Fated (19 page)

This new guy was wearing a mask: a black ski mask pulled askew while he and Freddie struggled over his gun. Her weapon had been knocked to the floor, and Hart fervently hoped it had been Freddie who’d fired.

“Hold it,” Hart yelled. The man spun around, and Freddie used his distraction to wring his wrist so he dropped the gun. She wasn’t quick enough to take him out completely, and before Hart was on them, the guy had recovered. He slammed Freddie against a wall, hard enough her skull cracked against the plaster, and sprinted for one of the bedrooms.

“Fuck,” Hart yelled again. He glanced at Freddie, then followed the guy, only to see him drop down from the porch onto the street. He landed hard, but not hard enough to stop him from taking off at a sprint. Hart only hesitated a second, but there was no way he could leave Freddie alone in the house while she was barely conscious. Not with the other two still in here, even in handcuffs. Instead he yanked his phone out of his pocket and called the station. Hopefully someone would catch the ski-mask guy, but he heard an engine roar in the distance. It could’ve been someone else, but Hart had a gut feeling this perp was getting away.

“Don’t move,” he said to Freddie, and then gave his description to dispatch.

Freddie glared at him from where she was kneeling against the carpet but ceased her attempts to stand up. Instead she sat back to lean against the wall with her eyes closed.

“Did he get away?”

“Not for long, I hope.” Hart stuffed his phone in his pocket. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone just bashed my head against the wall.”

“Smart-ass.”

Hart was in a rage that the guy had attacked Freddie, but right now he only sat back with his shoulder pressed against hers, and he’d stay there until backup and an ambulance arrived.

It didn’t take long. The EMTs were there first, shining lights into Freddie’s eyes and feeling the back of her head, insisting on lifting her onto a stretcher. Knowing he wouldn’t like to be watched if their roles were reversed, Hart went out to talk to the officer in charge of backup. He was putting Freddie’s gun into an evidence bag.

“Seriously?” Hart said.

The officer who lifted his face had an arrogant sneer as he stared up at Hart. The guy’s nostrils were
huge
.

“Officer Lesley will need to make a statement why she fired her gun.”

“Chief Inspector Lesley needs to go to the hospital to make sure she’s not concussed from putting an end to a burglary.”

“Not much of an end, is it? The burglar got away.”

“While his two accomplices are sitting in the other room, handcuffed.”
Asshole
. “What’s your name?”

“Lassiter.”

“Lassie. That’s just perfect. I’m going to have to talk with Miller about your attitude, Lassie.” Hart didn’t wait for a reply but followed the EMTs down the stairs.

“He’s right you know. I should go to the station,” Freddie said when he stuck his head through the ambulance doors.

“You need to get checked out and then go home and grab some rest.” Freddie opened her mouth to protest, so he added, “I’ll deal with this. I mean it. Give me your address so I can check up on you this evening, okay?”

“You can always sext your boyfriend. He has my address.”

“I see that knock on your head did nothing to improve your sense of humor, Chief Inspector.” Hart grinned. Yeah, she was going to be just fine.

It ended up taking the better part of the evening to get his story down on paper, and he stuck around to watch the two goons through the one-way-window as they gave their statements. By the time he parked in front of Freddie’s condo, it was nearly ten. He’d briefly considered going home instead, but if he did he could forget wine, he’d be getting drunk on expensive Glenfiddich instead.

Freddie opened her door in a pair of purple flannel pajamas with hearts on them. “Hi,” Hart said. This was… unexpected.

“Come in.” Freddie stepped aside, her fluffy socks silent on the hardwood floor.

“This is a nice place.” He glanced around the cheery home. Gorgeous, colorful art offset the simple white walls, the kitchen was open plan, and it looked like there were two bedrooms with their own bathrooms veering off the living room, where
Aladdin
was playing on the TV.

“Don’t judge me,” Freddie said, pushing a mug in his hands.

“Is this hot chocolate?”

Freddie’s eyebrow rose in a distinct,
what did I just say?
Hart shut his mouth and followed her into the living room, where she sank down in a comfortable recliner that resembled a blanket fort. He picked the edge of the nearest sofa, setting his mug down on a coaster by his elbow.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Freddie’s eyes were on the movie. Then she sighed, shoulders sagging. “Rattled. It’s been a while since someone pointed a gun at me. I thought I was dead.”

“Christ.” Hart scrubbed his hands over his face, grabbed his mug, and took a deep gulp. It burned on the way down. “
Christ
,” he repeated, though for a whole other reason this time. “What is that? More rum than cocoa?” Freddie threw him a wicked grin.

A head poked out from under the dining room table, a pair of glinting green eyes fixing on Hart.

“That’s Merlin,” Freddie said when she noticed what he was looking at. “He’s generally not too fond of strangers.” As if to prove her point, Merlin the cat retreated back into the shadows he’d appeared from.

“How’s your head?”

“Not too bad. They gave me some painkillers, but I don’t have a concussion. So, good as new tomorrow.”

If her mug held as much rum as his did, Hart doubted that very much.

“You sure you’re okay?” Whatever he’d expected of at-home-Freddie, it hadn’t been this loose-haired, pajama-clad, Disney-watching woman. But then she’d probably never guess about his obsession with tropical fish, so what did he know?

“Yeah, I’m just pissed he got away. No word on that, is there?”

“No, and the kids aren’t any use either. They say some stranger paid them to help him burgle the house. He had them put any papers and computer-related stuff in boxes, but they had no idea why. The house belongs to a professor at the university, but both he and his wife are out of town until tomorrow morning. I’ll go by and ask if they have a clue why someone would be interested in his work.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Hart held back his first impulse of denying her. Her impeccable suits, her makeup, and her hair—that was her battle armor, and he’d been given the privilege of seeing her without it. But no part of this softer Freddie made her less a cop. He drained the rest of his hot rum, letting its comforting warmth flood his veins.

“So.
Aladdin
, huh?”

“Genie is awesome” was all Freddie said, and he kicked off his shoes and pulled his feet onto the couch so they could watch the rest in silence. To their surprise Merlin made an appearance and, after a long, stealthy creep across the living room, settled on top of Hart’s lap.

Just as the movie ended and he contemplated asking Freddie if she wanted him to sleep in her spare bedroom, his phone chimed.

Where are you?

“Ah, shit.”

“What is it?”

Hart bit his lip, but Freddie’s face was lined with worry. “It’s…. Toby,” he admitted. “I forgot he was coming over tonight.”

Freddie’s shoulders dropped even as she rolled her eyes. “Then go to your boy.”

“He’s not my boy, Freddie. For one thing he’s older than me, and for an—”

“So you’re his boy?”

“Oh my God, just….” He shook his head. “I’ll stay with you; just say the word.” He stood and waited as Freddie climbed from her seat. She didn’t ask him to stay, which came as no surprise. Certain people liked to play up their injuries, but Freddie was not one of them.

Before they moved away from the couch, something occurred to him. “Was the stab wound really as shallow as he makes out?”

Freddie’s face went strangely blank. “What stab wound?”

“The….” Hart touched his rib cage right where Toby’s scar sat and stared at Freddie in bewilderment. “From the time he got mugged?”

“Toby? He was never mugged.” Freddie shook her head, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?
Stabbed
?”

“Yes, he was. He has a scar, a big one, right here.”

“He never….” Freddie stared past Hart, eyes unfocused until she blinked them back to Hart. “When was this? He never said.”

“About six months ago, or so he says. He didn’t tell you? But there must’ve been a report made about it.” Freddie shook her head again, jaw tight. Hart sighed and let it go. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around?”

“I’m fine, seriously. Just….”

“What?”

“Be good to him, all right? He’s a good guy, a genuinely nice guy, and if he never told me about this stabbing he might be far more withdrawn than I thought. And the fact that he told
you
… I think he’s far more into you than he’s showing beneath all the flirting. He’d kill me for saying this, but I know he hasn’t dated anyone in a long time. Just don’t hurt him, okay? Do you… is there someone at home? Waiting for you?”

“I… no. No one’s waiting for me. I just—” A shiver ran down Hart’s spine. “This isn’t ever going to be a long-term thing. It’s just not practical. And I don’t usually do casual.”

“Do you do long-term?”

Hart laughed without mirth. “Not exactly.”

“I can’t
believe
you are making me say this.” Freddie put her hands on her hips, all put-upon, but she looked better now than when Hart arrived, so he took it in stride. “You’re both adults, and he knows you’re not here to stay, so go for it. Go on, go get him. Just… be nice.” She pushed him toward the door and grinned. “Enjoy your evening, Hart.”

“Call me if you need anything, all right? Take care, Freddie.”

“You too, man.”

The door closed, and it felt like the heart of him sank into his boots. The last couple of days hadn’t been easy, and the ones that were coming weren’t exactly promising improvement. He didn’t know how much he had left to give Toby right now. And right now was all they were going to have.

B
Y
THE
time Hart pulled the cruiser up into his father’s driveway, the day had caught up with him. So tired his eyeballs ached, Hart sat in the stilled car a few seconds before he realized he’d blocked Toby in. As if summoned by the thought, Toby appeared from his BMW and walked over. He opened Hart’s door.

“You going to sit there all night, handsome?”

Hart snorted. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to wait for me. I wasn’t expecting you to.”

Toby gave him a crooked smile. “I caught up on some of my records. It’s fine, really. And I wanted to see you. Come on.” Toby put a hand on Hart’s shoulder, and Hart got out of the car.

“I blocked you in. I should—”

“Come on.” Toby tugged at him gently, and together they went up to the front door. It was so dark Toby used his phone to light the lock for Hart. His hand shook as he turned the key.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Toby. I had a pretty rough day.” Toby said nothing, just followed him inside and closed the door behind them. Without looking back, Hart walked into the kitchen and turned on the soft light above the sink, not wanting to broadcast his doubts under the harsh glare of the large lamp hanging above the island. Automatically he reached for the bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter. Toby pressed along his back. His hand carefully circled Hart’s injured wrist, then slid up to thread their fingers together.

“I know just the thing for a rough day.” Toby’s free hand snuck around and under Hart’s T-shirt, rubbing warm circles over his belly. Hart couldn’t help it: a hard tangle of self-doubt and weariness dissolved under the touch. Still, if what Freddie said was true… he couldn’t lead him on.

“Toby, this can’t be—”

“Shh.” Toby’s hand splayed wide over his breastbone, pressing down. “I know. It doesn’t have to be. I brought condoms and lube, and I want you to take all those pent-up frustrations out on me.” Toby’s breath was hot against Hart’s ear. His hand rose up until it cupped Hart’s throat from underneath the T-shirt and hoodie, bunching up the fabric. “I want you to fuck me.”

Hart felt it now, the ever-so-slight tremble that shuddered through Toby’s body from head to toe, a regular thing with brief pauses in between, like he was suffering from hypothermia. The hand on Hart’s skin was burning hot, though.

Hart turned around, and Toby stepped back. He was still dressed in his clothes from work. The sleeves of his shirt were wrinkled where they’d been rolled up, down, and then up again. Without a word Hart began to stalk toward Toby, who automatically took a step or two back and then turned toward the stairs.

“No.” Hart’s voice surprised himself, and Toby too going by the little startle. “Right here.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

Toby began to unbutton his shirt, but Hart shook his head once, and Toby’s hands dropped to his sides. A final step brought them toe to toe, and when Hart kissed him, it wasn’t a celebration, it was an assault. Immediately Toby moaned, opening his mouth, knees giving out so Hart stumbled and had to press him against the counter to hold them both up. Hart kept kissing him until his jaw ached, then turned him around to face the counter beside the sink. No one would be able to see them, but the uncovered window, black with night, still amped up the thrill.