Forbidden With Me: A With Me In Seattle Universe Novel Read online

  Forbidden With Me

  Leigh Lennon

  Contents

  Forbidden With Me

  Play List

  As Always—To My Mom

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  The With Me in Seattle Universe

  About the Author

  What I learned along the way

  Acknowledgments

  Also By Leigh Lennon

  Forbidden With Me

  A With Me In Seattle Universe Novel

  By Leigh Lennon

  FORBIDDEN WITH ME

  A With Me In Seattle Universe Novel

  Leigh Lennon

  Copyright © 2020 by Leigh Lennon

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect are appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Editing by Jenny Sims.

  Content Editing: Ashley Cestra

  Proofreading services by Deaton Author Services.

  Cover Design: Kari March Designs

  Published by Lady Boss Press, Inc.

  Play List:

  Alice in Chains, “Nutshell”

  Chris Cornell, "Nothing Compares 2 U"

  Foo Fighters, “Best of You”

  Green Day, “Boulevard of Broken Dreams"

  Green River, “Swallow My Pride”

  Green River, “Rehab Doll”

  Hole, “Miss World”

  Hole, “Violet”

  Mudhoney, “Deception Pass”

  Nirvana, “In Bloom”

  Nirvana, “Lithium”

  Pearl Jam, “Alive”

  Pearl Jam, “Black”

  Pearl Jam, “Even Flow”

  Pearl Jam, “Last Kiss”

  Savage Garden, “Truly Madly Deeply”

  Sound Garden, “Black Hole Sun”

  Sound Garden, “Fell On Black Days”

  Taylor Swift, “I Knew You Were Trouble”

  Temple of the Dog, “Hunger Strike”

  Smashing Pumpkins, “Today”

  Queensryche, “Anybody Listening?”

  To my best friend who has believed in me more often than I’ve believed in myself. I’ve been able to call you my best friend for twenty-nine years! Here’s to many more years of laughter together.

  As Always—To My Mom

  I miss you every day and wonder what you’d think about my books however, you would have been my number one fan. I miss you more than I have words to express.

  Prologue

  Wells

  Rain. There’s a whole fuck ton that beats down on our squad car. But what else should I expect in Seattle?

  “It’s a quiet night,” Matt Montgomery, my partner and best friend, utters while we drive through a residential street.

  “Ah, hell, man, don’t you know those words are bad luck?” I counter, turning toward him in the driver’s seat.

  Knowing Matt Montgomery like I do, I just know a witty comeback is on the tip of his tongue when a call comes in. “Shooting reported 512 North 14th Avenue—details are still coming in. Proceed with caution.” Both Matt and I turn our witty banter off to focus on the job at hand.

  The address, the road has a familiar ring to it. He turns on our sirens, tapping the gas as he makes a U-turn. “Fuck, man, let’s not crash on our way there,” I urge as the rain continues to beat down. Our nerves always ramp up with shootings in suburban areas, but Matt has never exhibited this rash behavior before. The man is usually as cool as a cucumber.

  “Wells, that street. It’s my parents’. That address, it’s our neighbors, the Stricklands’, three doors down. Jules is babysitting there tonight.”

  Matt’s family, the Montgomerys, have been my family since Matt and I graduated from the academy together. Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery are the types to openly welcome everyone into their clan, and this is what they’ve done with me. I never missed my parents—my mother, a drunk, and my dad, a deadbeat—yet I love the family the Montgomerys are. The idea of Matt’s kid sister, Jules, in harm’s way causes me to want to storm the house—fuck protocol as we secure her. She’s not close to twenty and still has her entire life ahead of her.

  With one glance at Matt, I see the vein in his neck pulsing under his skin. My hands are clammy as I reach for the radio in an attempt to gather as much information about this situation as we know. “Be advised,” the female voice on the other end begins, “you’ll be the first on the scene.”

  Ah, fuck. I didn’t think I said it audibly, not until Matt replies, “Yeah, I hear you.”

  As he pulls onto his street, his actions are on autopilot, but his question, his plea isn’t the normal cool and collect Matt Montgomery in uniform. “Promise me, Wells, no matter what happens, you’ll make sure my sister is safe.”

  I’ve never had a best friend before. Matt is more—he’s a brother. Shifting my hand to his forearm, I realize my own pitch is as shaky as his. “I promise. No matter what, Jules will be okay.”

  It’s the last words I speak to my best friend before he’s out of the car, crouching low and entering the backyard. Matt and I have always been in sync. When clearing the house, he’s in the back, and I’m in the front.

  The rain continues to pour, and in the darkness of the night, the porch light is out. The entire house is pitch black, and I draw my gun, moving up the steps one foot at a time. Every step gives way to a small squeak, and as I adjust my weight, I’m counting down, the same strategy Matt and I’ve used since partnering together so long ago.

  I’m on the last step, the door moving with the wind of the outside. I have my piece drawn and my flashlight next to my gun as we had been trained. It’s simple—the elementary skills that kick in every time I’m back in this situation, and it’s the reason I can put on this uniform every day.

  Matt’s just entered the home with our countdown. I’m in the zone, about to cross over the threshold, when a flash of light shines directly in my face. The strong frame of the person pushing out of the doorway causes me to crash into the brick of the house.

  In my six-foot-four frame, it’s hard to knock me off my balance, and when I pull myself up to pursue the perpetrator, a loud cry of a child has me internally questioning protocol. In the glint of the street lamp, I take in a long inspection of the man running from the scene—short, spiky black hair, a frame larger than mine, taller than me, and black boots. Not much to identify, but when my
gaze looks back up from where I have turned around, clearing the doorway for more perps, he’s gone.

  The loud sound of a child’s voice calls out again. “Help me! Help me!”

  Crossing the door frame into a larger foyer, I turn my head to the sizable room that houses a table with three bodies, one on the floor, her throat cut from one end to the other. The age of the girl, and the height has my race pulsing, thinking it’s Jules Montgomery. Running to her first, the hair is jet black, and Matt’s sister’s is blonde. Upon further inspection, this girl is younger, maybe fifteen. At the table, a young male, maybe twelve, lies face down, the same injury as before. Across from him is an adult female, maybe in her forties, sitting like the little boy.

  The pleas continue, but I inspect the dining room, clearing it for other perps. It’s large, and with my flashlight, I believe they were sitting down for dinner. Milk is spilled, combined with blood, and the plates are stacked up on one end with a large casserole dish next to the mother.

  Following the cries for help, I head through an open door to the back of the dining room as I finish clearing this space—my goal to make it to the sweet voice. “Mommy, Daddy.” It’s all the voice calls for. He or she seems to be younger, maybe under ten, but I can’t place if it’s a boy or girl. “Mommy, Daddy,” the child cries again, and I continue deeper, looking for both the young child and the dad he or she is calling for.

  An oversized island in the kitchen separates the space, but in front of me is an adult male, the same age as the adult female. He lies face up with stab wounds in his stomach and chest. I guess this is the dad, and I estimate he has at least twenty puncture wounds. I have to sidestep the broken plates as glass and blood have been strewn throughout the entire space.

  “Mommy, Daddy, Gracie, Cabe, Annie.” She’s telling me how many are in the house, and I’m still attempting to find the voice, as I clear the room, looking at the possibility of one more body.

  Moving around the kitchen island, I make it farther to the back of this suburban home. The voice draws me closer and closer. A small door sits next to the refrigerator. “Mommy, please!” She draws her screams out. I’m almost positive this voice belongs to one scared little girl.

  Out of the corner of my eyes, a small advance has me drawing my gun. Matt is instantly in front of me, his eyes focused on the voice behind us. “Jules?” he asks. With a quick shake of my head, the stiff muscles of his jaw relax. “I found the seventeen-year-old, Annie, in the sun room. Choked to death with no pulse.” I can hear Matt’s information, but in his low whisper, the child behind us can’t. He stands near the steps in the middle of the kitchen, clearing the stairs as I continue to look for the girl. I point at the door, indicating to my partner what I’m about to do. With Matt having both the stairs and my back, I twist my body around and holster my weapon.

  I tug the small pantry door, only able to house a little child, and she instantly lurches at me. I didn’t have to say I’m a policeman. “My mommy? My daddy?”

  “Hey, sweetie, I’m Wells. And you know Matt, right?”

  Her cries stop, peering up at him. She gives me a slight nod at my question and begins to speak. “Jules’s brother, right?” she asks, and her sniffles are loud. With my body, I shield her from her dad’s corpse.

  “You’ve been so brave, sweetie,” I begin, and in her deep brown eyes, tears flooding them, she stares at me.

  “I’m Malia.” Her voice is hoarse, and she wipes at her nose. It’s then I notice with just Matt’s flashlight that she has no blood on her hands, and I hope she’s not been witness to her family’s deaths.

  “Okay, Malia, could you do me a favor? I’m going to take you outside, and I need you to bury your face in my shoulder and close your eyes. Do you understand me?”

  My eyes connect with Matt when he mouths, just loud enough for me to hear, “She’s only nine.” My heart lurches and I can barely keep down the sub sandwich I’d had eaten right before this call.

  “I want my mommy.” Her sobs begin to water her wet cheeks again.

  “I know, sweetie, I’ve got you.” I won’t promise this little one, with her puffy little cheeks and her raven hair matted to her head, that she’ll see her mommy again. But if I could protect her from the carnage in her house, I’ll do this. It’s my only goal in the here and now.

  Chapter 1

  Two Years Later

  Wells

  Little by little, my life returns to normal after the sweet girl had clung to my body and buried her tear-stained face into my neck and shoulder. I’ll never forget her, and I won’t stop until the man who’s responsible for her family's death is placed behind bars. This sweet girl, who has already become a part of my heart, has sent me a letter. When I read it, I just know I have to respond.

  Dear Mr. Police Angel,

  I never wrote you after you took me out of my house. That was two years ago. I talk about you with this person my aunt takes me to. I tell her you were a hero. Are you sometimes sad when you see bad things, like you did that night? I’m sad for you, if it upsets you. Aunt Mally told me I have to go back to school this year. I didn’t for the first year, and I schooled at home for the second one. Did you know I was named after my aunt Mally? Her name is Malia, too? She was my mom’s twin sister, Malia and Maria. But Mommy called her Mally her whole life.

  Anyway, Mr. Police Angel, thank you for saving me, and please don’t be sad when you see sad things.

  Your friend,

  Malia Strickland

  Dear Malia,

  Hey, sweetie, I was so happy to hear from you. And you’re right, I’m sad when I see bad things. It’s one reason I became a policeman. I like helping people. It’s a part of the job, plus it’s the reason I met you.

  I’m glad you’re going back to school. I think it’s a great way to meet new friends. Did you know I met Matt, Jules’s brother, in policeman school? And now he’s my best friend.

  You’ll have to tell me what your favorite subject is and what you do for fun.

  For now, sweetie, take care of yourself.

  Wells Shanahan

  Writing to a young girl is an odd sensation. I have no experience and try to leave it simple by talking to her on her level. Surely, my speech would be different if she’d been older, but she’s not. My interactions with kids are limited, but she’s also never left my mind. How can anyone forget the sole survivor of a massacre that’s haunted my dreams for the past two years?

  She’s so young, but her name for me, Police Angel, makes me her hero when I’m nothing close to a hero. If I were one, I would have caught the perp the night he knocked me off my balance. I would have already given her justice.

  The murders remain unsolved, and the detective heading the investigation has finally gotten used to me being a constant in it. I’m not a detective, not even close, but one day, I hope to be, and if these murders aren’t solved by then, I’ll not rest until I give her the justice she deserves.

  Three years after the murders

  An entire year flies by, and the little girl’s smile, the only one she gave me that night when I pulled a lollipop from my squad car, stays with me. I imagine the same smile on her face, her chocolate eyes shining, when her next letter unexpectedly shows up in my mailbox.

  Dear Mr. Police Angel,

  I’m not good at writing you back. In this past year, I attend school, then I go to counseling and then back home. I concentrate on drawing. I love to draw. I just turned twelve. School is okay, but the boys are mean. I do have one friend, and her name is Briana. She likes to draw like I do, and we both wear the color black a lot. We have matching best friend necklaces, and no one messes with me, or they have to deal with her. She’s much stronger than I am. Anyway, Mr. Police Angel, I will try to get better about writing.

  Your friend,

  Malia Strickland

  P.S. My favorite class is art since I’m very good at drawing.

  Dear Malia,

  I’m very happy you did well in school thi
s year. I love that you have a good friend, but you’re a strong person, too. Don’t ever forget this.

  So, art, right? I can’t wait to see something you’ve drawn. Having a best friend along with a necklace for the two of you is wonderful. And don’t worry about writing me. I want you to live your life.

  Take care of yourself, sweetie.

  Wells Shanahan

  When I place her letter on the end table, I retrieve my cell and send a message to the detective on her case. He’s easygoing and not territorial like it’s his case as most would be. When I get the message from him, there’s still nothing new, and I pull out my file I still keep close to me.

  Everyone felt the old boyfriend of Annie Strickland was the main suspect, that was everyone but the lead detective and myself. We hadn’t believed in our guts, Smith Turner had done it . I continue to comb through all the information several times until I can’t keep my eyes open for another moment. It’s the only way I would ever put it down after reading Malia’s sweet words.