Stark Raving Mad (Chicago's Finest Book 2)

by Vanessa Knight

  Adam stared at Joe, smirking. “What?” Joe hunched his shoulders.

  “Nice distraction technique. Keep her mouth busy so she can’t drink.” “Shut up.”

  Adam took a couple glasses from the cabinet and poured two fingers of scotch for each of them. “Honestly though?” Adam kept his eyes fixed on the glass. “You need to keep your distance. Brook’s had a rough couple of years where men are concerned. She always picks the biggest asshole in the bunch. Which makes you perfect, but she really doesn’t need your shit.”

  “Spare the commentary and give me the damn drink.” Joe ran a hand through his hair and sighed. His body was still riled. He took the glass from Adam and tried to drink away the feel of her lips on his.

  Like there was enough booze on the planet for that.

  * * *

  The grass gurgled as Dennis Stark walked around the outside of the quiet house. He stopped and listened. He didn’t want to ruin the element of surprise, but the snow had melted, leaving water-logged yards that bubbled with every step he took.

  No lights. No sound. No sign of life. How could she not be home on a Saturday night? The tramp must get around.

  He walked through the small fenced yard to the unattached garage off the alley in the back. The flimsy wooden door opened when he turned the knob. No moon. No light. He felt along the unfinished walls and located a switch. Blinding brightness filled the empty room. No lawnmower, no hedge clippers, nothing. Dammit.

  A car engine turned over in the next garage. He slammed

  the light switch off and waited, watching the car back into the alley from the doorway. The crunch of tires on rock wafted through the cold spring air.

  That was too close.

  He turned to the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Maybe that could come in handy. Take away her light. He lifted his arms. Nope. He spun around in the empty garage.

  He needed something to stand on.

  He left the building and checked the alley. A large recycle bin leaned against the back of the neighbor’s fence. That would have to do. The scrape of plastic on concrete echoed through the small building as he set the bin under the light.

  He spun the bulb halfway free of its threads.

  That should do it. He jumped down and walked over to the garage door. He hit the switch. Up. Down. Nothing. Nice.

  He grabbed the bin from the floor and walked out the door. The alley remained still. Quiet. Wooden fences lined both sides of the gravel. Shit. Which house did he get the damn bin from? He couldn’t remember. He pushed the bin against the nearest fence and ran back to his car.

  Now what? He turned to the sleeping house. Now I wait.

  Waiting. Always waiting.

  He was so damn sick of waiting.

  He’d spent the past eight years waiting in that dark, dingy cell. Planning and waiting. Nothing was going to keep him from his plans, so he could handle waiting a little bit longer. People had to pay, had to pay for what they did to him, to his family.

  Had to pay for ruining his life.

  He watched Brooklyn’s darkened house. She had to come back sometime. And when she did…? She’d be reminded of the pain she’d caused him. They all would.

  They would all pay. They wouldn’t know what hit them.

  Chapter Three

  Brook cracked open her eyelids and subjected her bloodshot eyes to the intense light of morning. Shit. She smashed them closed, willing the glowing dots to go away. I am never drinking again. The champagne hammer pounded against her head. No matter how she felt now, in the far-off future she’d forget how bad the feeling was and find herself overconsuming some frilly, sugared, alcoholic concoction.

  Her stomach turned and a gag hitched in her throat. Okay…thoughts of alcohol…not good. She groaned and yanked the down comforter over her head. She just needed to fall asleep, again. With a few more hours of rest she’d be ready to go. Unfortunately, the percussion section in her head was not about to let her off that easy.

  She looked around the empty room, eyelids fluttering. Her sister was still in the process of decorating the condo, but not this room This was all hers. She loved this room, not as much as she loved her Oak Park bungalow, but it was a close second. The bamboo canopy bed with white gauze netting matched the dresser and armoire. Silk palm trees were spaced all over the room. Red, green, and brown accents finished off the tropical flair. Of course, she was remembering all this from memory. Her damn eyes wouldn’t open, and when they did… She closed her kaleidoscope-infused eyes and sighed.

  This was going to be a long day.

  The only bright spot was her confidence that today was

  Sunday. She had some time to get herself together before she headed into the office. Some people had the luxury of taking weekends off, but when a woman was the lowest partner on the law firm totem pole, Saturday and Sunday were just an extra set of workdays.

  A long shower and something to eat would help her face the day. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself, positive a little bit of normalcy would snap her head out of the fog and her body into movement. Her body wasn’t as positive. The mere thought of sitting up made every muscle in her body cry. Partners don’t quit.

  She wrapped her leg around the edge of the bed until her toes caressed the hardwood floor. She pushed her other leg around and forced her eyes open. She could do this. She lifted herself to a sitting position and fought the bile rising to the surface. Her head dropped forward as she took cleansing breaths, encouraging her stomach contents to stay where they belonged. The cool wood floors were soothing underfoot as she stood—and tottered to one side. When did the floor become tilted? She reached out for the nightstand.

  Deja vu. She remembered reaching out for something last night when she tried to get to her bottle of wine. Crap. Did she really do that? She had jumped up and down on Adam’s cop-friend Joe. Black hair. Bronze skin. Brown eyes that caressed her…and…he kissed her.

  And the kiss—hot—strong. Her knees buckled and she fell to the bed. Was that real? Did it really happen?

  Her fingertip grazed her lips. If it was a dream, it was one hell of a dream. Heat crawled up her skin as she remembered his soft lips against hers. His lips, his musky scent, his hands on her arms…her face. As she relived the moment, she started to remember their conversation.

  Fellow lawyers in ivory towers…What an ass. She shook her head, but the kiss was there, right at the front of her brain. It wouldn’t go away. And she did want it to go away, because it had been a mistake. She had no desire to get involved with an arrogant detective with a bad attitude.

  Who needed that kind of headache?

  Not her. That was for sure.

  She rose to her feet again. Deep breathe in. Deep breathe out. Please don’t hurl. The room spun. She reached out to the side and she was a stabilized little teacup. Her feet stumbled as she made her way to the bathroom so she could lean against the cold mirror. Her hot face cooled, pushing the alcohol-ball of regret from her throat.

  She needed a shower. She lifted her arm and reached for the control knob. Not even close. She either needed rubber arms, or she was going to have to leave her reflective new bestie.

  Or… She reached out and touched the wall tile. Ah…

  She rubbed her face along the tile until she was inches from the shower stall. She turned the knob in the shower and closed her eyes to the gentle drum of water on stone. Normally, the rainfall from the sprinkler head tapping the stone tile and bench was relaxing. Right now, she wanted earmuffs. The tap-tap-tapping was beat, beat, beating upside her temples.

  Damn water.

  She ran her hands through the rain coming from the ceiling. Shivered as the warm water beaded down her arm. It felt good. Unexpected giddiness built in her chest as she crept into the stall. Gentle pulses massaged her body. The nausea buried itself deep as she stood under the showerhead. It was a reprieve, a short break from that crappy feeling. If she weren’t so hung over, this would have been a great way to s
tart a weekend day.

  Brook threw a sweatshirt over her wrinkled skin. Time to join the land of the living. There was a stack of work calling her name back at the office. Hopefully, no one was going to aggravate her, because that hangover feeling was hiding, but it could be back at any moment.

  Of course, the good news was there wasn’t much of a chance anyone else would be at the office. Everyone else had a life.

  She shuffled her way across the hall toward the noise coming from the kitchen. Someone was up. She walked into the brown kitchen where Adam stood dressed in a black suit, drinking coffee, and reading the newspaper.

  Brown kitchen. There was no other word for it. Well, there was, but Allison got pissed when Brook referred to her kitchen as craptastic. Brown cabinets, brown appliances, and tan walls. Allison kept telling Brook they’d fix the bore-fest that was the kitchen, but something always seemed to come up.

  “Are you the only one in Chicago who still reads the newspaper?” “I like to know what’s going on in the world.”

  “That’s why God invented Yahoo and CNN.com.”

  “I’ll stick to the archaic paper, Crook.” Adam resorted to the nickname he gave her back in high school.

  Two could play at that game. “Where’s my sister, M’Adam?” Brook took a coffee mug from an upper cabinet.

  “She ran to get some tea. Neither my coffee nor my tea is good enough for her. You can either wait for her or brave my coffee.”

  “Is there caffeine in that?” She pointed at the coffeemaker percolating on the counter.

  “Hell yeah.”

  “Then pass it over.”

  Adam took the cup from her and filled it with the hot, steamy goodness. “Sugar? Cream?”

  “Nope. This morning is a coffee black kind of day.” She sat at the table and sighed as the rich taste passed over her lips.

  Adam lifted his cup and sat on the other side of the table. “I’m glad we have a chance to talk.” He stared at the mug in his hands. If she didn’t know the man better, she would swear he was nervous. But the great Adam Byrnes didn’t get nervous, unless he was preparing the speech about her drinking. He probably thought she had a problem. So what? A girl can’t enjoy a few drinks when her ex- boyfriend finds a boyfriend before she does? Jeez.

  “I know what you want to talk about and don’t worry. Last night was not normal. I was upset. I went a little crazy with the drinking, but it won’t happen again. If I learned anything over the past few days, it’s that I should give up alcohol and men. Neither does me any good.”

  “Good to know. Allison was worried about you. Hell, I was worried about you.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It happens. I actually had something else I wanted to discuss…” Adam continued to stare. Talk about worrying… What could he possibly want to talk about? Brook’s mouth ran dry as all the worst-case scenarios played out in her mind.

  * * *

  Adam sighed as a freight train ran through his stomach.

  He knew he had to suck it up and talk to her. Why he was so nervous? Brook liked him. Most days. They’d always had a great relationship. But this was different.

  He’d never asked her for anything, and definitely not anything this big before.

  No matter how much she liked him, was that enough to offer her blessing?

  “I know this is kind of antiquated. I just wanted to cover all my bases before… well…”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Adam. What do you need?” Her eyebrows arched. Her tone was clipped. Dammit. He was blowing it. If he couldn’t get through step one, how the hell was he going to handle the big night, the real thing?

  “Look, I know you don’t have parents, not that that’s a bad thing, not that it’s a good thing.” Oh please, make my mouth stop. “It’s just, well, a thing.” This was just getting worse. ”This isn’t how it was supposed to go.” He reached across the table and grabbed Brook’s hand. “I want to ask your sister to marry me.”

  He removed the ring box from his right pocket and held it out. Sweat beaded the back of his neck. Why the hell am I so nervous? His hands shook as he attempted to open the tiny box in his hand. Why are these boxes so small? His giant sausage fingers shook as he tried to lift the lid.

  How could he get married with giant sausage fingers?

  Where would she find a ring to fit them?

  Brook placed her hands over his and held the box. Tilted the cover open. A gasp left her lips as she stared at the platinum band with the Asscher-cut diamond, surrounded by red emeralds. She pulled the ring from its white silk cocoon and angled it so the sunlight refracted onto the table. “This is amazing.”

  “I know. It’s what Allison has always wanted.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Do you know how hard it is to get a ring made in a company your girlfriend owns? And then, finding those red emeralds was almost impossible. But they did it—without her finding out.”

  Brook slid the ring on her pinky and tilted it back and forth. “Are you asking my permission?”

  “Yes…no…I don’t know. You’re supposed to ask the parents’ permission but…It’s stupid.” He downed more coffee, but it wasn’t helping. It probably wasn’t the best idea to down a caffeinated beverage when his heart was thumping out of his chest.

  “No, it’s sweet.”

  He stared at her face, waiting for the “but”. What was wrong with the ring? What was wrong with him? It had to be because he was a cop. She wasn’t going to give her blessing.

  “So?”

  “Are you kidding? You have whatever you want, my permission…my blessing…my assistance…anything.” She smiled as she laid the ring back in its silk bedding. “How are you going to ask?”

  That was another antacid-requiring topic. “I have a few ideas. Ring in the champagne. Jumbotron at the concert. Beach picnic. I have them all arranged. Now I just need to pick one.”

  “Honestly, any way you ask, she’ll be happy.” She opened the ring box and closed it again, playing with the satin lid.

  “What do you think about the ring? Yes? No? Should I have them make something else?”

  “It’s perfect. She’ll love it.”

  “Good.” His stomach didn’t stop knotting. This was only

  the dress rehearsal. The real show wouldn’t happen until later. And so far it was a complete disaster. “Do you think she’ll say yes?”

  “She’d be a fool to say no, and my sister is not a fool. Why do you think she’d say no?”

  “Being a cop’s wife isn’t for everyone.” He ran hand through his hair. Again. He was going to be bald before this was over. What if Allison didn’t want to marry into this life? The long nights and the worry. “Isn’t that what you told her?”

  “Yeah, but it’s different for you two.” She turned the box over in her hand. “She would love you if you were a fluffer on a porn set. You, my friend, can do no wrong. She loves you, despite your job…your arrogance…your anal-retentive nature…”

  “Are you trying to scare me away? Because you’re doing a great job.”

  “Oh future BIL, you have nothing to worry about.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a great guy and you are getting a great girl.”

  “BIL?”

  “Brother-in-Law.”

  “BIL. I like the sound of that.” He raised his coffee cup.

  She clicked hers against his.

  “Me too. It’s a hell of a lot better than M’Adam.”

  Chapter Four

  Monday afternoon, Joe sat at his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard, working another report. He grew up watching police drama after police drama. They spent the hour solving crimes and catching bad guys. They ran, they fought, and they put away the criminals. They never sat around, glued to their laptops. That’s one thing they never told you about being a cop—the paperwork sucked and it was all paperwork. All day. Every day.

  Knock-knock. The door flew open and Joe’s attention left the police report on his screen. Not
that it was hard to drag his mind away. He couldn’t get the good lawyer off his mind. Brook was a handful. Too much work for a guy like him. But she looked damn good.

  And she tasted even better.

  Adam wandered in and sat in the empty chair next to

  Joe’s desk. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Joe was not about to get into a discussion about Brook with Adam. The guy was practically married to her sister, and the big-brother vibe came across loud and clear the night of the party.

  “Really? You look like someone crapped in your oatmeal.”

  Joe ran hand through his hair as he pushed excess oxygen from his lungs. “A lot on my mind.”

  “Anything you want to talk about? Or are you okay being a prick and pretending whatever is wrong doesn’t exist?”

  “I’m okay with being a prick.” Joe hit Print and closed the program. There was no way he’d get any more done tonight.

  Way too many distractions. Not all of them good.

  “Fair enough. We should hit Bull and Bear tonight. Bears are playing. Granted, the way they’re playing these days, I can’t guarantee they’ll fix your mood. Shit, they’ll probably make it worse, but a beer and Kobe burgers should make you feel better.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Got some hot date?”

  “No.” When was the last time he had a hot date? Month.

  Two. Who had time for women, hot or otherwise? Not him.

  “I can see you’re working hard over here.” Captain Humphries walked up to Joe’s desk and leaned against the nearest wall. Phones rang, people talked and yelled, and the captain stared at Joe. The room was huge, crammed full of desks and working cops. “So, are you two getting anything done besides gossiping like schoolgirls?”

  “We just found out Miranda made out with Perry over by the swing set,” Adam whispered.

  “And, OMG, Kylie’s totes cheating on Lucas.” Joe adopted his best Valley Girl accent. And by best, he meant awful.

  “Funny. If you two spent half as much time catching bad guys as you do working on your standup routine, Chicago would be a safer place.”