“Talk to me, Jessie. Please. Help me understand what you’ve been through, so I know how to act around you.”
“Okay,” she said. Seeing the waitress, she held up her empty martini glass for another. “I’ll tell you. When Harwell came onboard six months ago, word got out that we’d dated. Cripes, that was over ten years ago. I would have thought by now no one would even remember. It was probably someone from the old precinct who felt resentful about his promotion, because I can almost pinpoint when they found out. All the banter between the guys and me came to a screeching halt. No more silly pranks, nothing, nada—all gone.” She waved her hand. “I told myself I was imagining things; that the guys I’d had the most fun with were just having a bad day. But I knew better. This is the same thing that happened at the old job. And he was single then . . . that is until he dumped me and got married soon after.” Jessie played with the edge of the paper napkin under her water.
“You didn’t answer my question. What caused the break-up?”
“I’d rather not say. He’s our boss. If the real reason ever got out, it would only come back to haunt me. I have enough problems as it is.”
“You have to know I’d never repeat anything you tell me.”
“I know you wouldn’t mean to, but it does happen. And, if you knew, you wouldn’t treat him the same either.” Jessie rubbed her long fingers through the ends of her hair. “So now,” she continued, “the guys act as if they’re on a tight rope around me, afraid to say anything for fear I’ll report it back to the boss.”
“You really do believe they’re sending you the threatening notes, don’t you?”
“I really do, Gerard. That’s why I’m not as concerned as you think I should be.”
“Well, I guess I can understand why you feel that way, especially after the way they’ve treated you. I had no idea this was going on. I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you. I know they’d like me to leave the precinct . . . and to tell you the truth, I’ve considered it, but that would be the easy way out.” A rush of sadness ached inside her chest, and a feeling of emptiness encompassed her.
The waitress returned with her drink and took their food order. Zach’s hand reached across the table for hers again and she relished the feel of his touch. She was having trouble focusing, suddenly feeling like putty in his hands. His face brightened, but he never moved his eyes from hers. She couldn’t believe how much she enjoyed his company regardless of the questions he’d asked. She knew he worried about her. That was a first. A warm glow settled inside her chest like a cup of hot chocolate on a blustery day, and she was happy she’d accepted his offer to have dinner.
The food, the ambiance, Zach—it was building to a perfect evening.
“Tell me why it’s so important for you to prove to everyone that you’re tough.” He set his drink down waiting for her response.
“You’ve never had to prove yourself, have you Gerard?”
“I’ve had to prove myself every day of my life.” He tightened his lips into a thin line. “The only problem is, the person whose approval I’ve sought for most of my life has never acknowledged me. I stopped caring a long time ago about what other people think.”
“And, who would that be?”
“My old man. Nothing I’ve ever done was good enough for him. He’s an attorney who thought I should follow in his footsteps, regardless of what I wanted. When I wasn’t interested in living out the life he’d planned for me, or marrying the woman he’d chosen to be my wife, he turned his back on me and said I’d never amount to anything without his help.”
“Ooh, how awful. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, me too. But that’s how the cookie crumbles.”
“Your father wouldn’t be Alan Gerard, the high profile attorney I’ve been reading about in the newspapers, would it?”
“That’s him.”
“But you still see your mother, don’t you?”
“I wish. She died five years ago. How about we change the subject?”
She could tell by the expression on his face, the subject made him uncomfortable. “Sounds like a good idea.”
When the taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant, Jess and Zach slid across the seat and rode in silence, both deep in thought, his hand wrapped around hers. She tossed her head back against the cushion of the seat and closed her eyes. He moved over closer and gently pulled her head down onto his shoulder. She hadn’t remembered feeling such contentment. The cab pulled up in front of her apartment. He helped her out, and asked the driver to wait. She released a contented sigh as they walked up the stairs, their arms wrapped around each other’s waist. Words could not express the emotions surging through her body. An awkward moment passed between them, and she thought she might burst if she didn’t unlock the door to her apartment building and go inside. She broke the silence. “Thank you. It’s been a wonderful evening.” She turned and shoved her key into the lock and pushed the door open.
“Me too, Jess. I hope this evening is the first of many more to come.”
She smiled as she walked through the opened door, and stopped halfway to glance back at him. That’s when he pulled her outside and devoured her mouth. His kiss was urgent, and hungry. She felt the fire erupt inside her body as though she was in the middle of a million fireworks on the fourth of July. She stood stunned, wrapped in his tight embrace, unable to speak, and listened to the thunder of his heart. He pulled back and stared into her eyes.
“Are you sure you want to call it a night?”
9
The early morning sunlight stirred Jessie from a sound sleep. She moaned in pain from a headache that throbbed—the result of too many martinis. She rubbed her temples willing the sledgehammer effect bouncing off her skull to subside and wished she’d listened to Gerard about not having another drink.
“Oh God,” tripped off her tongue. The memory of last night rushed to the front of her mind. Her hand instinctively reached over to the opposite side of the bed and patted the mattress. It was empty. She blew out a steady stream of air, relieved. Thank God, they hadn’t slept together. Contented the alcohol hadn’t clouded her good sense she grabbed the extra pillow and covered her face to shield her eyes from the brightness. Inhaling the smell of Gerard’s cologne embedded in the pillowcase made her gasp. “Oh no,” she said, pressing the pillow into her face. It was true. They had slept together.
Her stomach tightened. How could she have been so stupid? Yeah, he was hot. Yeah, she’d even dreamt about him, and yes, fantasized about them being together, but she hadn’t planned to act out her fantasy. She rolled over onto her stomach, the pillow now tight against the back of her head. She growled into the mattress. Why did she agree to have dinner with him in the first place? Her feet angrily banged against the mattress, causing her head to pound as though it would burst. Well, it was too late now. If the guys at work ever found out she’d slept with Gerard, life would be even more miserable than it was already. She peeked out from the corner of the pillow to check the clock on the nightstand. Her heart raced realizing she didn’t have much time before she was to report to work. By comparison though, that was easy part. What wasn’t so easy was how she was going to face Gerard or how to handle the situation she’d created. Her mind was muzzy; her head splitting, she groaned and promised herself she would handle it before it got any worse. She rolled over onto her back, clutching her head with her two hands. Determination took over, and she forced herself to raise her head to get out of bed. The room was spinning around like a top. She closed her eyes and flopped back down on the pillow. The pounding thud of pain from her hangover headache intensified and she thought her head would explode. Taking in deep breaths of air, she convinced herself she needed to get out of bed. Dread encompassed her body. Why did she drink so much? And, why the hell did she sleep with her partner?
Counting to three, she sat upright. Nausea worked its way up into her throat. She bolted out of bed and into the bathroom and threw the lid of the
toilet seat up. Leaning over, she emptied the contents of her stomach, wiped her mouth and flushed the toilet. Jessie made an attempt to stand, but her body wasn’t ready to move. Instead, she hugged the toilet bowl. The sour aftertaste of vomit lingered in her mouth.
A few minutes later, she slowly raised herself up, holding onto the cabinet for leverage and turned on the faucet, dipped her head under the stream of cold water, and turned from side to side, taking in a gulp of water to rinse her mouth. Convinced nothing but mouthwash would work, she reached for the bottle already on the counter and took a swig, swirled it around, and spit it back out.
The pounding in her head increased and ibuprofen came to mind. Using her hands to guide her to the medicine chest, water dripping down off her hair onto her face and shoulders, she opened the door and found the bottle, but her fingers wouldn’t cooperate with the challenge of the safety cap.
With a quick intake of air, she managed to remove the lid and poured three pills into the palm of her hand. She turned on the faucet, guzzled back the pills, and washed them down with the water from her cupped hand. The sound of a key turning in the lock gave her pause. She heard footsteps, and froze.
“Hey, Jessie, are you all right in there?” Zach asked.
She gasped again. What had she done? She peeked around the corner and groaned when she saw him looking so chipper. Then she glanced at her reflection in the mirror; enough reason to slump to the floor, hoping he’d go away.
He walked to the opened bathroom door, a bag containing breakfast in his left hand, and a florist’s box under his arm. He set it down on the counter next to her. The smell from the bag of food rushed up her nose. The nausea returned and she slumped over the bowl one more time, kicking the bathroom door shut with her foot to discourage him from gaping at her.
When she finished, she started the water running in the shower and stepped inside the stall, pulling the shower curtain to the closed position and stood under the steady flow of water.
“Hey, sweetheart, you don’t need to hide from me. I’ve seen worse than this.”
Christ, she thought, now he’s calling me sweetheart. Another groan escaped from her mouth. What the hell have I done?
The churning of her stomach persisted. Rushing back to the toilet, she held onto anything within reach to prevent her from falling flat on her face. That’s when she vowed never to touch another ounce of alcohol, especially around Gerard. God, how could she have been so stupid. He’d told her no more alcohol, but did she listen? No, not this broad. She released a deep sigh and stepped back into the shower and prayed the headache would go away and take Zach with it. A short while later, he reentered the bathroom and pulled the curtain aside.
“Hey, Jessie. Are you ever coming out of that shower?”
“Go away.”
“Now that’s not what you said last night.” She watched him stoop down and wipe the water off the floor with a towel from the rack.
“Forget about last night. Forget about me. I’ll be out of the department by the end of the week.”
He laughed. “Oh stop it, for God’s sake. We’re not children. We’re consenting adults.”
“Don’t remind me.”
He smiled and headed back out to the kitchen. “You’re even beautiful when you’re barfing.”
“Oh, shut up.”
When she heard the door shut, she stepped out of the shower and reached for the oversized towel, wrapping it tightly around her body. She stood in front of the mirror and eyed the reflection staring back at her. The long red locks she’d always taken great pains to showcase were now a tangled mess. She raked her fingers through the mass trying to untangle the knots and shuffled into the kitchen.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
“Shut up,” she said.
“Uh oh, somebody’s grumpy.” He was clean-shaven, and dressed in dark brown dress slacks, a striped, brown, black and white shirt, and tasseled loafers. She looked away. She didn’t need to see him looking so hot, but the masculine scent of his cologne only reminded her of the foolish mistake she’d made.
He held a container out to her. “Here, drink this Ms. Martini Girl. This will make you feel better.” He smirked. “How’s that head this morning?” She didn’t respond. “That bad, huh?”
She grimaced and slowly removed the lid from the container and took a swig, certain there was nothing left inside her stomach to cause any more trips to the bathroom.
“Yep, that bad.” He pointed to the florist’s box. “These were at your front door when I returned. Have you been keeping something from me?”
“No. I have no clue who they’re from.”
She walked to the cupboard, reached inside for a vase, filled it with water, and then went back over to untie the ribbon around the box. Unable to release the knot, she reached for a pair of scissors to cut the ribbon. Disturbed by her current state of mind, she couldn’t believe a minute ago she was dreading the fact that she’d slept with him, yet now, the flowers caused her heart to palpitate. What was wrong with her? She was convinced he’d bought the flowers for her, but was too embarrassed to admit it. This was a side of him she’d never expected. She racked her brain trying to remember whether she’d enjoyed the sex. Yeah, that’s what happens when you drink too much, she told herself. He obviously enjoyed it. The idea of being courted by him really appealed to her senses. She smiled—he was definitely a smooth operator.
With the tie undone, she sighed, and lifted the lid. She gasped—frozen in space as she viewed the contents inside the box. They were roses all right, but not the kind she was expecting to see. She shoved the box onto the floor, afraid to touch them.
“What the hell?” Zach said.
Pieces of dead, black roses scattered over the floor. A note lay under one of the stems, and she stooped down to pick it up. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the note out of her hand. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and the dull ache in her head throbbed again.
A sudden sense of suspicion washed over her body, and held her captive. He’d been the one to bring the box inside. Could he be the one doing this to her? A slight flashback of their evening gave her second thoughts about him doing such a thing. But maybe he was trying to trick her into thinking he wanted a relationship just to get closer to her.
“Are you all right?” He wrapped his arms around her. She pushed him away. “Are you okay?” He stood looking at her, a deep crease in his forehead.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
She bent down to clean up the mess she’d made.
“Don’t touch anything. You know better than that.” He pulled her hand back, then called headquarters. “Send a crew over to Detective Kensington’s apartment. Yes, the address is . . .”
“No, dammit.” She shot him an angry look. “Now I’ll never find out which asshole in the department is doing this to me.”
She could see by the indignation in his expression, that he was going to do precisely as he wanted. “We’ll wait here for you,” he said into the phone.
Jessie walked at a fast clip into headquarters, leaving Zach several paces behind, and headed to her desk. Lieutenant Harwell noticed her from his windowed office and walked out.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine.” She pulled a file from her drawer and lowered her head to check the contents, blocking out the questions the lieutenant would surely ask. She tried to ignore the pounding dull ache in her head.
“Kensington, in my office, please.”
Jessie deliberately ignored him. Her attention was focused on the report she was reading. At least she wanted him to think that.
“Now!” he said firmly, catching the attention of her peers.
She released a groan, pushed her chair back, and walked to his office. He shut the door behind her and she sat down in the chair he’d pointed to. His grey suit jacket hung on the hook behind the door. A pile of folders, higher than the stack on her desk, sat on the corner of his
. An empty container of coffee sat next to the phone.
“Sit!” he pointed. She did as she was told. “You want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“That’s just what I’d like to know. Now that Gerard forced himself into the middle of this, my chances of finding out who’s doing this are shot to hell.”
“That’s some attitude, Detective Kensington.”
She averted her eyes from his, her hands fiddling with the loose fabric on her chino slacks. “I’d like to know how long you’ve been keeping this from me.”
“It isn’t anything I can’t handle,” she said.
“You let me be the judge of that Kensington.” He moved papers from his desktop into the inbox, a feeble attempt to tidy up. “Yeah, I know how tough you are. So answer the question. How long has this been going on?”
“For two weeks.”
“Let me see if I have this straight. You’ve received three notes in two weeks, and black roses today with another note, and you’ve kept this to yourself?” He pursed his lips. “Unbelievable, Kensington. Even for you.”
“If I thought it was something serious, I would have come to you, Lieutenant. Honest.” Her shoulders relaxed. “I think it’s from one of the assholes in the department.” She looked directly into his brown eyes. “They know about us. Did you know that?”
“You’re shittin’ me, right?” His eyes opened wide. “You mean that crap is still making headlines after all this time?”
“Exactly. They seem to think we’re still involved.”
“Do they now?” He shook his head in disgust. “Interesting. So, how does that tie into what’s happening with these black roses?”
“It’s Friday the thirteenth. It’s supposed to be a scary day. Bad things happen. Think about the connection with the guys for a minute. Let’s face it Lieutenant, you came here after your promotion. We had a previous relationship, and now the guys treat me differently. They’re afraid to talk to me anymore. They nod when they pass by. I know they’re worried I’ll tell you something they’ve said. I can see it on their faces.”
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