Still Falling (Home In You #0)

by Crystal Walton

  “Guess we can rule out burglary. Doesn’t look like any valuables are missing.” Daniels joined him at the fireplace. “Some type of run-in with his buddies in the Sanchez Crew?”

  “I don’t think they were looking for Gabe.” His stomach lurched at the thought of Bree as a loose end. The perp might not’ve gotten a good look at her last night, but they only had to hear chatter about Lieutenant Ramirez to put two and two together.

  Josh peered behind him to the door. They needed to get her back to her apartment. Now.

  She hustled up to the porch before Josh could stop her. “Gabe. Is he okay?”

  “He’s not here. We need to roll.” He steered her down the walkway, but she struggled against him.

  “The Sanchez Crew broke into the house, didn’t they? I can’t leave without my brother, Josh. If they . . .” She sucked in a breath.

  Daniels put a hand on Bree’s shoulder. “He’s probably lying low right now. The kid’s got a good head on his shoulders. I saw it the first day he rode with us—”

  “Rode with you?” Bree’s gaze darted to Josh for an explanation.

  Perfect. He squelched the inward grunt aimed at Daniels for spilling that detail right now and prodded Bree farther away from the house. “Gabe got busted for possession in October. I asked Sarge if he’d okay a ride-along to give him another perspective.”

  “Another perspective.” Her amber eyes might as well have been flames. “So he’ll want to be a cop too? You think he doesn’t know what that life is like?”

  “Better than a gangbanger’s life.” Josh strained to control his voice. Why did it always have to come back to this? “I was trying to help.”

  “He’s my family. I’m taking care of it.”

  “By stripping him of his roots?” His jaw twitched. “Your family’s been in Astoria for five generations. That’s called a legacy, Bree.”

  “More like chains. What are his choices here? Join a gang or become a civil servant like our parents? Die in the streets or on the job?” Deep-seated hurt splintered through the shell hardening her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with going away to college. He deserves a chance at a good life.”

  The life she thought Josh couldn’t offer her. Another jolt of rejection quaked through him.

  She clasped her elbows, a sheen building over her eyes. Her tough-as-nails exterior gave way to trembling shoulders, and he was instantly back in the eleventh grade, cradling her for hours as she emptied every tear inside her after losing her uncle.

  She could hide behind resolve if she wanted to. She could fight with him and pretend nothing penetrated her shield. It didn’t matter. He knew the ache and fears underneath it all.

  Layers of brokenness looked up at him. “If anything happens to him . . . I can’t . . .”

  “Come here.” He pulled her close and rested his chin over her head. “Nothing’s going to happen to either of you.” Not on his watch.

  She balled the back of his T-shirt in her hands, and Josh held even tighter to the only life he’d ever wanted. The one he’d give anything to protect—including his heart.

  Chapter Five

  History

  Notes Bree knew like muscle memory swelled across the stage’s wooden panels in a crescendo that would normally give her chills.

  Instead of awe, dark memories crawled over her skin: the attacker’s sneer clashing with Josh’s assuring eyes, the ruthless clutch around her neck colliding with Josh’s safe arms cradling her to his chest.

  The snare drum let out a bang from the back of the stage. Bree flinched, bow screeching over her strings. In a flash, the concert hall turned into that street corner. Each staccato beat rang like gunshots shuddering into the thump of her dad hitting the pavement. She couldn’t look, couldn’t scream. The echo had suffocated her. She needed air, help. She needed—

  “Brianna?”

  Another flinch bumped her arm into her stand. Thankfully, she caught her sheet music before it spilled onto the floor.

  Like it mattered. Every face around the semicircle homed in on her.

  She directed her focus to the conductor’s podium, where Franc braced a hand to his music stand, baton lowered by his side.

  Her solo. Had she missed it? Her flushed cheeks made it feel like the spotlight was only two feet in front of her. “I’m sorry, I . . .” What could she say?

  Franc tapped the baton against his thigh while appraising her. “Take five, everyone.”

  “I can take over the solo, if you need me to,” Natalie said in a singsong voice beside her.

  And hand over her chance at making associate concertmaster to her competition? Not happening. Bree gave her a stiff smile. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

  Natalie swept her long blonde braid over her shoulder. “You know where to find me.” With that, she sauntered toward Franc on stage left.

  If her swaying hips didn’t do enough talking, that low cut blouse was certainly willing to give Franc a memorable reason to keep her in the running.

  Trying not to gag, Bree secured her violin in its case and trekked to the side exit door for some air. The day’s cool breeze weaved through the cars parked along the curb and curled around her like it’d heard her calling.

  What she’d give to be caught up in Josh’s defined arms right now instead. All these years since high school baseball, and his athletic build had only strengthened. Did he still go to the batting cage on Monday nights?

  Batting cages? Really? She’d just botched a crucial rehearsal, and she was thinking about watching Josh crack balls, like they were still a couple of carefree teenagers breaking curfew on weeknights. She tapped the back of her head against the brick siding.

  Stupid. Not even half a day with him, and she was already latching on to him like a safety net. She couldn’t let him uncage her heart. Practically falling apart in front of her parents’ house had been bad enough, but to break down in front of the entire Philharmonic Orchestra? No. This couldn’t happen. She had plans, deadlines. She needed to get a grip.

  With her hands through the top of her hair, she lifted off the wall. Strong and focused—she could do this. Had to do this.

  As she turned, she caught sight of a guy in a black hoodie approaching from down the street—hood up, swag in his stride. Flashes from last night spiked with adrenaline before she had time to think. She yanked the door, but it didn’t budge. Instant sweat rolled down her back. She pulled harder. Nothing.

  Footsteps gained ground behind her. She cut a glance to the left. Less than ten feet away, the guy kept advancing. Blood swooshed in her ears. She cupped her hands to the glass, praying someone was in the wing.

  Michael, there in the corner. She banged on the glass to get his attention. The door shook against the jamb, footsteps against her eardrums.

  She risked another glance to the guy closing in on her. Five feet away. Panic surged, and she banged harder. Two feet. Her pulse thrummed. “Michael!”

  Please.

  Michael pushed the door open from inside. The hooded guy’s arm grazed hers as he passed. Inside, Bree backed against the wall, heart thudding.

  The uncomfortable look on Michael’s face might have been comical under any other circumstance. “You all right?”

  She peered out the windowed door to the guy’s retreating backside.

  Only if paranoid counted as all right. “Fine, sorry. Just, um, didn’t want to miss the rest of rehearsal.”

  “Franc cut us early.”

  “What? But we weren’t finished.”

  He shrugged. “Guess he decided we were.”

  Because of her? Failure slithered into the spidery web of errant emotions trying to strangle her right now. Up for this audition, she needed to be a leader for her section. Needed to be on point. Franc knew it as well as she did. Apparently, Michael did too, if the nod of pity he just gave her was any indication.

  Her shoulders caved with a long sigh. She closed her eyes and refocused. She’d stay late and do what it took to be in t
une with the score. She wouldn’t let the symphony down. Or Gabe.

  Worries of not knowing where her brother was swept in and threatened her balance all over again. She steadied a hand to the wall. He’d be okay. Josh promised.

  The thought shook her—the automatic trust, the faith in him. She couldn’t let herself go there.

  “Brianna.” Franc gestured for her to wait for him. He shifted his attention back to Natalie. “Excuse me for a moment.” Off in the wing, he cupped a hand to Bree’s shoulder. “Is everything okay? I’ve never seen you miss a single bar.”

  She pushed her hair back and stood tall. “It won’t happen again.”

  His soft eyes complemented the gentle squeeze to her arm. “You were attacked. No one walks away from that unshaken. It’s perfectly understandable for you to take some time—”

  “No.” The force in the single word thrummed louder than a bass. She wouldn’t let the gang hold that much weight over her. This was her life—the one she’d fought for.

  With an understanding smile, Franc nodded. “Okay. But at least take the afternoon to rest.” He lifted a hand to her face. “You look tired.”

  That was an understatement. She’d hardly slept at all last night. Doubted that’d change this afternoon. Still, she offered the appropriate expression of agreement.

  He stepped back as one of the horn players passed. “Listen, I’m thinking of changing the timbre in the section leading up to your solo. I’d love to run it by you, hear what you think.”

  “Really?”

  “Why don’t we grab some coffee?”

  With Josh’s partner waiting to escort her home? Maybe not. “I can’t today.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  That probably wouldn’t be good timing either, but how could she pass this up? “Tomorrow.”

  By the time she returned to her chair, most everyone had already packed up and left. She retrieved her violin, set the photo of Gabe and her that she usually kept in her case on her music stand, and scooted to the edge of her chair. No more distractions. No more weaknesses.

  The grooves on her fingertips nestled into place over the strings, her jaw over the chin rest. She inhaled and routed the tension pinned up inside her into playing instead.

  At the end of an hour, she stroked the final note. The technique was there, but something was missing.

  A glance around the empty stage landed on the photo on her music stand and ushered another round of resolve through her. In less than a week, her audition would determine whether she had the money to get Gabe out of Astoria and away from the Sanchez Crew. Whatever was missing, she’d better find it fast.

  Bree packed up her things, along with the tenacity she couldn’t risk letting go of, and exited the building.

  At the curb, Josh’s partner—Daniels, was it?—lifted off a dated silver Civic and opened the passenger door for her. The slight kink in her otherwise straight brown hair carried the imprint left from coiling it into a tight bun to fit under her police cap. One of the many cons of being a female on the job. Bree didn’t even want to guess this girl’s reason for joining the force. In fact, why talk at all?

  Daniels seemed to agree. At least, for a while. Five blocks down Broadway, she cleared her throat. “You share any other traits?”

  Bree turned from the window. “Excuse me?”

  Daniels motioned to Bree’s fingertips tapping out a pulse on the door panel as she mentally rehearsed her solo. She slipped her fidgety hand under her thigh.

  “I swear, D’Angelo’s constant drumming is gonna wear holes through the squad car’s steering wheel one of these days.” Unmistakable notes of endearment rang in her words. “He’s a good guy, though.”

  Did she think Bree didn’t know that?

  Immediate reproof pummeled her deeper into the seat. She was the one who broke off the engagement. What else would she expect Daniels to think? She probably thought Bree was an idiot. Maybe she was.

  Chin lowered, she picked an orange hair off her skirt. “He’s one of the best.”

  “Agreed. I trust him with my life. Would take a bullet for him, no questions asked.” Daniels downshifted into first gear behind a cab that’d whipped out from the curb. “But just so you know, we’ve always kept things professional. Aside from being against regs, we’d never compromise our safety in the field.”

  Was she really trying to give Bree a 101 right now? She knew the no dating regulations as well as she knew how easily partners broke them. A bullet wasn’t the only risk Josh took on the beat.

  A pause hung in the air, thicker than the heat mocking the old Civic’s struggling A/C.

  “I know you guys have history, but you’ve been gone a long time. D’Angelo has some things going on at home right now. He—”

  “What things?” Bree twisted toward her.

  “That’s his business to share.”

  “Then why’d you bring it up?”

  A manicured brow peaked above her sunglasses. “Easy, Strings. I just want to make sure you realize there’s a lot at stake here. I don’t want to see him jeopardize what he’s worked for.”

  “You think I asked for him to be on my detail? That I want to be in this situation at all?”

  “No, but I think you’re smart enough to know he’s still in love with you.” After a quick check in her rearview mirror, she sped into the car-length gap in the next lane over. “It’s against protocol to date someone involved in an active investigation.”

  Bree faced the window again, her breath a dim vapor against the glass. “Don’t worry. Josh’s honor won’t let him put anything above the job.” He made that commitment the second he put on the uniform.

  Fragments from the week before their high school graduation flooded in. All their plans—their future—robbed in a handful of whispered words that still shook her to this day.

  She blinked through tears inseparable from those memories and rubbed her rough fingertips, wishing her heart were as calloused. “You said it yourself. It’s history.”

  Daniels parked across from Bree’s apartment complex, took off her sunglasses, and met Bree’s gaze head-on. “For Josh’s sake, promise me you’ll keep it that way till the case closes.”

  As if she had a choice.

  Chapter Six

  Boundaries

  Rested, showered, and changed, Josh rode the elevator to Bree’s tenth-floor apartment.

  In front of her door, he shifted the box of garlic knots he’d picked up from their favorite joint on his way in and handed Daniels a venti cup of coffee. “Thought you could use a recharge.”

  She rose from a chair she must’ve dragged out of Bree’s place last night and devoured a good quarter of the coffee in a matter of seconds. “I ever tell ya you’re the world’s best partner?”

  “I’ll be sure to quote you on that later.”

  Ignoring the bait, she stretched her neck from side to side.

  “Long night?”

  “If the Sanchez boys have a plan, they’re sure taking their sweet time. The only piece of action around here last night was a scuffle between Apartment 10C’s terriers. Either that, or it was another kind of action, but I don’t have enough caffeine in me yet to ward off that visual.”

  “And now I’m stuck seeing it. Thanks a lot.”

  Daniels clapped a hand to his shoulder. “You needed something to get your mind off Miss Strings, right?”

  Nothing was that strong. Bree’s door loomed in front of him. His first year of tours had numbed any shock over what he might encounter behind closed doors. He’d prepared for it all. Except this—knowing how to play it cool and unattached with the only girl he’d ever loved. He’d have better luck taking his chances with the terriers.

  Daniels looked at the Bella Pizza’s box and fought a grin. “Flowers, pizza . . . You really are trying to work it, aren’t you?”

  He nudged the box into her arm. “How ’bout you just go get some sleep.”

  She feigned a compliant salute on her way do
wn the hall toward the elevator. Before entering, she flicked a look of caution his way. “Watch your back, D’Angelo.”

  His back wasn’t what worried him.

  He set the box on the chair and ran his damp palms down his jeans like he had on the night he’d shown up at Bree’s house to take her on their first official date.

  Jeez, what was his deal? Not only was he on duty, a hundred years might as well have passed between that night and today. It seemed to for her, anyway. After holding her in his arms yesterday, he knew time would never change his feelings.

  Maybe it was good he had to keep things professional. For both of them.

  Squaring off, he grabbed the pizza box and knocked. “Bree, it’s Josh. I’m here to relieve Daniels.” And hopefully not make a fool of himself.

  She opened the door, rubbing a towel over her damp hair. When he didn’t so much as blink, she leaned into the edge of the door. “You can come in, you know.”

  There went his chance of not looking like a fool. The box sawed into his palms. Too bad it was made of cardboard. He could use a brick wall to bang his head through right about now.

  He swallowed the knot blocking his airway. “You always open the door in your robe?”

  “Only if I know it’s going to be you.”

  If she only knew what that unassuming smile did to him, she’d change her mind.

  Bright red calves beamed up at him as she turned. The girl always could take the hottest showers known to man. She’d come out of the house every morning looking like she’d fallen asleep on The People’s Beach the day before.

  His eyes traced up her profile to the water droplets clinging to the ends of her long curls. He groaned. He should get an accommodation bar for making it through this assignment.

  His feet finally agreed to move, his jaw still on the fence.

  Once inside, he locked the door behind him, set the pizza box on the closest end table, and scoped out the place. When did she start high rolling? Shiny surfaces mirrored his reflection every which way he turned. “Nice digs.”

  “Franc hooked me up—my conductor. Well, visiting conductor. He got me a crazy deal on rent. I’d never be able to swing it otherwise.”