by Lacey Black
I fucking hate small spaces.
“You okay?” Brooklyn asks, turning and glancing my way.
“Yeah, fine. You?” I ask, running my hand up my neck and into my hair.
“You don’t look so fine,” She says, coming closer and checking me out.
“I’m fine. Just not a fan of small rooms,” I confirm, keeping my eyes on our surroundings.
She gives me an ornery grin that does bad things to my groin area. “Well, you’re in luck, Ramsey. I’ll have us out of here in a jiffy.”
Rolling my eyes. “Yeah? How you gonna do that, Bee?” I ask, the scent of her shampoo suddenly overtaking the room. It’s like the only thing I can see, smell, hear, and taste, is her.
“Just give me a minute, will ya?” she says, dropping to her knees. No, not in front of me, but in front of the doorknob. I watch with odd fascination as she pulls something from her hair and straightens it out.
Seconds later, she sticks the pin in the doorknob and starts to twist. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart and the blood swooshing in my ears as I watch her do whatever in the world she’s doing. I’m sweating again, wondering if we’ll ever get the hell out of this shithole closet.
“Hey, Ramsey, do me a favor, will ya?” she hollers over her shoulder.
“Hmm?”
“Talk to me. It’s too quiet in here. I can’t concentrate when it’s this silent.”
What an odd statement. Too quiet? She needs noise to focus?
“Seriously?” I find myself asking, watching as she drops her hands from trying to pick the lock and turns her attention on me.
“Yes, I’m serious. Just say…something,” she says before turning her effort back to the task at hand.
I take a seat along the back wall, my body barely fitting between two shelves. “So, back home, in Oklahoma, my old partner was involved in a scandal that included a few high ranking officials and a shit-ton of money.”
Brooklyn stops what she’s doing and catches my gaze over her shoulder. “Seriously?”
I give one slow nod as confirmation. “When it broke, I was put on administrative leave, pending investigation. They thought there was no way I couldn’t have known what he was up to or been involved somehow.”
“What exactly did he do?” she asks, turning and focusing her attention back on the knob.
“He was being paid to turn a blind eye for a lot of stuff and, in a way, used as a hired gun for other things. He was taking bribes to lose evidence and fabricate testimonies regarding a case involving racketeering and money laundering.”
“Jesus,” she whispers, poking her little hair pin into the knob once more.
“Yeah. It was a nightmare. My coworkers all looked at me like I was the dirty one, even after I had been cleared. The woman I was dating at the time up and left during the shitstorm, claiming she didn’t want anything to do with the press that followed me everywhere I went. It was like I couldn’t get away from all the bullshit, ya know? Even after I was allowed back to work. Everyone just…looked at me differently.”
She glances my way again. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Anyway, I was talking to my sister one night and she mentioned this place. She really painted a great picture of Rivers Edge and even told me about an opening on the force, and well, I just decided right then and there I needed a change. I turned in my notice the next week and prepared to move to Missouri. The rest is history.”
Brooklyn doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she’s listening intently. Silence fills the room once more, and I can’t help but wonder what in the hell I’m going to talk about now. I basically just bared the most embarrassing, traumatic drama of my life, and I hate the vulnerability it makes me feel. But if I can share this piece of me with anyone, I want it to be Brooklyn.
I trust her.
“My dad isn’t my biological dad.”
Her shocking words ring loud in the room, though they’re barely above a whisper. I decide to remain silent, taking my lead from her.
“My mom was young when she got pregnant with me. The guy she was dating wanted nothing to do with being a parent, so he left. Dad was best friends with my uncle, Jake, and Mom met Dad through him. He adopted me when I was four years old, after they got married.”
“You love him.” I don’t know why I say it. It’s evident in the way she talks to him and about him.
“More than anyone, Mom excluded,” she glances over her shoulder, her eyes finding purchase with mine. “He’s my dad.”
“Of course he is.”
She sits there, fidgeting with the pin once more. “He was there for me when no one else was. Well, technically, that’s not true. My uncles were there, but that’s different. He…loved me, you know? And has never once treated me like I wasn’t his daughter. Even after my brothers and sister came along. I was always…his.”
The emotion that swells in my chest makes it hard to breathe. No, I don’t know my captain that well, but his daughter has painted a pretty damn good picture of him. He’s a family man with a hard exterior, who takes care of those he loves.
“How did your dinner with them go earlier?” I’ve wanted to ask since the moment we were alone in the car, but felt that if she wanted to tell me, she would.
“Fine. It was a little tense at first, but after he grilled me for a few minutes, I told him that I liked you and wanted to see where a relationship went. He’s worried about the future, if it doesn’t work out, and we have to work together.”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we get there,” I tell her, relaxing even more.
She nods. “Plus, my mom told him to stop being a stubborn jackass and let me live my life.” Her giggle is the sweetest sound. “Mom’s always had a way to get through to him when he goes all over-protective, extreme dad on me.”
“He’s a lucky man, Bee. His daughter is truly amazing,” I confess, just as the flip of the lock fills the room.
She turns and looks at me, her smile wide and her blue eyes sparkling. “Got it,” she whispers, grinning like a loon.
Standing up, I join her at the door. “Do I want to know how you learned to do that?”
Brooklyn beams proudly. “My uncle, Nate, taught me when I was younger. He said every girl needs to know how to pick a lock,” she replies casually with the gentle shrug of her shoulder.
“Your uncle taught you how to pick a lock? I can’t wait to meet this uncle,” I reply, pulling my gun from my holster.
“That’s good because he’ll be there at the Stevens’ Christmas gathering,” she states, reminding me of the night in the hospital earlier in the week when her other uncle, Will, I believe, said to bring me to Christmas dinner. There’s been no other mention of it, so I assumed I was eating take-out alone for the big holiday.
But maybe not…
Maybe I’ll be spending the day with Brooklyn.
And her family.
Chapter Nine
Brooklyn
I follow my partner out of the small storage room, my gun held firmly in my right hand as my eyes scan the expansive warehouse. There are two assailants throwing the last of their loot into the back of a pickup truck before giving the room one last once-over.
“Ready?” one of them inquires.
“Yeah. What about those two?” the other asks, nodding toward the small room we were recently locked inside.
“Leave ‘em. More cops will be here soon when they don’t check in,” the one who’s in charge states.
Becker holds up his hand, letting me know he’s about to make a move. The assailants are about to get in the truck and leave, but we’re not going to let them get away. My partner moves to the front of the truck, keeping his body pressed against the shadowed wall. Just before the two guys get in, he yells, “Hands where we can see them.”
The first guy instantly throws his hands in the air, his eyes wide with fear and shock. The second guy, however, makes a move for something. I’m several feet behind Becker, my gun trained at the man with
his hands up, and watch, in slow motion, as the driver of the truck pulls something shiny from his waistband. He swings in my direction, ready to pull the trigger. I react, moving my gun his way, but I’m too slow. The shot fires moments before I’m slammed hard into the concrete floor. The air expels from my lungs and I struggle to breathe from the combination of the fall and the weight on top of me.
Just then, a second shot is fired, and I wait for the pain.
There is none.
I roll to the side, taking Becker with me. His eyes are closed and I can see the hole in his uniform top, directly above his heart. The panic sets in. My blood freezes in my veins and is replaced by unbridled fear. “No, no, no, no,” I chant, getting up on my knees beside his lifeless body.
My fingers fly to his neck, where his pulse beats strong and steady. A touch of relief mixes with my anxiety. “Becker? Can you hear me?” I ask, placing my hand over the wound to apply pressure. “Don’t you dare do this now. It’s freaking Christmas, for God’s sake. We’re supposed to go to my grandma and grandpa’s house. My uncles are supposed to harass and interrogate you like a criminal. You’re supposed to kiss me under the mistletoe, even though my dad will be there and glare at you from across the room.”
“I’ll kiss you anywhere, Bee.” His words are soft, as is the smile that spreads across his face as he opens his hazel eyes and gazes up at me. So much relief fills my body that I swear it could carry me out of here like a balloon.
“You’re alive,” I laugh, smiling widely down at the man lying in front of me. Lifting my hands, I find them dry and free from the blood I expected. “But, you were shot,” I state, incredulously.
“Vest,” he says, trying to sit up and failing. “Fuck, that’s gonna leave a mark,” he adds, groaning.
Smiling, I run my hand over his stubbly cheek. “You jumped in front of that bullet.”
His eyes burn with intensity, with desire, and with so much care as he slowly grins up at me. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
I’m moving, his mouth drawing closer, before I even register what I’m doing. Just before our lips connect, I hear, “Ambulance is on the way.”
I startle, turning to find Uncle Jake kneeling beside me. “Interesting way to get out of work early, Ramsey,” our Lieutenant states, the smile on his face obvious that he’s joking.
“Yeah, well, I had nothing better to do,” Becker says, grimacing in pain as he tries to sit up. Jake extends his hand, helping him to sit on the concrete floor.
“The second shot? You took down the shooter?” I ask, as I remain kneeling at Becker’s side.
“Not me,” Uncle Jake says, nodding his head to the side. “Bastard got the jump on me.” I already know who he’s referring to.
When I glance over, I find his old partner—my dad—with his gun trained on the crying, thrashing driver of the truck. The other is lying on the ground beside him, his hands cuffed behind his back.
“We walked in just as the driver was drawing his gun,” Jake adds, his facial features dark and haunted. “We both had our guns up, ready, when we saw Ramsey turn and jump.”
Again, I look over my shoulder at the man standing behind me. He looks both pissed off and scared to death and never takes his eyes off me. The sound of an ambulance siren can be heard in the distance as I stand up and slowly make my way toward him. My legs are shaky, but I manage to somehow hold myself up in front of him.
“You okay?” Dad asks, seeming to check me over for injury.
“I’m okay.” Glancing down at the men on the ground, I ask, “You shot him?”
“In the leg,” he responds, shrugging his shoulder.
Instead of speaking, I throw my arms around his broad shoulders and just hold him. Dad’s arms wrap around me, holding me just as tight, if not a bit stronger. He seems to take a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling his relief. “I love you, baby girl,” he whispers.
“I love you too, Daddy.”
When he sets me back down on my feet, the ambulance is here. Two men, one being my Uncle Will, come inside and take in the scene before them. Dad points to Ramsey. “Officer down, but he’ll be okay. Bullet to the vest. This one has a gunshot wound to the leg, also will be okay.”
Uncle Will heads over to my partner, while the woman he’s with comes over to check out the leg wound.
The next hour flies by as the chief arrives on the scene, since an officer discharged his weapon. He listens as Uncle Jake and Dad recount what happened, including them watch Ramsey jump in front of me to take the bullet. Chief doesn’t say much to me, just instructs me to ride to the hospital with my partner. I, of course, don’t refuse. Even though he insists he’s fine, it’s protocol to be checked out.
At the hospital, they do an X-ray to Becker’s chest and find a cracked rib from the force of the bullet. Bruising is already settled in too, but for the most part, he’ll be fine. Plus, I’ve been able to stare at his bare chest for the last thirty minutes or so, which is a pretty stellar view, considering I’m in a hospital.
“You’re all set to go,” the ER doc comes in, discharge papers in hand. “You’ll be sore for a while. I’ve got a prescription for pain meds,” he starts, but Becker cuts him off.
“No need. I’ll take Tylenol.”
The doc just looks at him. “Fine, but if you do need something stronger, you’ll have the prescription,” he says, attaching the script to the discharge orders.
They run through the list of things he should and shouldn’t do, but Becker’s eyes are on me the whole time. When he signs his name on the paperwork, he gets up, albeit a little gingerly. I help him slide on his uniform top, even though it has a bullet hole in the front. He can’t exactly go outside in freezing temperatures without anything covering his amazing chest.
Dammit.
Plus, the nurse seemed a little too eager to be of assistance when it came to dressing (and even undressing) my partner.
With the doctor’s orders in hand, we make our way through the short hallway of the emergency department and toward the front entrance. When I find two men there, leaning against the wall, I stop in my tracks.
“How ya feeling?” Uncle Jake asks Ramsey, his eyes assessing him before turning to me. There, he clearly notices my partner’s arm slung over my shoulder and my own arm wrapped around his waist. Not entirely because of his soreness either. Partially because I just wanted to touch him as reassurance that he’s here and okay.
“Fine. Tired. I’m ready to crash for a few hours,” Becker states, not moving his arm, even though he’s being watched like a hawk.
I glance at my dad, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches as Becker and I make our way to the entrance. When we step through the doorway, the cold air assaults me, the chill seeping into my bones.
“I hear it’s supposed to snow later,” Uncle Jake says, opening the back door of the squad they’re driving.
“Really? I’ve never seen snow,” Becker says as he slowly lowers himself in the back seat.
“Seriously?” I ask, glancing down at his grimaced face.
“Well, not real snow. We have flurries in southern Oklahoma during a cold spell, but it doesn’t last long.”
“You’re definitely in luck, Ramsey. You’ll get your fill of snow in Missouri,” Uncle Jake says, getting into the passenger seat, while my dad goes around to the driver’s side. “We’re supposed to have a white Christmas later today. Erin is excited and wants us all to sled tomorrow,” he adds, referring to his wife and his brood of kids.
We’re somewhat quiet on the ride to our condo building, though that doesn’t stop me from reaching across the seat and taking Becker’s hand in mine. Uncle Jake fills the short time with random thoughts and questions, mostly directed at Ramsey. About the shooting, his past, his family.
When Dad pulls into the complex where our condos are, he stops in Becker’s driveway first. I jump out to help him from the back seat, but Becker has other ideas. He’s already climbing out, ver
y, very carefully, by the time I get around to his side. Dad and my uncle both get out of the car and meet us at the hood. “I’m going to walk him in and help him get settled,” I tell them, watching as both of their eyes remain unreadable. They’re both in cop mode, and there’s no mistaking how they observe my every move.
“See you in a while?” Uncle Jake asks, coming up to give me a hug. With my face planted in his wide chest, I’m unable to see the look he gives my partner.
“I’ll be there,” I tell him, backing up and turning to my dad.
He pulls me immediately into his arms and kisses my forehead. “Love you,” he whispers, holding on extra tight for a few moments longer.
“Love you, Daddy,” I whisper.
When we finally let go, I move to join my partner as he slowly makes his way to his front door. He tries to dig in his pocket for his keys, but finds it difficult to maneuver his body without jarring his cracked rib. “Let me,” I reply, digging into the front pocket of his uniform pants without giving it a single thought.
You know, like the fact that my dad and my most overprotective uncle are watching just feet away.
Becker grunts as I wiggle my hand in the tight space, brushing against his cock in the process. My face burns instantly, and I keep my eyes averted downward. When I finally have the keys in my hand, I turn and unlock the door, holding it open for the injured man who lives here.
I throw an awkward wave at the two men watching and step inside. My plan is to help get him settled in bed to rest and then slip back to my own place for a shower and some sleep. I only have about five hours before I have to get ready for my grandparents’ Christmas dinner.
Just as I turn to shut the door, my father’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Ramsey?”
Becker turns around, the movements jarring his upper chest and causing him discomfort. “Sir?”
“We’ll see you at dinner, right?”
I can feel Becker straighten beside me. “Uhh, yes. Yes, sir.”