Jacked (21 page)

I pulled my tan suede coat with the fluffy cream liner off the hanger, relieved that he was proving me wrong.

Adam reached for my coat. “Here, let me.”

I froze, wondering if he was for real, until he started to help me put my coat on. The subconscious version of my mother that lives inside my brain started cheering and doing a most annoying and very age-inappropriate jig at his act of chivalry. I knew the moment Christine Novak would witness any of his gallantry, she’d be rushing off to organize my wedding.

I paused on my front stoop while he made sure my front door was securely locked, spending a few seconds giving the knob a twist and the door a light shove to make sure it wouldn’t open back up. The cynic in me wondered if all this was an act but these things seemed to come quite naturally for him.

I followed him to the passenger side of his truck in silence and felt another heart spike when he held the door open for me. He waited until I was set and then closed my door.

As soon as he climbed into the driver’s seat, he pulled a piece of paper free from the visor. “Here, you’ll need this.”

I unfolded the paper. My heart skipped again. He had gotten a copy of the police report for me. I looked over at him, wanting to hug him for being so damn thoughtful. “Thank you.”

He nodded once, winked, then backed his truck out of my driveway.

We made it three blocks before I had to kill the awkward silence. I figured since he wasn’t talking there must be something still bothering him. Why he was taking care of my problems was beyond me. “Thank you for coming to my rescue this morning. I just want you to know that I’m really sorry.”

He gave me a real quick, quizzical glance. “For?”

I took a deep breath. “You—having to intervene. I shouldn’t have tried to drive myself to the title place. I’m guessing you’re still mad at me, but I was a little desperate.”

“I’m not mad at you, Erin, all right?”

Even though he said it, I wasn’t completely convinced. “You almost got into a fight because of me.”

Adam sighed heavily. “That had nothing to do with you. Trust me.”

Again with the patronization. I’d rather he be honest with me.

“Hey. I’m serious,” he stressed, gazing at me a few extra seconds to accentuate his point. “Assholes from my old unit… well, that’s another subject. Nothing for you to feel responsible for. I’ll just feel a hell of a lot better once we get a new plate on your car.”

I nodded, wondering if I should ask about the strained relationship he briskly brushed over. “Thanks for taking me. I appreciate it.”
More than you know.

“Well, I can’t have you breaking the law around me now, can I?”

I fought my private smile at his innuendo and the sultry sound of his voice as he delivered it. “I suppose not. So I guess knocking over a convenience store is out of the question then, huh?”

“Depends,” he drawled, leaning up on the steering wheel to eye oncoming traffic.

“On?”

He slowed his truck behind an older brown minivan before stopping fully at the red light. “On how badly you want to wear my cuffs again.”

The way his eyes glinted and the tip of his tongue wet his bottom lip when he turned that heated gaze my way… oh God; he knew just exactly how to make me squirm, blush, and feel alive all at the same time.

He measured me up and down, definitely waiting on a reply, one that I was afraid to answer truthfully. “Can I get back to you on that?”

That sly grin warmed his face. “Yes, please do. I’ll wait.” He made a right onto Fairfax Road, snickering to himself.

I left it at that. “So what happens if you find my original plate?”

“Well,” he started, tapping his thumb on the wheel in tune with the music softly playing over the radio, “with any luck it will be attached to a stolen car. And if we’re really lucky, the thief who stole the car will be driving.”

Picturing what he would do once he found the car thief was all too familiar. I had to shake off the slight shudder. “Then
he
gets to wear your cuffs.”

“Yep. Then he gets to wear my cuffs. And then he gets to have his picture taken, we fill out a bunch of paperwork, and he gets a special visit with a judge. But I highly doubt we’ll ever find your plate. Just so you know.”

I thought about how one idiot swapping my plate was the catalyst for Adam and I even meeting. “If you hadn’t been driving by this morning, I’d probably be in that Officer Asshole’s cuffs.”

Adam growled. “Yeah, about that… You want to explain to me why he tried to get you for D.U.I.?”

I felt foolish all over again, recounting the circumstances leading up to me hitting my head on my own damn steering wheel. “I think he recognized me from the diner. He seemed to enjoy causing me grief—just like he did to you the day we had breakfast.”

I saw the hint of anger on his face, though he was holding most of it in. “You want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“What his beef is with you?”

Adam’s shoulder dropped slightly, hinting at that being a resounding
No
.

“It’s been years since… Honestly, it’s water under the bridge.”

“Adam.”

I saw his grip tighten on the wheel. He wasn’t the first guy to give me the stoic silent treatment, making a career out of building walls.

“I can tell it bothers you.”

“It really doesn’t.”

He was about as good a liar as I was, which was a dead giveaway.

He played it off as if I was digging for something that wasn’t there. “You looking for a confession, or what?”

“No, I’m looking for honesty and openness. I thought we were starting over. But it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. It’s your business and I respect your privacy.” I had my own past to protect.

He drew in a deep breath while I broke this physical attraction between us down to nothing more than a doomed proposition.

“You don’t pull any punches, do you? You go right for the deep shit.”

I shrugged. “I tend to search for the life-threatening issues first. You know—the stuff that kills you.”

He leveled his eyes on me. “You planning on trying to heal me, Doc?”

I didn’t care for his tone. It was one that I was quite familiar with, laced with hints for me to back off. Pity for him it was a challenge to me and provided even more incentive to rise to the occasion. “If you need healing, Detective. I might have to tear a few Band-Aids off first. Don’t quite know the severity of your wounds until you show me or let me look. Just so you know, some things are beyond my ability to fix, and subjecting yourself to receiving treatment is solely your option.”

He snorted at that. “Sounds like this might come with a probing physical. Grab my ankles and turn and cough. So what is it you’d like to know?” he muttered low, reluctantly conceding.

I rested my elbow on the edge of the window while I watched the sitcom of my life go by at forty-five miles per hour.
Wow
. If getting him to talk about the simplest of hurts was this hard, any deep shit that would come up in a relationship would be grounds for sitting in separate rooms. “Nothing. I want to know nothing,” I barely answered, hating the sound of the quiet resignation etching my own voice.

Randy never wanted to talk, either. Take me to bed and fuck me—yes. Litter my apartment with his shit while eating on my couch and using my pillows as napkin—yes. Talk to me or share emotions or anything that truly mattered—hell no.

I’d fair better if I’d just learned that those were things I’d never have in a relationship, as my past surely outlined that to be a hard and cold fact. Men were stoic and women bottled their feelings until they erupted and overflowed. Those were lessons Randy drove home repeatedly. He gave nothing while I drowned in silence.

Less than twenty-four hours ago I properly diagnosed Appendicitis, treated a ninety-two-year-old woman with a fractured pelvis, and brought a patient out of afib, but there was no medical diagnosis for this moment.
Stupidity, perhaps?
Myocardial desperation? Don’t recall seeing that one on the MCAT.

It bothered me that every time I got involved with a guy the same crap repeated, even though my friends seemed to find men who didn’t fit the standard mold. Just a few days ago, this gorgeous man sitting next to me convinced me that our encounter could never bloom into anything even closely resembling a relationship, and here we were, repeating it all over again. Maybe one of us should have listened.

I glanced at my phone, willing the damn thing to ring or chime a new message or give me a reason to disappear into my own protective world. But I knew it wouldn’t ring. Those who truly cared about me were busy with their own lives. Perhaps being single had its benefits, as dealing with men was terribly exhausting.
Exasperating. Debilitating. No, not quite debilitating. What’s the word I’m looking for? Annoying? Trying? Tiring?

“I made sergeant,” he said, surprising me that he spoke.

He glanced at me quickly and then resumed his vigilant attention on the road. “Before I was with the ATTF, back in my old unit. Castoll was up for a promotion, too, but I got it instead.”

And with that detail, the grinding twitch in his jaw returned. I surmised that opening up to
anyone
wasn’t something that Detective Adam Trent was comfortable with. Still, I was relieved that he was making an effort.

“Needless to say, he didn’t take it very well. He had more years of service in than me and he made a point of reminding everyone of that every chance he got.”

Being in emergency medicine, where some of my colleagues had huge egos, I could completely relate. “Well, apparently he didn’t earn it or deserve it.”

Adam let out a partial laugh. “Yeah, well he didn’t see it that way. Having to report to me as his shift supervisor made it even worse. His friends didn’t take it well, either. Shit got uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?”

Adam nodded.

“Like how?”

He stretched his neck. “It’s not something I really care to rehash, Erin.”

I could relate to that, too. There were some stories I’d rather never have to rehash, myself. “Okay. I understand. It’s fine.” I watched the buildings and storefronts pass by my window, streaking into a blur of glass and signs and messages.

“He tried to pin some shit on me.” Adam ground his jaw again. “Even…” His head swayed and he let out a muffled curse. “It cost me my partner.”

“What an asshole.”

He blew out a long breath. “Yeah. Understatement. Castoll’s held a grudge ever since, so when word went out that they were creating a new task force, I put in for the transfer. That was another strike against me, I suppose.”

“Why? I would think that you leaving his unit would make him happy.”

“Yeah, you’d think.”

“And the skinny one? Stiles?”

Adam shrugged. “One of Castoll’s supporters. Been his partner for years.”

It was starting to make sense. “Did you get even?”

He turned to me, confusion painting his features. “For what?”

“Him trying to pin something on you.”

Adam shook his head. “There was nothing to even up. He failed in his attempts to drum up trouble and I got the hell out of there before he had a chance to succeed.”

I nodded to myself. “So how did it cost you a partner?”

With that, Adam’s body tensed as he stared straight out the windshield. Tension wafted off him in waves. I was almost sorry I’d asked.

“I don’t like talking about it.”

“I can tell.”

His eyes shot over to mine.

I held up a hand. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” I hoped he could hear my understanding and repentance. “I get it. It’s apparent that it’s a very uncomfortable subject for you. We can talk about something else. Really. It’s okay.”

We drove a few blocks while I tried to think of something,
anything
that would be more upbeat.

“It was during a traffic stop,” he finally said, breaking the unnerving silence.

I turned in my seat to face him.

“Three guys in the car, driving way too fast. As soon as I got up on the driver door I smelled it; the car reeked of marijuana. I called for backup before removing any of them from the vehicle. Castoll and Stiles were the closest unit.”

Whatever he was recalling was painful. I could see it in his eyes, his sullen expression, the way his chest rose and fell with each word.

Adam wiped his hand down his face. “Castoll and I exchanged a few heated words as I was removing the driver. I’d just cuffed the dude and was going through his pockets when I heard Tom yell and then them bam, a flash went off. Guy in the back seat had a loaded .45. Caught my partner…” Adam swallowed, his voice eerily monotone, “Caught Tom right in the neck and up into his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.”

I couldn’t suppress my gasp. “Oh, Adam…”

His head rocked. “It happened so fucking fast.”

I let him gather his composure while imagining the bullet’s trajectory and the estimated damage it caused.

“Castoll told I.A. that he’d thought he’d seen me pocket the baggie I’d found in the driver’s pocket and that’s why his attention wasn’t on the backseat passenger.”

My heart immediately sank and twisted, aching for him—for his pain and his injustice. What he’d just laid on me was so much more than I had ever expected. It was beyond heavy, but I took it. I held it. I’d bear it for him. He needed that much.

I reached for his arm, for any part of him that I could touch. He’d made himself vulnerable at my petulant urging and whether or not he wanted comforting, he was going to get it from me because that’s what you do when someone you care about is hurting. You listen, you empathize, you offer healing words whenever possible.

In one conversation, it was more than Randy had ever given me in the eight months we were together.

Adam’s body was rigid. How long had he been dealing with the survivor’s guilt?

He quickly glanced at me again. “So now you know. And that waitress, Kara? I went out with her once, months ago. Just o
nce
.”

I nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

His shrug of indifference wasn’t convincing.