by Tessa Bailey
My keys are digging into my palm, blood whistling in my ears as I turn and unlock the door, doing my best to keep my face hidden. It’s a glass door, however, and they might be able to see my reflection. I don’t know. But this isn’t good. They might have been stupid enough to post their robbery plans on Facebook—which is the reason the cops showed up—but I shouted at my cousin to come out with his hands up. They heard me. If they see me right now, I’m not sure how they’re going to react. They’re clearly not the most reasonable people on earth.
“Hey,” one of them shouts at me. “Hold up.”
I force my hands to cooperate and they do, allowing me to slide into the building and close the self-locking door behind me. Just before it clicks shut, though, I hear a couple of fast footfalls, and I turn around on instinct to face the threat. The blonde who I remember is right outside the door, another darker-haired kid just over his shoulder. Their eyes are bloodshot, like they’ve hit the pot a little too hard tonight, but even with glassy eyes, their expressions are hard. Intimidating. I can easily see how my cousin had a hard time denying them what they wanted.
“That’s her,” the dirty blonde shouts through the glass. “Fucking cop.”
“Your little cousin with you?” says the other one. “He thinks we’re going to forget he called his cop cousin on us? He thinks he can switch his classes around and hide forever? That’s not how it works.”
The blonde raps on the glass with his knuckles. “You hearing this, bitch? You and Robbie better watch your asses. It’s a small neighborhood.”
Which must be how they found out I’m training to be a cop. I haven’t forgotten they had a gun that day in the yogurt shop. The cops might have confiscated it as evidence, but if these guys were motivated enough to procure one weapon, they could have another. With that in mind, I’m watching their body language and backing toward the stairs while they continue to taunt me. Pride won’t let me run, plus I think they would be more inclined to come after me if I did.
Stay calm. Greer is in my ear, telling me to get my ass upstairs. For once, I listen, my throat burned raw as I move upward at a fast clip. They continue calling me names as I go, and when I reach the second floor, my parents’ elderly neighbor is standing in his doorway, a television flickering behind him.
“Everything all right, Danika?”
“Yes, Mr. Leary,” I reply, keeping my tone light. “Just some kids acting up, but I think they’re moving on.”
He gives a bleary wave, and we retreat into our apartments. Once inside my parents’ place, I secure the dead bolt, the knob lock and the rusty chain. Then I lean back against the door, breathing until my pulse returns to normal.
First thing in the morning, I’m going to file a police report. I have to. I was stupid enough once to think I could handle these kids on my own, but I’ve learned my lesson, and I’ve learned it good. Calling the school and making sure they’re aware of the threat to my cousin is added to my mental checklist. There’s one more item that should go on the list—telling Greer what just happened—but I hesitate.
This is exactly what he’s afraid of. If they’d done more than threaten me downstairs, if I hadn’t made it into the building fast enough . . . I don’t really want to imagine the possibilities. Plus, they told me to watch myself, implying they’re not going to let the incident at the yogurt shop drop. Greer is already paranoid about people he considers his responsibility being hurt. Or worse. He’s mega stressed with the daily toll of his job. So stressed he practically let himself get hit with gunfire.
The memory of him lying on the ground sends a shudder through me. We made progress tonight. He showed up. He’s been opening up to me. If I go directly to Greer, what happened downstairs could be the equivalent of upending a checkers board. He’ll flip. If I’ve made any progress in convincing him that something real in his life wouldn’t be disastrous, it would be obliterated.
So I’ll compromise. I’ll file the report at my own Hell’s Kitchen precinct. If Greer gets wind, so be it. I’m going to the police. I’m making up for my lack of foresight last time.
Aren’t I?
Yes.
Blowing out a breath, I cross to the front window in the living room and look down at the street. There’s no one near the door or on the sidewalk. They must have moved on. Swiping my phone off the coffee table, I make notes while the incident is fresh in my head, writing down their threat word for word. When I’m done, my fingers hover over Greer’s speed dial. One phone call. One call could ruin everything.
I don’t make it.
Chapter 21
Greer
I stare down at my phone and see the missed call from Danika. It came through ten minutes ago while I was at yet another briefing, this time about a homicide. A body was discovered in the trunk of a car parked at a construction site near the East River, the night I left Danika kiss-swollen in the building hallway. That was Friday night and it’s now Monday. I’ve been home exactly once to shower, change and catch a few hours of sleep before returning to the buzzing precinct. In that time, five calls from Danika have gone unanswered.
I’ve never known myself to be such a fucking coward, but right on the heels of the reminder she’s training to be a cop, I found myself looking down into a trunk at more loss. More horror. And it was like that walk to the bodega happened to someone else. Or took place somewhere else. Another dimension, maybe. One I don’t belong in with this nonstop ugliness stuck to the insides of my head.
It would be so easy to answer, let her voice soothe me. She would ask me how my day is going, and I would actually tell her. Her lack of judgment, her seeming refusal to disregard me as an asshole, makes me feel like I’m on solid ground. I could show her my worst and she’d still be there.
Every hour that passes without speaking to her puts me a little more off center. Which is all the more reason to ignore the calls. I can already feel myself getting too reliant on those breaths of fresh air she provides. They could get taken away at any time. In a snap. I know this. Why can’t I remember that lesson when she’s right in front of me?
And why am I so disappointed she didn’t leave a voice mail?
She left one Saturday morning, short and sweet. Hey, it’s me. You never took your caveat beer for the trunk. Um. Hope you have a good day. Bye. I definitely haven’t listened to it nineteen times. Or deduced that her scratchy, muffled voice meant she was still in bed when she left the message. Definitely not.
I’m considering playing the voice mail a twentieth time before I have to take a trip to the morgue for an autopsy report. It would give me that extra push to get through such an unpleasant task. But just as I’m hitting Play, my office door swings open and in walks Charlie. He’s wearing his academy uniform and looks so well rested and happy, I want to shout at him to run far and fast from this place.
Once upon a time, law enforcement was decreed our family legacy, and I never wavered in my expectations for Charlie’s career until recently. I wanted him driven. Following in our father’s footsteps, like me. Until I saw how happy he could be when the pressure to be alone and focus only on the job was taken off. He decided to juggle police work and a personal life and he’s sticking to it. He would stick to it forever, because he’s determined. Unshakeable. Maybe because he was younger when our mother left and the aftermath wasn’t as obvious to him, he was able to maintain some semblance of optimism. Positivity that only continues to grow.
As always, when I’m around Charlie, I encounter a swift charge of guilt. For not confiding in him what I know about our mother. It’s for the best, I remind myself.
“Hey.” He falls into the chair facing my desk. “Busy out there. What’s going on?”
I bite back the urge to lie to him, to keep the shittiness to myself. This is going to be his job someday soon, and he’ll have to deal with it. “There was a body found in a trunk at a construction site by the river. We’re tracking down leads, speaking with CIs.”
“Who’s the car registered to?” Charlie
asks without missing a beat.
“Stolen. Registered to a man in Brooklyn, but there’s no connection to the vic.” Despite my reluctance to share too much of this gruesome world with my brother, I’m more comfortable discussing case details with him than anything personal. I hate the reason why. Charlie is going to be a cop. A cop like me, like Griffin . . . like Danika. Holding myself back from him to avoid pain later is so natural, it’s hard to fight against. “I have an appointment with the medical examiner in twenty. Aren’t you training today?”
“Yeah, I’m on my lunch break.” He untucks a brown bag from beneath his arm—which I somehow missed in my exhaustion—and settles it atop the mountain of paperwork on my desk. “Those are leftovers from Danika’s mother’s party. Danika saved them for you, and it’s getting too depressing seeing them in the fridge.”
My stomach climbs up into my mouth and refuses to go back down. She kept food in her fridge for me while I was ignoring her phone calls? “Please tell me you didn’t come here to talk about girls.”
“I didn’t, actually, it just kind of popped out.” One beat passes. Two. “But since I’ve already brought it up—”
“Jesus Christ.”
Charlie holds up his hands. “Hey, I just thought you’d be interested to know that Levi asked Danika to reschedule their date this morning.” He whistles long and low. “Before inspection, even. The guy is after it.”
A bout of seasickness hits me like a battering ram. My right eye is going to twitch itself out of my head. I’m going to flip the desk. “What did she say?”
“Danika?” He draws out her name, scratching the side of his chin. “What did she say?”
My fist pounds down on the paperwork mountain. “Don’t play dumb with me.”
“She said . . .”
Eight seconds pass while he elongates the word said. I know, because the tic in my temple is keeping time. “You will live to regret this.”
His grin is unacceptable. “She said no.”
I don’t realize I’m leaning across the desk until relief slumps me back in my chair. It’s like having a bucket of warm water dumped on my head. “You’ve made your point.”
“Yes, I have.” He claps his hands together. “I only have one more minute before I have to head back, so I’m going to spend it telling you how not fucking awful it is to have a girlfriend.”
“I’m not in high school. I don’t have girlfriends. And please wrap this up in thirty seconds.”
“I’m going to channel Letterman and do this countdown style, sound good?” Charlie gives a loud ahem, like he’s preparing to sing opera. “Number three best thing about girlfriends? The jig is up, bro. Men like to cuddle, too. Girlfriends are cuddle magnets. Ever is the best one—she’s fucking taken—but there are others. Go forth and claim your cuddle magnet.”
“Get out of my office.”
“Number two,” he continues, undeterred. “When a girl is your girlfriend, other guys don’t ask her out. And if they do, you have permission to kick their ass.”
“I’m not going to beat up a recruit.”
“He won’t be a recruit after graduation, and number one . . .” He waits for me to stop raking both hands down my face before continuing. “You like protecting people. I like protecting people. Imagine protecting someone who loves you.” He’s serious for a few seconds. “You want to protect the whole world when someone loves you, because they believe you can.”
It’s possible while I was avoiding my brother, he became one of the most intelligent people I know. Doesn’t mean he’s right in this case, but I’m . . . proud of him. For something besides his eventual law enforcement glory. Still annoyed as shit, but proud. “This has been mind blowing,” I say, standing and slinging my jacket around my shoulders. “I’m late.”
Charlie has already slid halfway out the door, but his smug face is still located inside my office. “Think about what I said. And whatever you do, don’t impersonate someone else on a dating website just to find out what she’s up to.”
I pause in the middle of zipping my jacket. “What?”
“Forget I said that. Bye.”
When he’s gone, I stand there for a couple moments absorbing everything he said, lateness be damned. Despite my irritation, my brother’s words are already sinking in and making me think. I don’t want to think about anything but my job right now, because imagining Danika cuddled up on my lap will inevitably lead to a bad decision.
You want to protect the whole world when someone loves you, because they believe you can.
Goddammit, Charlie.
That was the worst thing he could have said to me. How will I ever be satisfied for even a second in this life unless Danika believes that about me?
The answer is: I won’t. But I’m not meant to be satisfied. I’m meant to be a cop who wakes up every morning, performs his sworn duty and doesn’t set himself up to become one of the tragedies he sees every day.
I know that. I know it. But before I leave the office, I still shuffle around some paperwork until I find the police report for Danika’s mother’s missing bike. Maybe I’m not cut out for cuddling, but it won’t hurt to make a few phone calls between meetings.
Chapter 22
Danika
“We’re not taking no for an answer.”
I’m under attack. It’s Tuesday at five-thirty. There’s a blonde and a redhead in the doorway of my bedroom, and they’ve invited me on something called a girls’ night out.
“Are you crazy?” I set down the NYPD recruit handbook I’m studying. “I can’t drink tonight. I have training in the morning.”
“I won’t be drinking,” says Katie. “We can ply Ever with booze and toast our sensible decision-making skills.”
Ever nods. “See? It’s a win for all parties involved.”
I’m tempted to say yes for a couple reasons. One, Katie has only started getting comfortable setting foot inside a bar. She lost her brother to a drunk driver, and Jack is a recovering alcoholic, so alcohol is kind of her nemesis. But she’s making an effort to have fun in spite of being around other people drinking, like her friends, so I want to support her in that. Especially because Jack’s support can only go so far before he risks slipping. I can practically feel him Jedi mind tricking me from the living room, begging me to go keep an eye on his girl.
Number two reason I want to go out? To distract myself from the fact that Greer hasn’t answered any of my phone calls in four days.
To be fair, I’ve been calling him at times when I predict he’s busy. Such as the beginning and ends of a shift when briefings are taking place. So I guess we’re both avoiding each other. I keep reminding myself I have nothing to feel guilty about. I went to Midtown Precinct North and filed an incident report about being threatened outside my parents’ building. My cousin’s school is taking precautions and holding a faculty meeting about student safety, in light of Robbie being harassed and threatened, through me. There is absolutely no reason why I should be relieved when Greer doesn’t answer his phone. But I am. Because I’m positive my lie of omission is going to come through in my voice.
He’s been so honest with me that the whole situation isn’t sitting right. And now we’re not talking at all. Pretty ironic, considering I kept Greer in the dark so we wouldn’t erase the progress we’d made. I’m starting to wonder if I imagined that progress in the first place.
“See?” Ever drops onto the edge of the bed, totally unaware of the crater in my stomach. “She’s thinking too hard. A change of scenery is definitely in order.”
Katie crosses her arms. “I concur.”
Maybe they’re right. I’ve been staring at this textbook so long, the words are starting to blur together. My cell phone is like a time bomb sitting on my dresser, taunting me with every second it doesn’t ring. I’m getting psyched out knowing Greer is scheduled as our instructor tomorrow. A non-cop-related diversion might be exactly what I need.
“Okay, fine.” I hold up both hands
when they start to happy dance. “But I need to be in bed by ten o’clock. No exceptions. Sprints and takedowns are hard enough without a sore head.” I come to my feet. “And I want Thai food first.”
Ever slaps a hand over her heart. “I want Thai food, too.”
“Screw it.” It’s 10:29 when I hoist my fourth gin and tonic. “I’m pulling an all-nighter.”
Katie giggles into her Sprite and if I didn’t know better, I would think the carbonation is making her tipsy. Or maybe being ridiculous is contagious. That’s exactly what I’m being. Ri-damn-diculous. But it feels so good to misplace my common sense for one night. For months, I’ve been on the straight and narrow so I could be in top form at the academy. Furthermore, I weathered the storm of Charlie and Jack falling down the romance rabbit hole. I can’t even remember the last time I drank too much and acted irresponsibly. What a shame.
I mean, we’re only two blocks from the apartment and The Late Show isn’t even on yet, so this isn’t quite the rebellion of the century, but lately it’s what I consider letting my hair down.
My hair is down, coincidentally, curling in all the right places. Ever tossed a short-ish pink T-shirt dress at me from Charlie’s room, so I’ve thrown that on with some wedges. We’re sitting at a high-top table, and I’ve noticed some fellas at the bar looking in my direction. I’m kind of enjoying the attention, too, to be honest. Possibly because four cocktails, not to mention that wine at dinner, have put me firmly in the camp of being annoyed at Greer. How dare he ignore my calls.
“No, no . . .” Ever leans in, a chunk of blonde hair landing in her drink. “An all-nighter is not a bad idea. If you don’t go to sleep, you can’t be hungover. It’s science.”
I lean in for a sip and poke myself in the eye with the cocktail straw. “That makes so much sense right now.”
“Am I to be the voice of reason here?” Katie gives a sharp sigh. “I never get to be the bad influence. It reminds me of when I used to play Barbies with my neighbor growing up, she always made me be Ken.”