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

  Five years after the murders

  I can sense the large smile broadening on my lips when I receive my third letter from this girl. But she can’t be little, not anymore. She must be in her teens by now and adjusting to her life. I hope she’s happy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.

  Dear Mr. Police Angel,

  Can you believe it’s been two years since I’ve written? I still talk about you all the time to my therapist. That best friend I told you about, Briana, is now my sworn enemy. But now I have Georgia, and she’s one feisty redheaded wonder who won’t let anyone mess with me. Her last name is Nancy, Georgia Nancy. I’ve never heard that as a last name. But I think Georgia will forever be my best friend. I hope you see less bad things than before. I want all the good things for you in life, Mr. Police Angel.

  I will write you back soon.

  Your friend,

  Malia Strickland

  P.S. I’m still drawing. Enclosed is a picture of my cat on Aunt Mally’s farm.

  Dear Malia,

  I’m sorry to hear about Briana but am so glad you have a friend like Georgia. She sounds like the most fierce friend you could ever have. And friendships are important. Matt’s not my partner anymore because he went to another department. We are both detectives, but I still see him a lot.

  You’re a talented artist. I can’t believe how beautiful it is. I’ll frame it, in my home.

  Take care of yourself, sweetie.

  Wells Shanahan

  Her drawing is advanced. It certainly doesn’t look like a child drew it, and the blending of the calico cat is beautiful. I move to my hallway closet to retrieve the tape measure. This picture deserves to be showcased in my house as a reminder of the little girl who stole my heart. Regardless of where this girl goes, she’ll always be a constant in my life, even if from afar.

  Seven years after the murders

  I open her letter. It’s been so long since I’ve heard from her. She must be driving by now and her life in order. It’s my hope and has always been my hope that she’s happy.

  Dear Mr. Police Angel,

  Can you believe I’m driving? Aunt Mally isn’t happy about it. Not in the least, she’s a nervous Nellie every time I leave the house. But I’m happy. I miss my family every day, but because I have a little bit of freedom now, I can go out and do some of those teenage things. I won’t bore you with those teenage things, but don’t worry, I’m safe. Aunt Mally wouldn’t have it any other way.

  I still talk about you a lot in counseling. Do you ever talk about me? I’m now in high school, and I’m still best friends with Georgia. She’s the greatest, and I swear, whenever she gets mad, her fire engine red hair becomes brighter. But now, Briana is back as a part of the gang, too. It’s fun having two best friends, though Georgia will always be my favorite.

  Do you have favorites? I hope to be one of your favorites.

  Your friend,

  Malia

  The letter stays in my hand, and I wonder if there’s a little bit of intimacy and desire in her words. Do I talk about her? I don’t, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking of her as the little girl I rescued. She’s put me on a pedestal, and I can’t afford for her to keep me there. It will be the hardest thing I do, but I have to stop all communication with her before she gets the wrong idea.

  Seven and a half years after the murders

  My life continues, and the file of the Strickland murders stays in the top drawer of the desk in my office. I’ll solve this murder one day, but for the past seven years, it’s been as cold as a summer’s day in Antarctica.

  The massacre of her family still haunts me, but I’ve continued living and even have begun to date a woman who most think is all wrong for me—my new partner. I guess maybe I started dating her because she’s so different from who anyone would predict for my future.

  Being a detective in homicide, I’ve taken over the Strickland murder case, and I work it between other cases. I owe that to the little girl I saved all those years ago.

  When the next letter comes, I have a fuck ton of remorse again, letting this poor girl think I’ve neglected her or her family’s case.

  Dear Mr. Police Angel,

  You never wrote back. Did I do something wrong? I hope you’re all right. I worry about you in your job. And I never want you hurt. I’ve included another picture I’ve drawn. I still think of you all the time.

  Your friend, I hope.

  Malia

  Eight years after the murders

  I think I’ve found the one I’ll build my life with. Being around Matt and his entire huge as fuck family has me wanting the same thing one day—a forever. And I’ve found it with her, my partner in both our jobs and our future together. She’s who I’ll build everything with. But even in our lives together, I won’t ever forget about Malia.

  I receive more letters, and with every single one of them, it seems inappropriate for me to reply as an adult male. So I don’t. But to say I don’t check in on her from time to time would be a lie because ever since this girl has burrowed herself into my heart, I haven’t been able to let go. I’ve framed most of the art she’s painted for me throughout the years and have them hanging in my apartment. If I can’t have her as a fixture in my life, the drawings and paintings she’s sent to me throughout the years will remind me of the reason I’ll solve these murders one day.

  Chapter 2

  Nine Years after the murders

  Wells

  “I’m coming. I’m coming,” I call out, grabbing my ball cap and jacket. I’m ready for the game and home-field advantage. I couldn’t wait to spend it watching my team kick some ass.

  Matt’s always early when I’m not. “Hold up, asshole.” I open the door to my newly remodeled home, and it’s not Matt on the other side but the little girl I’d been stalking on Facebook, who’s certainly not a little girl anymore.

  “I’m sorry to just drop by, but do you remember me?” Her voice is soft and a little shy.

  My hands break out into a sweat, and I can’t breathe. No, I try to take a breath, and it doesn’t come. In front of me is Malia Strickland, the little girl who I’d saved all those years ago. “Of course, sweetie, I remember you.” I could never forget her.

  It’s colder than a witch’s tit outside, and she barely has a long-sleeve shirt on, and I open the door a little wider. “Come in, sweetie, let’s get you out of this cold.” What do I say to her? I’ve learned from Matt’s sister that she’s one year from graduation, but she has to be at least eighteen or nineteen by now.

  “I’m sorry to have just stopped by, but you’re the one person who…” She stops. “I have no good reason to just stop by.” She runs her fingers through her wet and wavy hair. Her eyes are so big, so bright, and so full of wonder. I’m standing against the wall because this is an out-of-body experience, and I need something to hold me up when I wake from this dream.

  “You never wrote back.” She fidgets with her hands, and her eyes turn downward. “For the past couple of years, I’ve sent you several letters, but you never returned them.” A few tears fall from her cheeks, and I can’t stop staring at her. I wish she’d turn her face to me, so I could look upon how beautiful she’s become. I’m instantly ashamed of my thoughts, but hell, in the few glances I’ve had of her, she’s more than beautiful.

  Her speech becomes almost ragged and her eyes continue to look at the floor as she continues. “I begged you. I thought I’d done something wrong.” She finally looks up at me, having hidden her beauty for a moment. “You made me wonder if you had given up on my case, on solving the murders because I upset you.” Her words speed up. “Maybe you don’t like me anymore. Maybe I’m a pain in your ass. But you never told me why. I never understood why you’d stop writing me after I begged.”

  It was never my intention, but with the look of longing on her angelic face, the appeal, her request is not simply a request of the mind, but a request of the heart. And she’s no longer that little girl who’s taken over my
heart, but an adult woman who now overtakes the younger girl I’ve thought about for years.

  “Oh, sweetie, I didn’t mean to ignore you.” What can I say to her? I’ve upset her, and I would never purposely heap more hell on her already shattered life. “It’s just that…I didn’t think it was right for a grown man to write a young girl. I just—” She twists her body to the side, her eyes focusing on something in the kitchen, and she begins to almost squeal as she interrupts me.

  “That’s my drawing I painted for you.” She points at the fork, knife, and spoon painting, hanging on the one spare wall near the stove. “You kept my pictures.”

  I give her a quick bob of my head, my smirk evident as my lips turn up from my concern to a smile.

  “You read my letters?”

  I nod.

  “I thought you hated me,” she imparts, as her eyes widen.

  “No, I don’t hate you, sweetie, it’s just, I didn’t want—”

  “Oh, yeah, okay, you don’t have to say it. I just wanted to make sure…” She has nothing but a long-sleeve shirt and a small purse on her shoulder. She’s shivering as she starts to my door. I block her path.

  “How did you get here? I can’t let you go out in this cold.” I stand my ground, and she doesn’t try to challenge me.

  “I’m here with my art class. Here for an exhibit.”

  I pull out one of my coats from a closet. “Put this on.” I shoot Matt a text, telling him I can’t make it to the football game. “Come on, sweetie. I’ll take you back to where you’re staying.”

  I do eventually take Malia back to the hotel, but first, we stop at a little diner down the road, and I feed her. It may have only been an hour of my life mingled with hers, but it’s enough to understand that this girl, the one I saved, is living her life on her terms. And it gives me hope for her future. And it has to be a future without me.

  Malia

  He drives me back to my hotel after I spend the afternoon with him. It has been the most I’ve been given of my police angel since the night of my parents' death. I’ve always been left to recognize that I’ve been able to live as normal of a life that someone with my past can because Wells Shanahan shielded my eyes from my family’s dead bodies. Those images don’t haunt me, and I’d also covered my ears, so I heard very little. In the nine years since the murders, I’ve read my share of books that talk about how I most likely blocked those sounds from my mind.

  I have nightmares. My imagination is wild, but they aren’t from the memories, only what I’ve allowed my brain to concoct in my mind.

  I’ve kept tabs on him in the form of a made-up persona under someone who supposedly attended his high school and graduated with him.

  After spending the day with my police angel, I recognize how textbook simple my obsession with him truly is. But regardless of this psychological profile, it doesn’t and won’t ever diminish the true nature of my affections toward this man.

  I’m in this fog, the day I’ve spent with him, when a text message comes through from my aunt Mally.

  Aunt Mally: Hey, I just got word from your teacher that you’ve been sick and in your room for the day. Do I need to come get you?

  My partner in crime and best friend aided and abetted my need to go see Wells by telling the teacher I was having bad cramps. Mr. Aims wanted to stay as far away from me and my menstrual cycle as he could get.

  Me: I’m better. As a matter of fact, I’m joining them for the evening activities. How are you feeling?

  I hate lying to my aunt, especially as she has a strain of the flu she’s not been able to shake. She’s been my number one in my life since she drove through the night to get to me after the phone call she received from child protective services changed her life. She’s been with me every step of the way, letting me sleep in her bed for a long time, and with every transition, she’s helped me heal—well, heal as much as I could have.

  Shelling out money of her own that the state wouldn’t cover, she’s had me in the best treatments money could buy. And for this reason, her paid-off farm is mortgaged as much as it can be. But she’s never made it a secret that she’d do anything and everything to heal my brokenness. She had her own grief to sift through, losing her twin sister, nieces, a nephew, and a brother-in-law. If it weren’t for these two important people in my life, my aunt and my police angel, it would have turned out so much different.

  Georgia sidles up next to me, bumping her hips with mine. “Did you see him?” she whispers, her fire-red hair falling into her face.

  “Yeah, and thanks for covering for me,” I begin, offering her every bit of my gratitude as I bring her in for a hug. I can feel my face redden with the thoughts of his large, imposing body so close to mine as he helped me into one of his jackets. I could almost sense his breath on my neck.

  “Okay, so don’t leave out anything. I need to know it all, every little detail.” There isn’t much to tell except I saw all I needed today. He’s still the handsome man I’d remembered from my dreams. And the dreams I had of him kept the nightmares about my family’s murders at bay. He had my pictures in his house. He didn’t hate me. No, my police angel is a man of honor, of integrity, and one day, he will be mine. I just know it.

  Chapter 3

  Eleven years after the murders

  Present

  Wells

  My desk stays cluttered. The second I file a report, another one appears on it. For fourteen years, I’ve been doing this job. My space is filled with crumpled-up papers, and coffee stains surrounding the wood of this desk I swear is older than me, along with the leftovers in the trash can next to my workspace which fill my immediate area with the stale smell of day-old Chinese food.

  With every report and every case I close, there will always be that one unsolved case. It’s been with me since before I’d been given a desk, hell, before I’d become a detective. It still sits with me as a reminder of the massacre I’ll never forget. It has been engrained in my memory from the moment I found the sweet little girl in the pantry and shielded her face from the memories of her family slain across the floor. Her nightmares have to be worse than mine, and this sweetheart has never strayed from both my heart and soul.

  I still can’t drink milk to this day, not when I saw it smeared and mixed with the blood of the victims. The amount of blood that had been smeared across the kitchen floor from the father alone is something I’ll never get out of my head.

  How do you tell a little girl, only nine at the time, that her entire family was murdered? It wasn’t something I could have ever equipped myself for and didn’t have to. She wouldn’t let go of me, not when the social worker pulled up in her minivan and not when Jules came running from her home to care for Malia, who’d been stripped of her father, mother, and three siblings in a matter of seconds.

  Malia was smart, fucking smart, to wedge herself into a cupboard I called a pantry, but it couldn’t have held much. It was always my educated assumption that the dad shoved her in there before he was viciously stabbed twenty-eight times, due to the fact that Malia showed no signs of blood on her when she leaped to me.

  The calendar, marked up with as much coffee stains as my desk, screams at me. It’s not Friday yet. It’s the day I have set aside to check Malia on social media even though she’s been inactive for almost a year. Yeah, call me a stalker, but the little girl grabbed my heart for the hours she clung to my neck, screaming for her parents, her sisters, and her brother. The letters only continued to strengthen the bond we shared even though I didn’t feel it was right to respond. It may have been one-sided, but knowing her life was as normal as it could be filled me with hope.

  “Shanahan?” The voice calling for me is assaulting, and there’s only one person in the precinct who can say my name with such force, so much resentment, it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I ignore it a beat longer because I find my assholeness comes out in droves at even the thought of my boss, who happens to be my ex-fiancée. Reason number one to
never date a co-worker because that cop may well become your boss one day. Case in point, Vanessa Shay.

  “Shanahan, fuck, I know you can hear me. Get your ass in my office.” In her high-pitched cackle, I sometimes wonder why they didn’t give her a broomstick for her squad car. I push off my chair, methodically slow, then pull out my drawer and rifle through it as if this fictitious item I’m searching for is needed for the ass chewing I’m positive I don’t deserve.

  In the twist of my entire body, I move slower than a snail to her office and find there’s not only the devil herself but her boss and his boss.

  I’m a good cop. I have one of the highest conviction rates, which go along with my arrests. Meaning, when I solve a crime, the charges stick. The DA loves to work with me; I’m in good standing with many judges because I’ve built respect throughout the years. No one likes the pairing of my ex-fiancée as my boss, but neither one of us was willing to leave homicide. Her boss takes any formal disciplines with a grain of salt. But I haven’t fucked up in such a way to get three people from my chain of command to reprimand me and on a Sunday of all days.

  With the upper brass in the room, my speed accelerates, and as I enter the office, footsteps approach me from behind. Turning around, I find Matt Montgomery. I don’t see him as much as I’d like, but I make it out as often as I can for dinner with his parents, and as all the kids have grown, their family has quadrupled in size.

  We don’t have a chance to bro hug as we normally would, but he quickly whispers only for me to hear, “Fuck, I’m not sure what we both did to get called into the principal’s office on the weekend, but this can’t be good.”