by Mari Carr
Crash Point
A Big Easy Story
By Mari Carr
Crash Point
Copyright 2014 Mari Carr
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About the Author
More titles from Mari Carr
Excerpt: BLANK CANVAS, BIG EASY, BOOK 1
Chapter One
“I know, Mama. Yeah…Yeah…Mmmhmm.”
Blake Mills leaned against the doorframe of the studio. He watched the petite blonde—who had her back turned to him—set up her camera equipment while balancing her cell phone between her shoulder and cheek. Her head was fully tilted to the right, yet she worked with ease.
“I understand how important this fundraiser is, Mama. I’m just not all that jazzed about taking a bunch of beefcake pictures of some brainless mimbos with more muscles than sense.”
Blake stifled the urge to clear his throat, slightly offended by the photographer’s insult, but he let it slide, unwilling to let her know he was there. He’d never been referred to as a male bimbo before. Even so, he was fairly certain he’d find a way to make her eat those words. He might not be the smartest guy on the planet, but he wasn’t an airhead with a penis either.
The woman sighed heavily, continuing to speak. It occurred to him there was something vaguely familiar about her voice.
For now, he held his tongue, intent on enjoying the view as she bent over to retrieve something from her camera bag, her firm, perfect ass pointed in his direction. She wore skintight jeans that accentuated the bottom half of her generous hourglass just right.
“Fine,” she said in reply to something her mother had said. “I won’t insult the models. At least not to their faces. But I’m reserving the right to make fun of them at Sunday dinner. I can’t believe that last guy was able to squeeze his ego through the front door.”
Ah, Blake thought, her annoyance started to make sense. The last guy had been a tool. He sympathized with the pretty woman. He’d been roped into this charity calendar bullshit too. Sounded like neither he, nor the photographer, were here willingly.
She stood up with her back still to him as she snapped her camera onto the tripod. It was clear her mother was giving her an earful by the short, cutoff replies the photographer was making.
“Yeah, but…”
“I know that. All I’m…”
“Alright, I can…”
Finally the woman pulled her cell away from her ear and mimicked the action of throttling it. Blake lost his ability to remain silent. He chuckled.
The photographer turned to face him and he sucked in an astonished breath.
Fuck.
Chloe Lewis.
For the briefest of moments, he hoped she wouldn’t recognize him. After all, ten years had passed.
That wish was squashed instantly.
Her eyes narrowed when she saw him. “I have to go, Mama.” She didn’t even wait for her mother to say goodbye. Instead, she clicked the end button and slid the cell into her back jeans pocket. It was on the tip of his tongue to express surprise that she could squeeze anything else into the tight denim, but he was starting this conversation on thin ice as it was. No need to make it worse. Though there had always been something about Chloe that had him longing to tease her…just so he could hear her loud, joyful laughter. He’d never met anyone before or since who could laugh with such unrestrained, utter delight.
It was the first thing that had drawn him to her all those years ago. Chloe had trapped him in her tractor beam within minutes of their initial introduction and held him there for months—the best summer of his life. There was no denying the two of them had set off fireworks together—in and out of the bedroom. He’d never understood the word tumultuous until that summer. Perhaps enough time had passed that Chloe would forgive him and they could let bygones be bygones.
Chloe’s eyes flashed fire.
Nope. No bygones.
“Hey, Chloe. Good to see you.”
It was clearly the wrong opening. “Fuck you, Blake.”
He deserved that. Even so, his pride—the same pride that had screwed things up between them so many years ago—surfaced. “I’m game if you are.”
“That’s it. Last straw. I’m not doing this. My mother can find someone else to take these damn pictures.” She turned away from him, reaching for her phone, intent on calling her mother back.
He walked across the room and wrapped his hand around her wrist to stop her. “Wait.”
She whirled on him, her temper blowing fast and hot. It took all the strength in his body not to grin. A smile when she was in the midst of an explosion was tantamount to committing suicide. Chloe may be small, but her boxer of a father and three older brothers had taught her well when it came to self-defense. Hell, it might be more accurate to say they’d given her brilliant lessons in all-out offensive attacks.
“Don’t touch me.”
Blake didn’t remove his hand. Maybe the term mimbo did work for him. He’d never been accused of being too bright. Trying to keep hold of this miniature raging bull proved that. “Don’t quit because of me.”
She struggled to escape, but he merely tightened his grip. His body had shifted into overdrive the second he’d gotten close enough to smell her floral perfume and feel the undeniable heat that rose up every time the two of them got within a few feet of each other.
He could tell Chloe felt it as well. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and her face was flushed. Their brief scuffle hadn’t produced either side effect. It was the same for him. Two minutes with her and he was on fire, his cock hard enough to pound nails in concrete.
When it became obvious he wasn’t going to release her, she froze, her body rigid with fury…and arousal. Even after all these years, he knew her well enough to recognize both.
“The committee is going to have to find another photographer. I’ve hit my limit on manhandling for the day.”
It was the only thing she could have said that would have prompted him to loosen his grip. He dropped her hand. “What do you mean manhandling?”
She closed her eyes as if praying for patience. Blake had provoked that response in her no less than a million times in the past. And as always, it hit him like the world’s most powerful aphrodisiac. He still drove her crazy. For some reason, that idea turned him on even more.
“How the hell did you get involved in this cale
ndar, Blake? I can’t imagine the committee actually thought it was a good idea to include some punk-ass biker as part of the collection.” Then her gaze sharpened. “Did my mom call you to do this?”
He shook his head quickly. “Of course not.” He hadn’t seen Mama Lewis in nearly a decade. The same day he’d hopped on his motorcycle and driven away from Chloe without a word. He’d been a fool. Chloe had been adorable, cute at nineteen. At twenty-nine, she was a fucking knockout.
“I doubt your mom even knows I’m involved. I drew the short straw this morning down at the precinct. My captain’s wife is on the committee and decided the NOPD needed to be represented. Captain Rogers isn’t exactly known for being organized. He forgot to round someone up until today when his wife showed up and read him the riot act for it. Next thing I know, I’m on my way here.”
Chloe’s brows furrowed in confusion. “NOPD? Precinct?” Then she erupted in laughter…and it was just as Blake had remembered. Loud. Infectious. “Dear God, please tell me they didn’t let you join the police force.”
He smiled. “Detective Mills, at your service. Just got promoted to the Special Victims Unit last fall.”
She shook her head, her mirth dying as she realized he was telling her the truth. Chloe was allowed her shock. There was a big part of him that still couldn’t believe he’d joined the force. For most of his life, he’d half-expected his future to include time spent behind bars, not escorting others there.
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. Wanna see my handcuffs?” He winked at her wickedly, letting her know exactly how he’d use them on her.
She scowled. “It’s not possible. There’s no way—”
“I’m a cop, Chloe.” He whipped out his badge and flashed it at her.
She reached into her back pocket to retrieve her cell phone. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still calling my mother. Surely there has to be someone who can—”
“Take pictures as good as you? Not likely, CJ Lewis.”
Shock registered on her face when he used her pen name. Chloe had made a name for herself in the world of photography, having published a collection of her work called The Face of New Orleans. Blake had spotted it in the window of a bookstore and bought it instantly. He couldn’t begin to count the hours he’d poured over the pictures, amazed by her talent and her eye for hidden beauty. She’d captured the people of New Orleans perfectly, bringing their hometown to life in vivid color.
“How did you know that was me?”
He ran his finger along her cheek, trying not to let her see how much it hurt him when she winced and pulled away. What was he expecting? He’d broken her heart. “I always knew you’d find success with your photographs, Chloe Jeannette. You were too talented not to.” He also knew she’d been named after both her grandmothers.
“You remembered my middle name?”
He nodded. It was strange how much he recalled about Chloe. There were times when Blake thought he recalled her life story better than his own. At nineteen, he’d hung on her every word, certain she was the most beautiful, fascinating girl he’d ever met. Now, he was finding the woman she’d become just as enthralling.
“Chloe, this is an important project and you know it. The money raised is going to a good cause. Besides, do you really want to call Mama Lewis and tell her you’re bailing? You think that would be a fun phone call?”
Chloe shuddered. “She doesn’t know you’re here, that you’re involved. I might actually get a bye based on that.”
His grin grew, causing her frown to deepen. “Your mom always liked me.”
“Liked. As in past tense. Then you stole her favorite wedding gift, cleaned out her wallet and made me cry. I suspect she’d be in the front of the line, even before my brothers, to kick your ass.”
Blake was sure she was right. And that thought hurt. He’d always adored Chloe’s mother. She was the only mom in history who hadn’t taken one look at his ripped-up jeans, leather jacket and bad attitude, then issued an order for him to get the hell away from her daughter. Instead, she’d invited him in for Sunday dinner, engaged him in conversation and seen something of value inside him that Blake couldn’t see himself at the time.
Then he’d betrayed Mama Lewis’ belief that he’d do the right thing, rejected Chloe and run off like a thief in the night.
No. Not like. Literally a thief. He’d stolen two hundred dollars from Mama Lewis’ purse and a silver serving platter.
“I’m sorry, Chloe.”
She studied his face for several quiet moments. He didn’t bother to hide. He wanted her to see, to read the sincerity in his words. His life was overflowing with regrets, but stealing from Chloe’s family and leaving her ranked at the very top of the list.
“Maybe you are. But you’re not forgiven.” Her words were hard, final.
And not at all surprising. Because he’d stolen more from Chloe than just some money. He’d taken her virginity and her young girl’s love and trust and he’d trampled all over it.
“I’ll tell my captain to find someone else from the NOPD to pose for the calendar. You’re more valuable to the project than I am.”
She nodded. “Fine.”
He took one last look at her, wondering how long—if ever—it would be until their paths crossed again. Would he have to wait months? Years? Longer? He’d thought of her more than he cared to admit over the past decade—her face often the last one he saw when he closed his eyes at night. He’d always wondered if she was happy, if she’d married or fallen in love, had kids. A quick glance at her bare ring finger answered the marriage question.
The idea of never seeing her again was more painful than he would have imagined. “Goodbye, Chloe.”
He turned to leave, but his exit was cut short when Captain Rogers’ wife appeared with two other women in tow. “Oh, Detective Mills, I’m so glad we caught you and Chloe before you started. My friends and I were just heading out for lunch and I wanted them to meet you.” She turned to the women with her, briefly introducing them as fellow committee members. “I was absolutely delighted when you volunteered for this project.”
“Short straw, huh?” Chloe muttered.
“I was afraid my husband was going to have to recruit someone unwilling. Heaven only knows how that would have turned out.” Mrs. Rogers turned to Chloe, beaming. “Didn’t I send you a wonderful subject? And I have no doubt his bio for the calendar will be the most impressive one. After all, he received the Medal of Valor when he saved two people from a burning building and his work with juveniles has been truly inspiring. Speaking of bios,” Mrs. Rogers pulled several sheets of paper from her purse. “Here’s Blake’s bio, along with two others. I told your mother I’d drop them off to you today.”
Blake didn’t turn to look at Chloe. He hated being the center of attention. He’d done his job, nothing more. To hear Mrs. Rogers going on and on about his accomplishments like he was some sort of freaking superhero made him uncomfortable.
“I didn’t do anything more than any other officer on the force would have done.” He hoped that answer would be enough to kill the subject. It wasn’t.
Mrs. Rogers was on a roll. “Plus he was instrumental in shutting down a major drug ring. My husband said it was the first time in all his years he felt a spark of hope for our local kids. Blake ensured there would be a lot fewer dealers on the playgrounds. All of this and he’s only been on the force for five years.”
Taking down that drug ring was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life—because it had involved him arresting his own father. That was one of the lowest moments in Blake’s life, and to hear Mrs. Rogers discussing it as an accolade made him sick to his stomach.
“Actually, Mrs. Rogers, I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to—”
“Take the pictures today,” Chloe interjected. “Detective Mills and I were just discussing some possible locales.”
Blake turned to look at Chloe. She’d just threatened to walk off the project if he w
as involved. Now it sounded as if she was volunteering to make the job even harder. Locales?
Mrs. Rogers frowned, confused. “I was under the impression all the photographs would be shot here in your studio.”
“That was the original plan, but after talking to the detective, it occurred to me that the photos would be more interesting if they were taken in a variety of locations and included something that reflected each man’s interests.”
Blake nodded, not about to miss this opportunity to spend more time with Chloe. “I’m into motorcycles, so we were thinking of riding out to Lake Pontchartrain and snapping some shots. Or we even discussed the possibility of taking River Road and posing at the plantations.”
Chloe scowled, but didn’t contradict him. The two of them had spent hours flying up and down the highways on his bike when they were younger. The plantations on River Road and the lake had been their favorite destinations. Blake had only gotten his motorcycle—an ancient Harley he’d seen an ad for in the classifieds—that summer. Chloe had been shocked to discover he’d never seen anything outside of the city limits, so she’d made it her mission to expose him to all the beautiful places he’d missed. In a few months, she’d done a great job of opening his eyes to the world just outside the city.
Mrs. Rogers clapped her hands together. “Oh! This sounds wonderful. Even better than we’d hoped. Well then, don’t let us distract you from your work. I can’t wait to see the end result.”
With that, Mrs. Rogers and her friends left in a flurry of excited chatter.
Blake crossed his arms. “I thought you wanted me out.”
“I did, but how could I explain wanting to kick out such an icon of the police force?”
“I was going to take the fall. Tell them I wasn’t comfortable taking my shirt off for the picture.”
Chloe snorted. “Yeah. I’m sure they would have believed that.”
He grinned. “Are you saying I’m immodest?”
“I spent an entire summer with you and I can recall you wearing a shirt less than a handful of times. Usually at my mother’s Sunday dinners and only then because she said you had to.”