Addison
AFTER STOPPING HOME to change my clothes and grab my gun, I did some shopping and then headed back to the jail. The gun might be a little overkill, but I had to find a way to get locked up with Dylan. If they didn’t check my purse right off, I was confident the metal detectors would freak out, which meant they’d cuff me and book me... at least that was my hope.
I was a little surprised to see Jake speaking with someone behind the counter, and even more surprised when he stopped his conversation to watch me.
“Can I help you?”
I focused on the uniformed officer asking me the question and smiled. “Hi. I’m here to see Dylan James.”
Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she asked, “Purpose of visit?”
“I brought her a change of clothes and some food.”
“I’ve got this, Roxi,” Jake said.
I hadn’t noticed him approach, but I certainly noticed him now. Good lord, just as sexy as before.
“Come with me, Addison.”
I nodded and followed him to a private room off the lobby where he waved me to a chair. I sat down, cradling my purse, the bag with the change of clothes, and muffins on my lap. He perched on the edge of the table and crossed his arms. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean? I’m here to see Dylan. I brought her a change of clothes and a toothbrush, since I’m assuming you snatched her from her bed before she could freshen up.”
He nodded to the muffins. “And the contraband?”
I gasped. “What? These are muffins. Not contraband.”
“May I have one?”
I shifted in my seat. “I... ah... no. I’m sorry. They’re for Dylan.”
He raised an eyebrow and leaned forward a little. “Addison, what’s in those muffins?”
I raised the plastic top and began to read the ingredients off the broken label.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh. Well, what did you mean?” My heart raced, and I felt a sheen of sweat break out on my upper lip.
He held his hand out, but I pulled the muffins closer. His voice dipped low as he said, “Addison.”
With a huff, I handed him the muffins. He set them on the table and popped open the container, shoving a finger into the middle of one.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. “That’s for Dylan.”
He pulled out a small nail file and chuckled. “Really, Addison?”
I bit my lip and shrugged. “What? She likes to have nice nails.”
“So, you hid it in a muffin?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if you’d confiscate it or not.”
“You are aware that something this flimsy couldn’t saw through the prison bars, right?” He waved the file in the air. “However, and not that I think you’d do this, it could be used as a weapon.”
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” I sat up a little straighter and held my arms out to him, wrists up. “Maybe I am trying to get a weapon to her. You better handcuff me and take me to my cell... the same one you have Dylan in.”
He nodded toward my purse. “What’s in the purse, Addison?”
“My wallet, keys, tampons and such.”
“Did you go home and grab your gun?”
“How do you know I have a gun?” I slapped my hand over my mouth, realizing I just gave away information. Even though I joked about my firearm with Dylan and Asher, I took owning a gun pretty seriously, particularly since I had a conceal permit, so it wasn’t something I advertised. “I mean, what gun?”
“Addison, I’m a detective, and I like to think I’m a pretty good one. I did a background check on you and noticed you have a concealed carrier permit. I’m guessing you have your Walther CCP nine-millimeter in your bag as we speak.”
“Does that mean you’ll arrest me now? Will I have to go to booking? I brought baby wipes just in case I have to be fingerprinted.” I shuddered. “I’d hate to have black all over my hands.” I rose to my feet, setting my purse on the chair. “Before you take me, will you please give my bag to Asher? I’d rather not check it in, or whatever you do with personal effects.”
Jake leveled a stare at me. “I should arrest you just for being a pain in my ass.”
My heart sank. “But you’re not going to, are you?”
He grew serious and shook his head. “I know who your father is, and I like my badge a little too much to get into a pissing match with you. Besides, you do not want an arrest on your record. Trust me on this.”
“I have to see her.”
“You can’t right now. She’s talking with her lawyer.”
“Well, then I can see her when he’s done, right?”
“I’m sorry, Addison, even if she wasn’t with Asher, social visitation is already in progress.” He handed me a flyer on visiting procedures. “Hours are nine a.m. to two fifteen p.m. then again from four fifteen to nine thirty p.m. on Saturdays and Sundays. Come about thirty minutes early and check in at the desk over there.”
I flopped back onto the seat and dropped my head in my hands, forcing back tears. “You don’t understand, Jake. She’s innocent, and I have to help her.”
“How about this,” he said, pulling a chair up to face mine and sitting in it. “We can’t allow anything from outside, but you can put money on her account and she can use it to buy snacks, an extra blanket, anything she needs.”
“You sound like my dad.”
“I do?”
I nodded. “He, too, likes to throw money at problems and hope they go away.” I sat up straight and looked him in the eyes. “But Dylan’s not a problem. She’s the kindest, most real person I’ve ever met, and she doesn’t deserve to be behind bars.”
“If you’re right and she didn’t kill her boss—”
“Ex-boss, and she didn’t.”
“Then the system will work. We’ll find who did.”
“And in the meantime, my friend will have to sit in jail like some common criminal. So much for innocent until proven guilty.”
Feeling helpless, I dropped my gaze and picked invisible lint from my jeans.
“Hey.” He tugged on my hand, pulling my attention back to him. “We’re gonna do everything we can for Ms. James.”
“For Dylan,” I said, reminding him she was a human being with a first name.
“For Dylan,” he conceded. “And I promise to personally keep an eye on her and make sure she’s okay.”
I met his eyes. “You’d do that?”
“Yeah.”
I bit my lip and nodded. “Thanks.”
He gave me a gentle smile. “You’re welcome.”
“What are the odds of seeing Dylan before you take her back to her cell?”
Jake checked his watch. “The next visiting hours start at four fifteen. Show up here by three forty-five and I’ll make sure you’re in with the first group to go back.”
“Are you sure I can’t go in there now?” I begged.
“I’m sure.” He rose to his feet and held his hand out to me. “Come on, I’ll show you to the kiosk where you can put money on Ms… on Dylan’s account. Then I’ll walk you out.”
He helped me through the process, leaning over me to swipe my card. His scent lingered. Soap and man combined with just a hint of cologne worked well for him and I was momentarily lost in his spell. When we were done, he saw me to my car and opened the door for me. As I got behind the wheel, he paused.
“You’re a good friend, Addison.”
I didn’t feel like a good friend. A good friend would have been able to get Dylan out of jail. If I was a great friend, I would have insisted Dylan stay at my house last night and we could have avoided this whole debacle. Still, he was being incredibly sweet, and I appreciated it.
“Thanks, but don’t tell anyone. My friend’s list is full.”
He chuckled. “Your secret’s safe with me.
Then he shut my car door and I drove home. I was done with Dylan being all independent and shit. That girl was moving in with me, and I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
After stopping home for a couple of suitcases, I grabbed the key to Dylan’s apartment and headed back to my car, calling Asher on my way. It was a bit of a sneaky move because I knew he was meeting with Dylan, which meant he couldn’t object. Still, I wanted him to know where I was just in case. I got his voice mail, so I left him a message, giving him a very vague description of what I was doing, and drove into the bowels of Portland. I shuddered as I pulled into the parking lot of Dylan’s dumpy apartment complex.
I prayed no one would steal my car as I grabbed the suitcases and dashed toward Dylan’s building. The front door was propped open, which was weird since you were supposed to have a code (which I did) or you had to be buzzed in to gain access, but apparently someone had decided to work around the system.
Bolstered by righteous indignation at the thought of my best friend living in such a shithole with such thoughtless people, I climbed the stairs to the second floor (the elevator was out of service... again), and turned right. Yellow crime scene tape blocked off the stained floor of the hallway. I forced down bile as I hugged the opposite wall and tiptoed past. The tape also blocked off Dylan’s door, which was busted. I pocketed my unneeded key and stepped over the tape, pushing the door open.
I rarely came here, mostly because Dylan hated it almost as much as I did, but as I glanced around the small studio, I burst into tears. The place was trashed. Apparently, the police or whoever searched her apartment had no regard for any of her treasures, few might they be, but they were still hers. “Animals,” I whispered.
Squaring my shoulders, I set a suitcase in the kitchen and walked the two feet to her bed, setting the other suitcase on it and propping it open. I raided the hangers and built-in drawers in her closet, pulling out every stitch of clothing and packing it away. She didn’t own much, so between her clothes and her four pairs of shoes, there was still plenty of room left in the first suitcase.
Determined to grab everything else of value, I wrapped clothing around her framed photos (one of her and her deceased mother... the rest were of her and me, or her and me and Asher) and her favorite snow globes she’d managed to keep from breaking in all of her moves. I checked her bathroom, but there was blood on the floor, so I didn’t go in. Besides, I knew there was nothing in there I couldn’t easily replace with a quick trip to Target.
I glanced around, wondering what else I should nab. Dylan wasn’t attached to the bedding we both referred to as the “grandma threw up flowers” comforter and scratchy sheets, so I left those behind. From here on out, she’d be sleeping on thousand-thread-count Egyptian sheets and down duvets. I’d already found a duvet cover I knew she’d love.
She didn’t own a television, but she did have a customized laptop for gaming that she kept hidden under her bed. Yes, my bestie was a closet geek. Shaking my head at the habit I could never understand, I searched for the laptop, but it wasn’t there.
Irritated that either cops or robbers must have gotten to the computer first, I closed the suitcase, set it behind the kitchen island with the other one, and began to go through her cabinets. That’s when all hell broke loose.
It started with voices in the hallway. Fearing that the cops had returned—and still uncertain about the legality of what I was doing—I hunkered down behind the island.
What if it’s not the cops?
I had been watching a lot of murder shows lately, and the murderer always returned to the scene of the crime, so I fished my gun out of my purse just in case.
The door squeaked open and the sound of footfalls came closer. Cursing Dylan’s tiny apartment, I stayed low and peeked around the island. All I could see was a pair of black-jeaned legs and what looked like motorcycle boots, then another set of blue-jeaned legs with Nikes.
Definitely not cops, and so they had no right to be in Dylan’s apartment without her consent. I leaned back and clicked the safety off my gun, ready to defend myself if either of the intruders came at me.
“What are we lookin’ for?” a low voice asked.
“I don’t know. Whatever she’d store files on.”
“Looks like the place is pretty trashed. Do you think we’ll find somethin’ the cops haven’t?”
“They don’t know what they’re looking for.”
“Technically, neither do I.”
“Right, well, keep an eye out then,” the second man demanded. “I’ll look.”
I bit my lip and slid my phone from my pants pocket. Luckily it was on silent. I fired off a quick text to my brother and then sat and waited.
“Do you think they know who actually killed the asshole?” the first man asked.
Dammit! I should have been recording this!
“Don’t know, don’t care. Shut up so I can focus.”
Frustrated I hadn’t thought of it sooner, I slid my finger to the camera icon on my phone, and started to record.
Doors and drawers were opened and closed.
“Holy shit!” the first man said. “Did you spread blood in her bathroom? That’s brilliant!”
“When would I have done that? I was with you the whole time. Now go back to the door while I check the kitchen.”
Well, damn it!
“Don’t forget to check the freezer. People are always hiding shit in frozen meat in the movies.”
“Good idea,” the second man said.
His footfalls grew louder, and I set my phone down and braced my gun. He took one step into Dylan’s kitchen.
I held my breath.
Another step. Now I could see his black boot. Sirens screamed outside.
He froze.
The sirens grew closer.
“Check that out, would you?” the second man asked.
Footsteps shuffled across the carpet. “Shit, five-o’s pullin’ into the lot.”
“One of her nosey-ass neighbors must have called them. We’ll have to come back.”
They left. I counted to ten, then poked my head up to confirm they were in fact gone. Setting my gun on the island, I fisted and unfisted my hand, trying to get it to stop shaking. The front door slammed open, banging against the wall, and two uniformed cops, guns drawn, rushed inside.
“Gun!” one of them yelled, and then I was on the floor, hands behind my back, being cuffed.
“I’m not the intruder!” I screamed, my breath shallow since I was on my stomach. “There were two men.”
“Clear!” someone called, and I was dragged off the floor (still handcuffed).
“Who are you?” one of the officers—a female—demanded.
“My name is Addison Allen.” I shook my head in an attempt to get my hair out of my eyes. “This is my sister’s apartment.”
“She’s not actually your sister,” Jake countered as he walked in. “Is she, Addison?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Maybe not legally,” I grumbled.
“I’ve got this,” he said to the officer, and made his way to me, taking my hands and uncuffing me. He handed the cuffs to the woman (who, by the way, was looking at him like she wanted to devour him, which pissed me off).
“Need me to bag the weapon?” she asked.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. She has a concealed permit.” Jake smiled. “I’ll take it from here, Miller. You guys get back on your beat.”
The officers walked out of the apartment and I reached for my gun. I didn’t get far. Jake’s large hand covered mine and he leaned down so he could meet my eyes. “What are you doing here, Addison?”
“I could ask the same of you.” I raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little high up on the pay scale to show up for a suspected break-in?”
“I’m here because your brother got your text and I wouldn’t let him come.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip. “Thanks for that. He could have been hurt.”
“He could have been hurt?” he snapped. “What about you?”
I nodded toward my firearm that we were both still touching. “I have a gun.”
“Are you shittin’ me?” he ground out. “Either you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met, or the dumbest... right now I’m leaning toward the latter.”
“Either you’re the most fascinating man I’ve ever met, or you’re a dick... right now, I’m leaning toward the latter,” I countered nastily.
He dragged his hands through his hair, which meant I could grab my gun and put it back in my purse. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”
I moved to leave, but he grabbed my arm. “Not so fast.”
His touch electrified me and all I could think about was what it would be like to have those big strong hands explore my body. I swallowed... hard... but managed to keep myself from jumping him. “Please let me go.”
He did. Immediately. “What are you doing here, Addison?” he asked again.
“I’m getting Dylan’s stuff. She’s moving in with me.”
“So you came alone?”
“I didn’t really have a choice, Jake,” I said. “My brother’s with her. It’s not like I could call anyone else.”
“You could have called me. Should have called me.”
“And why exactly would I call you?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the island until he could see out the front door. “You see that police tape out there that says, ‘crime scene, do not enter’?”
“Oh, you mean the tape just beyond the broken door? You know, the broken door that your people haven’t secured, which means anyone could walk in here and rob her blind and there’s not a damn thing she’d be able to do about it? Ah, no, I must have missed that tape.”
He groaned.
“Speaking of which, her laptop is missing. Please tell me you have it.”
“Why do you want to know? Is there something on there that can incriminate her? Is that what you’re here looking for?”
“Are you kidding me right now?” I asked, wanting to punch him. “There were just two guys in her apartment talking about the murder and looking for something. If what they’re looking for is on her computer, I want to make sure someone else didn’t come through the door the cops broke and steal it.”
He pulled a notepad and pencil from his pocket and said, “Start from the beginning and tell me everything.”
My phone was still recording, but I wasn’t about to surrender it to him. I pushed the button to stop it and slid it into my pocket. Then I told him (almost) the full story.