Still Falling (Home In You #0)

by Crystal Walton

  Was she that naive? “Reading people’s part of my job. You really want me to believe a guy like that’s not expecting some kickbacks?”

  A visible ache creased her face, as though she was torn between feeling backhanded and wanting to nail a good slap to his face. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”

  “At least I’m being honest.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “I don’t know, are you? You’re back, but you’re not you. You’re hiding out in some high-rise apartment, avoiding Astoria like you’re ashamed of where you came from. Letting Fabio fawn all over you for a chance at a promotion. What am I supposed to think?”

  Tears sprung to her lashes. “Sounds like you already have it all figured out.”

  “Then tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you haven’t changed.”

  Her silence answered for her.

  “Have you even gone to see your dad yet?”

  She dropped her gaze to the gum-stained sidewalk. “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . .” Heated breaths wrenched her shoulders up and down until they gave in to the weight now crushing his too. “Because I can’t, okay?”

  Her strained voice tore him apart—one side on the verge of shaking some sense into her, the other fighting the impulse to close her in his arms and take away the hurt haunting her.

  Being a jerk didn’t begin to cover it. “I’m sorry. . . I didn’t mean . . .”

  Glassy eyes speared through him. “The truth isn’t fair, remember?” She flagged a taxi. “Do me a favor, Josh.” She slid her violin onto the back seat and peered behind her, fractured eyes now a hardened wall of resolve. “Get a new assignment.”

  The slam of the cab door caught his heart in the jamb. Why’d he have to be such a hothead? Great, and now he’d just let her take off without an escort. Perfect.

  He banged a palm to the no parking sign beside him and whipped out his cell.

  Daniels answered with a groggy hello. “Don’t tell me you need me to save your butt already?”

  “Do you have to ask?” In a matter of minutes, he’d just ruined everything. Including his shot at the one thing he wanted most.

  Chapter Eight

  Derailed

  Bree slid her sunglasses on to keep the random cab driver looking at her in the rearview mirror from seeing more than he needed to. “180 Riverside Boulevard.”

  He nodded without a word. Smart guy.

  She stared at the passing cars with her arms clamped across her rib cage, like she had any chance of blocking Josh’s accusation from penetrating. Franc wasn’t fawning over her. He kissed everyone on the cheek. Heck, half of New York did. It didn’t mean anything.

  Kickbacks? How could he think that?

  The blow drove her shoulders another inch down the cracked vinyl. But in all honesty, that wasn’t what hurt the most. The real reason he was so upset did.

  “Tell me you’re not ashamed of where you came from.”

  Even with her eyes shut, the unforgiving answer pushed through. She resented what her roots had cost her—the losses, missed recitals, secrets her dad kept in the name of protection. She’d given up on ever being someone’s first place.

  Until Josh.

  And look how that ended. The truth wasn’t only unfair, it was harsh. Same as hope. All faith ever did was stab you in the back anyway. So, yeah, she’d moved on and safeguarded her heart. Why was that so bad?

  Frustration merged into regret. This was her fault. It wouldn’t be getting to her if she hadn’t started to lower her walls back at her apartment. Being with Josh was too easy, too familiar. She had to be more vigilant around him.

  Bree tapped the floorboard until determination crowded everything else out. She leaned toward the driver’s seat. “Actually, can you make that Twenty-Eighth Ave instead? Yeah, in Queens,” she added when he gave her a sour expression.

  Josh was right about one part. She had changed—enough to do whatever it took to see Gabe got the same chance she did.

  Within a half hour, the taxi came to a stop in front of two road blocks barricading the street she grew up on. The driver shifted into reverse.

  “No, this is fine.” She paid him the fare and got out. “Thank you.”

  The peel of his tires blended into the frenzy of activity brimming up and down the street. Of all things, they had to be having a block party today. Figured.

  Ms. Ambrosia stretched open her screen door and called across the street, “You bringing chocolate pies or apple ones, Mrs. Parker?”

  The notorious grandma of the neighborhood unlocked the chain-link gate in front of her house and lifted two tinfoil-covered pies. “Apple,” she hollered back. “You know chocolate won’t last five minutes in my house with Thomas running around here.”

  Ms. Ambrosia fluttered an imaginary handkerchief at her, and Bree could almost hear the muttered, “Mm-hmm,” from five houses away.

  On her trek down the street, Bree maneuvered through an unending string of hugs and “welcome backs” from neighbors she hadn’t seen in ages. Kids chased each other with water guns while adults set up tables—all seemingly unfazed by the police tape tied across the banisters on her parents’ front porch.

  Bree stopped at the edge of the driveway and lowered her violin case, not sure whether to laugh or cry at her neighbors’ ability to roll with the way life would always be here.

  “About time you showed up, chica.”

  She turned toward the familiar voice of her longtime friend Nikki. Aside from a few extra pounds and about a dozen more blonde highlights, she looked the same.

  Nikki hung a sassy hand on her hip. “You waiting for an invitation? Get over here.”

  Smiling, Bree grasped on to an overdue hug. “Missed you, girl.”

  “Psh. While you was off living it up out there? Please.”

  “But there’s only one Nikki Santiago.”

  She strutted like a runway model. “Don’t ever forget it, neither.” They both laughed. “Girl, where you been? I heard you was back in town. Got no love for your old crew? What’s up with that?”

  “I’ve been busy.” The excuse fell as flat as one of Mr. Savas’s gyros.

  Nikki looked her up and down, lips slanted. “Busy avoiding a sexy police officer.”

  Two minutes. She was here for two minutes, and someone already had to bring it up. Bree rolled her eyes. “Anyway.”

  “Anyway, nothin’. I know you’ve seen him. Heard you got a personal escort and everything.”

  “Anything you haven’t heard?”

  “Not if it’s worth hearing.”

  And some things never change. Bree started up the walkway and sat on the cool concrete stairs.

  “A’ight. Dropping it. But you’ll tell me when you two hook up again, right?”

  “Nik.”

  “Okay, fine.” She joined her on the bottom step of her parents’ porch, the caution tape waving above them in the wind. She leaned a shoulder into Bree’s. “He’s not here.”

  “Who?”

  “Gabe. I haven’t seen him in a week.” She set a hand on Bree’s forearm when her brow pinched. “He knows how to take care of himself.”

  “Meaning I should back off?”

  “Meaning you should stop stressin’.”

  “I didn’t say I was.”

  She angled her head with flair. “I have a six-year-old, chica. I know how to read between the lines.”

  She’d give her that. No doubt, it took more than intuition to raise a child with special needs when her husband spent most of his time at work. “How’s Sebastian doing?”

  As if hearing his name, her son raced over from their porch next door and dove straight for Nikki’s lap.

  She scooted up to the next step to make room and smoothed his hair away from his headphones while he kept his focus on a deck of cards he was meticulously sorting through. “Depends on the day. Hour, really.”

  The dejection in her voice clung to the humidity in the
air. Thick, weighty.

  “The schools don’t offer any assistance?” Even as she said it, Bree knew the answer. Her mom’s teaching career in Astoria’s school system had rid her of any rose-tinted glasses a long time ago. Around here, you learned to write off hope with the other inevitable budget cuts. Why was she the only one who saw the need to break away from this place?

  Visible exhaustion tugged at Nikki’s shoulders.

  Bree dragged a piece of bark along the walkway. “You could move to a different district, you know.”

  “Why?”

  Really? “To get some help.”

  “And trade friends who look out for me for a bunch of peeps I don’t even know? Naw, girl. Ain’t happenin’.” She glanced across the block lined with generations of neighbors. “This is where our family is. Our life.”

  A hitch Bree couldn’t identify struck her heart. Jets of water pulsed from a nearby sprinkler, each tick driving memories deeper into her chest—almost every single one linked to Josh. They were a part of who she was—is. Etched inside her like their initials engraved in the sidewalk.

  She shoved down the unexpected surge of emotions and ruffled Sebastian’s hair. “At least Gigi’s here to help, right, kiddo?”

  Nikki’s face fell. “Aw, sweetie, we lost her almost a year ago now.”

  “What? When, I mean, how? I . . .” How could she have missed the funeral? She felt like a detached subway car, guilt—and something deeper—derailing her at every turn. “Nik, I’m so sorry.”

  “It was time. And like I said, we’ve got plenty of family here.” She swept her son’s hair off his forehead. “Speaking of that, the basement apartment’s open now. Sebastian can always use another tia nearby.”

  Move back home? Her voice thickened. “I already have a place.”

  “Mm-hmm. Just like you already have a police escort you’re not still madly in love with.”

  “Don’t start. You know—”

  An agitated moan erupted from Sebastian’s seat on the porch, where he rifled through the cards in jerky, frustrated movements.

  “It’s okay, hijo.” Nikki circled in front of him and took off his headphones. “Tell mama what’s wrong? Is there a card missing?” When she tried to take the stack from him, an avalanche of wails struck the air. He shoved her, but she didn’t even flinch. She whirled him up on her hip and slanted Bree a look of apology while pointing at her house. “Sorry. You mind? I think the party’s too much for him.”

  “Of course not. We’ll catch up later.”

  Their friend Cassidy McAdams strolled up right as Nikki turned. The sunlight caught her long, red curls and a warm smile. As gorgeous as ever.

  Nikki gave her a side hug and rattled off something in Spanish to which Cass replied. Irish as all get out, and the girl could speak Spanish like it was her first language.

  Bree rose from the stairs and stepped over her violin case to give Cass a hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you only checked in on your mom’s flower shop on the weekends.”

  “And miss the annual block party?” She feigned excitement at being there.

  A savvy businesswoman who’d gone to NYU and started her own consulting company, Cass was about the only one around here who got her.

  Side by side, they looked across the line of people congregating at the buffet table. Bree sighed. “Too bad Ti isn’t here. She’d have some clever idea already planned for how we could bail right now.”

  Cass laughed. “We could try to catch her before she goes out tonight. It’s only . . .” She tipped her cell out of her pocket. “7:00 pm in London right now.”

  “She still liking it there?”

  She gave a small shrug. “As much as Ti likes any one place.”

  “Understood.”

  “Must be nice, though. Traveling the world—”

  “Well, look who it is.” Cass’s loser ex-boyfriend, Jesse, strolled up with two Filipino thugs trailing him. “Long time no see, Ramirez.”

  Not long enough. An alcohol-scented wheeze nearly knocked her over from three feet away.

  He edged into Cass’s space and snaked a hand to her neck. “You too, baby. Why you be stringing me out like this?”

  “We broke up five years ago. There are no strings.” She shoved him back. “Why don’t you go sleep it off. No one needs you to make a scene here today.”

  He clutched her wrist. “You want a scene?” His devilish smirk expanded, high on the challenge. “’Cause we can give everyone a scene they’ll remember.”

  Bree lanced between them. “Back off, Jesse.”

  “Chill, doll.” A slimy gaze roamed her up and down. “We can make room for you too.”

  A shudder convulsed over her skin.

  “Bree,” someone called.

  They all turned toward a girl with her hands cupped around her mouth, hustling from the other end of the street. Daniels. She wasn’t in uniform, but there was no mistaking her on-duty stride. Did Josh send her?

  Her mission-focused charge landed her smack in front of Bree, jaw set.

  Bree clenched her own. “What’d you do, ping my phone?”

  She didn’t deny it. Nice.

  “You don’t just walk away from your detail.”

  “I’m surrounded by friends in the middle of broad daylight. What do you think’s gonn—?”

  Two caps popped in the background. Three more, closer. A little girl screamed.

  “Drive-by,” Mr. Savas yelled.

  Everyone dropped to the ground. From the next street over, an automatic round emptied across Bree’s parents’ house. Bree covered her head, heart slamming against the blazing pavement.

  Daniels belly-crawled toward her like a soldier in a trench. Bree saw her lips moving, knew frenzied noises were clamoring in every direction, but the only thing she could hear was a single name pounding with her pulse.

  Josh.

  Chapter Nine

  Imperceptible

  Josh’s fingers tightened around the cool metal chair arms in Perez’s office. “If you can just clear me in, Sarge, I know I can help catch these perps.”

  “You’re already on an assignment.”

  Not if Bree had anything to say about it. He lifted an ankle over his knee and then let his leg fall right back down. “I can serve better investigating the case.”

  Sergeant Perez’s stare burrowed into him across the cluttered desk.

  Josh shifted under his scrutiny, hoping he wasn’t as see-through as he felt.

  Perez tossed his glasses on top of a file. “I’ve heard the chatter, D’Angelo. This is about you and the Ramirez girl, I take it?”

  Wait till he caught wind of how much Josh just screwed things up with the Ramirez girl. Would he ever get it right? “It’s not about a girl, sir.”

  Sarge’s chair moaned backward. “You know how many times I hear that?”

  The veins on Josh’s hands rose. He wasn’t some washed-up cop, covering up an affair.

  A momentary look of humanity creased Perez’s brow. “If this is about your old man . . .”

  They’d been down this road before—straight into a dusty file at the bottom of a cold case box.

  “It’s about doing the right thing.” Josh shot to his feet and paced toward the window.

  Perez didn’t waste a second equaling Josh’s stance. Though close in height, his authority set him a solid foot taller. “The right thing is doing your job 100% whether you like it or not.”

  “Then let me do my job by clearing me in on this case.” He obviously wasn’t doing Bree any good on her detail. If he could put these perps behind bars, maybe . . .

  “Look, kid, you’re a good cop. One of the best I’ve got.” Sarge eased into his seat. “Which is why I need you where I have you right now. You copy me?”

  Josh could almost feel Daniels’s elbow digging into his ribs to stifle the reply he wanted to make. “Roger that, sir.”

  A single chin flick toward the door terminated the conversation and redir
ected Josh back to his assignment. But once on the road, his gut drove him somewhere else.

  You want me to give 100%? Watch me. With or without the right badge, he could still do his own digging.

  Parked in front of Frankie’s bodega, Josh assessed the view of the street corner. The lack of outdoor cameras made it the perfect target. No one in the apartments across the street would rat out a gang member. Even if someone grew a conscience, they’d back out as soon as the Sanchez Crew threatened their families. Josh’s only hope was finding evidence to link to them.

  He added a few notes to the ones he’d started keeping on the case and tossed the manila envelope onto the passenger seat. A slow stride led him up to the glass door. Open.

  Braced against the bricks, Josh reached for his Glock behind his back and peered inside. Lights on, no sign of any customers or employees. He edged inside with his gun drawn. The scene had already been cleared, the store put back in order. Almost.

  He cast a glance from the mirror in the top right corner to the security camera on the opposite side with its lens still spray-painted over. Refrigerators hummed in the absence of Frankie’s radio blaring stats on the latest game. The shop wouldn’t be the same without him.

  Rustling stirred from down the hall. Senses heightened, Josh took cover behind the corner. Footsteps neared. He readied his Glock. Another breath, another step closer, and Josh swept around the corner.

  A pile of papers hit the floor and fanned out in every direction. “Jeez.” Frankie’s daughter, Marie, covered her chest, but she only needed a moment to recover. “Josh?” Before he had time to secure his gun, she launched at him like he was family instead of an old neighborhood friend she hadn’t seen in years.

  Just as short as Bree, and even more petite, she practically got swallowed up in his arms. But if they provided any comfort at all, he’d offer them for as long as she needed.

  When she finally leaned back, a fragile smile overrode the hint of embarrassment flitting across her eyes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to clobber you. It’s just good to see a familiar face.”

  She knelt to the floor to gather the sprawled papers. “It’s been a whirlwind since I got into town. I’ve hardly had time to breathe, let alone figure out what to do with this place. Pop would want to keep it open, but I don’t think I can . . .”