by Box Set
He reached into a cabinet and pulled down a box of tea. Handing her a tea bag, he brushed his fingers across the sensitive palm of her hand. Everything stopped around them. Griffin’s focus on her was so carnal, she almost dropped the mug in her other hand. His movements were slow, controlled and completely masculine. The tea kettle screamed, and she took a deep breath to focus on the task of making tea. Once done in the kitchen, they sat next to each other on a huge leather couch in front of an even bigger television.
“It’s like a movie theatre in here,” she said.
“I have a lot of friends over to watch football and hockey, so I needed something where every seat had a decent view.”
“I think your neighbors have a good view of the screen too.”
He grinned like a high school junior showing off his first car. “It’s a bit overboard, but I don’t spend much money, except on the house, so I thought I’d treat myself for Christmas.”
He had left a little room between them on the couch. Respectful, but maybe one foot too far.
“Do you have any family in the area?”
Something empty flitted through his eyes. “I grew up in West Chester, but my parents are gone and my little brother moved to New York years ago.”
“Do you see him often?”
“Not at all. He blames me for a shitty childhood and I agree with him. I was a pretty selfish kid.”
“I doubt that. I never had any siblings, but I’m not sure I’d ever let them go if I did.”
“He has my address. If he ever wants to reach out he can.”
“Why don’t you contact him?”
“I did once when I’d first left home. He sent the letter back to me unopened. I got the point.”
“When was that?”
“About ten years ago.”
“A decade? You’ve been estranged from your brother for ten years?”
“Something like that.” He turned on the television, probably to change the subject, and found an old movie channel. On the Town with Gene Kelley. Old memories must’ve clouded his brain, because he wasn’t in the room with her. He was far away with a past he wouldn’t explain to her and memories he wouldn’t elaborate on. She didn’t want him to pry into her own family business, so she remained silent about his and instead relaxed into the couch and sipped her tea.
Her legs were stretched across the couch but stopped short of touching Griffin. She wanted to snuggle into him, but wasn’t that confident about making the first move. When Ann Miller broke into a dance at the museum, Griffin lifted Trinity’s feet onto his lap. His thumbs pressed into her sore feet and melted away her stress.
The warmth of her drink, the comfort of the leather, and the sheer decadence of Griffin’s massage took their toll. Her eyes slowly closed, and the music faded.
She awoke with the arrival of the morning sun, covered with a soft fleece blanket. A pillow had been placed under her head. Probably by the really cute guy from the other end of the couch. She glanced over to where he’d been sitting. Empty.
“Griffin?” she called out.
Two seconds later, he entered the room carrying a mug. “Coffee with cream, as I recall.”
“Amazing memory.”
“It’s a gift.” He sat next to her and waited until she was sitting up before handing her the steaming mug. “Sleep well?”
“I think so. I fell asleep before my favorite part of the movie.”
“We can watch it again later. You look well rested today.”
“I feel better. What time is it? I need to see my mother?”
“Eight. She’ll be fine for another hour or two. Relax. I’ve never met anyone who works so hard. Do you ever have down time?”
“I sleep occasionally. And someday I plan on working nine to five and even having weekends off.”
“Sounds good.” He shifted closer to her, his thigh pressed against hers. The connection comforted her.
They sat together and enjoyed the morning with hot coffee and a growing bond she couldn’t explain. He knew things about her, not facts and figures, but more about her depth and emotions than anyone had ever taken the time to appreciate.
What she wouldn’t give for a lifetime with a partner who could sit beside her and enjoy her company with no expectations, no demands. Her mother, however, needed her. Mama would never survive with only her father’s support at home, and her father needed her financial help as well as the time she took care of her mother when she was home. His ability to work disappeared the moment her mother became sick, despite having the mornings free to go out and find employment.
Placing the mug on the coffee table, she stood. Family obligations breaking their connection. The loss of his body heat hurt straight down to the pit of her stomach, but why push forward into something that didn’t stand a chance? Not a good chance. “I have to go. I can take the bus to the hospital.”
He rose to his feet. “I can drive you. I’m going out anyway. If your mother isn’t discharged today, come back here tonight. Free showers, and a comfortable couch.”
“Maybe. The couch was pretty amazing. I could sleep there every night,” she said, trying to brighten the mood.
“That can be arranged.” His voice was low, serious. He strode over to her and took her face in his hands.
All her insecurities crumbled away when he pressed his lips to hers. They’d been friends for so long, so why did this feel as though they belonged in each other’s embrace? Their kiss deepened and stirred a craving within her that only Griffin could satisfy. When he leaned back, his eyes were half closed and his lips curved into a natural smile. The race to leave him disappeared. She kissed him again to ensure him that his actions had been wanted, desired. From his heated response, he got the message.
***
Only seven more hours until Griffin could finish his shift. Generally, he worked longer hours than most of his colleagues, preferring to keep busy than sit at home alone, but today, he had plans to see Trinity again. One kiss from her had changed his world. Not only was she the most intelligent woman he’d ever been interested in, but she was also the most independent. She had her priorities set in stone, and his only hope at creating a relationship was being able to chisel in some time with her as she pressed forward with her goals. His thoughts were interrupted by a red VW Jetta rushing by him at a speed that could put both the driver and other cars on the road in danger.
He called dispatch. “This is Car 35. I’m following a speeding VW Jetta with Pennsylvania plates.” After he rattled off the number, he pulled onto the highway, switched on his lights and traveled 85 mph trying to catch the ass. Most cars moved aside as he pursued his target, but one driver decided to not move lanes, or maybe the idiot had on headphones and didn’t notice the lights flashing in his rearview window. Shit. When the middle lane opened up, he passed the car and pulled in front of it. The driver had been an elderly man with widened eyes as the police car blistered by him. Someday, one of these idiots was going to get Griffin killed.
He lifted his speed just fast enough to keep control of the car. A friend had killed someone in pursuit of an armed robber once. The raw sadness that remained with his friend until he left on disability haunted Griffin. He never wanted to harm an innocent. After another mile, he caught sight of the Jetta and fell in behind the car until they both moved to the emergency lane. This was always the toughest part of the job. The guy driving was on the phone. He seemed fairly calm. Hopefully, he’d remain that way.
Shelly radioed back, clearing the plate numbers and providing the name of the person the car was registered to.
At least the weather was cooperating. No rain, no snow, no biting wind. Just a cool breeze and a partly cloudy sky.
Griffin’s heart sped up as he walked to the car. Nerves? Yes. Adrenaline rush? Absolutely. No call out was ever mundane to him. He never took chances on even the most routine stops. Each had the potential to go from good to deadly. He tapped on the window until the guy it rolled down.
“Hello, Officer.” It was one of the kids from the diner who had been harassing Trinity. Probably a prep school kid in a car his father had bought for him. Griffin smelled maybe a whiff of marijuana and some chewing gum, a popular way to hide the smell of anything illegal.
“You know you were speeding?”
“I was?”
“Eighty in a fifty-five zone.”
The kid nodded as though impressed with the power in his car.
“Can I have your license and registration, please?”
“Sure. No problemo.” He rustled through the glove compartment. Griffin remained one step from the window in case he grabbed a gun. The chance was low, but always there. He relaxed at the appearance of the registration and then the kid’s license.
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
The second he was seated in the patrol car, the kid was back on his phone. Probably calling his father.
Griffin glanced over the license and registration. Scott Harrison from Haverford in a car registered to a William Harrison. Yep. Daddy would pay the ticket, and the kid would continue to break the law until someone held him responsible for his actions or someone died.
Griffin knocked on the kid’s window again.
“Hey, got to go. Call you later.” He placed his cellphone on the passenger seat.
His complete lack of fear either indicated he didn’t care about the consequences of his actions or he was on something or both. Griffin would bet it was the weed he’d smelled in the car when he first pulled him over.
“Could you step out the car for me?”
“Why?” He glanced at his phone and then back at Griffin.
“Step out of the car, and we’ll talk.”
The smugness on the kid’s face melted.
Griffin ran through every probability for the kid’s reaction.
Best case scenario? He’d comply and receive a ticket.
Or he might refuse to exit the car. Then Griffin would need to call backup while trying to keep the situation calm.
The worst case scenario was Scott hitting the gas and leaving. Not Griffin’s favorite possibility. Car chases killed people.
To help move the kid along to the right decision, Griffin opened the door and stepped back giving him plenty of room to step onto the road.
Luckily, Scott did exactly that. He was not exactly uneven on his feet, but was holding himself together in a way that made him appear stoned. Now that Griffin had a better view of his eyes, glossiness was apparent as well.
“Let’s move over behind the car to stay off the road. Can you walk on that line?” He pointed to the white line down the side of the road. Cars and trucks pushed by, adding tension and risk each time one passed them, not exactly the perfect environment for taking a walk on a straight line when stoned, but then again, neither is driving impaired, anytime of day.
Scott walked a few steps. His arms fluttered up and down as though he were a great winged gull coming in for a landing. His feet stepped gingerly on the line, and he would have appeared respectable if he hadn’t done the pirouette at the end, a dramatic one hundred and eighty degree turn, arms still soaring on each side of him. He landed on the grounded in a kneel every nun in the area would be proud to see.
“Perfect!” the kid called over to him.
“Right. Can you stand up for me?”
He stood, his confidence growing, his movements speeding up. “Anything. Let’s go. I can do this.”
“Can you stand on one foot and touch your finger to the tip of your nose?”
“Shit, yeah.” He lifted one leg off the ground and wobbled, but then completely lost his balance as his hand tried to locate his nose. “Wait. Let me do that again. I was on the wrong leg.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
He tried it again and stumbled. Not all the way to the ground, but damn close.
“I’ve seen enough.” Hopefully the camera on the car saw enough, too.
“No, you haven’t. You think that’s it? I can do this.” He tried again. The frustration messed up his concentration and his equilibrium apparently, because this time he fell onto the ground. His hand caught the fall. A small amount of blood dampened the palm of his hand.
“I’m going to have to take you to the station.”
Before he could start citing him the Miranda warning, the kid cold cocked Griffin in the face. The pain rattled straight through his nose and for a moment, he thought he was going down. By the time his balance was restored, the kid was halfway back to the driver’s seat. Griffin sprinted after him and clutched his arm as hard as he could. No way was he getting away. He wrestled the kid to the ground and yanked his arms back in a move that was overboard, but shit, his nose hurt. Then he cuffed him.
“You have the right to remain silent … ”
Chapter 4
Trinity poured three cups of coffee.
“Here you go, guys,” she said to the two men and one female. Jenna Hale took her coffee black, as did Ken Bradley. The biggest officer in the booth, JJ Dawson, however, had to mellow out the bitterness with enough cream to make a milkshake.
One man who loved his coffee black was conspicuously missing. Sergeant Alexander. Griffin. She tried not to make it seem as though she was falling for their Sergeant, because she’d never hear the end of it. “Where’s your compadre?” she asked.
“You didn’t hear?” Dawson replied. “Some kid punched him in the face at a traffic stop. He’s been at the hospital for hours. Captain called me and said he didn’t break his nose, although he’s got one hell of a bruise.”
He’d been at the hospital all afternoon? Trinity felt ill. She couldn’t imagine Griffin being injured and although it didn’t seem bad from the way everyone was acting, it still rocked her insides.
Jenna laughed. “There goes his good looks.”
“Good looks? I thought you preferred the blond Viking god type of guy?” Ken flexed his muscles to Jenna and Trinity’s catcalls.
“I think the ladies prefer the body of a linebacker, and the ability to take you out with the flick of my finger.”
Ken shook his head. “In your dreams, Dawson.”
“My perfect guy is about five feet ten inches and prefers the courtroom to the squad car.” Jenna described her husband, an assistant prosecutor. “So I’ll be saying ciao to all of you loners while I go home to get me some loving.” She stood up and headed to the door.
“Don’t make me sick, Hale. Picturing your husband in the nude gives me hives,” JJ called after her.
She waved back at them and disappeared outside.
“What about you, Trinity? Who’s your perfect guy?” Ken asked. “There are two very available guys sitting arm’s length from you.” He held onto his coffee cup as though she would take it from him if he placed it on the table, which she probably would since they were the last in the diner and Trinity wanted to close up.
The fun banter wasn’t so fun when the man who had kissed that morning was in the hospital. All she wanted was Griffin, healthy, whole, and happy. “I’m not looking for anyone until I get my bachelor’s degree.”
“That’s no fun. How many more courses do you have? We can wait.”
Dawson nodded in agreement.
“I have two classes left in my biology major and a seminar in Spanish literature.”
“If you decide to go to medical school, will you be available to give us therapy for the heartbreak?”
Dawson made his fictional infatuation with her an issue every time he came into the diner. After years of bantering back and forth, they both became dependent on the other for some good natured ribbing. What would happen if he learned about her involvement with Griffin?
“It’ll be my pleasure to explore your minds and find out if there’s anything inside your heads besides a bunch of bravado and too many donuts.”
“Don’t diss the donuts, lady. When I’m driving around all night, sometimes that sugar is the only thing keeping me up.”
She patte
d Dawson on the shoulder. “Maybe a little Redbull would be better.”
“We have that too.”
“Is Griffin going to be at the hospital long?” she asked, trying not to appear too pathetically in love.
“From what the captain said, he was headed home after his visit to the ER.”
He was going home? Maybe she could stop by. Just to check on him. A really good friend would do that. So would a woman who wanted more. And he had mentioned that she could crash on his couch again. She could give him TLC and get some sleep.
A half hour later, Indigo was empty. Trinity turned the music from the owner’s playlist, which tended to include far too much country music, and shifted to her favorite mix of soft, romantic pop, always starting with Stevie Wonder. Tonight, however, her movements were faster. If she rushed, she could see Griffin before he fell asleep. Maybe. She’d called him twice, but received his voicemail both times. He did reply to her text message with a cryptic,
I’m fine.See you soon.
She cleaned the kitchen counters where Francisco and Greg made everything from lasagna to killer omelets and then worked her way around the room. The music carried her movements from one area to another until the entire kitchen was shining.
Just as her mind began to relax, someone knocked on the door. The sound shot panic through her gut. Criminals loved to rob stores in this neighborhood.
She remained in the back of the restaurant, out of sight, and picked up the phone. She dialed 9 and 1. The last number would be dialed if anyone entered the building.
“Anyone in there? I see the back light on. I need a cup of coffee and maybe a muffin.”
Griffin? Her breathing returned to normal.
She hung up the phone and headed to the door. A smile replaced the fear in her expression. Griffin, still in his uniform, was standing at the front entrance, one eye swollen and slightly closed and the other underlined in dark purple.
“Oh my God. Are you okay?” She unlatched the door and let him in, then locked the door again.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. How could it? He had to be in serious pain. “I need to remember to tiptoe around people who are high and paranoid. He swung, and I didn’t duck in time.”