After grabbing my belongings from the bottom drawer of my desk, I head out, needing a breath of fresh air to clear the steam mounting inside my head.

I riffle through my purse, searching for my cell phone as I push out of the side door, exiting the police station. Connie isn’t here, at least not that I could tell, so I might as well call her to find out where she is. I can meet up with her and discuss this shit with a sane person. If I stay here any longer, I’m going to hurt that motherfucker, and losing my job isn’t worth it.

It’s not fucking worth it, I silently chant that mantra.

It’s my word against Houston’s, and no matter if it’s right or not, if I took this to Mike or human resources, at least half of the people on the force would take his side. They’d probably know I was telling the truth, but side with him since he has seniority over me; plus, he has more friends in this department than I do.

Hell, even our chief leans on him more than me for some reason. We may both share the same title—detective 2—but that doesn’t mean jack shit when he’s been here longer than me.

Point is, I think it’s in my best interest not to bring to light what happened in the break room, even if it is what I should do.

No, I need to deal with Houston with caution. I can’t prove Drago is innocent if I get myself suspended.

Before I call Connie, I glance up to make sure I’m not about to run into anything or anyone. I’ve stumbled over concrete parking spot curbs more times than I care to admit because I’m too focused on other things.

Once I realize I’m good, I continue down the sidewalk and start to bring Connie’s contact information up when I hear the source of my anger, stopping me in my tracks.

“Get in the fucking car.” Lance’s voice booms across the lot, earning my attention in his direction.

He’s standing between his door and the inside of his police-issued cruiser talking to someone on the other side. My eyes naturally cut over to see who he’s bitching at. When I realize who it is, I’m taken by surprise.

What’s she doing here? And with him?

Chasity Carlisle is standing in front of his car with her arms crossed over a mint and black peplum dress.

I scoot closer to the edge of the building, keeping out of their line of sight. I don’t want them to see me spying on them.

Eventually, she loses whatever battle they’re having between them because she throws up her hands just before going to the passenger side of his car, getting inside.

Once she’s in the car, he looks around the parking lot before ducking in himself, seconds later, taking off.

Without too much thought, I hightail it to my personal car with the intent of trying to catch up to them. He never mentioned having a personal relationship with her and if he does, he can’t be a part of this case. He knows this, of course.

The thought occurs—does the chief know? Surely not. There is no way he would have put him on it with me.

When I pull out of the lot, I grab my sunglasses from the visor compartment, putting them on in hopes if he notices someone following him, he won’t know it’s me. I doubt he knows what type of car I drive anyway.

I easily spot Houston five cars ahead of me. With late afternoon LA traffic, I don’t want to stay too far back, chancing losing him in the throes of too many vehicles weaving from lane to lane.

Once I manage to get in front of a couple of people driving slower than I need, I decide to stay three cars behind.

My mind doesn’t stop racing with why she’s with him. Instinct tells me this has dirty written all over it. Could it be Lance that wants to find something on Drago and not the chief? But why? There wasn’t any connection between the Acerbi family and my colleague. If something had popped up during my research, it would have stuck out.

So why are they together?

Is he trying to dig up more dirt on Drago than she originally gave me?

That thought goes straight out the window, and not because Tom said I couldn’t speak back to her. No, the interaction between Lance and Miss Carlisle was personal. He knows her more than a cop knows a witness. He knows her on another level.

But what and how?

Jumping on the four-o-five, I follow his car for nearly fifteen minutes when he exits the interstate, going into Brentwood.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out where he’s going, then it hits me. She had a Brentwood mailing address on the information I took from her.

Could he have just been giving her a lift home? Maybe she really was at the station giving more details, or I wonder if she regrets giving up her son? But their interaction was definitely personal and not at all professional.

Perhaps it’s possible I’m blowing this up more than I should. Or it could be possible I want Houston to be involved in something he shouldn’t because I want Drago to be innocent. I still think D is, but there is that one ounce—that kernel—telling me he’s not being fully honest.

I just want to stop dwelling on that thought for one day, because it’s beginning to eat at me, and soon he’s going to have to come clean if he wants anything long-term.

Turning off the main road, I follow another couple of minutes when Houston slows, turning into a drive and then stopping in front of a gate. He quickly rolls down his window to press digits into a keypad. It only takes seconds for him to gain entry to the property, and the gates close automatically once he drives through.

When his car is out of sight, I pull forward, looking through the wrought iron bars. There is a large house, not as big as the one Drago resides in, but a decent size home. It’s not as big as a lot of the houses in Brentwood, but this is still a high-dollar piece of property, telling me someone with money lives behind those gates.

From my view, there is something oddly familiar like I’ve seen it before. Maybe in a photo, because I know I’ve never been here until today.

My curiosity spikes, or maybe it’s the need to know that has me grabbing my smartphone. I go to the county land roll site and type in the address of the property.

What the . . .?

No, the word plays in my mind as my head shakes from side to side.

This is deputy chief of staff to the mayor, Dylan Harper’s residence. That’s why it looked familiar. I remember my father talking about him and that has to be where I saw pictures. My dad must have been his realtor.

Not wanting to sit here too long and chance Lance seeing me, I drive off, turning down another street, and then doing the same when I see another street ahead. I pull over, putting my car in park then snatch my smartphone back up.

I quickly Google everything I can on Harper. He’s married to Haley Harper. They have two kids, and I learn Dylan served ten years in the military before getting into politics nearly fifteen years ago.

Not finding anything that might connect Chasity to him, I scan images until I land on a photo of her with Harper, his wife, and their two sons. Clicking on the article, I read it and learn she’s his adopted niece through his wife.

Dropping my hand and phone to my thigh, I drum my fingers of my other hand on the steering wheel, thinking.

Why did that not come up during the interview? I mean, if she were really concerned for her life and Gabriel’s, why not go to her uncle?

There is nothing about this that makes sense and I’m not going to get anywhere until I hash it out with someone.

I pick up my phone, doing what I had originally intended to do before I saw Lance and Chasity together. I call my partner.

“Bitch, where you at?” her voice demands.

“Meet me at Grounds in fifteen minutes,” I request.

“Bri?” she draws out, knowing something is up.

“Just be there and don’t mention where you’re going to anyone.”

She hangs up after agreeing to walk over to the coffee shop across the road from the precinct. She’ll beat me for sure, but that place is always packed so she should have enough time to scrounge us up a booth.

I’m right when I walk in, seeing her tucked in the back. It’s really the perfect spot to talk discreetly.

When I slide in, she pushes an extra-large paper cup of specialty coffee in front of me. I spend the next fifteen minutes filling her in on everything—including the details of my involvement with Drago. She’s silent, taking everything in. Connie likes to absorb everything before making her thoughts known. This time isn’t any different, but I do see judgment in her eyes. She’s by the book. I like that about her actually.

I’m expecting her to ream me out, but I’m also expecting her to give me her honest take on the situation, which I know she will.

She takes longer than I would have thought before she speaks, and I already know what’s coming first.

“You fucked the guy you’re supposed to be gathering criminal intel on?”

“Yes.” What else am I supposed to say to that? I did. And I know I’d do it again even if I hadn’t been drunk. It might have taken longer, but there is something about him that won’t let me refuse.

“I’m not sure what to say to that, Bri. That’s a world-class fuck up if I’ve ever heard of one.” She takes a long sip of her drink. “Was it at least worth it?”

“Are you asking me if he’s good in bed?”

“Of course I am.”

“Yes.” I smile thinking about the talented equipment between his legs. “He’s good. But that isn’t why I called you here.”

“Yeah, we’ll get to the other, but you haven’t had sex in forever. This calls for a little more than a ‘his dick was good’ response.”

“You’re letting go of the fact he’s suspected of importing illegal drugs?”

“No.” She deadpans. “Sleeping with him was stupid on your part. But what’s done is done.”

“So,” I sigh. “The other part of everything I’ve told you?”

“Screams even more fucked-up.” She pushes her cup away, letting me know she’s finished her coffee. “Something’s fishy. What? I don’t know. But”—she pulls in her lips, chewing on it as she pauses in thought—“Lance should have divulged any personal association when the chief assigned you both to Acerbi. The fact that he didn’t either means he’s hiding something or he was with her because of the case. Maybe even both.”

“My thoughts too,” I confirm.

Connie sits up, leaning closer to me.

“I don’t know if I’m okay with you not going to Mike about what he did in the break room. That’s bullshit, Bri. Mike, me, hell, there are others that would side with you. Everyone knows he’s a douchebag. Touching you goes beyond that. That motherfucker needs to be cut down at the knees.”

I knew she would feel this way. I do too, but there is too much riding on me proving Drago is innocent.

“I can’t risk Internal Affairs getting wind of this. The chief might even decide to reassign me and—”

She cuts me off. “And? So what if you get moved to another precinct. Hell, maybe he’ll move Houston. We both know he’s not going to fire him.”

She’s right on that. The chance of Lance losing his job is slim. Most of the time when a detective fucks up or gets in trouble they’re just moved somewhere else. He’d have to do something worse than manhandling a fellow badge in order to lose his job.

“I’m not saying shit, at least not now, so what do you think otherwise? Is it a stretch that Houston wants evidence on Drago for some other reason?”

“A stretch? No. Nothing is a stretch these days. One thing I am sure of is you need to watch your back on both fronts: Houston and Acerbi.”

Knowing I’m not going to gain anything else from this conversation, I look at my smartwatch and tell her I have to run. It’s past time for me to pick up Gabe anyway. I should have been home thirty minutes ago.

I swear I’m the worst neighbor.

Scooting out of the booth, I stand. “Call me if anything happens,” Connie says, getting out herself. “Just keep me up to date, will ya?”

“I will.” Even if it isn’t what the chief wants.

I’m no closer knowing what to do than I was earlier today, but that’s something to worry about tomorrow. I plan on going home and enjoying a few hours with a certain four-month-old.

---

The need to shower is overwhelming. I didn’t smell it earlier, but now I do—or it could be in my head.

I smell him, though. I smell him on me.

A shudder goes through me. Running up the stairs, I can’t get to my second-floor condo fast enough.

I should call or text my neighbor, letting her know I’m going to grab a quick shower before I pick up Gabe, but I’m too antsy. I just need this stench off of me.

Connie is right. I should report his ass, but the thing is, I don’t want to go to human resources or anyone else for that matter. I want to lay him out. I want to pummel him myself. How dare he touch me like he did? Who gets that right? Not him!

Oh, that motherfucker needs to feel what real pain is.

My anger is only mounting. I wasn’t this upset when the incident was happening, or even right after. It’s been festering though and now I need something to release it on. I’m not a violent person. Sure, I love to grapple with Nikki. I mainly do it to make sure I can handle my own out in the field. There’s pleasure in it, however, that’s a controlled environment. Anyone who steps foot on a mat or inside a cage is there of their own free will. They know going in what could happen. They welcome it.

I didn’t welcome a damn thing Lance did today.

Locating my keys, I insert it and then turn only to discover it’s unlocked.

Could Ms. Lincoln have forgotten to lock it back? She does come over from time to time, but she’s never left my door unlocked before.

Lowering my hand, I unholster my police issued Glock, placing my trigger finger to the side, pointing straight.

It could be that my neighbor is inside now and that’s why my door is unlocked, but I’m not taking any chances.

Turning the knob, I push the door open slowly and quietly, being cautious for my sake and hers if she’s in there. Before I step through, I listen, but it’s silent inside. Only the kitchen light is on, casting a glow in the entryway.

Peeking behind the door, I take in all points I can see, my eyes landing on my couch last. Relief washes over me when I see Drago stretched out, but then I notice something on his chest and freeze when I realize it’s Gabriel. They’re both napping, peacefully from the looks of it.

Two things swim through my mind: what is Drago doing in my home and why does he have the baby that’s supposed to be across the hall?

Stepping all the way in, I holster my weapon and then ease the door closed, trying not to wake them. I need time to think.

It’s too quiet though, so when my gun clicks, locking in place, Drago’s eyes snap open.

Walking over, he tracks my steps, not saying anything. I don’t speak either, because frankly, I’m not sure what to say. Should I be mad? Am I overreacting in my head?

I reach down, taking Gabriel from him, turning him and bringing him to my chest. He whimpers, but his eyes remain closed, so I take him to his room. He’ll get a better night’s rest in his bed. It’s still relatively early in the evening. I know he’ll need another feeding before dawn.

Once I tuck him in, I come back out to find Drago sitting up in the middle of my couch. He looks worse for the wear.

“You want to tell me how you got in my condo?” I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for his response.

Drago stands, and in two steps he’s in front of me.

“I’m resourceful.” His infectious smile is a bit cocky as he grabs my hips, pulling my center into his cock, which starts to harden on contact.

For a moment I close my eyes, savoring the feel of him.

I don’t understand how he does it. No one has ever had any type of power over me, yet he does, and I don’t remember the moment I relinquished it to him. Maybe it was the night I first slept with him five weeks ago; maybe it was somewhere between then and now. I have no idea.

A part of me likes the way he makes me feel with a look, a simple touch, or even his sweet, sexy words. Another part of me doesn’t trust it.

Opening my eyelids, I press for a real reason.

“That doesn’t cut it.” I step back, leaving his grip. “Answer my question.”

“Jesus, Bri, calm down. Fuck. The neighbor lady let me in.”

“Ms. Lincoln just let you in here?”

“I called you a couple of times, but you never answered, so I drove over. I guess I knocked too hard, and I might’ve called out your name, anyway, that’s when your neighbor heard me. She was all too happy to let me in here to wait.”

“And Gabe?” Why did she let him take him?

“She said she really needed to run to the market. She asked me if I could watch him until you got home. She assured me you’d be here any minute but that was an hour ago.” He raises an eyebrow, but it doesn’t stick when a yawn overtakes him. “Fuck.” He scrubs his hand down his face. “I’m tired. I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours.”

“Why not?”

“What?” He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand the question, but then I see the flicker in his eyes. If I hadn’t been watching him closely, I wouldn’t have seen it. I get the feeling he didn’t mean to tell me that last part. “It was nothing. Just had business to handle. Can I crash here tonight?”

He’s adorable when he’s exhausted. I almost tell him yes but that would be stupid on my part.

I’m not buying the excuse Ms. Lincoln had to go to the supermarket. I just brought her groceries last night. Crazy old woman just wants to fix me up so damn bad she’ll let anyone in here, I guess.

“If I let you stay, you gonna tell me why you haven’t slept, what business you were taking care of, or where you were?”

“Babe,” he steps forward, cupping my face with his warm hands. “I swear to you, I’m not a bad guy. I’m not involved in shady business.”

He leans down, kissing my lips, and making me unable to resist the pull. I waver, falling into him. I let him take me deeper, into an abyss I’m not likely to find my way back out of.

I can’t even say I want to.

But all too quickly his lips pull away, leaving me wanting more.

“If we’re going to date, you have to stop thinking the worst or questioning everything I do.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” I ask, closing the little distance between us. “Dating?”

“Is that what you want us to be doing?” His arms wrap around me.

“You said it like it was a done deal.”

I breathe in his scent and for the first time, I don’t smell scumball making me want to hurl the contents of my stomach. His scent is too inviting. I want to coat myself with, curl up and snuggle with until everything smells and feels like Drago Acerbi—the man I’m not supposed to want this with.

“Then I guess it is.” He pulls me tighter to his front. “I really want to fuck you right now, but I don’t think I can get it all the way up.”

I slightly chuckle at his remark, and then I smile on the inside, thinking how beautiful he and Gabe looked together on the couch. The ounce of guilt I feel keeps gnawing at me. I want to tell him so badly, but I know I can’t; not yet.

“Let’s go to bed, tired one.”

Sleep comes easier than I thought it would. I wasn’t tired when I got home. My adrenaline was spiked too high, but a few minutes under the covers, skin-to-skin with Drago, and I was out.