Stripped, page 8
She turned to look at him, blinking slowly. Then she nodded, her ponytail grazing her cheek. “If you’re sure.”
“Not gonna leave you stranded here while Casanova does his thing,” he said, standing and jerking his thumb toward the bar.
She stood too, her chair scraping against the floor. With her boots, she was only a couple of inches shorter than him, and he was surprised how much he liked that. How much he liked her lithe, athletic frame. His ex-wife, Krista, had been petite and curvy. Exactly the type he’d always gone for.
Then again, she’d also broken his heart. At first, she’d been into his badge and uniform—but it turned out that interest had only ever been on a surface level, because she hadn’t understood what she’d signed up for when she’d married a cop. She’d resented the long hours, the secretive nature of the work, the stress Sawyer had sometimes brought home with him. She’d fallen in love with an idea, not reality, and the fighting had started about a year into their marriage. Ultimately, she’d asked him to choose—the job, or her. He’d chosen the job.
He didn’t regret his choice now; the job was part of who he was. It was as though she’d asked him to cut off his arm to prove his love for her. He’d loved her, but the fact that she hadn’t understood him, hadn’t gotten who he was at his core . . . it had really fucking hurt. For months after they’d split, he’d wondered if he’d made a mistake and chosen wrong, but in the end, he knew it hadn’t really been much of a choice. Policing was in his blood, and he couldn’t change his identity, even if it meant losing a woman’s love. He’d accepted that this was his path, and if he was destined to walk it alone, so be it. He’d always be a cop, and he’d long since given up on finding a woman who understood that he and the job were one and the same. Quite simply, going through the divorce had changed him and how he now saw dating and relationships. He’d made a heartrending choice in the past, and the last thing he wanted to do was get himself into a situation where he’d be forced to make another.
“Hey,” Sawyer called as they headed toward the door, Brooke in tow. “I’m gonna drive Simmons back to her car.”
Jack tossed a half-hearted wave over his shoulder, completely preoccupied. Sawyer rolled his eyes and held the door for Brooke, her scent making his gut tighten as she passed by him. He ground his teeth together, fighting back the lust heating his blood and making him want to reach for her.
“So be honest,” she said, falling into step beside him as he walked toward his gray Ford F-150. “How’d today go?”
He shrugged. Tomorrow it wouldn’t matter how today had gone. The captain had seemed receptive to his request, and he’d never turned down a favor for Sawyer before. It wasn’t necessarily standard to request a partner change, but given everything that had happened over the past three weeks, Sawyer figured he was due a little leeway. “Fine.”
She blew out an impatient breath. “Fine? Great. Thanks for the feedback.” She bit her lip and shook her head, as though deciding if she wanted to say more. “No, you know what? It’s not fine.” They reached his truck and she leaned a hip against the passenger side door. “I’m trying to do my job. That means working with you. That means we have to talk. So if you’ve got something to say to me, let’s hear it.”
Her eyes were bright, flashing defiantly. Heat licked up his spine and he stepped into her space and pressed his palms against the truck on either side of her, caging her in. She took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. His gaze dropped to her mouth, but he forced it back up to meet her eyes. His face was inches from hers when he spoke. “Hey?” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he echoed back what she’d said in the storage facility earlier that day. “Fucking hey? I had him. You shouldn’t have . . . You scared the shit out of me, you know that?”
Her eyes held his in the semidark parking lot, her chest rising and falling, not quite touching his. She swallowed and then she relaxed back against the door, some of the stiffness going out of her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . I’m sorry I scared you.” She pressed a finger into his chest, and he glanced down, steeling himself against her touch. “But you didn’t have him, Sawyer, and you wouldn’t have had him without me. I’m sorry about Walker. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. But that’s not on me. And everyone—Jack, Amelia, the captain—seems to know that except you. You can’t push me away because of Walker.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Ryan.”
She pursed her lips together and nodded slowly, dropping her finger from his chest. “Yeah. Sure.”
The air seemed to thicken and pulse around them. Her lips parted as she stared at him, something that almost looked like a challenge shining in her eyes. It would take less than a second to slip his arms around her, pull her against him and reclaim that gorgeous mouth.
But getting involved with an assigned partner wasn’t just frowned upon—it was a fireable offense. Didn’t matter if he couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d felt, how she’d sounded, how she’d tasted—she was off-limits, fully and completely. He reached behind her and pulled the truck’s door open. “Get in the truck, Simmons.”
She smiled at him and turned, hauling her sexy ass up into the cab of his truck. Once she’d tucked her long legs inside, he closed the door and took his time crossing around to the driver’s side, getting his shit together. Something he seemed to be doing a lot around her.
Something he’d hopefully not have to deal with anymore in the very near future.
He slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine. Luke Bryan came blaring out of the speakers, and he hastily reached for the knob on the dash and turned the volume down.
Brooke tipped her head toward the radio. “Love him. I saw him at the Lakewood Amphitheater last summer.”
“Me too.” His brothers, Hunter and Logan, had come to the city for the weekend. Ryan had come to the concert too. It had been a nice distraction from Sawyer’s divorce. The loss of his marriage had left him reeling in a way he hadn’t known how to handle.
“Small world.”
He grunted in agreement. Truthfully, the world was a little too small for his comfort right now. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he maneuvered his truck out of the parking lot. He just needed to get Brooke back to her car at the station before he did something he’d regret. Then she’d be out of his hair, even if she wasn’t out of his brain.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked, swiveling her head to look at him. He kept his eyes on the road and grunted again.
“What the hell’s the deal with the Ferrari?”
Sawyer chuckled, the question easing some of his tension as he rolled to a stop at a red light. “You ever heard of the Ward Group?”
“The huge real estate company?” Her eyes widened as she made the connection. “That’s his family?”
Sawyer nodded. “Yeah. They don’t get along, but he’s a trust fund kid. His big fuck-you to them was refusing to have anything to do with the family business and becoming a cop.”
“Hard to imagine Jack not getting along with anyone. You, on the other hand . . .”
“Hey, I get along fine with my family,” he said, hating how much he liked this. Just driving in the dark, shooting the shit.
“Brothers and sisters?”
“Two brothers. I’m the middle. Hunter’s the oldest, and he’s in the air force, stationed up in Charleston. Logan’s the baby. He’s a firefighter in Savannah.”
Brooke sucked in a breath and grimaced. “Ouch. I’m sorry.”
He laughed as he turned onto Juniper Street. The rivalry between cops and firefighters was notorious and longstanding. “What about you? Brothers and sisters?”
The smile faded from her face and she shook her head. “No. Just me.”
He wanted to know more, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the road. There would be no getting to know her better. They sat in silence for a few minutes, nearing the station.
“My turn,” he said. “The blood on your dress the other night. Were you being straight with me?”
She groaned. “Yeah, Sawyer. I was.”
“Please tell me you’re not still dating that guy.”
She blew out a breath but didn’t answer for several seconds, probably debating whether or not to challenge him about why he even cared. “No. I’m not still dating that guy.” She shook her head, turning her attention out the window.
He stopped at another red light and glanced at her, feeling both angry and indignant on her behalf. What kind of asshat would fuck her over, not realizing what he had?
“One more question,” she said as they pulled into the station’s parking lot. “Amelia’s necklace. There’s a diamond ring on it and every time someone mentions Walker, she touches it. Were they . . . ?”
He put the truck in Park, the familiar ache radiating through his chest. “Yeah. They were together. His parents found the ring after . . . after.” He swallowed thickly, emotion clogging his throat.
Brooke’s face tightened, a shadow of pain flickering across her features. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine . . .” She took a deep breath. “I lost my parents when I was a kid, so I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you. To feel like your world’s been turned upside down.”
He switched off the ignition. “You lost your parents?”
She nodded rapidly, her ponytail bouncing behind her. “When I was nine. Hit-and-run accident.”
The ache in his chest bloomed into something tender and raw. Parents gone. No siblings. Alone. “Foster care?”
She shook her head. “No, my grandparents, my mom’s parents, took me in and raised me, made sure I had a good, happy childhood. My grandfather died a few years ago, so it’s just me and Nan now.” Pain shone in her eyes, and he found himself shifting closer.
“I’m sorry, Brooke. I’m sorry.” And he was. Sorry for her loss. Sorry for being an asshole. Sorry she’d probably hate him tomorrow.
She undid her seat belt and moved a bit closer. “Thanks.” They were completely alone, shrouded in darkness in the silent cab of his truck. The traffic on Peachtree was minimal, the lot filled with empty cars. Cocooned away with her like this, his instinct was to give some of the comfort she’d given him the other night back to her. For the sake of . . . fuck, of everything, he needed to figure out a way to squash it down and ignore it.
He reached for her, his hand grazing against her waist, but he grabbed her door handle instead, pushing open the passenger side door. “Goodnight, Simmons.”
Brooke stared at him for a second, confusion and something he couldn’t name flickering across her face. But after a moment, she grabbed her purse and slipped out of the truck.
“Night, Sawyer. Thanks for the ride.”
She slammed the door behind her without a backward glance.
Chapter Five
It was never a good thing to get called into the captain’s office first thing in the morning. Brooke may have been a baby detective, as Sawyer—frustratingly sexy, maddeningly tempting Sawyer—had called her yesterday, but even she knew that. Second day on the job, and she was already getting hauled into the principal’s office.
The captain had called her over before she’d even had a chance to sit down at her desk or grab a cup of coffee, and the stern look on his face had her wiping her damp palms on her jeans as she made her way toward his office. Her spine tingled, as though she could feel the eyes of her colleagues on her. Had she done something wrong? Had she managed to fuck everything up after just one shift?
Her pulse hammered in her temples as she stepped into his office, forcing a professional smile onto her face. Back at her old precinct, she’d been able to read her commanding officer, but Hill was new to her, and she had no idea if this was typical, or if she was about to get her ass handed to her.
The captain gestured at one of the empty chairs facing his desk, and before her butt hit the upholstery, Sawyer stepped into the room and received an equally stern glare from the captain. It was unsettling the way her entire body lit up like Christmas at just the sight of him.
“Detective Matthews, have a seat.” The captain gestured to the empty chair beside Brooke. She glanced over at Sawyer as he sat down, wondering if she could pick up a clue as to what this was about from him. But he didn’t meet her eyes, instead keeping his gaze forward, focused on the captain’s desk. His body language was tense and closed off, and something about the way he wasn’t even looking at her set off an alarm bell deep in her brain.
Oh, God. Had someone told the captain about her history with Sawyer? Getting romantically and/or sexually involved with an assigned partner was a fireable offense. Had someone overheard something and reported them? A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach, and she swallowed, forcing herself to sit back in her seat.
The captain closed the door to his office and then took a seat behind his desk, folding his hands in front of him, looking unhappy as his eyes darted back and forth between them. Several seconds of silence filled the room before he finally spoke. When he did, his words did nothing to ease the churning in Brooke’s stomach.
“Does someone want to tell me what the hell’s going on here?”
“Sir?” Brooke asked, frowning while hoping she wasn’t about to get fired. Until she knew what this was about, she wasn’t saying anything more.
Sawyer said nothing—no surprise there—and sat stone still in his seat. A thick, almost suffocating tension seemed to fill the room. Unable to help herself, she touched her detective shield, wondering if she’d have to give it back a mere twenty-four hours after first putting it around her neck.
The captain sighed, his gaze narrowing as it continued to swing back and forth between them. Finally it settled on her. “Yesterday after you’d clocked out, Detective Matthews came and spoke to me. Specifically, he came and spoke to me about you. He requested that you be immediately transferred off his team, and implied that you weren’t ready for HEAT. Can you think of any reason as to why he’d do that?”
Sawyer had gone behind her back and tried to get her booted from the team? The captain’s words were like a knife to her chest. For a second she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t seem to focus on anything besides the panic and shock and anger rioting through her body. She felt as though Sawyer had pulled the rug out from under her, and that rug had been covering up a gaping black hole. Her mouth went dry, and she licked her lips, knowing she needed to say something.
She cleared her throat softly, glancing over at Sawyer and trying to keep her shock and anger out of her tone. “No sir, I can’t think of a reason, and respectfully, I disagree. I believe I’m an asset to both this team and this unit. I don’t know why Detective Matthews would’ve told you that.” She hoped he couldn’t pick up on the slight tremble in her voice. Blood rushed to her cheeks, a mixture of anger and humiliation heating her skin.
God, she was so stupid. She’d known that she had some work to do where Sawyer was concerned, but she’d never in a million years thought he’d go behind her back to the captain and try to get her removed from the team by making it seem as though she couldn’t do her job. After last night—the beer and nachos, exchanging cop stories, the ride back to the station—she’d foolishly thought that everything would be fine. That they’d figure out a way to navigate around their physical attraction and maybe even become friends.
But she didn’t make friends with assholes, so that ship had sailed. Assuming she still had a job here.
The captain nodded slowly. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that.” A small bit of relief trickled through her.
Sawyer still said nothing, staring ahead, not looking at her.
The captain sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, if you have some kind of personal history, or if this is about you—” he jabbed a finger in Sawyer’s direction—“needing to get your head straight about Walker being gone.” He rubbed a hand over his smooth head. “Frankly, I don’t care. We have over sixty open cases right now, including the Baracoa investigation. I don’t have time for this shit.” His words took on a tinge of anger, and Brooke sat up a bit straighter, hoping that this was a reprimand and nothing more.
“I’m sorry, sir.” She didn’t know what else to say.
He shook his head. “No need for you to apologize, Simmons.” He leveled his gaze at Sawyer. “Contrary to what Detective Matthews seems to think, I run this unit, not him.” He stood from behind his desk. “Whatever shit is between you, work it out. You’re both adults, both detectives, and I expect you to behave professionally. I don’t want to hear about this again. I won’t have squabbles—personal or professional—derailing my unit. Am I clear?” With hardened eyes, he stared down at Sawyer.
He nodded. “Yes, sir. Understood.” His deep voice came out rough around the edges.
“Briefing in ten.” He shot each of them an intimidating glare. “Until then, I’ll give you the room. Sort your shit out. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison, standing as he left the room. The door latched behind him and Brooke’s anger exploded, bubbling up out of her like boiling water.
“You fucking asshole!” She slammed her hands onto her hips. “What the fuck, Matthews? What the actual fuck?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the floor, shaking his head. “I didn’t have a choice, Brooke.”
Anger crackled over her skin like electricity, and she forced herself to suck in a deep breath. “You didn’t have a choice? Bullshit. I didn’t do anything yesterday to give you the right to go to the captain and tell him I can’t do my job. If you have some kind of problem with me, you should’ve come to talk to me. But oh wait, you don’t do that. I’m so done with this me caveman me no use words shit.”
He didn’t flinch. “There was nothing to talk about. This isn’t going to work.”
