Frisked in Fondant: Tulle and Tulips, Book 6 (3 page)

Chapter Three

“What kind of dumbass are you?”

No stranger to his captain’s wrath, Kyle faced the man who struck fear in the hearts and souls of every man under his command. Kyle had grown up calling the man Dad, so though he respected him, he didn’t fear him. He knew when to push and when not to. He also knew what approach to take at different times, how much information to divulge and how much to withhold until later. “Should I sit? Is this going to take long?”

“I expect better of you than to get involved with a victim.”

A lifetime of lectures provided his answer. Kyle sat and held his tongue. His time to speak would come.

He had told his father about staying the night at a victim’s house, though he’d made it sound like less than what it had been. He’d focused on a recap of the work he’d done while Gisella had been asleep and he’d been too restless to stay beside her. It hadn’t been minimized enough to curtail a lecture.

“Getting involved with a victim is the kind of asshole move the idiots out there would pull.” Captain Riley gestured toward the busy room beyond his office. “When the hell is Lisa going to be back to keep you in line?”

“I wouldn’t call it an involvement.” One night didn’t make an involvement. “And I don’t need Lisa to keep me in line.”

If Lisa had been with him, the night would have turned out differently. Or not. Even she couldn’t change the way Kyle had responded to Gisella.

“Do you have nothing to say for yourself?”

Kyle watched the man glowering from the other side of the desk. He was larger than life and more powerful than his slender build would suggest. The men and women working for him claimed he was a hard-ass with little personality. And he was a hard-ass. On the job. Kyle, though, knew a softer side of the man.

“Question for you,” Kyle said.

“It better be damn good.” The crossed arms and hard scowl didn’t put Kyle off. Knowing the answer to what would be asked before it was asked didn’t put him off. He’d faced the evidence every day of his life.

“How’s it make you feel when Mom walks in the room?”

Captain uncrossed his arms. When he leaned forward and his elbows landed on the desk with a thwack, Captain Riley became Dad. Dad was entirely approachable and easy to confide in. Dad had guided Kyle through too many tricky situations to count, and this case, Gisella, was a tricky situation. “You’re not saying this woman makes you feel like your mom makes me feel, are you?”

“I’m saying she intrigues me in a way I’ve not experienced before. She has since Vic’s wedding.” He wouldn’t put a name to what he was feeling; it was much too soon in what could barely be called an acquaintance. Gisella deserved time to heal before dealing with him and the consequences of being with a cop. He would be a constant reminder of what she’d faced.

“She was at the wedding?”

Kyle nodded. “I walked her down the aisle.”

“Shit.”

That’s what Dad said without knowing Kyle had slept beside her. Or considered waking her up with a kiss. Or fantasized about kissing her before he left until they were both panting. Some details, no matter how close they were, didn’t need to be shared with Captain or Dad. “I couldn’t walk away from her.”

“Your mom will love hearing that.”

“I’d prefer she not hear about it yet.” At least until he’d worked a few things out for himself.

“What do you want?”

Dad returned to being Captain Riley, so Kyle attempted to return things to a professional footing. “I’d like to call in the FBI on this case.”

“Why? This case isn’t federal.”

“No, but if I talked to Trevor’s friend Breck… Fresh eyes can be the difference between stopping the invasions or not.”

“Is that the only reason?” Dad was always harder to convince as Captain Riley.

“Their labs can process the evidence faster.”

“You said you were closer than ever before last night.”

“It’s not enough.” Close hadn’t been good enough for Gisella.

“Last night’s victim is out there right now working with an artist. We’ll have a rendering of both perps to get out, which will give homeowners a better chance at staying safe. A tip line is being set up now.”

“It’s not enough. It’s not enough when they strike with greater precision and violence each time. It’s not enough when a woman is beaten and gets her throat cut because I wasn’t able to stop her attackers.” Kyle leaned forward and chewed on his lip. “It’s not enough if one more person suffers, because these assholes may not stop on this side of murder next time.”

“I’ve never heard you use so many words at one time.” Dad almost smiled. “I want to see what you do with this passion.”

“You’re making this one of your tests?”

“I’ve also never seen you doubt yourself,” Dad said. “Someone you care about became a victim, and you’re being forced to face emotions you can’t easily categorize. Calling in the FBI for a consult isn’t going to change that or make it easier. You’ll lose more time catching them up than you can afford. If I thought you couldn’t do it I’d call Breck’s team myself.”

Kyle hated sound logic when it worked against him. “Let me ask for more help.”

“You have all the help you need in the bullpen.”

His next request crossed his lips as fast as it formed in his mind. “I need access to every tip coming in on the tip line.”

“There may be a lot to wade through.”

Kyle shrugged. “Reassign my other cases. Let me work this one full-time.”

Dad sat back and crossed his arms. His index finger tapped an elbow. “No. I will get you an access code for the tip line recordings though. Find what distance you can from her and work through it.”

Annoyance faded beneath the anger of having his hands tied. Kyle chose not to fight. He nodded and left. He hadn’t expected to get his way, with Dad or Captain, but he’d needed to try.

He hated doing it, because it meant giving up control, but he took Dad’s advice to ask for help. Unfortunately, Blake was the only detective around who didn’t look to be swamped. Kyle sucked it up and asked him to take Gisella home when she was finished with the sketch artist. With her taken care of, he grabbed what he needed from his desk and left the precinct.

The faster he solved her case and caught the assholes responsible for cutting her, the sooner he could explore the idea of sex. The prospect of sex with Gisella was arousing.

* * * * *

Gisella wasn’t ready to face her friends, but she was less ready to face her home without Kyle and the protection he offered. And now, awake and very aware of what she’d asked him for last night, she wasn’t ready to analyze her feelings. Only one thing offered her an escape from thinking about things she’d be better off ignoring.

Baking.

“Detective Blake,” she said when he slid behind the steering wheel of his car, “would you mind driving me to my office instead of home?”

“Not at all. Tell me where I’m going.”

Detective Blake was unimpressive as far as men went, at least in her opinion. He was handsome and nice enough, with nothing special jumping out at her. Nothing about him encouraged her to open up and talk, so she left the conversation to giving him her office address.

“You work at Blue Chip Technologies?”

“In the building. You know it?”

“Everyone knows Blue Chip.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Gisella hadn’t known about them until she’d gotten into business with Lori Mullins as the cake designer for Tulle and Tulips Designer Weddings. Now she knew some of the people from Blue Chip, but not many, and she couldn’t go into any specifics on what the company did. Her technological prowess began and ended with tools used for cake baking and decorating.

His following silence suited her. The silence allowed her to formulate a few plans on how to deal with her friends, at least the ones in the office on a Saturday morning. Being a rare weekend without a wedding to work, the group would be smaller.

Detective Blake pulled up to the curb outside the front of the building.

“Thank you.” Gisella reached for the door.

“Let me walk you in.”

“I’ll be fine.” Brad, one of the main security guards, would be on duty at the security desk, and no one got past him without proper credentials. There was a rear entrance to the building, but it had a keypad that required individual codes for anyone entering.

“Thanks for the ride.” She got out and headed to the building before Detective Blake could argue or make insistences.

Each step closer to the entrance had Gisella wishing she’d worn a scarf to hide the bandage on her neck. She would have if she’d planned on going anywhere other than the precinct with Kyle.

Brad was at the door, holding it open with an I’m-ready-to-kick-some-ass look on his face, before she reached it. “Gisella. What happened to you?”

“Kitchen mishap.” It wasn’t a complete lie; she
had
been cut in the kitchen.

“You should be more careful.” His stance relaxed to his more amiable one as they headed toward his desk. A benefit to keeping their conversations very limited was the quick end to this encounter. Her friends would be tougher.

“I will be.” She waved goodbye to Brad. He went to the chair behind the front desk; she headed down the hall.

Brad may fall for the explanation, but her friends wouldn’t be as easily fooled. Spending enough time for people to become experts at reading her hadn’t been a problem before. She’d never considered it could possibly become one. Until now, when she approached her office, her friends, and their insights.

The double glass doors etched with the Tulle and Tulips logo loomed closer with every elevator she passed. Most days the sight brought pleasure and a sense of ownership, the thrill of having control over her life. A new perspective tinted the thrill today.

She had no more control over her life than anyone else, however much she didn’t want to admit it.

She pushed a door open and entered. While all the planners didn’t always work on the weekend, the place was oddly quiet for a Saturday morning. Jenny, the main receptionist, and Sheree, Tabatha’s assistant, stood at the desk talking quietly. A couple of clients sat in the waiting area flipping through catalogs.

Gisella turned toward her office, thankfully located toward the front of the space, and hoped to avoid detection.

“Gisella,” Jenny called out.

Gisella stopped and dropped her head the slightest bit before angling toward Jenny. She’d almost made it to the door to her front office space. She’d almost avoided discovery, because if she’d made it to the bakery behind her meeting room no one would have thought to look for her.

“Yes?”

“You have a message.” Jenny hesitated, but there was something in her tone that said she was pausing for effect.

Gisella kept her face averted as she approached the desk. Both Jenny and Sheree trained their gazes on her neck.

“A Kyle wants you to call him.”

“Thank you.” Wishful thinking had Gisella turning toward her office. It had taken no time at all for Detective Blake to tell Kyle where she was, and then for Kyle to make sure she got a message.

“You going to tell us about that bandage? Or the man?” Sheree challenged her with a look. “Or do I need to go get Lori?”

As threats went, it was a powerful one. Lori wasn’t the oldest of them, but she was the primary owner of Tulle and Tulips and no one doubted she was the woman in charge. Her in-chargeness wasn’t limited to work. No one kept secrets from Lori.

“I’m not talking about it while there are clients here.” They would have a hard time arguing with professional logic, and she wasn’t too ashamed to use it. “I’ll talk about it later, and only once.”

Jenny and Sheree measured her with their stares, before finally nodding. Jenny, not the one to generally be the serious one, spoke. “Can you promise you’re okay?”

Sheree picked up where Jenny left off before Gisella could answer. “We’ll know if you lie.”

Of course they would. The trouble with friends who knew how to read you was they knew when you lied. “I’m fine. It’s a small cut. Didn’t even need stitches.”
Real ones with thread anyway.

Taking their nods as acceptance and agreement to hold their questions, Gisella turned and headed toward her bakery behind her office. Regardless how temporary the reprieve might be, why tempt the Fates when they were in favorable moods?

The same principal applied to Kyle, but she wasn’t ready to talk to him, to think about what she’d attempted to do the night before or how amazing it had been to fall asleep beside him, so she sent him a text message.

At work. Surrounded by people. Safe.

A text came back quickly.
Let me know when you leave. Don’t go home alone.

If she asked anyone for a ride home it would be Lori. As a former government agent, the woman had training. Most importantly, she knew how to balance protection and privacy.

Gisella’s wish for privacy wavered a few minutes later when Izzy, their resident expert on hair and makeup, swirled into the room. Gisella angled her face away from Izzy, knowing she would see the bruise. Questions would follow.

“What is this I hear about you cutting yourself? And please tell me the doctor was a sexy one.”

Izzy embodied romance from her everything-is-rosy outlook to her Renaissance-style clothes. Her hopeful view on life was infectious and had Gisella laughing. “You’re just like the rest of them.” Their friends. “Always looking for the hot guy.”

“Are you telling me there wasn’t one?” Izzy hopped onto the counter Gisella normally worked at when decorating a cake and pointed toward Gisella’s bandage. Fortunately, she was on the side opposite the bruise. If she kept her head down, Gisella might get lucky. “A man would make that less sucky.”

“Less sucky?”

“You have another way to describe it? And why aren’t you telling me about the man?”

Sucky was one way to describe the night she’d had. At least until Kyle had climbed into her bed and kept her fears at bay. Sucky had not been the feeling of his hand on her hip or his fingers drawing unseen circles over her. No, his touch had been delicious. Hot.

“I know there was a man.” Izzy wiggled a little, her grin growing wider. “You may as well confess everything. You know we’ll all find out.”