SEIZED Part 2: Steamy Romantic Suspense (Seize Me Romance Fiction Series) (11 page)

Jessup is inside. He’s alone. There are two desks so I take the vacant chair without being asked. There’s a difference between playing down my size and owning a conversation. I inhale deeply, wondering if I’ll smell Carrie’s perfume. There’s only the scent of burned rubbish. The bin she’s probably used to set off the fire alarm has been moved to the side, away from the smoke detector.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” His words are short and he’s angry.

“I found something that’s yours.”

He looks up with interest and I pass him the phone.

“How’d you get this?” His eyes are sharp, enquiring without words whether I know about Carrie being here. I play stupid for now.

“I was on my way to the gym and I saw the evacuation happen. I pulled in to see if I could help, and found this laying in the alley. Some luck, huh?”

The look on his face tells me he thinks I’m lying. He’s right, I am. I don’t know exactly why he’s so interested in Carrie. I’m not tipping him off on anything he doesn’t need to know. I’m supposed to be protecting her, not dropping her name in the middle of more trouble.

Jessup snatches the phone from me.

“Thank you Blake, can I offer you a drink before you go?”

The bottle of scotch is in his hand before I can shake my head. I get offered drinks all the time, but saying no to this man feels a little harder. It’s a challenge he’s offering, not just a drink, a metaphorical sealing of our deal from this morning, and an insult because he’s aware of my recovery. There’s no way I can accept it.

“I’m off the booze. You know that, Jessup. Erica does too, so cut this shit out. I’m returning your property as a courtesy—don’t make me regret it.”

He turns in his chair, more towards me. He’s maybe two feet shorter than me, but his demeanor manages to convey more threat than some of the biggest men I’ve fought.

“And don’t you mistake me for someone who won’t hold you to an agreement, Blake. You keep your little reporter bitch on a leash, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

He’s right. I’ve made mistakes with Carrie. She’s out of control coming down here. I never stop making mistakes with women. That’s why I’m here in the first place. My ex. Even after all this time, she has a pull over me. I may not have any goodwill to him, but Erica matters to me. I owe her that, at least.

Jessup calls her Neon. The other girls call her Neon Lips. The name started to crop up around the station about eighteen months ago, and I’ve done my best to protect her. If anyone finds out, there’s nothing I can to do. Why do I always attract these risk-taking women? It’s like I have a sign on my head that says,
if you thrive on danger come this way.

There’s something in me that wants to heal the wounded and help the poor. If we were allowed dogs in the building, I’d have ten. I’m built to care about people. I understand that about myself. I just wish it didn’t land me in shitty nightclubs trying to save beautiful, treacherous women. My sponsor would have a fit. The thought makes me smile, and I use that as an excuse to say goodbye.

“See you soon, Jessup. Hold me to whatever you want, but don’t tell Erica I was here, or all bets are off.”

I don’t need her thinking I’m still looking after her interests. She’d be taking advantage of that before I could get out of the building. She was never one to hide her feelings, and I need to stay as far away from her crazy clutches as possible.

Carrie

“Oh yeah, no one can fuck with Carrie James, here. Uh-uh!” I yell as I’m walking back toward the hotel. I’m pumped.

A coiffured woman walking past with her purse dog gives me a strange look. I don’t care. There’s nothing like saving yourself, escaping a best friend’s evil uncle
and
winning an argument with the man who knows how to get under your skin.

It’s
so
satisfying, knowing I can protect myself. I was like James Bond back there, except better—
Carrie James, agent of change.
I smile to myself. It’s good to feel happy about something.

And with Blake, we might be fighting, but this time was different. He finally
heard
what I had to say. He didn’t exactly admit he was lying. He didn’t deny it, either. My instinct tells me he’s not still telling me the full story. When my gut is screaming at me like this, there must be something more. It’s telling me to ask more questions; find out more; do more; think more.

I’m just on the verge of figuring it out. There’s no way I’m giving up now. The nerve of the guy is astounding. I shake my head and open my purse, I’m instinctively looking for lipstick that’s not there anymore. I need to think about what’s next.

I consider hailing a cab. It would be easy, but I won’t sleep if I do. I’m wired from the argument and the adrenaline. I’ll walk so I can clear my head. I might as well. It’s a nice night, and my second choice shoes are super comfortable, with a wide heel that makes it easy to strut. And, oh boy, am I ever in the mood to strut.

Blake’s back on my mind. The expectations of that man are astounding. It’s like he’s forgotten about freedom of speech. I have a right to know what’s going on, and the public does too. If I were officially on the story, there’s nothing he could do to stop me from checking things out. But I’m not—not yet anyway. Maybe I should do something about that today. If I call my editor, or send that draft, I’m sure it’ll be on. There’s something stopping me—something about Blake’s face. Perhaps he’s not in on whatever plan the cops are up to.

As exciting as whole chemistry thing feels with him, it’s yet another reason to never mix work with play—or play with the law. I’ve lost touch with reality. April is missing, and I’m breaking out of locked offices by setting fires. This is madness. This is a nightmare, and I can’t stop thinking about his chest. We’ve crossed the line and gone way too far.

He would never treat me this way if we didn’t have a history, and God, history is an understatement when it comes to describing what’s between us. The man is crazy hot. Even when I’m furious, I can’t stop thinking about the way his cock felt inside me. That’s the reason staying at his apartment is a bad idea. He’s dangerous—to my emotions, my sanity, my heart. He and I together are trouble with a capital
T
.

I feel good about going back to the hotel. I’ve got no doubt Jessup is hiding something major. That strange little man. He may be April’s uncle but from how he acted, he might as well be the guy with the hotdog cart. If he really does know about April, he’s way worse than I thought. What type of uncle does that? I’m struggling to believe he’d lie so fluently to my face like that. There’s no doubt he was after something else. And locking me up? He has to want something from me. I have to find out what that is.

Whatever he’s after, he’s out of luck. There’s no way I’m going to spend another minute near that creep. I thought I was doing the right thing by getting in touch with him. That turned out to be a mistake. I laugh out loud for a second and resist throwing a fist to the sky and yelling
yes
. I am in public after all. I wouldn’t want to attract more attention than I need to.

I feel good. I may have done the wrong thing going to Caliber, but I’m pretty frigging smart, working out the fire alarm escape. My sensei would be proud.
Brains and brawn, baby
. Who says the short curvy girl can’t kick some ass when it comes down to it? I wish I could phone up my Sensei now and tell him. It’s not only impossible, it would be considered the opposite of humility. His response would be silence, and he’d ask me when I’m coming back for more training.

If I’ll be in town until we find April, I may need to find somewhere to train around here. It would be a good release, to take my mind off of everything. It worked back then too. When I was at my lowest place ever, it helped. I still remember the first time I performed a hip throw—a Koshi-waza—and landed the opponent perfectly. I didn’t think I could pull it off.

The guy was big. He came at me in training. It was a belt test and I desperately wanted to move up. I remember the doubt and the fear when he approached. More than anything else, I remember the moment I kicked into gear and my moves became automatic. It was like my body knew what to do, even though my mind didn’t. Suddenly I had him down on the floor, and stopped him from holding me in a submission. It was a moment I’ll never forget.

God, it was good. It felt something like tonight, but better. It was me, coming alive. It was a feeling of knowing my power. I had a shift that night. It made everything else go away—all the pain; the memories of the attack. It helped me see I wasn’t a victim. I needed that and I still do. I wish I could remember this more often. I’m strong and need to trust myself, instead of the anxiety I’ve been feeling lately. If I can just keep this up, I’ll get through this. I will.

The hotel isn’t far away now. I’m on a block with older shops. It’s not well lit and there are not as many people around. The traffic passing by has dwindled and there are more alleyways. New York City is like that, changing drastically from one block to the next. You can be walking along the most modern, hip street, lined with brand new condo buildings, and instantly find yourself in a scene from an old fashioned, black and white movie. A rat actually runs past my foot into a crevice between two buildings and I nearly laugh again. This is classic. I’m strutting around in heels, and even the rats are running. This is the best I’ve felt in days.

It’s a shame my feelings don’t reflect reality. They’re a response to the shock, anger and adrenaline. I may feel strong now, but everything around me is falling apart. April is gone.
Oh God, April
. I struggle to imagine what she’s going through right now. Blake is being an unpredictably sexy jerk. Jessup is lying his ass off. And I’m stuck in New York trying to navigate it all. This isn’t going to hold together for much longer. My sanity is unraveling. I’m close to losing my mind. I sit on the pavement and am about to heave. Rats or not, kidnappers or not.

I start walking again, and must be only a few blocks away when I hear someone following me. It’s subtle at first. I was reveling so much in the sound of my own skip in these heels, before I realize that there’s another set or footsteps, and they’re not too far away. I stop and they stop too. I must be dreaming.

Instead of walking back to investigate, I increase my pace. It might be a tame Monday night, and I might feel invincible—but I’m not. The footsteps start up again. A shard of fear pierces my throat. I speed up my pace a little more. If I can just get to the hotel, I’ll be fine. My hips are already swaying like a speed-walker.

I can’t move much faster without taking off these heels and breaking into a run, but the person is getting closer. I stop once and look back. No one is there except a few evening commuters on their way home or going to for a late dinner. Again, I tell myself I’m being a fool. I hear them again, and this time I follow my gut. I pull off my heels and I gun it. Their footsteps increase and so does my heart rate. Whoever it is, he’s chasing me like one of the rats in the gutter, and there’s nothing I can do.

I run as fast as I can, there are maybe two blocks to go before I can start signaling to the valets and bellboy for help. I feel my ankle start to give way as my stalker gets closer. I’m back in that place again. My mind is ruled by fear. There’s no way in hell I’m turning around to fight something I can’t even see. They could be armed, and they’re definitely bigger than me. I can hear it in the weight of their shoes on the pavement.

Maybe it’s the fear. It seems so dark I can’t see more than a few feet ahead, and I nearly stumble. I start to panic. My breathing gets out of control and I want to scream. That’s it. I switch into high gear and sprint. I run like I used to run. I run like I did on Saturday. I run for my life.

The hotel is there in front of me. I’m here. I’m panting, clutching my makeshift makeup bag of a purse and nearly crying. There’s a doorman on the street trying to flag down a taxi and I run up to him. I’m too scared to look behind me, but become vaguely aware the only heavy breathing I can hear now is my own. I’m away. I’m safe, and my legs collapse. He catches me and eases me down onto the wrought iron park bench that’s bolted down into the pavement in front of the hotel.

I’m crying now—really crying. I was scared, but it’s more than that. I’m crying for the loss of power; for having felt so strong back there, and then losing the feeling in an instant. For having it ripped away like that—one minute I was likening myself to James Bond—the next I was running and crying like a baby.

I’m always battling with my fear. I battle with the woman I want to be and the little girl I still am. I feel like a girl most days. I feel like the girl who couldn’t stop him from hurting me. I still feel sick and powerless. He did that to me.

I can vaguely hear the doorman’s voice. He’s touching my shoulder but I’m not there. I’m back in the games room. It’s the night the abuse happened. I’m walking towards him, answering the request for help to put away the equipment. I’m happy to help. I was so proud they made me a youth leader. I loved being able to support the younger kids, and my parents were proud of me. On the opening night of the trip he’s announced the group of teens selected to be leaders. It was an honor to be chosen.

I remember I was glowing in the group photo they took of us. Five of us were standing together—thrilled to be of service, and happily holding up our leader badges. That picture gave no insight that I was about to lose my innocence. I still don’t know if he abused the others too. It didn’t happen until the last few days at the resort. I trusted him by then—he made sure of that.

I told him I had a crush on Blake, and I wanted to date him, but I was too scared to ask. I told him about wanting to run track at state, and my fear about not being good enough to make it. He encouraged me. The bastard told me that the Lord would make everything I wanted possible—everything in God’s time and all that Christian camp jazz they feed you when you’re a teenager.

And in the same way I’ll never forget the moment I pulled that first hip throw in the Dojo, I’ll never forget the feeling of sinking to my knees in front of my abuser. That feeling of his hands in my hair; of choking on his cock; of grimacing and crying; and of the sweat from his forehead dripping down and mixing with my tears; it never goes away. There was nothing I could do, and he was just getting started with me.

The smell of chalk dust and sports equipment comes back to me. The musty shelves were full of old board games, mocking me with their bright colors. As if playing Monopoly or Connect Four will ever be something I could enjoy again without the memory of his smell in my mouth. As if my youth hadn’t just been ripped away. His assault lasted over an hour. I didn’t say a word. After a while, I think I stopped crying and just took it. I remember telling myself I just had to wait long enough and he’d stop. I was frozen; my body was limp and my head got cloudy, like I wasn’t even there.

The feeling of a firm hand on my shoulder wrenches me back into the moment. I nearly jump, but the doorman has such a kind face, I want to hug him instead. I’m sitting the bench, shaking and crying on a Monday night. This has to stop. They would have caught me. I feel it in my bones. They would have caught me and strangled me and probably killed me, and there was nothing I could have done about it. Trained or not.

If I don’t do something different, I’m plain crazy. I need help. I’m walking the streets, thinking I’m untouchable. My mom would freak out. Blake is right. This laughing in the face of danger is self-destructive. Something happened and it’s made me numb, but I can feel pain. I do feel pain. I’m hurting now; it’s really bad.

The doorman helps me inside, and I head up to my room. I didn’t drop my purse, thank God, and I just want to get into my bed and hide. There’s only one person who can help me now. I have to call him. I drop to the floor and rifle through the things from my sweat pants pocket until I find his card. He’ll be angry, but I need him.

“Blake it’s me, where are you? I need you here. Please come.”

I know my voice sounds desperate. As long as I’m with him tonight, I don’t care what he thinks. I just can’t run anymore.

“Carrie, it’s ok. I’m driving, where are you?”

I start sobbing on the phone. I wish I could pull it together. I can’t. My tears are the snotty type of crying that leaves your face red and your eyes swollen. So much for crying those lady-like, gentle tears. I’ve never been graceful in my grief. Anger and snot; that’s my style—none of those delicate expressions of anguish. I just collapse and I can’t stop it from happening again now.

“Carrie, it’s ok. Just hold on, I’ll be there soon.”

I have no energy left. There’s not even enough to reach up and hang up the phone. I look around the room and think of what April would say about Jessup. She didn’t want to feel indebted to him by accepting his help. She didn’t want to give her power away. In the end she did. We did.