“Also, always be especially careful about neck restraints. Notice how much room there is around Em's neck. Now that you're no longer babies, your head doesn't compress very well. You can leave plenty of room and still not worry about your sub getting out.”
Right now, I wish that there was more room. Even though he claims there is so much around my neck, my brain is convinced that the stocks are constricting, getting closer.
Suddenly, they're no longer stocks, but an arm, squeezing my throat. My head prickles, reminding me of the barrel of a gun. The kid from the convenience store. God, it's just a flashback. It's not real, but something has triggered it.
I don't want to die.
Everything moves in slow motion, though I know Paul reacts like a lightning strike. He slams the bolt open hard and rips the wooden lid up with a crack.
“Red!” I scream it out in a panic, but I’m already free. He pulls me to my feet, and then his powerful arms are around me, pulling me close. Unlike the cold hardness of the stocks, his grasp is warm and protective. I press my face against his broad chest as I whisper, “Red.”
Without letting go, he guides me to the bench with small steps. We sit, clinging to each other while my shakes go away.
I want to climb right up into his lap, but suddenly I'm embarrassed about the commotion I'm creating. As soon as I was released from the stocks, the flashback lost its hold on me, and while I'm still shivering and sniffling, now I just feel silly for ruining his demo.
“I'm sorry.” Leaning into him, I murmur the words into his shirt. “I messed it up.”
His hand takes my chin and lifts my head so I'm looking right into his gorgeous eyes. The grip that seemed so commanding earlier is comforting now. “Em, you didn't mess up a thing. Red is red. I should’ve relied on my instincts and taken you out earlier.” With his other hand, he brushes the hair out of my face. “What happened? Are you all right?”
The further the panic attack slides away, the sillier it seems. “Yeah, I'm fine. It was nothing. It was silly of me. I'm sorry.” I pull my chin away from his grip, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.
He sighs. “Fuck.”
The coarseness of his response startles me. “I'm sorry, I said.” I know I ruined his setup, but he doesn't have to get so snippy about it.
“No, it's not you. It's my fault for doing this. It's history repeating itself.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is exactly how it was with Anne. Doing shit just to try to make me happy.” He talks to himself more than me, I think, because he doesn't know that I know about his ex-wife. Then he looks right at me. “Stuff that she wasn't into. I'm not going down that road again, Em. It hurt too much the first time, her more than me.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head wordlessly.
I become aware of the crowd around me, staring at the two of us. Not the end of the demo that they expected, I'm sure. Paul follows my gaze. “Sorry folks, the demo's done for tonight. Leave me some space, please. I'll be back for another in a couple of weeks.”
He embraces me, pulling my head against his chest. “I'm so sorry, Em. I should never have allowed this, but I couldn't help it. You pushed so hard, and you're so damned beautiful, and clever, and fun, and… and you're the best partner a cop could have. And I fucked it up.” His heart thunders under my ear.
“What?” I try to look up, but he's holding me too close. “Paul, you didn't mess up anything. I'm the one who freaked out.”
It's like he's not even listening. He just holds me, refusing to discuss it any further. So we sit there, and in some ways it's nice. Just because I can, I wrap my arms around him, letting myself pretend that we're sitting in some kind of lovers' embrace, and that he's not currently berating himself under his breath.
Even while pretending, I'm groaning on the inside. When Paul lets himself go with the flow, he's amazing. When he starts to think about us, he's impossible, and I don't know how to make him understand that all problems aren't his fault.
He cares for me, and that's wonderful, but he's so concerned that he won't mess us up that it gets in the way of us messing up. Together.
And that's what love is all about, isn't it?
12
Emily
Well, last night was a mess and a half. I'm so distracted, I don't even say hi to Ramirez and Kent until they call me on it.
“Hey, too good for us all of a sudden?” The comment from Ramirez is pointed, but he laughs to take the sting out of it.
“I'm sorry, guys. Just a lot on my mind today.” I do a little wave. “Hi.”
“You okay, Em?”
Seems like everyone's asking me that these days. I need to work on my not helpless act. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just have to talk to Paul.”
“The Cannon?” Ken grins. “Trouble in paradise?”
I roll my eyes at them. “I'll let you know when I get there. Isn't it time for you guys to head out or something?”
“Yes, ma'am.” Ramirez mock salutes without getting out of his chair. “Just waiting for Kent to get his ass out of his chair.”
“What? I'm sitting here waiting for you, pokey,” Kent responds indignantly.
Despite my crappy mood, I can't help smiling weakly. “You guys are a couple of clowns. The only reason you do so well is because the perps take themselves down by laughing so hard when you show up.”
Ramirez pushes his chair back and gets up, pulling his cap from a hook on the wall behind him and putting it on his head. “Those are harsh words, officer Fairburn. Harsh.”
“Yeah? I'm sure you guys will survive. Stay safe out there.”
They nod and take off, leaving me alone in the office. Everyone else is out too, it seems. Just me and Paul in his office. Probably for the best.
After putting my purse down on my desk, I make a beeline for his office, hurrying before I chicken out. I knock and open the door in one motion. Well, I try to. The door's locked. He's not here? Maybe he's late today, though that's not like him at all.
Is it about yesterday?
Just then someone new enters the office behind me, and I turn, putting on a hopeful smile. I try to not let it slip when I see it's not Paul.
Captain Fowler is a square-built woman with a severe haircut and a neatly pressed uniform, who usually prowls the fourth floor rather than spend her time with us lowly street cops unless she has business with Paul. Maybe she knows where he’s at.
She nods when she spots me. “Fairburn.”
“Captain Fowler.” We're not required to, but her straight-backed posture and sharp eyes give me the urge to salute. “Have you seen Sergeant Cannon?”
“He's on personal leave. Called it in this morning, leaving me to figure out how to make sense of his team's poor excuse for a schedule.”
Leave? Is he… oh God, it's about us, isn't it? This is ridiculous. How much blame can a single man heap on himself? And I bet he's freaking convinced that he's doing this all for me.
“Officer Fairburn?” Fowler’s voice snaps me out of my own thoughts, and I realize that she's talking and I'm not listening at all. Good thing there are no ranks below mine to get busted down to.
“I'm sorry, Captain. Could you please repeat?” I straighten and prepare to take my lashes.
Her glare could melt a steel bar. “I said, currently I have no partner for you, so I've assigned you to desk duty until I find somebody. There's a huge filing backlog that needs to be done anyway, so don't worry. There's plenty for you to do.”
Sounds delightful. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Good.” She glances around the office, which is still deserted. “Well, I'll get back to my office. If Officer Gibbons decides to show his late ass sometime today, have him call me, would you?”
“Yes, ma'am.” I shudder at the thought of whatever meat grinder she's going to put poor Gibbons through, but that's not my problem to worry about right now.
Without another word, Fowler turns and strides ou
t of the office, heading for the elevators. As soon as she's out of sight, I rush to my desk and drop into my chair, backlog files the last thing on my mind.
Pulling my phone out, I scroll until I find Paul in my contacts and tap his smiling face. Even as a tiny phone icon, it has the power to melt me from the inside and out, but this isn't the time to be soft. I'm not going to let his overdeveloped sense of honor and duty keep him away from the job he loves.
Or me.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings. And hits his voicemail. I hang up and try again, but nothing changes. I'm not cut short, like he's blocking me, but just ringing like he doesn't even care.
This is stupid. He's at home, right? Probably. I eye the exit, weighing the odds for Captain Fowler staying upstairs and not coming back down. But even if I run off, I said I'd send Gibbons up, and I can't have him get in trouble because of me either. Well, more trouble.
I feel more trapped now than I did in the stocks, but at least I'm not freaking out this time. I'm just stuck until after my shift is over.
This is going to be the longest shift ever.
13
Emily
Well, you'd think Paul was a ghost. I've visited his house, trawled the club, called him more times than I'd care to admit, and I still have no idea where he's at. Caleb and Gabe are impossible to find too, either too busy for me to find or the three of them are hiding together.
So now what?
A little police work, maybe? It's my third day of sitting completely alone in the office, and I don't think my pile of files has gotten any shorter. I swear Fowler is coming by with more cases when I'm not looking.
Who knows? Maybe she is.
But I'm thinking of a different kind of work. Eyeing Paul's door, I get up and grab a pick gun out of my locker. Here's hoping Fowler isn't about to come on a surprise inspection.
Paul's door unlocks surprisingly easily, the clicks so loud in the empty room, I slip back to my desk for a bit to make sure no one heard. Once I'm pretty sure no one's coming, I hurry into his office.
I don't even know what I'm looking for. Anything that might help me figure out where he might be, or something that might help me find him. Starting with his desk, I open the drawers carefully, taking care not to upset any of the stuff inside them. He's organized. If I move something and don't get it back to the exact location it started at, he'll notice.
Not much interesting. Case files, stationery, a stress toy. Enough pens to ink the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Impressive, but uninteresting right this moment. I try not to pry too much, only looking at the surface things to see if anything jumps out at me.
The bottom drawer sticks, but comes open with a good yank. God, I feel like such a stalker right now, but I’m not sure what else to do. It looks like this is his catch-all drawer. It’s full of random things like unopened ketchup packets and paper cups. And a picture. Right on top, there's a photo of a pretty woman with a sexy smile and long, blonde hair. Is that Anne? She doesn't look anything like me.
Is that good? Or bad?
A lump forms in my throat, but it’s not jealousy. He's made it perfectly clear that they're done and have been a long time, but imagining what he went through to make him so afraid of letting someone get close now makes me sad.
And even more determined to show him how wrong he is.
Deeper in the drawer is a pile of matchbooks. Did he use to smoke? They're all from a place called Cal's Tavern. A quick search on my phone puts it about halfway between the club and Paul's house. It'd be a long shot. It's not like he’s moved to a bar. Most likely.
But if he's avoiding me…
Nah, that's silly. He’s probably off fishing, or staying at his little sister's or something.
Well, I've looked everywhere else. What do I have to lose? I grab one of the matchbooks and take a quick shot with my phone, before putting it back and closing the drawer carefully.
I go over the rest of the office, but there's nothing. Cal's Tavern is the only clue I've got, and it's not even a good one.
I've only just barely relocked Paul's door when Captain Fowler enters the office. Standing up straight, I cross my hands behind my back. It makes me look attentive—and it hides the pick gun.
“Fairburn.”
“Captain Fowler.”
She eyes Paul's door suspiciously. “Is Sergeant Cannon in? He didn’t say anything about coming back yet.”
Well, I can't exactly tell her I broke in. “No, ma'am.” Think fast. “I thought I heard him in there, but the door's locked, so it's just my ears playing tricks on me, I guess.” I try not to roll anxiously on the balls of my feet, but she makes me nervous. Why can't she just go back to her den on the fourth floor?
“Right, well, how are you getting on with the files? Officer Johnson should be available as your partner next week, since he’s taking some scheduled vacation.” She emphasizes the word scheduled to show how she feels about emergency leave.
I vaguely know Johnson, just well enough to know that while he seems nice enough, he smells like the taco truck he eats at every day. If I’m stuck with that for days on end I’ll probably gain ten pounds.
It suddenly becomes even more imperative that I find Paul.
“Yes, ma'am. I'm making good progress, but there're a lot of them.”
She nods. “Honestly, I doubt they'll ever get finished. They seem to pile up faster than we can process them, but do the best you can.” She nods again, this time as a goodbye, then turns on her heels and stalks back out of the office.
Not sure why she insists on coming down here for every little message. It's not like we don't all have email. Anyway, that doesn't matter now that she's gone and I can stow my little break-in tool away.
The rest of the day is slow going, but I get through it, even processing a few files in between wishing for time to move faster and wondering if I’ve crossed the line between persistent and desperate.
14
Paul
I suppose I couldn't stay hidden forever.
Even back in the dark corner of the pub, I'm apparently lit up like a beacon, since Em spots me immediately, her pretty brows furrowing like an oncoming thunderstorm. Straight-backed and determined, she strides towards me, every inch the pint-sized Amazon I've been trying so hard not to fall for.
And when that didn't work, tried not to hurt.
And when that failed, tried to stay away from.
So far I'm oh for three.
As she approaches, I start to get up. “Em, I've already told you, we shouldn't—”
Her hand swings and I spot the cuffs too late. One soft click later, and my left wrist is encircled by hard metal, connected by a chain to the matching cuff around her right wrist. For a moment, I blink at where we're connected, before raising my gaze to her face.
Her angry blue eyes bore right into me. “I'm not letting you take off again. This is stupid, and it ends now.”
The corners of my mouth curl up just a bit without me being able to do anything about it. She's always been forward, but this is audacious, even for her. I nod, reluctant to concede the point, but literally unable to get away. “I guess so.”
Easing back into the seat, I wave at Otto with my free hand. He's run this bar since long before I found it, back in my academy days. Despite all those years, he hasn't lost his German accent, though it's perhaps been rounded just a bit. “Another beer, Otto. And a…” I look meaningfully at Em.
“Just water.”
I cock my head and raise an eyebrow. “Really? I'm not ruling out having to get rip roaring drunk for this. Might as well join me.”
She searches my face, like I'm trying to trick her, but apparently I pass inspection. “A cider then.” She looks over her shoulder at Otto. “Dry, if you've got one. Thank you.”
“Coming right up.” Less than a minute later we've got each our amber glass, hers a lot paler than mine.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I found this place wa
y back when, and I've always liked it here.”
She waits, like she knows there's more.
I continue cautiously. “And, I used to go here with Anne a lot. I thought coming here might help me get a little perspective. I'm sorry. I'm sure you don't want to hear about my ex.”
She shrugs. “It's all right. Everyone has a history.”
There's a heavy pause as we both nurse our glasses. I don't even know where to start.
“So…” I begin, giving her an expectant look.
She sips her drink, but tracks me over the edge of the glass, her intense eyes never leaving me. Not saying a word, she obviously expects me to do the talking. Based on past experiences, that usually means I've got an apology to deliver.
“I'm sorry.”
One of her eyebrows raises slightly, but she doesn't say anything, just puts her glass back on the table.
I glance at the now very physical link between us, as unbreakable as I'm finding the slowly tightening emotional one. “I'm sorry for going AWOL. But do you understand why I'm doing this?”
For a moment, she looks out into space, as if considering my question, but when her eyes come back on me, she only shakes her head. It's like we're playing charades.
I always hated that game.
“All right. Fine. I could’ve handled this better.”
She snorts.
I snort right back. “We obviously agree on that, but perhaps not on why. I'm no good for you, Em, and I'm not going to have you get hurt just because you're trying to be someone you're not.” I take a sip of my beer. “Even if you think that's what I want.”
“How do you know who I am?” Finally. She's found her voice.
“We work together. We're partners. I think I've got a pretty good idea by now.” I count off on my fingers. “You're spunky, precocious, honest to a fault, funny, you snort if you laugh too hard… and you blush really prettily when I tell you that.” It's all true. “But you're also too eager to please, and willing to put yourself in danger just to do what you think other people want, even if it's not right for you.” This time I'm the one examining her over my beer as I take another sip. “How's that?”
Cuff Me: A BDSM Romance Page 7