Naked Truth (17 page)

Having a gun pointed at you changes the way you think about things. Actually taking a bullet, well, that changes everything. Thankfully, I only have to deal with the former, not the latter. The coward did, however, pistol-whip me. That was not fun. Quite painful actually, but I took it like a man.

I wish I could say that I was distracted from missing Violet, or that I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, but the fact is, the guy was just bigger, faster, and stronger. He was able to take control of the situation before I even had the chance to assess it.  I have no excuses.  The one thin silver lining to this debacle is that I was able to get a look at his weapon. Because it was pointed at my fucking face.  Why he didn’t kill me on the spot I will never know, which makes me believe that he had no idea who I really am.

Lying in a hospital bed also gives you a lot of time to think.  The pain medicine isn’t necessarily conducive to rational thinking, but it does allow you to relax.  I play the scene over and over in my mind, trying to figure out where I went wrong, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t think there was anything else I could have done to prevent what went down. I mean, obviously I was knocked unconscious, but I mean before that. I must be missing something.  Everything is not adding up.  Could there have been another perpetrator? Did he have help on the inside?

I’m barely conscious when I hear Captain Carmichael yelling outside my door. I hope he isn’t yelling at the pretty nurse who brings me all the good meds. Then I hear another familiar voice yelling at him. I know that voice.  I love that voice.  I realize that they are yelling at each other and I sober up immediately.  Why are they fighting? And how does Violet know I am here?  And more importantly, when is she going to come in so I can lay my starving eyes on her and breathe in her light? She is my salvation and I need her desperately.

Anger. Relief. Deceit. Pride. Betrayal. All of these emotions are running rampantly through my brain. I don’t know whether to be livid or ecstatic, and at whom. Since my dad is the only one that I can confront at the moment, the messenger is not only being shot, but trampled.

After jumping through a few hoops to find out where Jordan is, we head through a maze of hallways and corridors. We know we are in the right place because there are at least a dozen police officers and detectives milling around.  When they see Captain Carmichael, my dad, they all stand at attention, saluting, but he tells them all to stand down.

Standing in front of his hospital room, my father pauses before entering and turns his head toward me to see if I’m ready, which allows me a little more time to get myself under control.  And boy am I grateful.  I have so much to get off my chest. He patiently lets me shout at him, understanding where my frustrations are coming from, and knowing that he is partly to blame.  When he sees that I am finally losing steam, he pushes through the door without even knocking; my manners don’t take over this time, so I just follow his lead.

Jordan…Pike…crap, Jordan is lying on the hospital bed with a few wires attached to his arm. Looks like a regular IV.  And there are a bunch of annoying beeping sounds coming from the corner behind his bed. He’s a lot less worse off than I was preparing myself for. His face looks like it has some kind of butterfly bandage on it and he has one bruised eye. Huh, I really got myself worked up. When the relief of seeing him finally sinks in, I break down, a pained sob escaping my lips.

Jordan, in his groggy-looking state, sits up quickly, holding his arms out for me to come to him. I don’t hesitate. I barrel forward into his arms; my father has to actually step aside so I don’t knock him over.  Once I reach my destination, the crying really begins.  All of the turmoil and anguish I have been feeling over the past few weeks releases onto his now-soaked hospital gown.  He holds onto me like I am his lifeline, and I grab on so tightly that I may leave bruise marks on his back.  Although he doesn’t look as badly as I had feared, I still could have lost him today, and that hits me hard. The man that I love - that I am in love with - could have been taken from me forever. 

It takes me a few minutes to get it all out, but once I calm down, I release him and back away a little. He makes a disappointed face, but then nods in what I believe is understanding.

My father takes that opportunity to step forward. He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in close, and I feel safe in his arms. Just like Jordan used to do for me. That thought saddens me again, but I am able to contain myself this time. He uses his other hand to reach out and shake Jordan’s hand. “Good job, Detective.”

Detective. I look from my dad then back to Jordan, shaking my head in disbelief.

“I was only doing my job, Sir.”

“Glad to see you’re okay. Are you up for telling me what happened?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” Jordan answers like a good little soldier.

Ignore my sarcasm, I’m kind of ticked off again.

I watch them talk back and forth and seeing their camaraderie raises my hackles.  My memory kicks into gear and I think back to the dinner at my parents’ house.  That fateful night when we broke up because I thought he lied about being a stripper.  Now I come to find out that he’s not really a stripper, but a detective?  And my father is his boss?  I remember the looks my father was making toward Jordan that night, but I just passed it off as a father giving a potential suitor a hard time. Well, don’t I feel like a jerk?

I start paying attention again halfway though Jordan’s explanation, but I’m pretty sure that I haven’t missed much.

“And then he struck me across the face with the pistol.  A laceration requiring 18 stitches, a black eye, and a hell of a headache is all I escaped with. I was totally knocked out then woke up in the ambulance. I have no idea what went down after I was hit. Have you heard anything?”

My father turns to look at me to see how I’m reacting, which causes Jordan to turn his focus on me as well.  I have a completely stoic look on my face. I haven’t cried, moved, or even blinked.

“Don’t even think about keeping anything from me.”

My father acquiesces and Jordan nods in agreement.

He transforms from Dad to Captain Carmichael in the blink of an eye. With his work face firmly in place, he tells us what he knows. “Last I heard, we have one perp in custody.  The big guy, who pistol-whipped you, is in the wind.  But my detectives are laying hard on the other one and he is talking.  According to him, the big guy on the run isn’t even the one running the show. But this dirt bag, the one we have, is so low down on the totem pole that he has never met, seen, or spoken to the guy in charge.”

“So where do we go from here, Captain?”

I don’t hear the answer because I’ve turned from my father’s grip and am already out the door.  I know there was a gunshot, according to the news, but I just don’t want to learn any more. It’s bad enough I can never forget what I just heard, there’s no good reason to subject myself to another minute. I’ve had enough.

-12-

Captain Carmichael summons me to his office, and when the boss calls, you run. I’ve been watching security footage for days now in a dank, dark, back room of the station and I am a little on edge. A lot of coffee mixed with little food and even less sleep is a dangerous combination. Add to the mix that I haven’t spoken to Violet since the hospital and I am not firing on all cylinders. She asked for time, and I will do whatever she wants for the chance to have her back.

When I arrive at the Captain’s office, I notice that his secretary is not at her desk.  I debate waiting for her, but I don’t want to delay the inevitable, so I knock twice and wait for permission to enter.  As I walk though the door, I make sure to close it behind me. Before I turn back around, I know we are not alone.  I know when my flower is near. I can sense her.  I take in a deep breath, trying to absorb everything about her before I find out what’s going on here, or before she leaves again.  Watching her walk out the door without so much as a kiss is agonizing. Knowing I caused her any modicum of pain is heartbreaking.

“Have a seat, Pike,” he orders.

I nod. “Yes, Sir.”

I sit in the only available chair across from his desk, which happens to be right next to Violet.  Now I can smell her, and even though I am desperate to gain back her trust, my body betrays me and my cock hardens.  I quickly cross my legs and cover my hardening dick with the clipboard I was carrying.  I have no doubt Violet knows exactly what I am doing, as I see her eyes sparkling with humor, and she suddenly crosses her legs, squeezing her thighs tightly together. It instantly gives me hope knowing that I still affect her. Damn, what I wouldn’t do to be alone with her right now.

“Violet, we need your help on this case,” her father says to her and she looks just as surprised as I do.

“No, thank you,” she tells her father then begins to stand up.

“Violet, sit down,” he orders.

Violet and the Captain lock eyes, just staring at each other, and I am watching raptly, wanting to know who is going to win, and how Violet can possibly help with this investigation.

“Violet,” he bites out one more time.  Violet must sense the seriousness of the situation because she sits back down. Under protest.

“I’m not a policeman or a detective. I don’t know what you think I can help you with,” she states bitterly.

“You were at the crime scene. At the club.”  He clears his voice, making it obvious that he is not pleased with her being there. And let me tell you, neither am I. “You saw things. There’s got to be something,” Captain Carmichael clarifies for her.

My eyes bug out of my head. I pick up my chair with my ass still in it and whip it around so I am facing Violet.

“You were there?” I am shocked.

“Yeah, once.” She shrugs.

“When?” I ask with a little too much accusation than I intended.

“For Rose’s bachelorette party.  Just like her engagement, it was stupid idea,” she jokes. This is not the time for joking. Her father has a stern look on his face; he does not look pleased.

“Did you see me there? Did you know who I was this whole time?”

“Of course not.  I’m not a liar!” she shouts at me, emphasizing that fact that I lied to her. 

I sigh.  “I didn’t lie, baby.”

“Oh, yeah?  And what exactly would you call it?”  She begins the Spanish Inquisition all over again.

Fortunately, the boss steps in for me. “Violet. You’ve been around this long enough to know that undercover agents can’t reveal their true identity to anyone,” he reminds her.

“But I’m not ‘anyone!’ Or maybe I am,” she pouts.  And I feel like shit all over again.

“Cupcake, I’m sorry. You know I am. You are not just ‘anyone’ to me, you are my every one.”

Violet gives me her award-winning smile and I feel like I just won the lottery.

“But, Boss, I have to agree with Violet.  What can she do to help?” I ask the Captain.

“Pike, has Violet told you about her memory?”

“Yeah, it’s really good. Amazing.”

“How much do you know?” he asks me, and I see Violet start to fidget.

“Dad,” Violet warns.

“What am I missing here?” I look to both of them for an answer.

“Son, Violet has Hyperthymesia.”

“Dad.”

“Violet?” I turn toward her in question.

I stand up in frustration. “Will someone please tell what’s going on?”

“I have this thing called Hyperthymesia,” she answers as though it’s just a matter of fact.

I kneel in front of her and grab her hand. “Are you okay? Is it an illness?  Tell me, please.” 

I begin to panic.  I can’t lose the love of my life. Separation is bad enough.  Death? That would kill me. Shit, did I just say the love of my life? I did, didn’t I?  Violet is the mother fucking love of my life. Well, hot damn.

“See? This is why I didn’t make a big deal out of it. Stop worrying,” she tells me blandly.

“Easier said than done. Spill it.”

She huffs.  “Fine. It’s a condition where I remember everything about everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah,” her father interjects.  I almost forgot he was even in the room.

“Okay, so when you were at the club, is there something you can remember that could help us?”

“I don’t even know.”

“Shit,” I say in disappointment then apologize for cursing.

All of a sudden, like a light bulb switching on, Violet remembers something.

“Wait!  The night we were there.  I saw a man with a gun…” she starts.

“A gun?”  Her father and I both holler. 

I keep holding her hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her father asks.

“Because we weren’t supposed to be there.  I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” she tells him sadly.

“I could never be disappointed in you, Princess.”

But like a squirrel with a nut, I refocus.

“Okay, so if you look at some security tapes, could you ID the guy with the gun?”

She shrugs.  “I don’t see why not.”

“Well, I guess you will be spending tonight with me.  How does dinner and a movie sound?”

A box of pizza, two hot dogs, three bottles of water, and six bathroom breaks later and we are exhausted. I haven’t seen the tattooed guy with the gun from that night.  They don’t have security cameras in the bathroom hallway where the manager’s office is, so it’s not like we can just go straight to the exact time I was standing there.

About an hour later and, “there!” I shout.  “That’s him! That’s the guy!” 

I jump up from my seat and point to the video screen.

“Are you sure?” Jordan asks me as he makes his way over to see whom I am pointing at.

I sit back down and he pulls up a chair, scooting into the area I am sitting.  He’s so close.  I want to just reach out and touch him.  I want to run my hands through his hair and kiss his dimples. I want to…

I don’t get the chance to finish my thoughts before Jordan starts talking.

“Are you sure, V?”

“Yup.”

“That guy right there?” He points to the exact man on the screen.

I shiver, making a grimacing face. “Ew, yeah. No doubt.”

“Shit, shit, mother fucking, shit.” A litany of curses spills from his sexy mouth. I remember how those lips felt on my body and how badly I want a repeat performance.  But my concern for his reaction of my discovery trumps my visceral needs.

“What? Do you know him?”

“Son a of a bitch!”

“Jordan?” I try to catch his attention but he is in a zone that I can’t seem to break through.

“Mother fucking cunt sucker!”

“PIKE!” I shout again, this time capturing his attention.

“Dammit!  “Sorry, baby.”  He points again to the screen.  “That right there is Fat Jack.”

“Okay, and he is?”

“The goddamn doorman at Ragin’ Richards,” he bites out.

“No!”

“Yep. Right under my fucking nose.  I’ve been working this case for almost six months. And in less than four hours, you’ve broken it wide open.”

He starts laughing, but not his usual happy-go-lucky laugh. It’s more like an ironic this-is-fucked-up laugh. And I sincerely can’t tell if he is happy for my help or pissed at me for solving it.

“The preposterousness of it all is…” but he doesn’t complete his thought because his laughter takes over again. This time it’s infectious, causing me to chuckle, albeit uncomfortably.

“Sorry?” I ask hesitantly, fishing for an answer to whether I should take a hike.

Jordan grabs me from my chair and not so delicately places me on his lap so that my legs are straddling his. He leans in to kiss me, but then pulls back at the last second.

“You are fucking amazing. Do you know that?” he asks rhetorically.  I think.

My blush, which has been elusive these past few weeks, has shown up in full force and is currently working its way up my neck.

“Mmm, my favorite blush is back.  Give me one second.”

Jordan leans across me and hits the speaker on the desk phone.

“Captain, Violet ID’d the guy. I’m gonna have him picked up and brought in.”

“Good job, sweetheart.  I knew you could do it,” he says proudly.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she speaks up, sounding very happy to have pleased her father.

“I’ll get him picked up.  You guys go out and celebrate.”

“Thanks! Night, Sir. Night, Daddy,” we both call out at the same time.

The line goes dead. A silence fills the air as we turn to look at each other, a smirk lifting from the corner of my mouth.

“I still have a rain check burning a hole in my pocket,” I mention.

Violet raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Huh?”

“Remember that afternoon in the rain, in front of your bank?  You offered me a rain check for coffee,” I remind her.

“Ahh, yes, I remember.”

“Well, I’m cashing in now.  Let’s go get some coffee.  I know a great little Cuban shop around the corner.”

“But I don’t drink…” she starts, but I cut her off by laying my finger on her lips to quit her worries.