Greer

I usually hate sunny days. Everyone else’s good mood only amplifies my perpetually shitty one. Today, though? The light is beaming through the slats in my office blinds, probably turning the back of my neck red, and . . . it’s not unpleasant at all. I’m kind of hoping I get called out of the station today so I can grab a little vitamin D. For the first hour of my shift, everyone who passed me in the hallway did a double take, confusing me until I realized I was smiling. Or my version of a smile, anyway. Kind of a suspicious lip slant.

What the hell is wrong with me?

More like, what the hell is right?

As if there’s any question. Vitamins are not the only thing that begin with D that I’m looking forward to soaking up today, either. Thanks to my grueling schedule and mandatory meeting with the department therapists, it’s now Friday afternoon and I haven’t seen Danika since Wednesday at the academy. It still wasn’t easy watching her perform hand-to-hand maneuvers with other men, but it was significantly more tolerable since she’d bent over my kitchen table hours earlier.

It wasn’t easier, however, keeping it to myself that she’s mine. Once I do that, she’ll probably have a hard time finding a volunteer to be her practice partner, but sue me if I don’t cry a river. I’ll help her practice if she needs it. In private.

My fingers still on the keyboard of my computer, heat sinking into my groin at the idea. Fuck, there are too many hours between now and when I see her. Is she out in the sun right now, taking her lunch break on the academy steps? Is she tipping her face up toward the light, sighing over how good it feels? If I was there, how would it feel to sit down beside her and pop a grape into her mouth?

Good. Too good.

We should keep our relationship undercover. There’s only one week left of academy training before graduation. I’m anxious to make this thing between us legitimate now, though. I’ve never made a commitment like this before to anyone, but claiming Danika is important to me. No denying it. I’m possessive over this girl. I’m going to be uncomfortable until everyone knows I soothe her when she’s hurt or sad now. I kiss that mouth. It opens for mine.

My superior emailed me this morning, informing me a decision had been made about me seeing a recruit with the department’s blessing. We’re in the clear. So there should be no weight on my chest or cold prickling along my spine.

There shouldn’t be, but there is.

I keep thinking of her coming down my hallway during the book club meeting, intent on calling me on my shit. She was never more of a cowgirl than she was in that moment. Apparently it’s possible to love a quality in someone and have it put you on edge at the same time. It’s something I have to wrestle with—this fear of loss—but I’m not afraid to tell Danika what’s worrying me and when. Not now, when I’m confident she’ll understand. The words won’t come out of my mouth sounding like Greek. And even if they do, she’ll help me translate it. I trust her to do that. Just like she trusts me to tell her what’s going on in my chaotic head.

Maybe being vulnerable to another person isn’t so hard. Maybe it’s really easy and I have to stop checking for potential flaws.

If I want to keep her, trying is the only way. Ignoring the constant ripple of discomfort in my belly will get easier. I have to believe that.

The next few hours move slower than shit, my eyes straying to the clock when they should be on my work. But I can’t help myself from mentally reciting Danika’s schedule, imagining where she is. What she’s doing. Of course, the day I need time to move faster, I’m stuck shoveling paperwork instead of working in the field. We brought in a suspect and got a full confession on our Jane Doe murder case this morning, leaving me to tie up loose ends and officially classify the homicide closed. Solving a case so quickly is satisfying, but someone still lost their life, the ugliness is still there. But the certainty that the ugliness will be replaced by beauty, by optimism, when I’m with Danika later is what keeps my fingers moving, my pen writing.

When I have an hour left of my shift, I know she’s on the way to her parents’ apartment, dropping off groceries and visiting her cousin’s baby. I know because she left me a voice mail while I was in the morning briefing, telling me so. The way a girlfriend does. She even tacked on a little kissing noise at the end, which probably accounted for the smile I couldn’t wipe off my face earlier. Eventually, her plans are going to include me. Often. I’m going to know Danika’s heart, the thoughts in her head, more every day.

If I’m attached now, how will I be in a month? A year?

A knot of panic tightens in my gut, but I ignore it.

“Lieutenant.” A hard knuckle rap on my doorframe. “Got a second?”

I don’t look up from my work. “Come in.”

The officer clomps into the room, rustling some papers. “This was sent over from Midtown North with your name on it, sir. Not for nothing, your name is on everything, because shit gets done faster that way—”

“Shit should get done at the same rate of speed, no matter whose name is on it.” Finally, I look up and see I’m being addressed by one of the Ninth’s freshest rookies and find myself softening, thinking of Danika. She’s going to be a rookie soon, and God help anyone who’s an asshole—like me—to her. Swallowing the sharp taste in my throat, I nod at him and attempt to gather some good karma. “Go on.”

He shifts side to side, eyes glued to the papers in his hand. “Couple weeks back, you signed two people out of Central Booking. One of them was a . . . Danika Silva?”

I go as brittle as frozen tree bark. “Give me the papers.”

“Sure.” He slides the stapled documents across my desk and clears his throat, while the lines in front of me bleed together. “When the incident report was entered into records, her name dinged in the system. Along with yours.” A small silence fills the room while chaos goes off like a cannon in my brain. “You’ve never signed anyone out of custody before, so Midtown North wanted to make sure you were informed.”

Subjects made verbal threats to witness . . . subjects made an attempt to gain access to witness’s building . . .

Threats. I zero in on that single word, and a storm begins to gather inside me. Big, dark thunderheads, ready to burst. The report is from six days ago. Six fucking days. Meaning she’s been traipsing around the city all this time with threats hanging over her head. Without my protection or even knowledge that she needed it. If she’d confided in me, I would have intervened, but she didn’t even give me that chance. Something could have happened to her, and I’d have been sitting in the fucking dark.

She’d had every opportunity to tell me. But that’s not what bothers me the most, although it’s a huge-ass sticking point. I told her everything, goddammit. Everything. She couldn’t do me the same courtesy? On something this important?

“Midtown North made a visit to the homes of the subjects three days ago. Neither one of them were home at the time, and the supervision seemed pretty loose, on both counts.” He pauses. “They haven’t followed up since then, so I wanted to get your eyes on it.”

My nod is so tight, I strain a muscle in my neck. What if she hadn’t gotten away from these two kids? What if they’d harmed her? The last week never would have happened. I never would have held her, told her my secrets. Memories that never would have been made. And right now, with betrayal stabbing me in the gut, along with fear and anger, I wonder if I would have been better off. Not knowing what Danika feels like in my arms at night. Not knowing how she wiggles her toes after pulling on socks.

How many memories will I have to live with next time, if she’s not so lucky?

“Everything okay, Lieutenant?”

In lieu of answering, I push back from my desk and snatch up my keys. My cop sense is chafing the back of my neck, but my gravity is so off-kilter, I can’t tell if it’s accurate. All I know is Danika is in Hell’s Kitchen, where those kids who threatened her live—and she’s alone. I could call her and confirm she’s safe, but . . . she could lie. She has been for six days.

Six days. She could have already been gone for six fucking days.