Not Without Risk

by Sarah Grimm

  She visibly flinched at his harsh tone.

  He needed to calm down. His anger was not helping the situation. As far as he could tell, her pupils appeared normal, but something was very wrong with her. He didn’t know what had caused it, but she appeared trapped by her own terror, leaving him to figure out how to calm her.

  Fisting his hands at his side, he forced his expression neutral and his voice gentle. “Paige, look at me. You’re all right.”

  She didn’t respond for a long, long moment. ”Sergeant…Harrison?” Recognition came slowly. Her face paled and she moved as if to stand.

  “No.” Hand upon her knee, Justin did his best to ignore the tight knot that lodged in his throat when she trembled. “Don’t try to stand just yet.”

  “I have to get out of here.”

  Not before he knew exactly what had happened to her. “Who did this to you?”

  Her hand probed the side of her face. “I…don’t know.”

  He didn’t accept that she didn’t know the person’s identity and he didn’t intend to let up until he got the name from her. But strong-holding her didn’t seem like the most intelligent way to go about it. He needed to try a different approach. “What brought you here?”

  She met his gaze, her eyes bleak, disconnected. “I came to see you.”

  Irrationally pleased by her statement, he reached out and gently swept her hair out of her eyes, again tucking the strands behind her ear. The smooth warmth of her skin registered just before she bucked away from his touch.

  What the hell was he doing? He’d spent the night thinking of her, of that insane moment outside her building when he’d ached to touch her. Thoughts of her haunted his sleep. The way she’d smiled at him, just smiled, and he’d been so damned aroused so damned fast, it had been mind-boggling.

  But she wasn’t smiling now and she didn’t welcome his touch. In fact, he’d be lucky if she fully comprehended who knelt before her.

  “I have to get out of here,” she whispered, a bit unsteady.

  “In a minute.” First, he needed some answers. Like what had happened to her and who or what filled her with such panic that she could barely string her sentences together? He wished he could say it was just his cop’s mind refusing to let loose the puzzle, but it was more than that. Much more. That alone was a huge and frightening admission. One he would never make aloud.

  “You say you came to see me. Well, here I am. Why don’t we go upstairs to my desk and talk?” Without giving her a chance to refuse, Justin stood. He grasped her elbow gently and helped her to her feet, his hold tightening minutely when she swayed. “Come on, Paige. It’s not far.”

  Her eerie silence unnerved him as they made their way down the hall, as did her unsteadiness when he helped her into the chair near his and Allan’s desks.

  “What happened?” Allan questioned. His grim gaze moved over Paige’s face. “Was she assaulted?”

  “I haven’t gotten a clear answer yet.” Justin studied her as he sat down behind his own desk. Her eyes weren’t nearly as glassy, but beneath the hand he placed on her shoulder, her body still trembled.

  He had just poured himself a fresh cup of coffee when the desk sergeant called up to inform him he had a visitor. Upon hearing Paige’s identity, he’d naturally assumed she was here because she’d remembered something pertinent to the St. John homicide. That she might be here to report an attempt on her person never crossed his mind. Until now.

  Justin took a deep breath to counteract the twisting in his stomach. He picked up his coffee and offered it to her, pleased when her fingers curled around the mug. “Drink this.”

  Slowly, the warmth of the mug in her hand began to penetrate Paige’s fog. Like waking from a dream, her tunnel vision cleared and the room about her registered. With a snap, her eyes focused and told her she sat in the detective’s division, near a pair of desks butted up against one another.

  Her lower lip slid into her mouth and she bit down firmly as she realized she didn’t remember getting here. She focused her thoughts, but all that came to her were bits and pieces of images and voices. Confusion filled her, along with the tiniest twinge of fear. What had happened to her?

  Her head pounded as she reached back into the hazy recesses of her mind for a memory, any memory past standing in the archway. She recalled the explosion, the trip to the hospital, and the taxi ride to the precinct. Her stomach churned as she remembered the fear that washed over her as she’d stopped in the archway. She’d turned away, then…stairs…a familiar voice…

  She thought those were memories, but she just didn’t know. It seemed the harder she tried to reclaim the missing time, the fuzzier the memories became.

  Paige closed her eyes against a surge of nausea. She dragged a series of shaky breaths into her lungs. Moments passed before the hum of voices from the room about her seeped into her consciousness. One voice in particular stood out from the rest.

  She opened her eyes and studied the boots nearest her. Up denim-clad legs, past the badge, the shoulder holster, until she met his concerned gaze. “Sergeant Harrison.”

  Her mind hurt from the conflicting emotions that suddenly assaulted her. Confusion. Relief. Desire. He looked so together, so in control at a time when she felt anything but. She clasped the mug tightly and fought against the impulsive urge to crawl into his lap. Like a small child needing comfort, she wished for a strong set of arms wrapped about her. His arms.

  “Are you with us now?”

  Humiliation coursed through her, driving any renewed warmth from her limbs. She shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair and gasped aloud when her injured knee bumped against the side of the desk.

  He gave her a long, considering stare, as if conducting some sort of assessment of her. “Drink. The caffeine will help.”

  She drank.

  “How are you doing? Feeling any better?”

  She wished she remembered what she had done, what continued to elude her. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know what happened. Just now, I…can’t remember.”

  “Why don’t we begin with who hurt you?”

  “I don’t know.” When it seemed as if he would argue, she quickly added, “It’s not what you think.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I think someone tried to kill me today.”

  “You think?”

  “My car, someone blew up my car.”

  Shock colored his features but he recovered quickly. “With you in it?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m better than my Caddy.” Paige laughed without humor then scowled. Her spine stiffened against the shock of fear that washed over her, driving away all traces of embarrassment. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Someone tried to kill me.”

  She felt faint and weak, on the verge of another panic attack. Her fingers were like cubes of ice and her stomach had yet to settle. Willing herself to calm down, she adjusted her grip on the mug and brought it to her lips, pausing as she caught sight of the desk before her.

  The nameplate read, Sgt. J. Harrison. Her mind, eager for something else to think about, grasped hold of the puzzle. John, she pondered, or perhaps Jason or Jeremy? Had he used his full name when he’d introduced himself to her? If he had, she couldn’t recall.

  Paige sipped the coffee, letting the hot liquid slide down her throat and warm her from the inside. She slid her gaze to the second desk, the one to her right. Allan, that one was easy enough, his nameplate read Sgt. Allan Simmons.

  She continued to drink the coffee while mentally sorting through all the names she knew that began with a ‘J’. Somewhere around Joshua, her thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Her gaze shifted back to Sergeant Harrison’s desk.

  Her brows drew together as she took in the clean, uncluttered desk. Except for the telephone and a few pens, nothing littered the top of his desk, not files, nor writing on
the blotter. She thought of her desk at home, the stack of photos and scattering of papers that covered it. She had the same blotter, an over-sized calendar, yet where his remained free of anything harsher than a stain to indicate the place his mug sat, hers was covered with scribbled notes, phone numbers, and doodles jotted down while on the telephone.

  Something tickled her brain.

  “How long ago did this take place?” Sergeant Simmons asked, pulling her from her thoughts. He held the same notebook as yesterday, his mouth set in a thin, tight line.

  “A few hours ago. Around eight this morning.”

  “Did you report it when it happened?”

  “Yes. I spoke with a…I think his name was Sullivan.”

  “Sullivan?” Sergeant Harrison asked. “Tom Sullivan, from the crime scene unit?”

  “Yes. They were already there when I came to. Someone from a neighboring business must have called in the explosion.”

  His gaze sharpened. “You lost consciousness? You should be in a hospital.”

  “I don’t like hospitals.”

  “I don’t like that we’re only hearing about this now,” Sergeant Simmons replied. He swiped up the phone and punched in a series of numbers. “Yeah, this is Simmons, let me talk to Sullivan. When he gets back make sure he calls me. That scene he’s working involves my witness from the St. John homicide.”

  Sergeant Simmons’ words drove home the reality of her situation. Her insides knotted tightly. She closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the coffee mug in her hand.

  “Paige.”

  She startled. Her heart climbed into her throat and lodged there.

  “Maybe you should start at the beginning. Tell us what happened this morning.”

  “I left my car on the street last night, which I don’t normally do.” Mindful of her bruises, she rubbed at the ache in her temple. Every heartbeat banged like a gong in her head, making it hard to concentrate. She kept her focus on Sergeant Harrison, grounded somehow by his nearness.

  “After you left, I couldn’t sit still so I worked until I was exhausted enough to sleep, and then went straight to bed.” She glanced down at the warm mug in her hand, grateful to have something to hold onto. “I had an appointment this morning. I gathered my things and went out to my car.”

  “An appointment with whom?” Sergeant Harrison asked.

  “Lucinda Amelia Perenna.”

  “The matriarch?”

  “Yes. She wants to hire me to take her portrait.”

  He nodded. “Go on.”

  “I started my car. That’s when I remembered that I had forgotten to set my security system. I dug out my remote, then I noticed the photograph taped to my door. I got out of the car to take a closer look at it.”

  “A photograph?” Sergeant Simmons commented as Harrison simultaneously asked. “What kind of photograph?”

  “The same photograph that you showed to me yesterday.”

  Sergeant Simmons set his pen down and retrieved a file from atop his desk. From it he removed a photograph and held it out to her. “This photograph?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you certain it was the same photo?”

  “Yes, I’m certain. It’s my engagement photo. I’d know it anywhere.”

  His interest piqued, Sergeant Simmons straightened in his chair. “What happened to the picture? Did you touch it?”

  “No, my car blew up before I got to it.” The fear of seeing that photo returned, along with it, the remembered pain of crashing to the ground. Paige began to tremble. Coffee sloshed back and forth in the mug, then slipped from the edge and onto her knee. She rubbed at the stain absently.

  “I think I hit the door before landing on the ground. I don’t recall exactly, just the debris raining from the sky and the pain. Something hit me in the face and I passed out.”

  “What do you think are the odds our shooter left a viable set of prints on that picture?” Sergeant Harrison asked, his attention focused on his partner.

  “Not good,” Simmons replied.

  Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. Paige shook her head, and immediately regretted it when pain stabbed her temple. She drew a deep breath. “There is no photo.”

  Two sets of eyes locked onto her. Simmons spoke first. “You just said there was a photo taped to your door.”

  “It was there before the explosion, but not when I came to. I asked both Sullivan and the paramedic, but no one recalled seeing anything taped to my door.”

  Sergeant Simmons gave her a dubious, narrow-eyed look. “I see.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  He dropped the photo back into the file on his desk and set it aside. “So you say.”

  “You don’t believe me.” She was surprised by how much that hurt. “You still suspect me of killing Leroy, don’t you?”

  “I believe in the evidence, Ms. Conroy, and until I have evidence that proves otherwise, you will remain a person of interest.”

  “You actually think I would blow up my own car to divert attention from myself?” Paige didn’t give them a chance to respond. Suddenly, irrationally angry, she surged to her feet, pressing both hands upon the desk before her and grinding her teeth to keep the dizziness at bay. Her stomach lurched abruptly. She waited to make sure she wasn’t going to be sick before turning to the one man she thought she could reason with.

  “Are you a good cop, Sergeant Harrison?”

  He gave her a curious look. “It’s what I do best.”

  “Good. Then I at least have the comfort of knowing you’ll find this person after they kill me, too.”

  “Paige.”

  Everything inside her went still. “This attack on me is connected to Leroy’s murder and not because I am responsible for both acts. You’re wrong about that.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d faced her demons today in search of help. Paige hated police stations, resented the fact that she’d had to step foot in one again after so many years, but she’d done it. And for what? So they could accuse her of staging her own accident and lying about ever seeing the photograph?

  “Why would someone want you dead, Paige?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is there anything you’re not telling us about the events of yesterday morning? Something Leroy St. John told you, something you saw?”

  “I told you everything.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” Under different circumstances, she might not have blamed them. She had no proof, just her word that she had seen the photograph. But her life was in danger. Someone had killed Leroy and blown up her car. She knew the two events were connected. The same way she knew the photograph had been there and that the uncluttered desk before her was important.

  For a long, tense moment, Sergeant Harrison’s dark gaze locked with hers. She caught a flash in his eyes that she didn’t understand, then they went cool and disconnected—cop’s eyes.

  Her heart lurched. Her knees went weak.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked.