Manhattan Flame (A Bridge & Tunnel Romance Book 2) (9 page)

“How do you know this? I mean how do you know it was Avandeyev?”

“Because he told me after I’d threatened him.”

Tasha was so shocked that she couldn’t even breathe.

After a long moment, she asked, “What are we going to do?”

He shot her a stressed smirk at her use of the word
we
then said, “For starters, I don’t want you alone ever.”

She wasn’t going to fight him on that. She didn’t want to be alone either and started mentally brainstorming her schedule and how she might get away with being with Greer and Jennifer every second. But would the mere presence of her artsy friends dissuade the Russian mob from coming after her? She didn't think so.

“Do you always have your gun on you even when you’re off duty?”

“Always,” he said.

It made her feel slightly better, but it wasn’t as though she could be near him when he was working at the station.

“It’s getting cold,” he said, rubbing her bare arm to warm her up. Cap-sleeves were fine in the afternoon, but this button-down was too thin for the night air. “My place?”

Glancing down at her camera, she said, “I have to transfer my shots onto my computer.”

“If we go to your place, we should stay there.”

“Are you okay with that?”

He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Of course.”

As they walked along the cobblestone path and out of the park, he asked, “So this photography exhibition of yours...?”

“What about it?”

His arm was around her shoulder and he pulled her in, kissing the side of her head and causing her to sidestep as they trailed along.

“Am I invited?”

“Ha!” she blurted out. “Will you show up if you are?”

“Hey, it’s not like your work was on display last night,” he pointed out. “And yes I’ll show up. You’ve got at least twelve pictures of me now. I need to know if I could have a second career as a model.”

When his joke landed, they both tensed a bit, each hoping that Kevin wouldn’t lose his position at the 26th just because he’d gone up against a monster whose reach could be farther than either of them could foresee.

Ten blocks later, Tasha keyed into her building and they trekked the five flights of stairs up to her studio apartment. She turned on a few lights, as Kevin shut and locked the door. The air felt stuffy, the day having warmed up quite a bit, so she drew the curtains back and opened the window then set her camera down on the coffee table. A cool breeze flowed into the space and as she turned, Kevin wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Are you trying to kill me with that short skirt?” he whispered, his face near hers, his chest pressing against her breasts, his hips angling into her body.

“I didn’t know I’d be seeing you today,” she told him playfully and their lips met.

As he kissed her, he hooked his fingers down the waist of her skirt, feeling for the edge of her panties. It was relaxed yet teasing and Tasha realized this was the first time in a long time that she felt like she had a boyfriend. Sure, she might be jumping the gun. This was all so new and they hadn’t talked about where their relationship was going and if it would last beyond the clear and present danger they faced, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t savor the moment.

They traveled around the coffee table, kissing their way to her bed, as Kevin fumbled to unbutton her shirt. She helped him, shrugging the garment off her shoulders and tossing it to the floor.

As if seeing her in her bra had compelled him, he wriggled out of his jacket, letting it fall, and yanked his tee shirt up and over his head. He looked damn fine, bare-chested in his tight jeans. After a moment of eyeing him, however, she asked, “Where’s your gun?” as she worked his jeans open, popping the button and drawing the zipper down.

“Ankle holster,” he said softly in a deep voice.

He stepped back to show her, lifting the hem of his jeans and revealing a black gun braced against his outer ankle.

“You had it with you last time?” she asked.

He shot her a crooked smile, breathing, “Yeah,” and as he unfastened the holster and set the weapon on her desk, he mentioned, “I can be discrete about slipping it off.”

She had to admit if only to herself that it was a turn on. In general, the idea of guns scared her, but knowing that Kevin was trained and licensed to carry was a different story.

She grabbed his hips, feeling his smooth skin, the hard flanks of muscles spanning around his abs—lick lines, she thought. And wouldn’t she like to?

They stared at each other for a lustful moment and then quickly Kevin wrestled out of his boots and jeans, as she popped the clasp of her bra open and let the black lace fall. She didn’t
know
she’d be seeing Kevin tonight, but she had certainly dressed with him in mind.

He helped her out of her skirt, groaning at the sight of her black panties and angling to see her ass. He let out a satisfied breath, discovering she was wearing a thong, and then pressed against her.

She could feel his erection through his navy briefs—hard and big—but without warning, he swung her around, lifting and setting her gently on the desk. Instinctively and in anticipation, she spread her legs and placed her heels on the surface, while Kevin took a step back and drank in the sight of her—breasts swelling with each inhale, her head tipping back against the wall, her thighs long and shapely, a thin strip of black satin between her legs.

He neared her and with warm fingers pulled the black material aside, exposing her vagina and groaning at the sight.

When he began gently fondling her, running his fingertips up and down her labia and exploring the silken folds, she let out a moaning breath.

Using his free hand, he worked his briefs down, his hard erection springing free and slapping against his lower abdomen, as sculpted as it was.

He angled his penis against her inner thigh as he stimulated her with his fingers, making her wet and slippery, playing with her clitoris and causing her to ache.

Then in a quick, confident motion, he lifted her hips, slipping her panties down her legs, which she straightened only to assist him in discarding the garment before planting her heels against the desk again.

He let his briefs fall and stepped out of them then grasped her waist firmly, as he began teasing her, running the tip of his erection along her slippery genitals.

She focused on the feel of him. The head of his penis felt hot and firm. Watching him pleasure her with teasing strokes turned her on. Her breathing quickened and soon she was dying for him to press into her—the sweet sting of his body entering her to soothe the hot ache inside—and fill her with his hard erection.

“Do you even know how sexy you are?” he asked in a smooth and quiet voice.

She smiled and grasped hold of his penis, feeling how hard he was for her and helping him to angle in.

As he penetrated, slowly and groaning, she savored every inch, his girth sending a hot wave through her loins and causing sweat to bead between her breasts.

“Oh God, Tasha,” he moaned, filling her.

When his erection was met with firm resistance deep inside and his hips rested flush against her inner thighs, he began grinding.

The heat and friction, slippery and smooth, was enough to launch her towards the peak, but she breathed deeply and soon he started thrusting in slow, deliberate strokes that hit her g-spot.

“If not being alone,” she said, moaning between each word, “means having you inside of me like this, then sign me up.”

He let out a breathy laugh, angling deeper, as he found her clitoris with his thumb and began delivering a firm massage.

That was all it took. Suddenly a powerful stream of heat flooded through her and she knew she was close to climaxing, but she didn’t want this to end so she grabbed his hand and sucked his index finger into her mouth.

He groaned, thrusting and gazing down at her. He cupped her breast with his other hand as if holding on for dear life and quickened his pace.

The next thing she knew, he had lifted her, scooping his arms under her ass and carrying her towards the bed, his erection still angled deep inside of her.

They fell together, but he rolled her and Tasha found herself straddling him and gazing down at Kevin who was now lying on his back.

She held his hands, lacing their fingers, as she grinded on top of him, but soon he was cupping her breasts, as she worked his body to her pleasure.

“Yes,” she breathed, overcome with a tight surge of ecstasy rushing through her.

“I want to come with you,” he said and her eyes popped open.

They had completely forgotten a condom and realizing this, she settled and stared at him, mouth gaping.

“We didn’t put on-”

“Shit,” he said, lifting onto his elbows.

Though her mind was locked on their error, her body hadn’t quite caught up. He felt too good inside of her and when she began gyrating her hips and relishing the feel of him, long and thick and hard, he smiled and took her hand.

“We should put on a condom,” he told her then quickly added, “for the record, I’ve been tested and I’m clean.”

Was this bad? She didn’t want to stop.

“Are you on birth control?”

Her answer flew out of her even before she had thought it, “Yes.”

And hearing as much must have been enough, because Kevin pulled her against him and rolled so that he was on top.

Pumping into her, Kevin groaned in her ear.

Suddenly, a hot wave began building inside of her and her entire body relaxed in the throes of a surging orgasm. She plowed her fingers through his dark hair and moaned, her head tilting back as the mounting pleasure seized her.

He could tell she was on the brink of climaxing. He quickened his pace accordingly, thrusting to bring himself there in perfect timing.

She cried out, the peak of her orgasm hitting her hard, and Kevin groaned, overcome with the same bliss. 

Smiling as wave upon wave coursed through her, Tasha had never felt so close to another man. It felt like he was hers, her guy,
her person
. Emotions flooded her and they felt so close to love that she had to question whether or not she was crazy.

He slowed, settling on top of her, and gazed into her eyes. His forehead was sweaty so she brushed it dry with her hand.

“I like you,” he said, making her smile.

“I like you, too.”

The look of ease on his face was enough to melt her heart.

He rolled off of her, curling her into his arms and they laid there for a long while, Kevin stroking her wild, black curls and Tasha breathing in the scent of him.

After drifting into sleep, he woke her as he climbed off the bed, whispering, “Gotta use the bathroom.”

Though her eyes floated shut again, she heard him pad down the short hallway and close the door. When the distinct sound of the shower running came muffled through the bathroom door, Tasha fell asleep again.

But it didn’t last.

She woke with a start, as a gloved hand covered her mouth. Terrified, she tried to scream, but it was no use. The man glaring down at her was pressing his hand to her mouth so hard that she couldn't breathe. He spat through his teeth, “Don’t you dare make a sound.”

Vishnevsky.

She bucked and twisted, but couldn’t break free as he dragged her off the bed, the curtains billowing out from a cool breeze.

The window.

He had climbed up the fire escape.

How long had he been out there, watching and waiting for his moment?

She could barely think and was no match for him physically, as he yanked her towards the apartment door.

Praying that Kevin would hear, she kept fighting—elbowing him and doing her best to stomp on his feet—but her blows hardly affected him.

In seconds, he unlocked the door and jerked her into the hallway, naked as she was, and in an instant she felt the sting of a needle prick into the side of her neck.

And her world went dark.

Chapter Ten

Kevin emerged from the bathroom—his hair damp, skin glistening, a towel wrapped around his waist—and immediately sensed something was off.

As he edged down the short hallway, his gaze locked on the apartment door. Were his eyes playing tricks on him or was it ajar?

Rushing over, he discovered the door was open a crack and a sting of dread hit his chest. His gaze darted to the bed.

Empty.

A breeze blew into the apartment, causing the curtains to rustle.

Tasha was gone.

Panicking, his mind was both racing and going blank, and he felt like he was jumping out of his skin, as he began pacing. He plowed his fingers through his damp hair, trying to get a hold of himself enough to think.

He knew Avandeyev was behind this. Kevin shouldn’t have threatened him. But in all practical terms, what could he do about it?

Decisively, he traded the towel around his waist for his briefs and dressed quickly, stumbling around the room. He planted his boot on the desk, hiking his pant-leg up, and attached his holster then double-checked that his gun was primed with the safety latch disengaged before securing the weapon against his ankle. If he was about to go head-to-head with a crime organization, there was no sense in extra obstacles. He’d draw and shoot.

This was insane.

Pacing to the coffee table, he pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and quickly looked up the telephone number for Internal Affairs using the Google app. As he sent the call through, he tried to calm his pounding heart by breathing deeply, but it did little to alleviate his anxiety.

When he heard the department’s outgoing voice message, he quickly glanced at his cell’s screen, noting the time.

“Damn it.”

He hung up and entered 911 into the keypad. His thumb hovered over the Send icon. If he called the police, the responding precinct would be the 26th. Even if officers arrived within minutes and they weren’t dirty, he would still be advised to wait a number of days before filing a missing persons report. And dealing with police in the meantime could potentially eat up hours since they’d have to take Kevin’s statement and comb through every inch of the apartment.

He cursed again then his eyes locked on Tasha’s telephoto camera that was resting on the coffee table.

He grabbed it, yanked the window down and locked it as well as the apartment door, and stepped out into the poorly lit corridor.

Racing down the stairwell, he went over his options—barge into Vishnevsky’s brownstone or speck out the meat packing facility owned by Avandeyev. Both of those locations were in Coney Island so when he spilled onto the sidewalk, cool air blowing through the avenue, he started jogging south along Amsterdam.

He had parked his car a block west of his building and couldn’t get there fast enough. He sprinted, slowing only to look both ways at each intersection, and tried not to obsess over the horrors that Tasha might be suffering.

But how could he not?

This was his fault.

In retaliation, Avandeyev had abducted the beautiful black girl who had seen too much, and Kevin was terrified of what the crime boss intended to do with her.

He couldn’t let himself go there, but it was a damned challenge not to.

When he reached his beat-up sedan, he wasted no time scraping the key in the lock and jumping in. He used the same haste turning the engine and it wasn’t until he had peeled away from the curb, tires screeching as he flew into the street, that he remembered to flip on the headlights.

If getting to his car felt like it had taken an eternity, driving to Coney Island was even more excruciating. He drove, pedal-to-metal, weaving between slower moving vehicles, swerving and at times braking to dodge bumpers and avoid an accident, all the while he jerked the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip.

When Kevin turned onto Vishnevsky’s street, a line of dilapidated brownstones coming into view, he killed the headlights and proceeded at a crawl. But as he neared the address that he had staked out days prior, there was no sign of anyone inside.

He slammed his palm against the steering wheel, gritting his teeth, then stepped on the gas, driving off.

Twelve blocks later, he came to the meat packing facility, having never turned his headlights back on, and pulled along the curb, a solid one hundred yards from the building.

He grabbed Tasha’s camera, which he had set on the passenger’s seat, popped the lens cap off, and found the On switch. Angling the telephoto lens out of the driver’s side window after rolling it down, he spied four men guarding the front.

It was enough of a confirmation that Tasha was inside.

But how would he get to her?

The weakest part of him wanted to call Reilly, beg for mercy, promise to never again mess with Avandeyev, and take the cowards route in order to free the woman who had whirled into his life—the woman he was almost certain he was falling in love with—but could he indenture his career to a crime family?

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with himself.

So he called the one person who had known Reilly for years, the only person who might have sway over the corrupt sergeant.

Kevin’s father.

With his cell dialing, ringtone blaring through the earpiece, he pressed his phone to his ear and checked the clock on the dashboard. It was a little after two in the morning and he had very little faith that his dad would pick up.

He jolted forward when he heard his father groan, “Kev?”

“Dad, yeah I need you to go to your old precinct-”

“It’s the middle of the night. What the hell is going on?”

“It’s Reilly,” he cut in. “He’s gone off the deep end with the Avandeyev crime family-”

“Slow down.”

“Just listen,” he insisted, finally setting the camera on the passenger’s seat. “I need backup.” He rushed through relaying the Coney Island address then explained, “Avandeyev has kidnapped someone and Reilly’s in cahoots.”

“You’re talking crazy, Kevin.”

“I’m about to go in.”

“The hell you are,” he barked. Kevin could almost see him bolting upright in bed, waking Ma.

“He tried to sweep a murder under the rug, Dad. I have reason to believe he’s being paid off. Shit, I don’t care about that. I’m just giving you context so you can tell the 12th and get Uni’s down here. The woman he abducted witnessed the murder, that’s all you need to know.”

“Kev, I don’t want you going off half-cocked.”

“Just call the 12th!” he yelled, going out of his mind with urgency. “She’s in there right now and I don’t know what they’re doing to her.”

He popped the driver’s side door and stepped out onto the street, as his father rattled off ideas about what to do and none of them included sneaking around to the back of the warehouse like he was in the throes of doing.

“You’re the only person I trust,” said Kevin before hanging up and slipping his cell into his back pocket.

He eyed one of the warehouse’s steel doors, which wasn’t being guarded. As he grabbed his gun, he winced at the thought of Tasha scared and alone—and undressed. God, she hadn’t had a stitch of clothing on when Kevin had slipped out of bed for the bathroom. If they’d laid one finger on her, he’d lose his mind.

Jogging to the rear door and aiming his gun low at the ground, he saw that the steel was set flush against bricks, indicating it was likely shut and locked.

When he reached it, he yanked hard on the handle, confirming his guess, and cursed under his breath.

He didn’t want to announce himself, but he had to get inside and get inside fast so he aimed his GLOCK at the lock and fired.

The door bucked, springing open and slamming into the frame. He widened it and proceeded with quiet, cautious steps.

It was dark. The sharp smell of raw meat filled the air, choking him, and as his eyes adjusted he soon made out the shapes of animal carcasses hanging on hooks throughout the space.

He didn’t see movement or figures, no sign that anyone was around. Edging deeper into the room and trailing up an aisle of hanging meat, he heard the muffled and echoing cries of a woman.

Tasha.

He pivoted, sweeping his gun towards the cries, which sounded far off, and discovered a stairwell at the far corner of the warehouse.

He jogged towards it, keeping his eyes peeled and scanning, and his gun poised.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Tasha’s distress came clear as a bell, as she demanded in a weak voice, “Let me go.”

Her words were slurred and her tone ragged.

Taking the treads two at a time, Kevin hurled himself up to the landing, but as he rounded the corner, preparing to sprint towards the second floor doorway, two men dressed in dark clothing and smoking cigarettes locked eyes with him.

Before he could react, aim his gun, fire at will, the taller of the two Russians yelled, “Hey,” and the other whipped a gun out.

“Where is she?” Kevin seethed, training his GLOCK on the shorter man.

In a thick accent, the taller man said, “Drop your weapon.”

Clenching his jaw and glaring at the man, Kevin didn’t budge.

In an instant, an arm was around his neck, the man behind strangling him with a chokehold. He jerked and twisted, lowering his weapon in favor of fighting, but the man had too strong a grip.

Before he knew what was happening, he was being shoved through the doorway, his gun having been snatched from his hand.

“I’m a cop!” he shouted. “You’re making a huge mistake.”

“Shut up,” the man behind him ordered.

And when Kevin did, it wasn’t because he felt like obeying. The sight of Tasha strapped to a chair in the middle of the room—her hair hanging over her face, her shoulders slumped, the ratty tee shirt they’d thrown on her bunched and balled around her waist—had sent his mind reeling with sudden panic.

Vishnevsky was smoking a cigarette a few feet off and Avandeyev, the sick bastard, was stroking Tasha’s hair.

The crime boss said, “I told you what you would have to do. Fall in line. It’s not difficult.”

“Let her go,” he yelled and groggily Tasha lifted her head at the familiar voice.

Her eyes were lolling and glazed over, and she didn’t seem to understand her surroundings, though she began repeating, “You won’t get away with this. You won’t.”

Kevin grimaced and spat words through his teeth at Avandeyev, saying, “You might think you have Reilly in your pocket, but once he hears about this... You’re going down, all of you!”

As the men jerked Kevin closer to Avandeyev, Sergeant Reilly stepped out from the shadows. “I gave you an in. It didn’t have to be like this.”

“You,” he snarled.

“Why didn’t you take the cash?” Reilly asked him, looking almost pained. “You could’ve looked the other way.”

“And leave Tasha to fend for herself?”

“Isn’t that where we are now anyway?” Avandeyev countered, grinning as if the situation almost pleased him.

The man behind Kevin loosened his grip, shoving him even closer and causing Kevin to stumble, but in an instant he righted his footing and swung around, throwing the hardest right-hook of his life.

His fist landed squarely against the man’s cheek with a slam and Kevin felt a bone in his hand crack, but he didn’t stop. As the man fell, Kevin yanked the gun from the Russian’s waistband and in a flash, whipped around.

From out of nowhere a spray of bullets shattered the windows behind Vishnevsky and he plummeted to the floor, Avandeyev falling after him.

Kevin sprang towards Tasha and leapt, taking her to the ground with him, as gunfire leveled Reilly and the rest of the men.

Clenching his eyes shut and using his body as a shield to protect her, Kevin felt shattered glass raining over his back and stinging the side of his face, as Tasha whimpered confusedly beneath him.

“I’ve got you,” he told her, as the pops and bangs gradually died out.

When it was finally quiet, Kevin didn’t trust it. He lifted his head slowly, glancing around—men on the floor, blood, sirens shrieking outside—as red and blue police lights flared through the dingy warehouse.

As the sound of boots stomping up the stairwell replaced the quiet, Kevin lifted off of Tasha and helped her to her feet. He cradled her in his arms, as she rested her cheek on his shoulder and groaned, “I think they drugged me.”

“Help is on the way.”

Police officers outfitted in helmets and bullet proof vests swarmed into the room, as Tasha lifted her head, glancing up at Kevin.

“You saved me,” she whispered.

He feigned a smile, but all he could think was,
Not soon enough
.

When he heard a gruff voice say, “I owe you one,” Kevin turned and found his father stalking into the room with the Lieutenant of the 12th Precinct by his side.

His hard-ass father looked at him and nodded. As he neared them, the older man studied Tasha and the devastation all around them then said, “A hell of a mess. I hope she’s worth it.”