by Jc Emery
“Didn’t expect you to,” I whisper on an excited laugh. “We kind of skipped the dating. You’re understandably ill-prepared.”
“Baby,” he says on a groan and leans in and kisses me.
I might be crazy, but I swear I think his eyes are wet. I can’t be sure, though, because I’m a sobbing mess, but I’m tempted to think he’s crying. I hiccup, interrupting our kiss, and when I focus in on his eyes, I totally lose it and cry even harder. I reach up and try to discreetly wipe away the tears that are pooling in the corner of his eyes.
“You want to marry me,” I say, still kind of in shock.
“No, Lulu. I am marrying you. And soon. We skipped the whole dating thing—might as well skip the long engagement part.”
I suck in a deep breath and shake my head at this beautiful man who is more than I deserve and everything that I never knew existed but always secretly hoped for.
A startling loud fire alarm shocks me back to reality. It takes a moment, but Jameson straightens and goes into hero mode. He pulls me through the chaos that erupts in the room until we find my dad and mom. On our path, he pulls out his mobile and enacts the family phone tree. Jack assures him that everybody is together and safe and on their way out of the building, so he breathes a sigh of relief.
“I’ve called up my car,” Dad says to Jameson. “Monica will go with Claire, and Melanie. I’ll stay behind to help with crowd control.”
“You don’t have to, Chris,” Jameson says, but Dad blows him off.
Jameson leads me outside with my hand tucked safely in his. On the sidewalk, we see Claire and Royal huddled together. They visibly relax when they see us. We convince Royal to come with us, even though she first refuses in order to wait for her sister and mother, but Jameson doesn’t let her get away with it. He says, “I’ll feel safer if Mel is with you.”
Dad’s stretched town car arrives without his driver getting out. There’s no time for formalities of opening our doors and greeting us each individually. Mom climbs in first, followed by Claire, then me, and then Royal. I hate to let Jameson go, but once we pull away from the curb, he’s off with Dad trying to secure the building.
Mom gets on the in-car intercom and communicates with the driver on the other side of the darkened glass. She instructs him to take us home, but he overshoots our neighborhood and hops on Henry Hudson Parkway, I come to the sickening realization that something is very, very wrong here. Mom frantically presses the button to lower the glass in order to berate our driver. The glass wheezes, but stays in place.
I want to panic, but everything gets really foggy and confusing. I look around the car to Claire beside me. Her eyes are fluttering closed, and across from me, Royal has her hand over her mouth. She elbows at the glass that separates us and the driver but it does no good. I follow the flow my mom’s line of sight to the air vents, which are going full blast. A pungent odor blows fiercely and covers us. Mom slinks down in her seat as her eyes close. My body is so heavy, but I force myself to lean over and grab a hold of Mom’s wrist. Her pulse is still steady and strong, and her chest rises and falls in a peaceful rhythm. I look back to Claire and Royal and see them both pass out. Shit. I scream at the top of my lungs and kick against the door but lose the ability to, and just as a fresh batch of tears slide down my cheeks, I lose myself to the world.
Chapter 23
Jameson
I stand with my back to my brothers and fellow uniforms in the third-floor conference room as we go over the possibility that tonight’s bogus fire alarm at the benefit is correlated with the sick fuck who’s after my girl. And us. I’ve racked my brain for an answer and just can’t come up with anything. Even Dad and Uncle Leon—who’s due to retire in the coming months—are up here with us. I sent Chris home once things calmed down at the benefit. I know Royal’s with Mel and she’ll keep her safe, but Royal’s not Mel’s dad. I’ve spent enough time with Chris, and feel like I know him well enough, to say that he’d lay down his life for his girls without a single thought to the matter, and that’s the kind of man I want keeping my girl safe when I can’t be there.
I know things are hectic and she’s probably distracted, but I wish Mel would just text me and let me know she made it home safely. Maybe that she’s dress shopping or picking out fucking china patterns online. I don’t give a fuck. I just want to know my fiancée is home, in bed, and safely planning our future. I’ve already sent her four text messages, and though it’s likely irrational, I can’t stop the fear that’s swelling in my gut. They left the benefit almost two hours ago now.
“I think it’s similar, that’s all,” Jack says firmly. The Chief shakes his head and dismisses the idea.
“Collector’s in custody, Jack. You’re the reason we were able to put him away,” Capriotti says. I don’t know who invited that arrogant fuck up here, but I guess he’s useful. I mean, he’s lead on the case so I guess this is his business, too. It’s just that I still haven’t forgiven the prick for traveling and then illegally blocking my shot and having the fucking nerve to make a comment about Royal that I won’t be forgiving anytime this century. Fucking asshole is good at his job even if he doesn’t have a charitable bone in his damn body. I swear, there was so much blood coming from my nose that the poor kids watching the game started screaming. Chief rode my ass about that for over a month, putting me on bathroom duty right when he decided to try a colon cleanse.
“You’re seeing what’s not there, but I think we need to look at what is and how that pattern reflects The Collector’s MO,” Jack says. Capriotti starts to argue with him and both men get loud and neither will back down. Soon, Capriotti has the entire firehouse—save for Royal who also isn’t answering my fucking messages—against him. Doesn’t matter if any of the boys think he’s onto something, they won’t go against one of their own.
There’s a ruckus on the stairs, and Chris Kincaid comes into view. He’s holding a small wooden box in his hands and clutching the railing as he pulls himself up. Damn, the man looks like he’s going to pass out from exhaustion. How fucking fast did he run up here? I rush out into the hallway and help him into a chair that’s in the hall. He’s not a feeble man by any means, but I think he took the stairs three at a time at high speed from the way he came into view so quickly. He catches his breath for a moment, then stands and meets my eyes. He’s still struggling to breathe normally but nods his head to the conference room. A civilian getting into the house and upstairs without being escorted is basically unheard of, and it’s no less acceptable for one to drop in on a house meeting, but he’s here and it’s obviously important.
I head back into the conference room behind him, and everybody stops what they’re doing to stare at us. Chris smooths down his tie and holds out the wooden box to Capriotti who eyes it with great suspicion.
“I got back to the apartment and the girls weren’t there,” he says quickly. “Reginald, our, uh, doorman had this at the front desk for me. He said a teenage kid, couldn’t have been older than fourteen or so, dropped it off and paid him a hundred dollars to make sure I got it. My driver called me shortly thereafter to tell me he’d been carjacked.”
I grip the table behind me so hard that I can’t feel my hands after a while. My Lulu, my fiancée, is missing. She can’t be missing. She can’t be hurt. She can’t be gone. I won’t ever forgive myself if something happens to her. I won’t be able to function or keep on being me. I don’t know how to be Jameson without Lulu. Now that I’ve had her, I can’t not have her.
Never again.
My sister is with her, and Royal is a damn fine firefighter. I’ll have to remember to tell her that when I get her back—to give her one of the biggest bear hugs I’m capable of—and tell her how incredibly fucking proud I am of her for everything she’s accomplished. Shit. I can’t lose my sister.
Across the room, Dad stares at me solemnly. I try Royal two more times and nothing. I call Mom on the house phone. She answers on the first ring but doesn’t give me any peace when
she says she hasn’t seen Royal since before the alarm sounded. I tell her to be careful and find some solace in the fact that she’s got Bailey and Rae and Hope as well as Aunt Martha, Uncle Leon’s wife, with her. She sent the babysitter home early and asks that I pass that on to Jack, which I will, eventually.
“It’s a music box. If you open it, it plays some melody, but I don’t recognize it,” Chris says.
“Royal hasn’t been home. Mom’s got Hope, Martha, Bailey, and Rae with her,” I say loudly to the room, expelling the last of my energy.
Capriotti pulls a latex glove from his pocket and slips it on then takes the wooden box from Chris. I watch the room mobilize and inspect the box, but all I can think about is Mel and us dancing to our favorite song.
My Bonnie lies over the ocean . . .
My Bonnie lies over the sea . . .
The tears in my eyes that made me feel like such a fucking pussy when I realized what she was telling me—that she wants to marry me. It was such a visceral reaction that I couldn’t stop myself. I grew up with a dad who never made it shameful for men to cry.
My Bonnie lies over the ocean . . .
When a house loses a brother, the guys cry. I was still in high school when the twin towers fell, but Dad was on the job, and so was Jack. The suffocating pain I saw them go through as they grieved for their fallen brothers was incredible.
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me . . .
Dad broke down in uniform at Ground Zero when he saw Jack emerge from a pile of rubble. He ended up with his picture in the paper and on the news, not just local but national. The headline read NEW YORK’S BRAVEST’S INCONSOLABLE SORROW.
Bring back, bring back . . .
I would have thought he’d have been embarrassed to have his splotchy face seen by the world, but he never acted like it. He just hugged me and said, “I love you, son. Always know how much I love you.” He taught me through that experience that it’s okay to let the people you love know how much they matter to you.
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me . . .
“Oh God, what is that fucking song?” Hennessey scrubs at his face.
I meet Chris’s eye, and he walks over to me. His face is whiter than normal, and he talks slowly but sternly as he says, “I can’t lose them.” His eyes well with tears as he’s consumed by the fear of what this means—their being missing. I want to comfort him, but I can’t even comfort myself. He turns away and brings his mobile to his ear and listens intently.
“My Bonnie,” Jack sings in a familiar tune.
He meets Dad’s eyes, who picks up right after him. “Lies over the ocean.” They go back and forth until it clicks and most of the room gets it. I hadn’t even realized that fucking song was stuck in my head until now.
“It’s a kid’s song,” Jack says. “I’ve heard Hope sing it a few times.”
Chris walks up to Capriotti and clears his throat. “I hired a PI when this first started, and when I realized they were missing, I called him. He finally got a trace on the car. It’s at the beach house in Montauk.”
My Bonnie lies over the ocean.
Capriotti gets on his mobile and calls his sergeant to get in touch with Montauk PD to get a team sent to the beach house.
“I’m not standing around with my thumb up my ass when my sister could be hurt. Fuck that!” Jack screams and kicks a chair, sending it flying about five feet across the room. It’s a rare show of extreme anger for him—something he hasn’t done at work in years—but nobody calls him on it. We get it. I wish I could get myself to move to kick a fucking chair. It won’t make me feel better, though.
“Look, my sarge is putting it through. We gotta work it through the proper channels when working with another department,” Capriotti says.
“I’m not waiting around, either,” I say. I take a look at Chris and give him a chin nod and fold my arms over my chest. He nods and signals for me to give him one minute. Then he gets back on his mobile and walks away. I hear his deep voice screaming, breaking in parts as he orders the person on the other end of the line to just fucking get it done.
“I’ll have a chopper on the roof of my building in twenty minutes. By the time we get there, we’ll be able to take off immediately. It’s a forty-five minute ride to Montauk from there.”
Capriotti’s phone rings, and he answers it quickly. He says, “Not good enough, Sarge.” Shit. It doesn’t sound so favorable on the other end. He hangs up and clenches his fists before hitting redial and bringing the phone back to his ear.
“Permission to handle this under the table? We got transport, can be there in an hour.” There’s a minute of silence on Capriotti’s part before he starts snapping into the phone. “You wanna explain to Christian Kincaid, one of the most charitable men in the five boroughs why the fuck the Thirty-first and fucking podunk Montauk PD don’t consider the safety of his family as VIP enough to save their fucking lives? Huh?”
This time when he hangs up, he says to Chris, “How many does this chopper of yours seat?”
“Five, including the pilot.”
“I’m going,” I shout and dare anyone to fucking tell me I’m not.
Hennessey and Jack follow my lead, and so does Capriotti. I do the math but don’t point out to anybody as we rush out of the firehouse that there’s five of us and only four seats. If I have to, I’ll just push somebody out for a spot in the chopper if it means making sure I’m there to get my Lulu back to me safely.
True to Chris’s word, there’s a chopper is waiting for us when we make it to the roof of Kincaid Media.
We stand in the stairwell and wait for Capriotti to return with the all clear. He got some kind of special clearance from his sarge to make an arrest outside of his jurisdiction. He didn’t explain it to us, but he’s well versed in the particularities of catering to New York’s wealthier class and knows how to pull the right strings to get the kind of clearance that technically doesn’t exist on the books.
“Knew you had money, but had no idea you have this much,” Hennessey says to Chris.
“I don’t,” Chris says. “I called in a favor that’s going to cost me dearly.” He thinks on that for a moment while I bounce impatiently from foot to foot. “Not nearly as dearly as losing my girls would.”
Capriotti rushes into the stairwell and shouts, “Let’s go!” He waves us up.
Jack and Hennessey takes the stairs two at a time and stride across the roof in the blustery winds. I go to move, temporarily forgetting about being short a seat, but Chris grabs ahold of my upper arm and stops me.
“Get them back here safely.” His voice cracks halfway through the sentence, and his lower lip trembles. “And make that son of a bitch pay for this.”
“It’s the least I can do in exchange for your permission to marry your daughter.” I can’t think about the devastating what-ifs that might make that an impossibility, so I don’t. But still, something in me forced that out now and not later. Like if the paralyzing fear in my heart brings my worst nightmare to fruition, then at least I know I had this moment with this man I’m coming to respect greatly.
“I’d be honored,” he says, and a sad, tortured smile finds its way to his face. He shoves me off and pats my back. “Bring our girls home, son.”
I push back the nauseating fear that threatens to consume me as I step onto the roof of the forty-six-story building and fight against the forceful winds that seem damn determined to knock me down. Climbing into the last seat of the chopper, I hang on and strap in as we rise in the air. Wind whips all around us, and I place a pair of protective headphones over my ears and turn the mic and headset on as Hennessey directs me to. The helicopter is more military-grade than anything, and definitely not used for leisure. It doesn’t have any doors, and it smells like motor oil. I can’t help but wonder where the fuck Chris got this thing from.
“Sarge just got word to me that Montauk PD is finally taking this seriously and swinging by the house. They should get there in a few minutes. Their fire de
partment is a bit smaller than what you’re used to, and they’re out on a bonfire call right now. All EMTs in the area are en route to other calls as well,” says Capriotti, who is seated across from me in his backward-facing seat. Jack sits next to him and mutters a few choice words but nods his head. From beside me, Hennessey levels Capriotti with a serious gaze.
“Exactly how much clearance do we have here, Cap?” Hennessey asks, using a nickname I’ve heard the detective’s fellow officers use.
“As much as we need,” he says. “Keep in mind, though, that we got one gun between the four of us. We let Montauk take the lead and provide backup if needed, as possible.”
I keep my mouth shut about his plan. I’ll do what I need to do to make sure Lulu makes it home safely.
Chapter 24
Jameson
Chris said it would take about forty minutes to get to the landing pad at the private airstrip just a few miles from the beach house, but it feels like it takes a lot fucking longer to get to Montauk than that. I try my best to spot local landmarks that I recognize, but everything looks different from the air and at night. The pilot cuts the helicopter north toward the airstrip just as a fire comes into view.
“Structural fire, south of highway, just off the beach,” I shout in a panic.
There’s a lot that I remember about Mel’s parents’ beach house—it’s uniquely shaped square deck that juts out from the main structure at an angle, its third-floor master suite with the panorama windows, and its position to Montauk’s only chain coffee shop. Mel had said that Chris thought the commercialization of the neighborhood brought down property values, but my girl is practical right down to her bones—she said it was a perk because getting her coffee in the morning was now easier than ever.
“Is that—” Hennessey’s voice falls as we all come to the realization that the burning structure is the beach house.
“Need you to turn around,” I say to the pilot. “Can you land on the beach?”