Now and Again (21 page)

“It’s not giant anymore,” he teased, smacking her ass.

“Looks like I won’t be getting on my knees under your desk after all.”

“You know I’m teasing, baby. I like that you like chocolate, it makes it easy to please you. And I have to go soon, anyway.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m helping with a search warrant later. It’s a big one, so we’ve got a briefing on it upstairs in a few minutes.”

“Oh. Sounds like we may need to reschedule our date?” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

“No, we may have to bump it back, though. Is a late dinner okay?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll text you when we finish.”

Layla reached up to his neck, her fingers sliding over the hard lines of his vest. “Is this a bulletproof vest?”

“Yeah, it’s standard to wear these on this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing is it?”

He gave her a small smile and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Just answer me, Ben. I hate it when you’re patronizing. What kind of thing is it?”

He sighed deeply and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m really not supposed to talk about it, Layla. It’s a narcotics case, we’ve got a lot of people going out on it, and it’ll be fine.”

“Then why are you wearing a bulletproof vest? And what’s with the guns on your desk?” Her eyes flicked to the weapons sitting next to a notebook.

“Well, we don’t go in unarmed,” he said, sounding irritated. “And the vest is just because it’s better safe than sorry.”

“What about your head? Is there a vest for your head?” she asked sarcastically.

“Why are you busting my balls about this? Are you my mom now? This is my job, Layla.”

“I thought your job was detective. I thought you investigated shit and oversaw other investigators. Since when do you execute search warrants?”

He backed away from her, scrubbing a hand down his face. “They needed more people on this one and I volunteered. What’s the fucking inquisition about? We’ll still go on our date.”

“It’s not about the date, Ben. And you
volunteered
? This sounds dangerous, why would you volunteer?”

“Why would I not? I’ve had my ass shot at while I defused bombs in Afghanistan. You think I’m afraid of a narcotics search warrant in downtown Chicago? I always volunteer for this stuff.”

He was angry now, and Layla was well on her way there. “It would be nice if you considered that you have someone who cares about you now,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring at him. He took another step back.

“What? Like I have to ask you or something? Are you fucking serious?”

“I didn’t say ask, I said
conside
r.” Her voice rose and Ben’s mouth set in a thin line.

“Well, consider this: I’ve never been pussy-whipped and I don’t intend to start now. Why don’t I just let you out of our arrangement a few hours early?”

Coldness hit Layla’s chest as she stared at him. So he knew this was almost over as surely as she did. And getting out early sounded good to him. “Fine. Yeah, that sounds fine. It’ll save you the trouble of taking my fat, chocolate-eating ass on a date tonight.”

“God dammit, I don’t think you’re fat! And I wanted to take you out, but I’m pretty attached to my balls and I don’t plan on handing them over to you.”

“I told you from the beginning this was a bad idea,” she said, willing away her tears. Layla Carson did not cry over men. At least never in front of them.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I should’ve listened.”

The words took the wind out of her, and she turned, unable to say anything else, opening the door and slamming it behind her.

She couldn’t hold the tears back any longer, and they were streaming down her face when she walked back through the door. Amy’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened in concern.

Layla held a hand up. “Don’t tell him I was crying, if you have an ounce of ya-ya loyalty. Tell him I looked happier than you’ve ever fucking seen me.”

Amy nodded and silently passed Layla several tissues. Layla took them and hurried onto the elevator. When the doors opened, she ran through the lobby and out the front door, trying to keep the rest of her tears at bay until she was in her car.

That went fucking great. At least I didn’t tell him how I feel or ask him to meet my parents.

She wiped the bunch of already of wet tissues across her cheeks when she was behind the wheel of her car. Though she told herself she was glancing in the rearview mirror to check traffic, she knew deep down she wanted to see if Ben was coming after her. And she hated the way her heart sank when she saw that he wasn’t.

***

Layla had considered calling her sister or Melanie to commiserate over drinks, but she didn’t feel like being around anyone tonight. She’d slowed the car when she got close to the candy shop with the thick frosted brownies she loved, considering buying half a dozen and having a pity party with Prince curled in her lap and a cheesy horror movie playing. But then she’d decided the best way to work out her feelings was a trip to the gym.

Before Ben, she’d worked out five days a week. But late nights and relaxing weekends had slackened her, and now she was recommitting. The only way she could eat what she loved and not wear pants with elastic waistbands all the time was to work out regularly.

The gym wasn’t crowded on this Friday night, with just a handful of other singletons on treadmills or spin bikes. Layla climbed on a bike and worked up a sweat within five minutes.

She was stupid for letting a man get under her skin
again
. And now she was not just hurt, but embarrassed. What would she tell Em when Ben didn’t show up with her Sunday? That she couldn’t find a man who wanted to be with her for more than sex?

A 40-ish man with short blond hair nodded as he approached the bike next to her. “How’s it goin’?” he asked, grinning.

“It fucking sucks,” she said, glaring at him. He lowered his head and focused on the spin bike and Layla turned back to hers.

Fucking Ben. He’d reeled her in, ripped her heart out and then cast her aside. But still, a voice in her head was wondering if he was okay. Seeing him in the bulletproof vest had made her realize how much she cared about him.

Her mind replayed their argument, past conversations, the night at the hotel . . . She was surprised when she looked at the timer on the spin bike and saw she’d been at it for nearly an hour.

The workout had taken the edge off her anger. Ben was a capable police officer and she shouldn’t have questioned him like she had. Still, his words had been hurtful. She dialed his number on her drive home from the gym, but the call went to his voicemail. She hung up, hoping he’d see the missed call and return it.

As soon as she walked in the door of her apartment, Prince was at her feet, whining to be taken out. She threw down her bag and connected his leash to his collar, still in her sweat-soaked workout clothes.

Anxiety and a hint of hunger gnawed at Layla as they rounded the block. Had Ben not called back because he was mad? Or was there another reason?

When she returned home, she pulled off her clothes and stepped into the shower. She was trying not to panic, but as the minutes continued to roll by, her worry grew until it was an aching knot in her stomach.

Lunging for the phone as she stepped out of the shower, she pushed a button with her wet hand and saw that no one had called. He knew she was worried and it was shitty of him to not respond. Had the past month meant nothing to him?

Anger was easier to process than worry, so she let her fury build as she pulled a pair of dark jeans and a black bra out of her drawers. She put them on, slipped into a black v-neck t-shirt and flip-flops and grabbed her purse, not bothering to dry her wet hair.

She jogged to her car and started it, wondering if she should go to Ben’s apartment or O’Malley’s. If she got to the pub and he was flirting with a woman, she’d do something that would probably get her arrested. Her knuckles gripped the steering wheel tightly as she accelerated.

The parking place she came to a quick stop in was illegal, but what the hell? It was close to the door and she didn’t have the patience to find another one right now.

The crowd in the pub was light for a Friday night, and she scanned it for Ben, her heart sinking when she didn’t see him. She approached the bar and slid into a stool, catching Doreen’s eye. The bartender approached with a deep sigh.

“You heard anything?” she asked, straightening glasses on the shelf in front of her.

“About what? I’m looking for Ben,” Layla said.

“Oh.” Doreen’s face tensed and she stared at the glasses.

Layla was about to jump out of her skin. “What’s going on?”

Doreen met her eyes but said nothing, her lips set in a tight line.

“What?” Layla demanded. “What?”

“An officer was shot at a warehouse downtown when they were doing a search warrant this evening.” Doreen’s eyes shone sadly.

Layla’s body felt like it turned to liquid as she stared at the bartender. Her heart raced and her hand flew to her mouth.

“No,” she said softly. “No, no. It wasn’t Ben, right?”

“None of us know who it is.” Doreen shrugged slightly. “All we know is there was an officer down and an ambulance took him to St. Mary’s. Some of the guys left here to go over there when we heard, but it was only a few minutes ago.”

Layla grabbed her purse and headed for the door. It wasn’t like Ben to not call her back. A sinking sense of dread filled her and she ran once she reached the pub’s door, her hands shaking as she opened her car and got in, fumbling to get the key into the ignition.

The stop and go of the congested Friday night traffic made her want to scream. Her heart raced as she dialed Ben’s number while at a stop light, needing to do something. The beep that preceded his voicemail made her slam her fist on the dashboard.

“Ben Montrose. Leave a message.”

“Ben, it’s Layla. I am worried sick right now. Actually sick, like I might throw up right here in my car. Please call or text and tell me you’re okay. Please.”

She hung up, willing her phone to ring when he heard her message. But it didn’t, and when she drove into the parking deck of St. Mary’s Hospital, the glow of the words on the sign were blurred by her tears.

Once she parked, she couldn’t stop herself from running down the flight of stairs and onto the elevator that was marked with arrows toward the emergency room. She fidgeted during the ride and sprinted off when the elevator doors opened.

A young brunette receptionist met Layla’s eyes before she made it all the way to the desk.

“May I help you?”

“The police officer who was brought in – where is he?” She knew she looked wild-eyed and frantic, but that was because she was.

“Are you a family member?”

“I don’t know – who is it?”

“I’m not allowed to—”

“Was it Ben Montrose?” Layla slammed her hands on the counter, her voice wavering.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to release anything about a patient except their condition, and patients who intake through the ER may not be in the system yet.”

“This is a fucking nightmare,” Layla said, laying her face in her hands. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t know if it was him, and I can’t reach him.”

“Can you call someone from Chicago PD? They may be able to release more information than I can. I really am sorry. I need to help the next person in line.”

Layla turned around and saw an elderly woman leaning against the shoulder of an elderly man. She stepped away numbly, running through her contacts from the DA’s office in her mind. Someone with a connection to the department would be able to help her.

Her shoulders fell as she searched for her phone. A security guard with white hair and a belly hanging over his belt approached her.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked. The lines around his hazel eyes wrinkled sympathetically.

“No. I’m just upset. My . . . boyfriend, sort of, is a police officer and one of them was shot tonight and brought in and I don’t know if it was him.  We had a fight and I was stupid and I hate thinking he’s hurt or . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed a hand over her mouth. “ . . . worse.”

“I was with Chicago PD for 24 years,” the guard said. “Damn shame what happened today. You do know surgery’s on the fourth floor, right?”

“But I’m not . . .” Her eyes widened knowingly. “You mean . . .?” She turned, tightly smiling her thanks as she ran back toward the elevator.

She forced herself to breathe in and out slowly as the elevator rose, bursting out of it when the doors opened. After pushing through a set of double doors, she saw that the surgical waiting room was jammed with people. Some were sitting and more were standing. Low, whispered conversations took place, but it was quiet other than that. Layla looked around the room frantically.

The long legs of a man in a chair made her breath catch. She saw the waves of Ben’s dark blond hair, his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Her knees went weak with relief, and she covered her mouth with her hand as the man next to Ben nudged him and nodded her way. She recognized him from O’Malley’s, so he must have recognized her, too.

Ben’s eyes met hers and he sprang up from the chair, crossing the room quickly to get to her. He bent slightly to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her against him, her feet leaving the floor as he did. She buried her face in his neck as he walked, still holding her, across the space in front of the elevators to a small room. He set her down and opened the door to peek in.

He nudged her through the door and flipped a light switch, making a dim bulb glow. It was a small supply room, its shelves lined with toilet paper, cups, cleaning supplies and other goods.

In less than a second, his arms were back around her, and Layla let the relief wash over her again before she remembered her anger.

“I’ve been a mess!” she said, pressing her fists against his chest to separate them. “Why the hell didn’t you call me back?”

“I tried to call earlier, but no one’s phone works up here.” His mouth was turned in with worry, and he sighed deeply.