated doesn’t equal exactly what you fear?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “A well-planned attack on your precinct. Or on your father’s business or home. My point here, is there is that we’re both guessing. And I say drive the slayer out while you have an army of the Walker Security team as a shield.”

  “I get it,” she says, looking at me. “There’s no right or wrong answer. I just hope yours is the right one, because you’ve set us on that path.”

  I hold my reply as we round the subway wall, joining a crush of people on the downward stairwell and perhaps this would be a good time to let go of her hand. I don’t. I hold onto her until we’re swiping our cards through the payment gates. On the other side, I don’t reach for her again, but we have a matched pace, side by side as we hurry down the stairs toward the proper gate, arriving as the doors to our packed train open.

  Now, I snag Jewel’s hand again, done calling her detective at this point, at least in my mind, and I lead her onto the busy car into a tight corner, grabbing the strap above us with one hand. Jewel turns to face the general population, her back to me, but she doesn’t have the luxury of my six feet four inches which allows me a substantially better view. I watch several people shove into the crowd. I can’t see who might enter from the other side of the car, but I don’t sense a problem. The car begins to move, throwing Jewel backward into me. I catch her, my hand settling on her belly, and for just a moment, she doesn’t move. In fact, she tilts her head back onto my shoulder, her hand covering mine, and fuck. I want this woman, and when she turns to face me, her hands settling on my chest, her legs still tightly aligned with mine, it’s clear she wants me, too.

  I cup her face and lean down, my lips finding her ear. “How’s your head?”

&n
bsp; “Better since you kissed me,” she says. “Adrenaline and all, you know?”

  I smile against her cheek. Hell. I don’t remember the last time I spontaneously smiled because of a woman. “Are you flirting with me, detective?” I tease.

  “Of course not,” she says, leaning back to look up at me. “I’m a professional.”

  I laugh and she laughs, and for a blink, I have a glimpse of Jewel without her many walls, a vulnerable side of her that I’m not even sure she knows she’s shown me. “I need you to trust me,” I say, seizing the moment, and thinking of our conversation before we entered the subway. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen.”

  “That’s a big promise but then you’re all about big. Big words. Big attitude. Big—”

  “Big?”

  She laughs at the corner she’s painted herself in as the car jolts to a stop, and just like last night, our foreheads collide. And just like then as well, our hands settle on each other’s faces again, lips close, the sexual tension between us in that moment utterly combustible. The instant the door announcement comes though, I pull back, ready for anything new to come our way. Keeping her close and safe, I lace my fingers with hers, but once we’re outside the car, in proximity of the courthouse, in her professional territory, I release her.

  Side by side, we walk up through the terminal and a block street-side, before she grabs my arm and pulls me to the side of a building. “Detectives don’t have fuck buddies following them around. I can’t have you do that without creating questions that I don’t want to answer. As it is, I feel obligated to tell my boss that I’m investigating these threats.”

  “I’m escorting you to the courthouse,” I say, “and the bail hearing.”

  “You’re carrying a weapon,” she says. “I felt your gun under your jacket. You can’t get into the courthouse.”

  “I’m disarming.”

  “How can you disarm on a New York City street?”

  “Like this,” I say, as a man in a gray suit with dark wavy hair steps to our side. “Detective Carpenter,” I say, “meet Adam.” I remove my weapon and hand it to him. “Adam, meet Detective Carpenter.”

  “Nice to meet you, detective,” he says, holstering my firearm in a holster under his jacket. “If you need me, I’ll be there. No song lyrics included with that statement.”

  “Was that a joke?” Jewel asks, glancing at me and then Adam again.

  Adam gives her a stone-faced look. “I don’t do jokes,” he says. “I’m always professional.” He laughs and looks at me, not her.

  Jewel laughs and looks at me, too. “You have a reputation that extends beyond me, I see.”

  “Apparently,” I say dryly. “But then, Adam and I are a different species. He’s an ex-SEAL.”

  “We are,” Adam says. “Divided by those who can swim and those who cannot.”

  “A bunch of wet SEAL boys,” I say. “You know what we call those, don’t you?”

  “You’re the pussy, Beret,” he says, and he glances at Jewel. “I assume you don’t have virgin ears, detective, so I won’t apologize.”

  “We’re done here,” I say, taking her arm, and guiding her away from him and onto the walkway. “You’re not as dry as I thought you were,” she teases.

  “Aren’t you funny?” I ask, releasing her as we hit our stride.

  “Not usually, actually,” she says. “My skill lies in my ability to be snarky and demanding.” She rushes forward, only to step in front of me in a backward walk, before planting her feet. “You can’t go to the courthouse with me. Do your invisible man routine. I’ll call you before I leave and all that stuff I know you’ll demand.” She doesn’t wait for my argument. She rotates and takes off walking. I let her pull ahead, following her but giving her space, but I don’t intend to give it to her for long.

  Once she starts up the heavy high concrete steps leading to the courthouse, I close the distance between us, weaving through the crowded path. Watching anyone and everyone as I do. Watching her. Aware of Adam as he steps to my right rear, who obviously has already handed off my weapon, and his, to Finn. And man of disguise that he is, his suit helps him blend into the legal crowd, his appearance the opposite of mine, by intention. We never fit together, and yet despite his newness to our team, the ground pounder and the sea monkey have found we work together perfectly. Jewel enters the courthouse, and I enter just behind her and three other people. She clears security, and I manage to do so right behind her, without my shoulder strap even being noticed, which is exactly why no one is ever safe in this place except today, with my team here

  A few steps behind her, I’m on the stairs leading to the next level, and in the center of a cluster of people. She turns a corner, and I cut right and double step to catch up with her. I’m literally right behind her and she reaches around her to jab my leg, letting me know that she knows where I am this time. She senses me now. She wasn’t aware enough before and she needed to be because she won’t have the chemistry she has with me to connect to with someone else.

  She enters the courtroom and I step to the side of the door, and Adam follows her inside, with not a hint of a look in my direction, but he drops a toothpick: a message that tells me I have a meet up in the stairwell next to the bathroom. I cut a look right, find the sign, and walk in that direction, following it right. The expected exit sign is next to it, and I enter the stairwell to find Royce waiting on me, his long dark hair tied at his nape, his suit blue, and tie also blue.

  He doesn’t speak. That’s not his thing. He’s a man of few words, but when he chooses words, they’re thoughtful and usually hard, but I find I want to hear what he speaks. “Thanks to her interest in me,” I say. “Detective Carpenter decided to dive into a top-secret case concerning a scandal the government doesn’t want uncovered. The kind I can’t explain to you and the kind that means trouble for her. The kind you don’t come back from.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “She’s working cold cases. I need to be contracted in to work cold cases, and now.”

  “Done. The NYPD is always happy to claim free help, especially from us. By the time she gets out of court, you’re her new partner. How’s she going to respond to that news is the question.”

  “I’ll handle her.”

  “I hear you have quite the technique for handling her,” he says, obviously indicating the kiss.

  “I sent a message. Come for her, you go through me.”

  He gives me a three-second, hard-ass stare. “You’re a professional. I’m not going to tell you not to fuck on the job, because you don’t fuck up on the job. But don’t make this a first.” He turns and starts walking down the stairs and it’s not him I’m worried about fucking up with. It’s Jewel. I told her she could trust me, and now I’m about to sideswipe her, but I have no choice. I can’t risk her fighting me on this. Because I have to know what she is doing at all times. It could be a matter of life and death.

  Jacob King is more than one kiss and a lot of pissing me off. That becomes utterly, completely obvious when, in the midst of a courtroom that is press-laden, he’s chaos in an unexpected way. I sit in the front row, just behind Evelyn, where she sits at her DA assigned table and despite the buzzing crowd all enthralled by the billionaire CEO and his dead wife and child, I know the moment he enters the courtroom. I have this sudden, intense, overwhelming awareness of him that I’ve never had with any other person in my life. I fight the urge to turn and look behind me, certain he’s close, perhaps in the row directly behind me, but I resist my need for confirmation. I’m simply not willing to let anyone know that I’m looking for him, especially since he’s not the only one I feel. The slayer is here. I know because I sense him, too. I can’t explain how I know that either, but somehow I really do have a stalker, but his name is not Jacob, and he’s here now, too.

  I pull my phone from my jacket and text Jacob the exact words he spoke to me earlier: You feel it, right?

  His reply is instant. Yes, but I don�
�t have a visual.

  I am more relieved than I should be at his reply and confirmation that he is here. I’m not supposed to need comfort. I’m supposed to give it, and usually that works out well. I’ve learned, like most detectives, how to remain sympathetic to those I help, but also know how to tune out the parts of my job that would destroy me: those human parts that I can’t allow to exist, and survive this job. But that talent is failing me now. The idea of being watched for years, and not knowing it, has shaken me in ways that I don’t ever want to be shaken, and having Jacob at my back isn’t all that bad after all. Kissing him isn’t all that bad either.

  I type a reply: Where are you? but before I hit send, a loud rumble of murmurs draws my attention to the door to the left of the judge’s podium where the defendant is being escorted into the room. That defendant being Bruce Norton, the tall, dark, and obviously deadly, thirty-eight-year-old tech CEO billionaire who I damn sure know killed his wife and unborn child. The pretty boy who’s now traded in the orange jumpsuit I put him in for one of his ten-thousand-dollar suits. I want him back in that jumpsuit.

  Sticking my phone back in my pocket, I watch Norton’s attorney, pretty boy Davis York, re-enter the courtroom after a previous departure, from the same door Norton had entered. In a blue suit that competes in price tag with his client’s, he and his client take side by side seats at their table. I wonder how York looks at himself in the mirror every morning, but then, men like him tend to look in their wallets, at their cash, not at themselves. Though I have a feeling both of these slime bags tell themselves how gorgeous they are, how inferior the rest of the world is to them, every single day of their lives. I decide right then that I don’t like pretty men. On the other hand, I apparently do, in fact, like ruggedly handsome men, which is what I’d called Jacob, a conclusion I base on the fact that, I sure as hell did kiss him back and enjoy every damn moment of it. Well, until afterward, when I had to hear him point out how much I enjoyed it.