Carter (Hope City Book 2) Read online

  “I thought casual was just how we started. I expected after a while we’d become more. But with you, it’s always about your job. How am I supposed to feel? You leave here because you get a call out, and I’m expected to just go?”

  Count to ten, boy, before you explode. His father’s wise words came back to him, and he closed his eyes, mentally counting. He cast his mind back to the previous months, searching his memory banks to see if there was anything he’d missed but came up blank. In the last six months, they had gone out occasionally for drinks or dinner, never spending the night after having sex, no matter which bed they were in. And they rarely talked, at least not about anything important. Certainly not building a relationship.

  Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly before he began. “Allison, I’m sorry if you thought our relationship was moving in any direction other than what it was—casual and convenient. You knew I worked for the Police Department when you met me, and you know that I can get a call at any time. You’re standing here all pissed at me because I’m out doing my job. You’re also pissed at me because I didn’t read your mind about expecting a change in our relationship when we never even hinted that that was what either of us wanted.”

  Her jaw tightened as her lips pinched. “I know you can get called out at any time, Carter. But that’s another problem. You don’t have to be.”

  His head jerked slightly to the side, hearing her words but not understanding her meaning.

  “My father’s law office employs several private detectives. And, I have no doubt, they get paid more than you do.” Her lips curved slowly at the sides, a smile that reminded him of the Grinch, full of plots and plans but no true happiness. “I thought I would wait until our relationship moved forward to let you know that you could work for him. But maybe now is the time to bring it up.” She stepped forward and placed her hand flat on his chest, her gaze dropping from his eyes to his mouth. “Think about it. Working for a prestigious law firm or wasting your skills on the great unwashed of Hope City. After all, it’s not like you're a high-profile homicide detective. Jesus, Carter—a drug cop? Having to work with the homeless? That’s barely a step above being a street cop.” Biting the corner of her lip, she smiled again.

  As she stepped closer, he jerked his hands up to clasp her shoulders and keep her from pressing against him. Allison had certainly shown a great interest in his detective career when she thought he worked on high profile cases. But she’d lost interest very quickly when she’d discovered he was not a homicide detective, certainly not one working on a media-laden case.

  Thoughts slammed through his mind so quickly they crashed together, but one image came to the forefront… the unknown young man who now lay in the morgue.

  With his hands holding her in place, Carter stepped backward, needing the distance. He watched her brow crinkle in surprise. “You need to leave, Allison. I won’t be calling and won’t accept calls from you anymore. What we had will never become anything more and now only leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

  Understanding moved over her face, and her incredulity would have been funny if he’d found any of their conversation amusing at all. Tilting her head toward the front of his condo, she lifted an eyebrow. “I walk out that door, I’ll never walk back through. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  He nodded and held her gaze. “Yes, and that would be good.”

  She jerked backward as though slapped. With narrowed eyes, she turned and reached for her coat and purse. Watching her stalk toward the door, he expected a parting shot and was not surprised to receive one.

  “The best thing that could’ve happened to you and your career is leaving.” With that, she left, slamming the door behind her.

  He stood, his feet rooted to the floor, his chin to his chest, staring at his feet before lifting his hand to the back of his neck, once more squeezing in an effort to relieve the tension. Tension that came not from the scene in his apartment but from the scene of death still needing to be processed.

  Allison didn’t get it; she never would. He was not a detective for glory. There sure as hell would not be riches or accolades. But that young man had had a life in front of him, now cut short, and Carter wanted to find out why—and where the hell the bag of prescription drugs had come from.

  It now felt like a whiskey night, and he headed into the kitchen. After grabbing a glass, he poured a generous amount of the amber liquid and walked past the sofa Allison had reclined on, moving instead to the large picture window that faced the Inner Harbor. Taking a deep swallow, he welcomed the burn from the peaty drink. The city below twinkled with lights, their reflection on the undulating water hiding the ugliness he knew was present in the light of day.

  Unlike some people he knew, he wanted a relationship. Someone to come home to. Someone to share his life. But damn. Never met that person. Who knows if I will?

  Tossing back the last of his drink, he shoved those thoughts from his head and settled his mind firmly on what needed to be done the next day. Reports to write. Evidence to look at. A trip to the morgue. And another trip to the homeless shelter. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he sighed.

  He shook his head on that cheery note and placed his now-empty glass into the sink before going into the bedroom. Looking at his clock, he knew a couple of hours of sleep was all he would manage before he needed to be up and going again. He stared at the empty bed and felt nothing but relief that it was just him crawling between the sheets. Better to be alone than with someone who can’t handle who I am.

  Carter’s alarm jarred him awake, and he stared bleary-eyed at the time as he turned it off. Sitting up in bed, he propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his palms over his eyes. Five hours of sleep. Thank God. When he became a detective, one of the byproducts was insomnia. Plagued with the inability to let go of the cases rolling through his mind, he would get up and read until falling asleep or it was time to get up. It was rare for him to get more than two or three hours of sleep at a time.

  Invigorated from a hot shower, he relished his relaxed morning, not having to rush out the door. The autopsy would not be performed for several more hours, giving him plenty of time to get to the station, meet with Rachel, and then head to the morgue.

  Not thrilled with cooking for one, he enjoyed the perk of a coffee shop on the first floor that not only served great coffee but cooked fresh breakfast sandwiches daily. Once dressed and ready to go, he headed downstairs.

  “Good morning, Detective Fiske.” The greeting was called out as soon as he entered the coffee shop.

  Flashing his grin at the college student working behind the counter, he soon had his coffee and sausage-and-egg biscuit. “You’re the best, Jenny.” He was not immune to the hungry look she gave him but made sure to keep it friendly-but-distant. Been a lot of years since a college girl was part of my take-out order. The previous night’s scene with Allison bolted through his mind, and he shook his head as he carried his breakfast to a seat at the counter by the window. Sighing, he sipped his hot brew and pushed thoughts of too-young and too-demanding women from his mind.

  Dusting a few crumbs from his lap, he headed out into the morning commuter rush and was soon pulling into the parking lot of police headquarters. Up the stairs and down the hall, he greeted others as he made his way to the bullpen, the large room that housed numerous desks.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” he said to Rachel, setting a takeout herbal tea in front of her.

  “Oh, God, thank you. I really need this!” She sipped the now-cooled brew, nodding in appreciation. “Got a call from the ME. Autopsy on our John Doe is being done this morning.”

  Another detective walked in and looked over at the coffee he was drinking. “Damn, man, don’t I get one of those?”

  Carter looked over his shoulder and watched as Kyle McBride stalked toward him. “You’re rarely in the office. If I had known you were going to grace us with your presence this morning, I would’ve called for a fuckin’ caterer.”
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  Kyle made it to him and playfully punched him in the arm enough to jostle his coffee.

  “Watch it! You make me spill a drop, I’ll find a way to get you permanently assigned as a resource officer.”

  Kyle threw his head back and laughed before turning to Rachel in greeting her. “What are you doing hanging out with this loser? Anyway, by the looks of you, you’re about ready to pop.”

  Shaking her head, Rachel groaned, “Too much damn testosterone for this early in the morning, boys.” She turned her attention back to Carter. “Trip to the morgue at 10 o’clock?”

  Carter nodded and glanced at the clock. “Hopefully we can get an ID then.”

  Kyle leaned his hip against the desk. Sean’s younger brother was part of the drug task force, and while they looked like brothers, that was where the similarity ended. Sean was precise and methodical whereas Kyle lived by gut determinations. At work, Sean was rarely seen without a button-down shirt and tie, even if it was loose around his neck. Kyle gave off the vibe that the idea of a tie would choke him.

  “Early morning trip to the morgue. Fuckin’ way to start the day. Prescription pills? How many does this make?”

  “This is the third one that’s landed in my lap. The first one from two weeks ago was identified. It was ruled accidental overdose. He had a packet of prescription drugs in his pocket, like my guy from last night. Oxycodone, maybe Fentanyl. Same with the second one last week. Looked a lot like what my John Doe had in his pocket, but I’ll know more after the autopsy. Last two had been homeless, and it looks like this one was also.”

  “You’re still dealing with the homeless shelters?”

  Chuckling, he nodded. “Yeah, but that hasn’t been easy going.”

  “You know, my sister works at—” Kyle’s phone vibrated, and he looked at the screen. “McBride. Yeah. Yeah. Shit, on my way.” He took to his feet and immediately weaved through the desks toward the exit, calling over his shoulder, “School resource officer called in a drug bust at Carver High School.”

  After watching Kyle disappear down the hall, he turned back to the files in his desk. Might as well get a little work done before heading to the morgue.

  3

  “Mom!”

  Tara jerked at the sound of her daughter’s yell, poking her eye with the mascara wand as she leaned close to the bathroom mirror. Shit. Blinking, she turned and offered a one-eyed glare toward her six-year-old daughter standing a few feet away in the bathroom doorway. Grabbing a tissue, she blotted her teary, now mascara-smeared eye and sighed heavily.

  “Colleen, how many times have I told you to please not scream in the house unless it’s an emergency? I’m not deaf. I promise you do not have to scream to get my attention.”

  “But I can’t find my pink sneakers!”

  “Then wear another pair. I saw your blue ones in your closet.”

  Colleen scrunched her nose and shook her head viciously from side to side. “No! Today’s color day. We’re supposed to wear our favorite color!”

  Now that her vision was clearing, she stared at her daughter. Pride might be a sin, but she was thrilled her daughter was a miniature version of herself, seeming to gain little of her father’s DNA. Long, thick, dark hair. Blue eyes. And a smile that could light a room. Well, maybe that didn’t come from me, considering I can’t remember the last time I lit a room with a smile. As her gaze moved over her daughter, she observed the pink shirt, pink ruffled skirt, pink tights, and pink ponytail holder in her hand.

  Smiling at the amount of Pepto Bismol pink one little girl could wear, she asked, “I suppose that pink is your favorite color?”

  Rolling her eyes while bouncing on her shoeless feet, Colleen said, “Mom! You know it is! That’s why I have to find my pink sneakers!”

  Trying to remember where she saw them last, she shook her head slowly. “Honey, this is why I tell you to keep things in their right place.” One look at her daughter’s quivering chin and she bit back the suggestion that Colleen was just going to have to wear the blue ones. Dabbing underneath her eyes, removing the last traces of smeared mascara, she said, “Let’s see if we can find them in your room.”

  With a twirl that sent the ruffled skirt swirling, Colleen darted out of Tara’s bedroom. Following, she glanced at the clock by her bed and knew that their morning was going to be rushed. It would have been helpful if Colleen had told her about color day the night before. Once inside her daughter’s messy room, she could not help but sigh as memories flooded.

  Tara might have been the third child in her family, but she was the oldest sister, with three siblings younger than her, including two sisters. She remembered often having to help Erin and Caitlyn get ready for school, their room looking very similar to Colleen’s.

  The bedspread was half on the floor, and she knelt nearby, pulling up the corner. Bending, she could see the toe of a pink sneaker peeking from underneath. Not so hard to find, after all. Snagging both shoes, she stood with them dangling in her fingertips. Before she had a chance to speak, Colleen squealed and rushed over, grabbing her around the waist and squeezing. Laughing, Tara bent to kiss her daughter’s head, leaving her lips pressed against her hair for a few seconds longer.

  “Okay, munchkin, finish getting ready. I’ve got to do the same and then I’ll fix you breakfast.”

  Hurrying back into her bathroom, she managed to swipe on her mascara, and with a quick brush of blush on her cheeks, she hurried into the kitchen. Colleen was a picky eater, but Tara managed to get her daughter to agree to cinnamon apple oatmeal on school days, leaving the sugary cereal for weekends.

  The two bowls of oatmeal were quickly fixed and just as quickly eaten. Keeping an eye on the clock, they had little spare time. “Make sure to go to the bathroom, brush your teeth, and get your backpack. We leave in five minutes.”

  As Colleen rushed out of the kitchen, Tara rinsed the bowls before heading into her own bathroom. Finishing her business, she glanced into the mirror as she washed her hands. A sigh slipped from her lips as she peered at the reflection staring back at her.

  Her long, dark hair was pulled into a sensible, low ponytail at the back of her neck. Her pale-blue blouse was unadorned, and her neatly-pressed navy pants were more of a practical uniform than fashionable. Small, silver hoop earrings and a silver Celtic cross necklace were her only nods to jewelry.

  Drying her bare hands on the towel, she could still remember the day she removed her wedding ring. At thirty-two, she was hardly old, and yet she sometimes felt ancient. “You’re no fun, anymore, Tara.” Those parting words by her ex-husband still occasionally rang in her ears.

  “Mom!”

  Startling at the shout for the second time that morning, Tara walked briskly out of the bathroom, tucking her maudlin thoughts away. We’re better off without him. Sliding her feet into her low-heeled pumps, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and headed down the hall toward the front door. “You ready?” she asked while taking their coats from the closet.

  “I forgot to have you sign my folder!” Colleen was kneeling on the floor, rummaging through her backpack.

  “What have I told you about waiting until the last minute to do any of your schoolwork, including getting me to sign things?”

  Colleen turned her expressive blue eyes upward, and Tara sighed once again. Kneeling next to her daughter, she quickly laid her hands on the bright red first-grade parent folder. Opening it, she could see that Colleen had brought home a reading sheet, a math sheet, and a parent permission form for an upcoming field trip. A quick glance showed that she had everything correct on the reading and math sheets, and she initialed in the top corners. Reading quickly, she smiled at the idea of a field trip to a science museum and signed the permission form. “Looks like you’ve got a fun trip coming up.”

  With the papers signed and secured back in the backpack, Colleen was once again bouncing as she put on her coat. “Our teacher said that we’re going to get to see a cool exhibit on space! I told her that
I already know all about space! Grandpa taught me everything!”

  “I’m right here, sweetheart. You don’t have to yell even if you’re excited. Remember, indoor voice.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Colleen whispered, still bouncing.

  Opening the front door, they walked outside, and she locked the door securely. Turning toward their car, she observed a thick frost covering the windshield. Dropping her chin to her chest, she sighed heavily for what seemed like the millionth time that morning. “I wish we had a garage.”

  Once Colleen was inside the car, Tara started the engine and blasted the heat. Grabbing the scraper, she scraped enough frost that she could safely see out the windows. Nurturing was easy. Independence was natural. But damn, a partner that cared would have been nice.

  Now, five minutes late, she prayed that there would be little traffic getting Colleen to school. Hmph, right. The streets near the school were lined with cars and school buses, and there was nothing that could be done except get in queue and creep forward. As soon as they were at the drop-off spot, she leaned around as Colleen unbuckled. Her daughter popped through the opening between the front seats and gave her a tight hug. Kissing the top of Colleen’s head, she leaned back, and they held each other’s gaze. “Love you biggest,” they said in unison.

  Colleen grinned and whirled around, threw open her door, and hopped out. With a wave, Tara watched as she ran to her friends, and they entered the school building. Not wanting to hold up the line, she quickly moved forward.

  Flipping on the radio as she drove to work, she listened as the DJs ran off a list of famous people whose birthday was that day. She was acutely aware of what day it was, silently commemorating it each year. She remembered the winter wedding eight years ago. She had finished her master’s degree in social work, was newly employed, and ready to marry her college boyfriend. Young, in love, excited for the next logical step in their relationship. The only good thing that came out of that relationship was Colleen, and she was a priceless treasure.