The Obsidian Collection

by Rebel Adams

  He felt her tremble at the idea. “I don’t think I can,” she whispered.

  “Whitney, you’re stronger than you know. I know you can. If it comes down to life and death, you’ll be able to do it.”

  “It won’t,” she said. Her tone held a confidence that didn’t reach her eyes.

  “If something happens and this case doesn’t go the way we want, it may very well come down to life or death at some point. I know you don’t want to hear this, but he tried to kill you. If he doesn’t get any time, he will to come after you again. I want you to be ready. You don’t go into battle without preparing.”

  “Battle?” she asked, the tremor back in her voice. “You’re really afraid the charges won’t stick, aren’t you? That’s why you wanted to take me to a gun range.”

  “There’s some political bullshit going on I’m not happy about. To be honest, I don’t know how your case will shake out, but I’m going to take care of you either way. You have to be strong though. You have to make up your mind that you’re not going to take any more shit. You have to fight for you.”

  Whitney smiled and arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to take care of me, Detective?”

  God, he loved the way she said detective. He stifled a groan. “Yes. Starting here. Now.”

  “Starting three days ago,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been so well taken care of.” Jackson nodded and loaded the clip, and he could feel her eyes wandering over his face. “You know this is kind of an odd activity for a first date.”

  He figured she was probably right about that.

  He slammed the clip into the butt of the gun. “We’re an unconventional couple, wouldn’t you say?” Fuck me. Had he really just called them a couple? Apparently, with his mind made up, he was going in both barrels loaded. Whitney wasn’t anywhere near ready to be a couple. Hell, she was still legally part of a couple.

  “Hmm.” She paused, seeming to mull over what he’d said as she studied the gun.

  Such an idiot. He shook his head, not bothering to hide the reprimand he was giving himself. “Sorry.”

  “No. You’re right.” He slowly turned and looked at her fully, and she continued, “I think ‘unconventional’ is probably putting it mildly. So unconventional date stuff first and then what? Conventional date stuff after? Or is this your idea of a romantic time, Detective?”

  “The date doesn’t officially start until later. I promised to take you out to a nice quiet, romantic dinner. I’ve got the perfect place in mind. But we have some business to tend to first. And, I think you’re going to have fun with this.”

  Truthfully, Jackson had wanted to take her to his training facility. He’d assumed it would be more private. Whitney had never fired a gun before and it could be intimidating the first time. He wanted to make her feel as comfortable as possible at the range. But he’d broken too many rules already, and officers weren’t allowed to bring civilians to the range without permission. There was no way the chief would’ve given him clearance to bring Whitney Geddings. He didn’t even need to ask. He’d already shown her too much special treatment in the chief’s eyes.

  The range wasn’t crowded. Though it was a Saturday afternoon and this was a public range, they seemed to be one of the only ones here. At least they were the only people in this particular part of the building. “Okay, I’ll take the first round and then it’s your turn.”

  He handed her a pair of noise-cancelling headphones. “Put these on. We don’t want to damage those pretty ears of yours.”

  Whitney slipped the big black saucers on. Jackson wasn’t sure how someone could make headphones look sexy, but somehow she’d managed to do it. Or maybe it wasn’t the headphones at all. It could have been the tight, v-neck sweater that hugged her breasts and bared just a hint of cleavage. Or maybe it was the fuck-me boots which came nearly to her knees. Of course, he’d noticed the boots as soon as she’d opened the hotel room door. They would’ve been kind of hard to miss and were at least partially to blame for the erection that had reared its ugly head.

  Jackson sighted on the target, preparing to take out some frustration on the unsuspecting paper dummy. In a matter of seconds, he’d emptied his clip. He arched his eyebrows playfully at Whitney. “Just like that.”

  However, Whitney wasn’t looking at the target in the distance. She was staring at Jackson’s arms, which were extended out in front of him. Her gaze slid down his arm to the gun he was wielding and then back up again to the biceps peeking out of his t-shirt.

  He gave himself a mental pat on the back for not letting himself go over the past seven years. It would have been so easy to give up after Lana’s death and turn into just another Dunkin Donut-eating detective, but he didn’t ever want to turn into one of those jelly-filled cops who couldn’t lay pursuit when needed. He often looked at the fat fuckers around the precinct and wondered how on earth they would ever catch a runner. He didn’t like foot pursuit. He’d hated chasing Gettings. However, he had to admit, there was a certain amount of thrill involved in taking someone to the ground barehanded.

  He slid the safety back on, popped out the wasted clip, and replaced it with a new one. Then he carefully placed the gun on the table in front of them. He wished he’d been built with a safety. The thought he was having right now, combined with the way Whitney was eyeing him, was definitely an unsafe combination.

  Jackson shook it off and pushed the button to bring the target forward. Then he unclipped it and presented it to Whitney. He wasn’t showing off. Really he wasn’t. He was merely demonstrating proper gun handling. Yeah, right.

  “Wow. You’re a great shot,” she said. “You nailed this guy in the forehead every time.”

  “It’s sort of a job requirement. My goal was to stop him dead in his tracks. Yours should be too. If you have to shoot, you shoot to kill.” He shrugged. Whitney shivered a little. “Are you cold?” he asked. He wasn’t sure why most shooting ranges could double as meat lockers, but that usually seemed to be the case.

  “A little,” she said.

  “Come here. I know a sure fire way to warm you up.”

  A conspiratorial smile crept across Whitney’s face.

  Goddamn it, woman. Stop being so sexy.

  “Adrenaline,” Jackson said, shaking his head and clipping up a new target. Every single word out of his mouth seemed to carry a double meaning. He pushed the button to return the target to its position at the front of the room.

  “Okay, stand in front of your weapon,” he directed. Whitney stepped in front of him and faced the table where the gun was laying. She was just inches from him, and he could smell her shampoo. He wondered if she always smelled of honey-ginger or if it was the hotel’s shampoo. Whitney didn’t seem like the kind of high maintenance woman who’d have to bring her own shampoo to a hotel.

  Business. Stick to the business at hand. “Now pick it up and check the safety. Is it still in place?” He spoke loudly so she could hear him despite the headphones.

  Whitney picked up the gun and rolled her wrists both directions to get a feel for it. “I think so,” she said. “God, it’s so heavy.”

  Jackson was happy to see her eye it with a healthy amount of reverence. “Is your arm all right? That’s a heavy piece.”

  Whitney nodded and smiled sweetly. “I’m good, Jackson.”

  “Okay, take the safety off. You’re a pretty small woman and you’re going to feel a kick. It’s not going to knock you around or anything, but be ready for it. Aim it at the target.”

  Whitney did as she was told, but her arms wobbled just a little. He wasn’t sure if she was still cold, if it was the weight of the gun, or if it was fear—but there was a bit of tremble in her stance. “You’re doing great,” Jackson said, sliding closer behind her and encouraging her. He wrapped his arms around her and placed his hands over hers, steadying the gun. She shivered again, but with the heat she was putting off, he knew she wasn’t cold.

  “I can’t believe how much
fun that was!” Whitney was still in her adrenaline rush. “So did I really do okay?”

  Jackson pulled into the parking lot and angled his nondescript cruiser into a spot. “Do okay? You did better than okay. I’m going to start calling you One-Shot Whitney.”

  She smiled proudly and nodded. “I like that.”

  “We’re here,” he said. His voice was soft, and his eyes were directed at the sign perched on top of the roof.

  It had been years… literally years…since he’d been to Rozelli’s Pizzeria. Seven, to be exact.

  Jackson wasn’t sure why he’d chosen this place out of the hundreds of other options in the city. He had so many memories of Lana here. He wasn’t trying to recreate the past. Really he wasn’t. He simply wanted to share something with Whitney that had meant something to him at one time.

  And since it was a Saturday night, he knew the Rozellis wouldn’t be here. His entire family would be having dinner at his Aunt Mindy’s house, and though the Rozellis weren’t technically family anymore, he knew they would be there. It was the way things had always been. For as long as he could remember, the Ogdens and the Rozellis had shared a table every Saturday night. He’d grown up with Lana Rozelli. When they’d started dating in high school, it hadn’t been a surprise to anyone. Later when they’d gotten married, it had been expected. But it had been the best kind of expected.

  Her death though…that hadn’t been expected.

  Even if it was wrong to bring his first and only date to the restaurant owned by his late wife’s family, he couldn’t stop himself. Rozelli’s Pizzeria was a part of him. Seven years hadn’t tarnished the memories he had of the place.

  He glanced at Whitney. “This restaurant means a lot to me. I couldn’t think of anywhere else that I’d want to take you for our first date. It will be okay.” His last comment took her—and him—by surprise. Of course, it would be okay. It was just a restaurant.

  Jackson opened the car door and ushered her across the sidewalk to the front door. The jingling of the bell over the door announced their arrival. The only other person in the restaurant turned toward him. “Well, ho-ly shit. No one’s going to believe this,” Jaclyn muttered. Astonishment was written all over her face.

  “It’s Saturday night,” Jackson responded stupidly.

  The shock on Jaclyn’s expression was swapped out with confusion. “Right. Sure it is. And to think I told them you’d stopped reading my emails.”

  Whitney looked between the two of them. Her confusion topped everyone’s.

  “What emails?” Jackson asked.

  “The Saturday dinner emails,” Jaclyn said. She was annoyed now. “I send them to you every week. Not that it ever matters.”

  “I haven’t received any emails.”

  “Then why are you here?” She stomped her foot, and Whitney grabbed Jackson’s arm as a sign of moral support. Which he appreciated because he sure as hell hadn’t expected Jaclyn to be standing inside the door of the pizzeria.

  “Why are you here?” Jackson accused. “You should be at Aunt Mindy’s.”

  “If you ever read your emails, which clearly you don’t, you bastard, you would know we are celebrating Jonathan’s birthday. He wanted Rozellis. So Rozellis it is.”

  Jackson’s jaw dropped, along with his stomach. “So the whole family is here?”

  “Yep. Each and every one of those sarcastic bastards. Hey… who’s your friend?’

  Jackson looked from Jaclyn to Whitney and back to Jaclyn again. “This is my friend, Whitney.”

  Friend. The word stung Whitney, and he watched her deflate in front of him. Had she been getting used to the idea of them being more than friends? Fucking Jaclyn.

  However, Jaclyn wasn’t buying it. That was clear. “Okaaaaay. Well, everyone will be very happy to meet her.”

  There was no way that this could end except badly. Jackson had to put an end to this; his first date in seven years had just landed in the shitter. He didn’t need anyone to flush while he could save it. “Yeah, well, we were just leaving.”

  “Bullshit, Jack. You just got here.”

  “We’re getting our food to go.”

  The hostess, who’d finally sauntered up, chose that moment to pipe in, “Our To-Go hostess is out tonight. Honestly, it will take just as long to get your food to go as it will to eat in.”

  Jackson let out an internal groan as he heard the date-toilet flush.

  “Looks like you’re staying,” Jaclyn said, laughing. She turned to Whitney. “I’m sorry my cousin is such a Jack Ass. I’m Jaclyn, but everyone calls me as Jackie.” She stuck her hand out.

  “Jackson and Jackie. I’m sensing it’s a family name,” Whitney said, shaking it.

  Jaclyn nodded and looked at Jackson conspiratorially. “Something like that. Jack’s dad is here. He’ll be happy to tell you all about it.”

  “Let me guess his name is Jack, too.”

  “No,” Jaclyn said laughing. “Robert.”

  Whitney giggled. Shit, that’s cute.

  Jackson gave Jackie a severe look and interrupted. “Jackie, Whitney’s my date.” Surprisingly, he said it without stumbling over the word date.

  “Of course she is. I’m not stupid.” Jackie laughed. “Why wouldn’t she be? And such a pretty little thing, too.”

  Whitney blushed a hundred different shades of red. And that looked cute, too. Jesus Christ. “Which is why,” Jackson interjected, “we’re going to take our party somewhere else.”

  Jaclyn gave him a sympathetic smile. “Jackson, don’t do that. Everyone is going to be so happy to see you. At least come in and say hi.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Jackie.” He took Whitney by the elbow and pulled her back toward the door. His whole being was screaming at him, Abort! Abort! Abort mission!

  “Oh, get over yourself, Jackson,” Jackie snapped. “Seriously! No one is going to hold it against you for moving on. It’s been seven years for Christ’s sake. No one wants or expects you to stop living. Just say hi. Give Jonathan a little birthday punch and then retreat to a dark corner. Lord knows, there’s plenty of them around here.”

  Jackson looked at Whitney expectantly. Half-wanting her to rescue him and drag him out of here, and half-wanting her to make him do the right thing. The right thing was facing Lana’s family after seven years.

  Make me do this.

  Don’t make me do this.

  Whitney blinked back at him before turning her eyes toward the door. “You should go say hi, Jackson. I don’t mind. I can wait in the car.” Her voice was timid and unsure; her eyes now cast at the floor. The submissive, insecure action split Jackson’s heart wide open.

  Coming from the range, she’d been confident and more full of life than he’d ever seen her. They’d discussed conceal and carry requirements, and she’d asked him about small purse-size handguns. Her new take-charge attitude had him a little concerned for the public’s safety, but he’d make sure she got the proper training if that’s what she wanted. The fact that she’d decided not to take any more shit was definitely a step in the right direction.

  Even better, she’d acted like she wanted Jackson beside her as she took her first steps into freedom. She’d even reached across the console and put a hand on his leg. He’d tucked her small hand inside his and held it until they’d pulled into the parking lot. It had been a long time since he’d held a woman’s hand, but it had just felt right.

  And now she was acting like she didn’t belong beside him.

  This was fucking with their mojo. Worse, it was causing Whitney to wonder if coming out with him had been a good idea in the first place. If he walked out of here with her, she would think he was embarrassed by her. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all. He didn’t ever want to be the reason that Whitney Geddings second-guessed herself. It was time he manned up and faced the music, even if it meant telling her the whole story.

  Let’s do this.

  “All right, fine,” Jackson said. “Just let us get se
ated at a table first and then we’ll come over and say hi. I need a few minutes here.”

  Jacelyn clapped her hands together and waltzed toward the private room in the back. The hostess led Jackson and Whitney to a table that, luckily, was as far from the family as they could get.

  “So…” Whitney’s sweet voice trailed off. The enthusiasm from earlier was absent. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Jackson fingered the napkin he’d tossed in his lap and then rested his hands on the table. “Yeah, you know what, I do. I think I need to tell somebody. I think I need to tell you.”

  “Well, you’ve made an excellent choice because I’m a great listener.” Whitney’s encouraging smile prompted him to go on.

  The smile he returned at her was a sad one… but for the first time in seven years, it felt real. Cards on the table, Odgen. Man up. “Twenty-six years ago, I met a crazy little girl with long blonde pigtails at my Aunt Mindy’s house. She asked me to push her on the swing, and she wanted to go as high as the sky …”

  Whitney sat back in her seat and listened to the best and saddest love story she’d ever heard.

  The radio switched to a new song, and Jackson groaned. Goddamn Divinyls and their masturbatory tendencies. “I’m sorry. I’ll turn it off. This shit-mobile only gets one station, and every Saturday is a 90s love song marathon.” If he were going to keep taking Whitney out, he was going to need a personal car. This piece-of-shit was not worthy of her. Hey. Down.

  Whitney smiled. “Don’t turn it off. It’s been years since I heard this song. I used to sing it when I was in middle school. Preteen rebellion, I suppose. My mother would have died if she’d known what was playing in my headphones. My father probably would have come apart at the seams.”