Pulling out my cell phone as I make my way toward my desk, I pull up the contact number the chief supplied me with one week ago today. If it weren’t for the fact that all law enforcement cellular devices issued by the state department start with the same prefix, I’d think Chief made a mistake and gave me the wrong number. But it’s definitely police issued. It still could be the wrong number and an explanation why I’m not getting an answer or a call back.

There’s a small ache in the center of my chest as I stare at the ten-digit number. I don’t want to admit it to myself, but I am growing too comfortable with Gabriel in my life.

What’s not to like after all? Steph is right, he’s a good baby. And now that I’ve figured out the right formula to feed him, he’s had a lot fewer spit-ups. He’s more content and doesn’t cry as often. Hell, other than the middle of the night feedings and diaper changes, I can’t recall any little frets or cries in days.

Irritation and disgust settle in my stomach. I swear to God his mother needs to be strangled for abandoning him. Who the fuck does that? In all of my father’s faults—and there are a lot—he never left me or my brother. He worked a lot, still works a lot, and even though he wasn’t around for most of the important things, I never felt abandoned. Unloved? Sure, but never alone. Of course, I had Jackson.

I finally sigh, resolved. I don’t want to call this number. A part of me hopes I don’t get an answer. Gabe has already been abandoned by one person, I don’t want to give him over to just anyone.

“Hey, Andrews.”

I pause before pressing the call button, dropping my hand with my phone in it to my side. When I look up, Ronnie pushes back from his desk and stands. A smile graces his lips as he snatches something up and heads toward me.

“Whatcha got?” I ask.

Ronnie is a veteran detective that has been on the force nearly as long as Mike. And like Mike, age and the stress of the job is starting to mar his face. Where Mike is only just now starting to gray at his temples, Ronnie’s former head of golden-brown hair is nearly covered in salt.

He smiles, flashing his white teeth. For an older man, he isn’t bad looking. He’s still in shape. He came in second at the 10k run last month. I’d say that’s pretty good for a man in his forties. I came in tenth after all, but I don’t run daily like he does.

“Candy!” he beams. “Jess’s yearly school fundraiser.”

“Ah. I should’ve guessed,” I laugh.

He and his wife started their family late and Jessica is the only child they have. I know they both wanted another one, but after years of trying they finally gave up, and so they pour every moment of their free time into their daughter. Ronnie is a good dad. He spoils his kid too much, but then who am I to judge? Jessica is lucky to have warm, loving parents that want to give her the world.

“I can count on you to buy one, right?” He turns a set of brown puppy dog eyes on me for good measure. If I didn’t know him like I do, if I hadn’t been in countless rooms when he’s interrogated criminals and pulled out confession after confession with sheer intimidation, I’d never think he was the same man selling his daughter’s chocolate-covered almonds.

“I’ll pay you for two, just let me grab my wallet from my desk.” Side-stepping him, I set my smartphone on top of my desk then retrieve five bucks from my purse that’s tucked into the bottom drawer of my desk.

“Here,” I say outstretching my hand. “But you keep the chocolate. I don’t need it.”

“I don’t eat that fucking junk.” He laughs.

“No, you just peddle it on the rest of us.”

“Well, yeah.” He grins then turns serious. “Thanks, Bri.” Ronnie tips his chin.

“Anytime.”

When I plop down into my chair, I sign in on my computer and come face-to-face with the same photograph I was staring at earlier today; the one I had Miss Carlisle email to me last week. I’ve looked at this shot more times than it would be considered necessary. Not that any of my colleagues would know. I have a corner desk, so someone would have to be behind me or next to me looking over my shoulder to know what was on the screen of my computer.

There’s something about Drago that I haven’t quite put my finger on. And I’m not sure if it’s a good something or a bad something.

My eyes slide over to Brandon. He most definitely rubs me the wrong way. It’s not because of all the things I know he’s done or had a hand in at Sebastian Diaz’s command. It’s his eyes. They’re flat and the darkest of dark, like tar. And like Diaz, Brandon looks the part of someone capable of evil.

Maybe that’s my problem with Drago; he doesn’t. Before I can ponder that thought, my cell phone chimes with an incoming text message. Looking down, I let out an annoyed groan. Fucking Houston. Great.

Lance: What do you have on Acerbi?

Me: It’s only been a little over a week and I’ve had other cases to wrap up. I’ll let you know when I get something substantial.

Lance: Fuck that! Get on it. Have Connie finish whatever it is you’re slacking on. Acerbi is priority 1, 2, and 3.

Me: Piss off.

Tell me to fucking get on it. I haven’t seen him do shit and we’re supposed to be working the case together.

Honestly, though, I shouldn’t complain too much. After all he’s the last person I want to partner up with. I’m happy to get all the intel myself and write up the report to the chief.

My eyes land back on Acerbi.

You like it like that. His voice punches hard into my ear, hot and like he’s trying too hard to sound mean. You like me dirtying you up.

A flash freezes me, making my eyes lose focus on the screen in front of me.

There’s water, a shower maybe, and the unmistakable feeling of being connected to someone else.

Jesus. Heat creeps up my neck while a tickle inside my ear makes me shiver from head to toe. And just like that, it’s gone. Lost, making me question if it was even real.

When I woke up four days ago in his bed, my hair was damp so . . .

Another text message comes in and I blow out a huff of air.

I look down just as my phone sounds off again.

Dad: The Champagne Ball is tomorrow night. Go with me.

Dad: Please, Brianna.

I stare at his request, unsure if I should reply.

The Champagne Ball is an annual fundraiser the mayor puts on to raise money to fund his efforts to get drugs off the streets of Los Angeles. The rich come out, bid on outrageously priced junk, and well, the streets are still as drug-ridden as they were the night before. So, I’m not sure what good any of it really does.

Why my father is asking me to go with him is a better question?

It’s not as though I hate the man. I don’t. There will always be something inside of me that loves him because he is my father. He may be a shitty person and an even shittier dad, but that’s just it, he’s still and will always be my dad; the only one I have. Doesn’t mean I have to like him. Doesn’t mean I have to hang out with him.

So why does he want me to accompany him? Who the hell knows? And I won’t know unless I go.

I could wonder this all day and I’d still come up with the same answer each time, and I’m just too curious. Deep down I know I’ll probably regret doing it and even knowing that is likely, I still concede and text him back.

Me: Sure.

Me: I need a dress though.

If anything, I’ll get a nice dress out of the deal.

---

When I was a little girl, I loved playing dress up, pretending to be a princess. It was a tireless game I did almost every day from the moment I got home from school until I was tucked into bed at night. I’d put on big dresses, adorn my arms with play-jewelry and daydream about being captured by the big, bad beast that was secretly a prince.

Standing in front of the mirror now though, I haven’t a clue what I saw so appealing about fancy dresses, and I certainly don’t need a prince—or a beast to save me. Back then fairy tales were my way of escaping the endless hours of yelling that often came from my father’s mouth that was always directed toward my mother.

All my pretending came to an end the day my mom died, and although it’s not his fault, technically, I’ve blamed my father for her death ever since. And I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it or stop feeling that way.

Removing the cap from my lipstick, I lean forward closer to the mirror, reapplying a layer of crimson. Finishing, I pull back, smacking my lips and recapping the tube before shoving it into my small clutch purse.

I stare at my reflection a beat longer, taking in the chiffon evening gown I nabbed on my extended lunch break. From my waist up, the dress is fitted with an overlay of rhinestones that wraps around my torso with the zipper ending at the middle of my back and the top of the dress clasps together at the nape of my neck in a halter-top style, leaving my slender but defined shoulders and back naked. The navy chiffon bottom flows free and easy to the floor covering my navy Jimmy Choo sandals.

I smile when my blue eyes pause on my chest highlighted by the style of the dress. Amusement tickles me at my father’s unmasked expression when he picked me up from my condo earlier tonight. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at how much cleavage is on display. I didn’t plan it, not really, when I selected the dress and accessories.

I have to admit though, my boobs sure do look nice. A laugh bubbles out of me because of course, my breasts should look fabulous in the five-hundred-dollar designer PENELOPE Lingerie bra I’m wearing underneath.

My dad was already buying me a dress and shoes, adding lingerie wasn’t going to make a difference. And I’ve dreamed of owning a matching PENELOPE Lingerie set for a while now. I’d never be able to splurge on it for myself; Penelope Burke’s shit costs a fortune.

I sigh, taking a step away from the mirror. I’ve lingered in the ladies’ room long enough, so I make my way back out to find my father talking with the mayor of Los Angeles, Samuel García.

Walking up behind my father, I slide my hand between his body and arm, wrapping my palm loosely around his arm.

“Sam, this is my daughter, Brianna.” My father takes a sip from the champagne flute in his hand, draining the remains.

“Samuel García.” The mayor nods down at me as he extends his free hand.

Meeting him halfway, I take his offered hand in a quick clasp. “Yes, sir,” I confirm knowing who is. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Brianna is in the detective bureau.”

“Really?” Mayor García’s voice is full of surprise, but that’s not what I find so shocking. It’s the, dare I say, pride in my father’s voice when he tells the mayor I’m a cop. My dad has never shied away from telling me he doesn’t approve of my career choice. He’s offered me multiple high paying jobs within his own company that I’ve turned down. He has tried to get my brother and even my sister-in-law to hire me, which Jackson has offered. Alana knows better.

“Yes,” I confirm, squeezing my father’s arm, silently asking him what the fuck.

“Which division?” Mayor García asks, giving me his full attention.

“GND,” I respond, using acronyms all LEO’s use, knowing he’ll know what I’m talking about.

“Ah,” he nods, “our Gangs and Narcotics enforcement.”

“Sam,” my father cuts into the conversation. “It was good seeing you tonight. I’m going to go park this tired, old body of mine in a chair.” His head turns my way where he peers down. “Come, daughter.”

I raise my eyebrow at his order, releasing my hold on his arm.

“Please, Brianna,” he forces the nicety out that I know is hard for him to do. “I’ve been standing all damn day. I’d like to enjoy the rest of the night from the comfort of a cushioned seat.”

The mayor chuckles. “I hope you both enjoy the rest of your evening. And Robert, please feel free to drop some of that money I know you hoard away on something tonight. After all”—he smiles, cutting his eyes over at me—“you have a beautiful daughter here to spend it on and it is a charity after all.”

“Some of us don’t get rich by blowing it all away.”

“It was good meeting you, sir,” I tell the mayor as my father pulls me away. He nods before another man walks up, gaining his attention.

The charity event this year is nestled in the grand ballroom at The Elliott, in Beverly Hills. The mayor has outdone himself this year. It’s never been held somewhere so luxurious in the past years’ events. And with the turnout here tonight it ought to pay off for him I suppose.

My eight-hundred-dollar dress my father bought looks cheap compared to other women that I watch milling around as I’m escorted to a small round table only feet away from the dance floor. Being closer to music, it’s louder, which I take note of as I sit down.

“Would you like something to drink, sweetheart?”

Pleasantries coming from him has my defense mechanisms on full alert. Robert Andrews doesn’t do nice. It’s obvious he’s up to something, but what?

“I’ll get something in a minute.” I place my hands and forearms on the white linen table, stretching them out toward him. “So, why did you invite me tonight?” That question has been plaguing me since my father asked me to go to this event with him. And I’m curious about his sudden change in tune when he referenced my career to the mayor.

“Can’t an old man just enjoy the company of his only daughter?”

I catch my bottom lip, trapping it between my teeth right before a laugh bubbles out.

“Sure.” I lean back against the chair. “If said father actually liked said daughter.”

His lips turn down.

“Goddammit, I love you. How could you ever think I don’t?”

“I said like, not love. I know you love me, Dad. I’ve never questioned that. But like . . .” I trail off.

“Why does there have to be so much tension between me and my children?”

“Because you want to run our lives?” I offer up.

“Brianna, that’s the last thing I want to do. Whatever gave you that impression?”

“You hate Alana for one. You wish I weren’t a cop for two.”

“I don’t hate her. She simply isn’t the right woman for your brother.”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek in an effort to keep myself from lashing out at him. Jackson and Alana are perfect. They’re high school sweethearts that fell in love at a young age, and through everything—shitty parents, having two kids while they were still in college, stressful and demanding careers, and then a third kid unexpectedly—they’ve made their marriage work and love last. How dare he say she isn’t the right woman for Jackson. She’s the only woman good enough for him.

“She’s the mother of your three grandchildren. They’ve been together for over twenty years. C’mon, Dad, get over whatever it is you have against her.”

“If Jackson hadn’t knocked her up in the fir—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I say with venom behind my words.

“My intent is not to piss you off tonight.”

“Then what is your intent?”

“There’s someone I want you to meet.” Alarm bells start going off. “I’m sure he’s already here. I texted him while you were in the restroom earlier to stop by our table.”

“Is that a joke?” I say, flatly.

“Why would that be a joke?”

I shake my head. It’s all I can do not to stand and walk out of here. Taking a cab back to my condo isn’t an expense I can afford. I’m at dear ol’ dad’s mercy tonight, but if he thinks I’m going to be set up or introduced to a man, or whatever, he has another thing coming. I’ll call someone if I have to. Connie is on call this week, but Mike will come get me if I need him to.

“That’s the reason you asked me to accompany you tonight?” I don’t give him a chance to respond. “Alana is all wrong for Jackson, but you have the perfect man picked out for me. Gee, Dad, what were you saying about not wanting to run your kids’ lives?”

“Is it so damn wrong of me to want a better life for you than you currently have? To want you taken care of?”

Does he not know me? He does; he just doesn’t give a shit about what I want. Everything has always been about him.

“I don’t need to be taken care of, Dad. I can put any man in this room on their ass in seconds. And as far as my life goes . . . it’s pretty good. I like my job. You don’t have to like it; I do.”

“That’s your problem; you want to be the one wearing the pants. You’ll never have a solid relationship with that way of thinking.”

“Dad, I can get laid just fine.” I laugh internally at the expression forming on his face. “I don’t need your help. But thanks.”

“Brianna Claire!” he huffs. “Jesus motherfucking Christ.”

“Nice language.”

“Well, then don’t say something that’s going to make me lose my shit.”

“You deserved it for bringing me here under false pretenses.”

“I did want to spend time with you. We live in the same city and I see Jackson more than I see you.”

“Can you take me home now since you only wanted to pawn me off on some entitled prick with a bank account you approve of?” I question, feeling a pang of guilt, knowing he’s right. I never make an effort to see him. In fact, I make more of an effort distancing myself from the man than I ought to. Regardless, he is my father; the only one I’ll ever have.

“I can’t leave this early.” He looks around. “It would be rude.” His hand goes up, flagging down the waiter that’s passing by our table.

I doubt the mayor or anyone else in his camp would even realize Robert Andrews had left. I should tell him that just to piss the old man off. He’s not as important as he likes to think he is.

Contemplating just that dissipates at the feel of someone standing behind me. Places like this, where there are multiple entrances all over the room, gives the cop in me anxiety. There’s no place to sit where I’d be able to see all entry and exit points.

The person is close—too close for my liking—and I’m hoping like hell it isn’t whatever schmuck my father had in mind for me tonight.

“I didn’t realize police presence was needed at a charity fundraiser.” His voice alone causes goose bumps to pebble on my skin. He moves away from my ear just as quickly as he leaned down, electing a shiver out of me.

If I hadn’t been looking right at my father when Drago whispered into my ear, I would have missed the icy look he gave him. “Robert,” Drago says, flatly.

He knows my dad?

“Why are you here, Acerbi?”

Drago pulls out the empty chair next to me and proceeds to sit.

“Same as you I suppose.” A waiter passes by and Drago waves him to stop. The waiter hands him a flute of champagne. Drago holds out his free hand and the waiter gives him a second flute, which he then places in front of me. After he takes a sip, his eyes never leaving mine, he says, “You look stunning.”

“I didn’t take you for a champagne kind of man,” I reply and immediately regret my words. He tells me I’m beautiful and I criticize what he’s drinking. Smooth, real smooth, Bri.

“It’s a champagne ball, I’m pretty limited in my choices, don’t you think?” He smiles, and it makes my pussy pulse. What in the hell is wrong with me? And how does he affect me like this every time I’m close to him? And with my father sitting across from us. That alone should gross me out.

I shrug, not wanting to open my mouth in fear of what might fall out.

I do not want to sleep with him again, I silently admit, knowing damn well that’s exactly what my vagina indeed does want. Traitor.

My father’s cold voice pulls me out of my dirty, wrong thoughts.

“Why are you sitting at my table, Acerbi?” he asks. I turn my head to look across the table at my dad. His eyes have gone from icy to murderous.

“Attempting to engage a beautiful woman in conversation, of course.” I don’t have to see Drago’s face to hear the smirk in his voice.

“Not here you’re not.” My father lets out a strong huff of air that I feel across my face. Most people may be drinking champagne, but not him. I’ve never witnessed him drink anything but Scotch in all my life. I can remember the smell from when I was a small child. It’s not a particularly inviting smell I would consider enjoyable. Then again, most things associated with him aren’t enjoyable. “My daughter has no interest in your conversation.” I just barely keep my jaw from falling to the table. “Leave.”

“Oh, I think she quite enjoys it, don’t you, Bri?” My head rolls to the side where I scowl at him. Egging on Robert Andrews isn’t wise for anyone. Not that I’ve ever taken my own advice, because that’s exactly what I tend to do with him myself.

“Brianna,” my father barks. “Please tell me you of all people do not associate with the likes of an Acerbi?”

“Dad, in my line of work I associate with all kinds of people. You have no idea.”

My eyes never leave Drago’s. They can’t. Not because I don’t want to but because he’s captured them somehow. It’s almost as if they’re only meant for him—belong to him even.

But that thought baffles me. I’m as independent as a woman gets. At least I thought I was.

How can he make me question myself like this?

“Ahem.” My father clears his throat rather loudly, successfully dissolving the spell.

I turn my head, giving my father the attention he’s never deserved.

I’m about to tell my father to butt out, to mind his own business, when Drago opens his mouth first. “Let’s dance, detective.”

It’s not a question, but it doesn’t sound like an order either. Again, he baffles me. Isn’t he supposed to be the big bad werewolf? No—a dragon. That’s what he told me last weekend. And as cliché as it is, that is what his name means after all.

I look right at my dad, into his eyes as I smile triumphantly, as I answer Drago, “I’d love to.”

My father’s jaw locks, his eyes angry with me. But my champagne flute is plucked from my hands and placed on the table, and then my hand is in his and I’m pulled up from my seat.

---

I can see my dad from where we’re standing on the dance floor. His face is scowling, but his eyes . . . His eyes are filled with anger. Should I be alarmed?

“I do believe my father does not like you, Mr. Acerbi.”

“How about this, when you’re trying to nail me for a crime, you can call me Mr. Acerbi; when you’re off duty, it’s Drago. And yes, Robert hates me.” He laughs, seemingly unaffected by the notion.

“You just became so much more appealing.” My smile is bigger than I should allow it. The last thing I should be doing right now is speaking to this man about anything other than the case—let alone be so close to him that I can smell the sweet champagne on his breath.

“Daddy issues?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I just enjoy pissing him off.”

His smirk turns wicked as he pulls me closer, my chest barely brushing the fabric of his tux. It’s everything I can do not to give away how much he affects me.

“Sounds like daddy issues to me, Bri.”

My name on his lips sends shivers down my back, and I’m not sure if they are good shivers or bad. I guess only time will tell—and how the evidence stacks. Evidence I haven’t gathered.

Fuck me, this is so messed up. I need to stop this.

Something in my eyes must tell him I’m about to pull away because he unexpectedly takes my hand and swings me away from him before pulling me flush against his chest. My body rushes, pulling in a quick intake of air at the contact I make with him. Heat floods my body, warming me up from the inside out.

His body dips, closer to my level, as his palm runs over my collarbone electing tickles down my spine. Drago’s fingers wrap gently around the back of my neck, pulling me toward him.

“Go ahead and tell me about those daddy issues.” Warmth forces its way into my ear like a caress I haven’t felt in God knows how long. His bottom lip skims my ear lobe before pulling back to look at me, that sexy smirk ever present.

“No daddy issues, D.” Surprise flickers in his eyes, telling me I’ve caught him off guard using a nickname. I didn’t do it on purpose; it wasn’t planned. It just fell out naturally—too naturally for my liking. “He may be a crappy dad, somewhat, but he’s still my flesh and blood and I’d do just about anything for that man. Provided it was legal and morally just.”

“Such a good girl.” He shakes his head, but there is approval there. I see it. “Legal and morally just,” he mocks.

“So, why does my father hate you?”

“I outbid him on two properties this year. I guess he wanted them really bad.”

“That it?” I ask, confused. My father is in real estate, that sort of thing happens all the time. Well, I assume it does. It’s not like I pay attention to that sort of thing.

“Robert doesn’t like to lose. To anyone,” Drago’s voice turns firm as if warning me.

He doesn’t say anything else and neither do I; he simply pulls me to his chest and we dance embraced in each other’s arms.

Time passes when my dad’s annoyed voice breaks my reverie.

“Time to leave, Brianna.”

Being lost in Drago’s arms isn’t something I can deny as being a bad thing. In fact, it feels good, great even. I don’t know the last time I could say that. I haven’t been on a date in I don’t know how long. When I do go out, it’s with Connie, and she’s pretty laid back; not much of a partier.

Drago tightens his arm around my back and his hand on my hip digs in.

“I’ll make sure she gets home, Robert.”

I glance up, looking into Drago’s dark brown eyes. There is something dangerous locked inside them, but I don’t see evil. Not one little stain in his irises suggests he’s a bad man deep down. I can’t see him roughing up a woman like Miss Carlisle claimed he did. I don’t see him wanting to harm an innocent child either.

There is something not right about her story. I know it. I feel it in my gut.

My eyes slide over to my father. His jaw is locked, and his eyes are telling me to come even though he isn’t voicing it. He knows if he demands I leave with him now, I won’t go. But taking pity on him and myself, I decide that’s exactly what I need to do. Speaking to Drago outside of the case isn’t ethical on my part, and I did just spout off about legal and morals.

“I’m going with my dad.” I step back. “I’ll see you soon.”

I can’t help the small smile that forms on my face. Drago knows I’m referring to the case I’m working, but I’m certain my father thinks I have less than honorable intentions where it comes to the man in front of me. And if I’m honest with myself, I just might.

“Goodnight, Bri,” is all Drago says before taking a step back, turning, and then walking away from us.

He stops next to another man, placing his hand on the gentleman’s back, patting him. When the man turns, I see it’s his brother, Luca, also dressed to the nines.

“C’mon,” my dad groans.

“What happened to, I can’t leave, it’d be rude?”

My head rolls to the side, waiting for him to respond, but he doesn’t. Instead, he starts walking away.

Sighing, I follow until we reach the exit where I see my father’s Mercedes pulling up. I guess he’d already informed someone we were leaving.

The valet exits the driver’s side, quickly rounding the car to open my door, but my father stops him by holding up his hand. Dad opens the door, holding it open for me to get in.

Rubbing my arms, I step toward him.

“Are you cold?” He starts to unbutton his tuxedo jacket.

“No, Dad, I’m okay. Thanks though,” I tell him, knowing he was going to give it to me. It’s times like this that reminds me, he does actually love me, even if it’s not easy for him to show.

After I’m seated and buckled, Dad takes off in the direction of my condo. Traffic is heavy through Beverly Hills at this hour. It’s late on a Thursday night, but it’s not that late. There are still people out and about that I watch from the window as he speeds down the road.

He’s quiet. I thought for sure he’d have something to say about Drago, or at least the man he had planned on introducing me to. I might just have to thank Drago for thwarting his intentions.

The silence makes the drive feel longer than it normally would. Eventually, he slows, coming to a stop at the curb. He never comes inside the rare times he comes here, so I’m not surprised he doesn’t make the effort tonight. I can’t exactly blame him for that; it’s not like I ever ask him if he’d like to come in.

“Thanks for inviting me, Dad.”

I open the door, sticking my leg out when he places a warm, gentle hand on my arm.

“He’s a good man, Brianna.”

“Drago?” I question, pulling back, thinking he can’t possibly be serious after the hostility I witnessed tonight.

“No.” He scowls confirming I’m right. “Lucas, the man I wanted to introduce you to. He’s a surgeon at Huntington General. I only wanted you to meet him tonight. That was all.”

“Dad,” I groan.

“I’m not asking you to marry him.” He shakes his head, annoyed with me.

“Yet.” I can’t help but let that word slip from my tongue. I pull in a long breath of air not wanting to get into an argument with him. He just needs to let this go; it’s not going to happen. Not tonight, not tomorrow, or ever. “’Night, Dad.”

He releases me before I pull away. I step out and as I close the door, he says, “’Night, Bri. I love you.”

“Love you too, old man,” I say, trying to lighten the strained mood that’s settled between us.

“I have plenty of years before I’m old, Brianna.” He shakes his head as the passenger side door clicks closed.

I start up the path to my building, glad I’m back earlier than I told Ms. Lincoln I would be. This way she doesn’t have to keep Gabe so late. She’s already had him all day and I feel guilty she’s caring for him when he really should be with a foster parent. She seems to enjoy it, so maybe the guilt is all in my head.

Riding up the elevator, my phone rings from the small, clutch purse I have it stashed in.

“Hello,” I say, yawning unexpectedly.

“Did you get home safely?” his deep, penetrating voice asks.

“How did you get my number?” I demand.

“I’m resourceful, detective.” There’s a smile in his voice that makes me want to falter. “So, are you home?” His tone turns serious.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Jeez, I sound like a bitch. And why? He was nice to me tonight. I shouldn’t act this way.

“I’m going to assume by the snarky attitude you’re well and safe, and if you aren’t, I’m guessing you can take care of yourself, detective.”

“Bri,” I’m quick to correct him. “Didn’t we agree off the clock, we’re to use our first names?”

“I don’t think you ever agreed to it.”

“Well, that’s because there shouldn’t be any ‘off the clock’ interaction between us.”

“I think it’s a little late for that realization, considering all the interaction we had last weekend.”

Oh, he’s a smug dick. And I’m a weak-ass whore apparently. Fuck me!

The door to the elevator glides open, so I walk through, exiting on my floor.

“I’m home now.” I decide to throw him a bone. It was nice of him to call, making sure I got home safe—even if he shouldn’t have my number. How he got it is something I should push to find out, but I don’t. “I’m hanging up now. Goodnight, D.”

“’Night,” is all he says before he hangs up, beating me to it.

Yep, total dick.

I stash my cell in my purse, then knock lightly on Ms. Lincoln’s door, not wanting to make too much noise in case Gabe is sleeping.

She answers surprisingly quick, then again, she isn’t that old. I need to stop thinking of her like she is.

“Back so soon?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Dad decided to end the night earlier than I thought he would. It’s a good thing though, I’m sure you’re exhausted from having a baby all day.”

“You think I can’t handle one little one?” She waves her hand dismissively as she steps away from the door, allowing me to enter.

“Of course not.” I push the door, but I don’t close it since I’m just grabbing Gabriel and plan to be as quick as possible. It’s not often I wear heels. I don’t have to in my line of work, which is nice. But right now, my feet ache and I want nothing more than a soak in my tub.

“Did you have fun today?” She doesn’t give me a chance to respond when she continues. “Meet anyone new? A man maybe? Or girl, if that’s your thing?” She’s trying hard to keep a straight face, so I don’t know how interested in that answer she is. But I know her, and she is one nosey lady digging for information.

Picking her book up from the arm of her couch, she places a bookmark inside then lays it on the end table.

When I’m silent, she looks up, pinning me with a stare that apparently tells her everything she wants to know.

“Oh, good!” she raves. “First thing’s first, man or woman?”

I bet she would have been an excellent cop. She has a knack for reading people and then getting them to spill everything. I’m a little more reserved than others that live in our complex. She has a harder time getting me to give anything up that I don’t want to.

“No one that interesting,” I lie.

“Do not bullshit a pro. Out with it.”

If I don’t give her something, she’ll keep hounding me.

“I danced with a man, that’s all. Nothing special. Nothing that’ll lead anywhere.” Because it can’t, I tell myself. “I’ll never see him again outside anything work-related.”

“Ooh,” she coos. “He’s a cop then?” She rubs her hands together hungry for more.

“No, he’s not a cop.” I laugh at that thought. “The opposite.”

“What’s the opposite of a police officer?” She cocks her head at me. I raise an eyebrow until she gets what I’m saying. “A criminal?” She bursts out in a quick laugh then covers her mouth, glancing over at the playpen. Gabe must be sleeping. When he doesn’t make a sound, she turns back to me.

“That”—I start, but pause, weighing my options on what I can tell her—“still remains to be seen.” She nods. “That’s all I can say about it.” Taking a step, I follow up, saying, “I’m just going to grab Gabe and get home. Thank you so much for keeping him.”

“Oh, you don’t have to get him yet. You go get out of that sexified little dress you’re wearing and take a shower or whatever it is you planned to do when you get home. Leave him and then when you’ve had a chance to unwind, come back over for him. Sound good?”

“Sounds excellent, but you’ve had him long enough, don’t you agree?”

“Never!” She stands.

“I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful for your help.” I take a deep breath. “I know I need to call the chief and find out why I can’t get in touch with his contact.”

“Bri, honey, we don’t want some stranger taking care of our little Gabe. He needs us.”

“No, he needs someone that knows what they are doing and can take care of him the way he needs to be cared for,” I disagree.

“We do know what we’re doing,” she chastises.

“You know what you’re doing. Me? I don’t have a clue most of the time.”

She shakes her head.

“You just take yourself across the hall and walk right into a shower and don’t get out until you think differently, you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I turn, leaving, knowing not to argue with her further.

It’s not Gabriel’s fault he’s in this situation. We aren’t given choices on our parents. It’s their fault he’s getting half-ass parenting—at least from me anyway. Ms. Lincoln has this shit down. I don’t know how she does it so effortlessly. Kids are a lot of work.