Wish

by Deborah Bladon

  I didn’t touch the fucking asshole, but my fists made contact with the wooden table in the interrogation room one too many times according to Christine Hildebrandt, my lieutenant.

  Once Beacon asked for a lawyer, I set out to find as much evidence as I could while he sat in a cell unable to make bail. Now, six months later, the son-of-a-bitch is set to walk free.

  “You can’t work with what you have left?” I shove a hand through my hair. “What about the blood on the sole of his shoe?”

  “He’s the one who called 9-1-1.” Darrell shakes his head. “He had as much blood on his shoes as the paramedics. I won’t win this. Without those witnesses, we’ve got nothing.”

  “I’ll talk to the surviving witness,” I offer. “Give me ten minutes with him.”

  “That’s not happening.” He leans back in his chair. “He left the country a month ago. It’s over, Sebastian. As much as I wish we could, we can’t win every case.”

  “We should,” I bark back. “How did Leonard’s mother take the news that her son’s killer isn’t going to pay for what he did?”

  His eyes meet mine. I see the answer before he says a word. “Just as you’d expect.”

  I’d expect the woman to fall apart. Leonard Grilson’s mom, Betty, had one child.

  I’ll never forget the look on her face when I went to her apartment to tell her he had died. The pain in her voice was palpable. Just as it is every single fucking time I have to walk into someone’s home to tell them their life will never be the same again because a person they love was killed.

  I promised Betty her son’s death wouldn’t be in vain.

  Now, I’m a fucking liar and she has to live the rest of her days knowing that her kid’s childhood friend shoved a knife through his heart because of an unpaid loan of a few hundred dollars.

  “That’s on us.” I stand and button my suit jacket. “Her pain is on us.”

  “No.” Darrell rises to his feet. “It’s on Justin Beacon.”

  I rest my palms on the top of his desk as I lean forward. “It was our job to put that bastard away, Darrell.”

  He raises both hands in the air. “I did my best.”

  “It’s not good enough.” I cock a brow in challenge.

  His arms cross over his chest. “Get on this side, Sebastian. Go to law school, sit in this chair and do your best. I guarantee you won’t do a better job than I am.”

  “Fuck you.” I straighten my stance. “I’d do better. We both know I would.”

  “Prove it.” He smiles. “You’d make a great lawyer. You should have stuck with your first instinct.”

  I laugh as I turn to leave. “Beers next Tuesday night at Easton Pub, Darrell. You’re buying.”

  “Sure,” he calls as I open the door to his office. “I’m not joking about law school. Go. It’s what you’re meant to do.”

  Darrell is one of only a handful of people who knows that I was accepted into law school years ago.

  I didn’t pursue it. Instead I followed in my father’s footsteps by joining the force. Turning my life upside down to become a lawyer isn’t going to happen. I left that dream in my past.

  Chapter 10

  Tilly

  “I thought you were asleep, Matilda.”

  I glance over to where Sebastian is standing in the hallway. He’s only wearing a pair of black pajama pants.

  I heard him come in less than an hour ago. It was just past midnight. I was in my room watching a video on my laptop that Frannie sent me of her latest obsession.

  Apparently, my twin was serious when she told me last week that she was going to start sewing matching dresses for her daughters. They are a year-and-a-half apart, but Fran has such fond memories of the two of us being dressed alike when we were kids, that she wants to “recreate that magic” with her girls.

  I couldn’t help but laugh when she called it magic.

  I hated being forced to dress just like my twin until we graduated from middle school. Most of our close friends could tell us apart since Frannie chipped one of her bottom teeth when she fell off her bike when we were seven-years-old.

  Everyone else in our school called me Frannie first before I corrected them. It made sense to them given the fact that she was more popular than I was.

  “I could say the same.” I tighten the sash of my short blue silk robe. “I’m just grabbing a glass of juice.”

  “Pour one for me too.” He motions to the cupboard that holds the glasses. “I dropped some money on the counter for food before I left for work. I want to pay for half of every expense.”

  I nod. I was surprised when I woke up early this morning and found two hundred dollars on the counter next to a handwritten note from him. He wrote down his cell number alongside an explanation that I should use the number if I ever need to text or call him. He also wrote that he ate a bowl of my favorite cereal and wanted to pay for half of our combined food costs for the month.

  “I’ve never spent more than a hundred dollars a month on groceries.” I reach into the cupboard and grab a small glass. “I put most of your money in the top drawer of the foyer table. Fifty a month is good.”

  He approaches and reaches for the glass of orange juice after I fill it. “One hundred a month for food? It all makes sense now.”

  I lean my hip against the counter, tugging the top of my robe together with one hand. It was the only thing I put on after I had a bath. “What makes sense?”

  “The fact that you have no food in your refrigerator other than this juice, a carton of milk and what looks like an apple with something growing on it. Maybe it isn’t an apple. It could be a tomato, or was a tomato.”

  I take a drink to ward off a smile. “I get take-out most nights.”

  “I did too when I was your age.” He arches a dark brow.

  I try to keep my eyes trained to his face, but the man has a six-pack and a trail of dark hair that dips below the waistband of his pajama pants. Even though I’ve already seen what’s hidden under the fabric, I sense the uptick in my heart rate just from thinking about what his cock looks like. I also feel my nipples harden.

  Maybe Kate was right about that photographic memory thing.

  I shake off the thought. “When you were my age? You’re not that much older than I am.”

  “I’m thirty-two.”

  I know that. Maya told me a lot about him when she was trying to get me to agree to have dinner with him. He went to high school with Julian. I did the math.

  “I’m twenty-five,” I offer although I have a feeling that’s not a surprise to him.

  “I know,” he confirms with a nod of his head. “When I was twenty-five I survived on burgers and fries.”

  “I prefer salads.” I lie with a smile. I don’t think Sebastian cares what I eat, but for some inexplicable reason, I want him to see me as someone other than a woman who chows down on greasy burgers and dozens of fries whenever a craving strikes.

  I’m taking full advantage of my rapid metabolism while I can.

  “Don’t get me wrong.” He takes another sip from his glass. “I still eat junk food more than I should, but I supplement with fruits and vegetables.”

  His large hand falls to his rock hard stomach. “I made a vow to myself that I’d stay in shape for at least another decade or two.”

  My gaze follows the motion of his hand. Every move he makes is mesmerizing. I should remind him of our rule about being fully dressed when in a common area, but I’d rather stare in silence at his muscular arms and chest.

  “I can’t promise I’ll be around most nights, but we can split the cooking duties if you want.”

  “No,” I say, laughing. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t?” he asks, setting his empty glass in the sink. “Or you won’t? If you don’t cook because you hate the cleanup, I’ll load the dishwasher.”

  I look down at the front of the stainless steel dishwasher. “I don’t know if it works. I’ve never used it.”

  He scratches h
is jaw as his eyes scan my face. “You wash dishes by hand?”

  I sigh. “I wash my glass or mug by hand. It’s not like I have enough dishes for a load. Lisa never ate here, so she didn’t use it.”

  “Do you ever cook?”

  “I made Maya macaroni and cheese once when she was living here.” I smooth my tongue over my bottom lip. “She handled the dishes that day.”

  His mouth twitches. “I’ll cook for you, Matilda. When our schedules sync and we’re both home around dinner time, I’ll make something for the two of us.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” I inch back, suddenly feeling a wave of heat rush over me. “I’m happy with take-out.”

  “I’ll cook you dinner,” he insists as he leans closer to me. “Consider it a thank you for letting me rent the extra room.”

  I should clarify that I had zero say in that, but I don’t. “It’s late. We should head to bed.”

  His full lips curve into a sly grin.

  Shit. I didn’t mean it like that.

  I glance down and my eyes zero in on the front of his pajama pants and the obvious outline of his now semi-hard cock.

  My gaze shoots up again to his face. “I meant that I should go to my room and you’ll go to the other bedroom.”

  He runs a hand through his now messy hair. “I’m going to sit up for a bit, but I hope you sleep well.”

  There’s a part of me that wants to sit with him, even if it’s just to stare at his profile while he gets lost in his thoughts. He’s doing that now. His jaw is clenching and his fist is tightening around the edge of the counter.

  “Sebastian,” I say his name softly.

  He raises a brow in silent response.

  “I hope when you do go back to bed, that you sleep well too.”

  The corners of his mouth rise in a gentle smile. “I haven’t slept well in years. Insomnia comes with the job.”

  I nod, even though I have a million questions begging to be asked. He’s just my roommate. We barely know each other and when he doesn’t offer any more details about why sleep eludes him; I turn and walk back to my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

  Chapter 11

  Sebastian

  I wanted to follow Matilda into her room last night.

  I haven’t felt a woman’s arms wrapped around me in pure comfort in years.

  The way she was looking at me made me feel like I’d be safe in her bed, in her embrace, pressed next to her body as I drifted off to sleep.

  When she closed the door to her bedroom I settled on the sofa, my gaze pinned to the window and the lights of the city beyond.

  I sat there for hours thinking. I finally dragged my ass back to my bedroom at three. I slept until my alarm woke me at six-thirty.

  I was showered, dressed in a gray suit and white shirt and on my way to work by seven.

  “You look like shit, partner.”

  I don’t look up from my desk. I know that voice all too well. Samuel Brant is standing next to me.

  He landed in homicide five months ago with that wide-eyed look and frenetic energy all new detectives share.

  It’s slowly wearing away now, replaced with the jaded view of New York City that every person in this squad room now has.

  “I’m tired,” I reply with a forced laugh. “I was here a hell of a lot later than you were last night.”

  “I have a girlfriend, “ he points out with a tap of his fingers on the edge of my desk. “I need to kiss her goodnight in my own special way every night.”

  I finally look up at him. He’s younger than me by three years. His brown hair is cut short. His blue eyes are a shade lighter than mine. I’ve got a few inches on him, and I outweigh him by a solid twenty pounds, but he holds his own.

  He sprinted past me last week during a foot chase of a suspect. He wrestled the guy to the ground with ease. I was impressed and told him as much.

  “I don’t need the details, Brant.” I shake my head. “I also don’t need a girlfriend. I get the opportunity to kiss women good night in my special way whenever the mood strikes.”

  “Have you ever been married?” He takes a seat behind his desk. It faces mine. Our lieutenant is convinced that it encourages better communication between partners. I’m convinced that it breeds hostility.

  I’ve never found a perfect rhythm with a partner. Samuel is my fifth since I was assigned to this division. There’s a reason I’m nicknamed Lone Wolf in the squad room.

  No one has ever said it to my face, but I hear the whispered insults behind my back. I don’t always follow procedure to a tee. I do what’s needed to close the cases I’m assigned, within the blurred boundaries of the law, of course.

  “No.” I shake my head. “You?”

  “I’m considering it.” He looks down at his left hand. “My girl is the one. I’m running out of reasons not to pop the question.”

  The job should be reason enough.

  Most of the detectives in homicide are married to it. Those that have someone at home waiting for them are the lucky ones. They found a lover willing to put up with the long hours, moderate pay and emotional demons that haunt every one of us.

  I stopped looking for a woman who would tolerate this bullshit years ago.

  “What’s her name?” I ask because he looks like a kid who just raided a candy store. The smile on his face is a testament to how much he loves his girlfriend.

  “Remy.”

  “I’d say Remy could do better.” I lean my forearms on my desk. “But she could do worse too.”

  He huffs out a laugh. “I’m the best man for her. She knows it.”

  I turn my attention back to my computer screen. If she loves him as much as he loves her, they’ll stand a chance. That’s if he doesn’t let the job become his mistress. Once that happens his happily-ever-after will be out of his reach.

  ***

  “What the hell, Donald?” I stare in disbelief at the asshole sitting on the sofa in my living room.

  Matilda’s living room? Our living room? It doesn’t fucking matter.

  Donald Crimpton jerks to his feet. “Detective Wolf? How? Why?”

  “Sebastian?” Matilda’s voice comes at me from the left.

  I instinctively stalk toward her, blocking her body from Donald’s view.

  It’s a smart move considering the fact that she’s wearing a killer red dress and matching heels.

  The neckline of the dress is low enough to give both Donald and me a perfect view of the top of her tits.

  I swear to fuck I’m in the middle of a nightmare right now, but I’m wide-awake. It’s just past seven o’clock, and I’m finally home after a long day filled with paperwork and false leads.

  “What’s going on?” Matilda asks. “Do you two know each other?”

  I look down at her. “Do you two know each other?”

  She nods. “We’re about to go on our second date.”

  “You’re not going anywhere with him,” I say gruffly.

  Her blue eyes widen as her hands fall to her hips. “Excuse me? What’s the problem, Sebastian?”

  “I answered all your questions two months ago, Detective Wolf.” Donald squeaks from somewhere behind me. “How did you know I’d be here? Is Tilly working undercover or something? Is she wearing a wire? I’m pretty sure my lawyer would say that’s entrapment.”

  I fist my hands at my side, not bothering to turn around to face him. “I live here, asshole.”

  “You’re kidding.” He snorts out a nervous laugh. “Since when?”

  “He moved in a few days ago.” Matilda tries to move around me but I take a step to the side to block her. “What’s going on?”

  “You moved in here because of my case?” The piece-of-trash asks. “I didn’t see anything, Detective Wolf. You’re wasting your time if you think I’m going to confess to witnessing an attempted murder.”

  “A what?” Matilda grabs hold of my forearm. “What the hell is he talking about?”

  I exhale harsh
ly, pissed that she’s been dragged into the shittiest part of my life.

  “I was at a party where a guy got hit over the head.” Donald moves to stand next to me. “Detective Wolf is convinced I saw something. I didn’t.”

  He did. I know full well he did because there’s cell phone footage of him leaving the bedroom where the assault occurred after the 9-1-1 call was made. The caller, who was at the party, reported hearing a fight.

  I was dragged out of bed by a call from my lieutenant to check out the situation.

  The doctor working in the emergency room didn’t think the victim would make it, but he’s on the road to a full recovery.

  The perpetrator was covered in blood. I finally got him to confess. He’s already worked out a plea deal so Donald’s useless to me at this point.

  “The case is closed.” I turn to look at Donald. He’s a twenty-two-year-old troll who lives high on his folks’ money. “You’d think your buddy would have clued you into that by now.”

  “I didn’t know anyone at that party.” He sticks to the same song-and-dance that first poured out of his lying mouth the night of the attack.

  “Your cell phone records prove otherwise.” I seethe. “You’re not welcome here.”

  “That’s for Tilly to decide, isn’t it?” He looks at her with obvious lust.

  I want to jab a finger in each of his eye sockets.

  “Leave now, Donald.” She steps closer to me, pointing at the door. “Our first date was our last date.”

  “Your loss,” he quips. “I would have shown you the time of your life tonight.”

  Her gaze meets mine as he leaves our apartment, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter 12

  Tilly

  I need to stop with the dating apps. What the hell is wrong with me? I was about to have dinner, and then most likely sleep with a man who was involved in an attempted murder case.

  I don’t care if he was a witness, an accomplice or if he was the person who did it.

  The way Sebastian reacted to him was enough to make me want to cut Donald out of my life for good.