Chapter 3

I was sittingon a chair in an exam room set up for pediatric clients, surrounded by cheerful ducks, peeps, and bunnies scampering around the brightly painted walls, and there wasn't much else I could do. One of the cops had told me to stay—Mack, I think his name was—and the other one, Jackson, said I should arrange for the school to keep my girls. Then he'd left me to do what I needed to do.

I'd lied when I called. I told the school I was stuck at the arena— no way was I telling them anything about guns, guys with guns, blood, or the guy my girls called Uncle Joe now lying in the hospital. The school was fine with it and asked if there was someone else who could help me, and I immediately thought of Clare, our captain's wife. Their kids were at the same school, but much younger, and she'd already said there was a group of Storm wives who shared pickups. I was on my own, and I couldn't be there for my girls every moment, as much as I wanted to be, but I hadn't asked the group for help yet.

What if I didn't make it back to the school, and the girls were stuck there and…

I needed help.

I didn't know how long I had until the cop was back in here, so I quickly messaged the chat for the Storm players—my first message in there, actually—asking Cap for a number to call Clare. He was on the phone within a minute.

"You okay?" he asked me, without even a hello. Talk about taking captaincy a step too far. He'd gone into default fix-it mode in an instant.

"Your wife said if I ever needed help with the girls, I could ask. I can"t pick them up from school on time. Would she pick up the girls for me and maybe take them out for pizza or something? I can pay."

"Fuck no," Cap huffed, and my stomach fell. Putting myself out there was hard enough without my teammates not helping me out. Then he carried on talking. "No way will she get them pizza, because don't get me started on e-numbers and carbs. She'll take them back to our place. I'll message you the address to pick them up. Is everything okay?"

Relief flooded me. "It's all good. I'm just running late."

"Sending you the address now. Call me if you need anything."

I didn't know what he meant by that, and I didn't really need anything except for the kids to be safe. The message arrived, along with confirmation that Clare was so happy to have more around the table.

I sent a message to my best friend—Jamie—asking him how he was and that I wished he was here. He was in Australia right now lecturing at some kind of math symposium, and I wished he was here. I missed him like a limb. He'd paid his way through getting his doctorate by caring for my girls when I couldn't. He took on the nanny role when Melissa had been ill, and after she'd gone, he'd simply never left. I wished that I could have brought him from New York as easily as I'd brought my bike, just scooped him up into a box and packed him with everything else. Not only to care for the girls, though. He was my best friend, my sounding board, and the girls loved him. But he wasn't an inanimate object—he was someone who had his own life.

Jamie: What's wrong?

Oliver: Nothing

Jamie: What's wrong? And don't lie.

Oliver: Can't a bro miss a bro?

I added a stuck-out tongue emoji and imagined Jamie smiling. I didn't have a great emoji game, and he still hadn't gotten over the emoji shopping list I'd once sent him with eggplants on it. How was I to know? I was a hockey player, not an emoji-expert.

Jamie: Gotta go, sorry

My stomach fell. I was alone in this room and didn't even have Jamie to chat with. I hadn't gotten close to any of the Storm players yet, although Ash was a good guy, with his supply of candy in case I hypo'd on his watch, and his incessant need to call me old man. My head hurt, mind still reeling and the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving cold shock in its wake. I checked my sugar levels, but my system was looking after me, and there was no way I was messing with that.

The cop walked back in. "Okay?" he asked, and I nodded as he sat down in the other chair, seriousness lingering around him like a second shadow. His voice was gruff, each word pointed, each question sharp, as if trying to carve the truth out of what I'd seen.

"So, take me back. You walked in on the scene?"

"Yes."

"And that's something you do? I mean, you have access?"

I tapped the card on the small table next to me. "I'm allowed. I volunteer here. I was taking Joe some coffee, and the files are families that might need some help." I tried to gather my scattered thoughts. "I was just cheering Joe up. He's been through a lot with the clinic here. But when I got here…" The image of Joe, pale and bleeding, flashed before my eyes.

Jackson caught the change in my expression. "Take your time," he said, his gruff expression softening for a moment before he composed himself back into the detective persona.

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with how this vulnerability felt. "I knocked and came in. There was Joe, slumped over, and that… that guy pointing the gun. It all happened so fast." My hands clenched as if I could imagine Joe's blood still there.

"You didn't recognize the assailant?" Jackson asked, flipping through his notes. Our witness had short, kind of scruffy blond hair, along with a five o"clock shadow, and he was a long way past tired, his eyes bloodshot. He shifted in his chair again, and it creaked, because he was a big guy, broad and solid, and I was trying hard not to move on my chair to prevent the entire thing from collapsing. "Mr. Cowan?"

I snapped back to the questions. "Sorry, no, never saw him before."

"And can you describe him?"

"Skinny guy, lots of scars on his face, a neck tattoo that was just a blur, smiley face tattoo on his hand. Uhmm… I don't know if this matters, but he smelled as if he hadn't showered in days, and his dental hygiene was bad, and I mean bad."

"Everything matters, Mr. Cowan."

"Oliver. Please, call me Oliver."

He glanced up at me, as if he was going to argue, but then he nodded. "I'm Jackson."

"Okay."

"Do you remember what he was wearing?"

"Gang stuff maybe. T-shirt with no sleeves, grubby, blue I think, and dark pants that rode low. Belt, with a knife hanging off it, and the gun, of course." I shuddered as I recalled the asshole leaning over Joe, and the way Joe was fighting to stay conscious. "That's all I recall… wait… he wore Converse, old ones, he stepped in the…" In the blood. Nausea washed over me, and I swallowed hard. There was no way I was going to vomit in front of the grumpy, exhausted, but hot-as-fuck detective.

Hot?

Great, now my situational awareness was all messed up—no one thinks about how hot a cop is after an attempted murder. Right?

"Promise me you won't stop looking." Melissa's voice filled my head—we'd always appreciated men together. Me being bi meant we had an entire world of guys to check out, and she made me promise to never stop looking. Grief shoved at my brain, and the single positive outcome was that it beat my nausea down a few notches. Grief was all-consuming and fucking hard to fight, but it was also incredibly powerful and knocked anything else I might feel on its ass.

"We have his shoe print," Jackson confirmed, and of course, they did. I bet they'd been over that office with a fine-toothed comb. "So, what conversation did you hear?"

"Well, I didn't hear what he and Joe were talking about, because Joe was already reeling from the blow to the head, uhm…" I blinked at him as I attempted to recall the exact words the assailant had used. "I asked him something. I don't know what. It could have just been a squeak, or I inhaled, or whatever. He told me to shut up, pointed the gun at Joe, and… and…" I could feel my heart pounding as the terror of the moment returning in a visceral rush.

"And what?" Jackson pressed, his gaze locking onto mine, unyielding and expectant.

I thought he was going to shoot Joe and then me. I hadn't seen my life flash before my eyes. None of that shit was true. I'd just seen the man's eyes as they narrowed. "Brown eyes," I blurted. "He had dark brown eyes. I just remembered."

Jackson dutifully wrote that down.

I carried on. "Then, he left. Just ran out as if threatening people's lives was nothing to him." Anger surged at the memory, at the helplessness of it all.

Jackson nodded, scribbling something in his notebook. He glanced at me again, his gaze searching. "What did you do after he left?"

"I went straight to Joe. I caught him before he hit the floor." The feeling of Joe's weight against me was still too present, too real. "I called 911 right after. I didn't know what else to do."

"You did good," Jackson said, his voice not quite gruff now. It was an affirmation that sounded like something that rarely escaped his lips. "Then what?"

"I came out here, and that's when I found Heloise."

"That would be Heloise Grant, admin?"

"Yeah, the perp—do you even use that word?"

"Not really."

"Oh." I blinked at him. "Yeah, well, I heard banging, and she was locked in the janitor's closet, crying. I helped her out. She may have seen something I missed?"

"My partner is interviewing her."

"Okay."

"We'll take it from here. Just a few more questions and then, you can get your girls or go see Joe at the hospital."

"Thank you."

"What is the nature of your volunteering here?" he asked.

"Is that relevant?" I asked quickly.

My secrets were mine, and Jackson could well talk to his ex-brother-in-law, who'd talk to Michael Zhang, and then, he'd talk to his brother, Charles, and the entire team could know. I didn't want them to learn everything about me yet. I didn't trust anyone enough to explain. Yet.

We entered an epic stare-off, and then he shrugged.

"I'll just write volunteering," he said.

Jackson stood, his tall frame unfolding in the cramped space. "One last thing, Mr. Cowan. Did you notice anything else unusual? Anything out of place in the room? Any sign of drugs, or?—"

"Joe has done nothing wrong. He wouldn't break the law if it meant saving his own life." I was damn fierce in his defense.

"I've seen the best people cross ethical lines for the strongest of reasons. Maybe Joe was dealing to get money for the clinic, maybe he'd made a deal with the local gangs to?—"

"No. There are no deals, whatever you mean by that. The local guys come in with their families—they need this place as much as anyone else, sick parents, or kids who need help. This is a good place, and Joe is a good man." I stared at the cop, who was being an asshole. "Check your bias at the door, Officer," I snapped.

Jackson blinked at me, then his gaze softened for a second, and I could see a hint of empathy in his hardened gaze. I thought he might defend himself, but he just looked so damn tired, as if he'd seen so much that he couldn't see the good in things. I felt a twinge of sympathy, but kept it hidden.

"If you remember anything else, anything at all, call me." He handed me a card with his number on it, and I knew I was scowling at him, but all he did was half-smile.

"I will," I said, taking the card gently and not snatching at it like my temper wanted me to.

As Jackson turned to leave, his steps echoing slightly in the hollow room, I realized one more thing.

"Detective Jackson," I called out before he left.

He paused at the door, peering back. "Yeah?"

"He said something to Joe before running out. ‘Get the fucking codes!' I don't know what that means. I get it was a threat, but Joe was mostly out of it by then."

"Was he threatening you?"

I reared back. "Shit, no. He was shaking Joe."

Jackson gave a slight nod, pulled out his book, made a note, then, with a dip of his head, was gone. After he left, I was alone with the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights, the scent of ink and paper, and my temper began to ease.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Heloise came over and sat next to me, her hands in knots, mascara blotchy under her eyes. We didn't talk for a moment, both lost in what had happened.

"I didn't see much," she murmured. "They kept asking, but…" Her voice dissolved into sobs. "He just shoved me."

Instinctively, I wrapped an arm around her small shoulders and pulled her into my side. I could do this—I could protect someone who needed protecting. That was my job.

"It'll be okay," I said. "They'll find the man."

"What if…" What if Joe is hurt so badly he doesn't wake up? What if the bad guys come back? I'd already put in a call to organize some security and had something in place from tomorrow. For the time being, we all needed to get home. Heloise's husband turned up and took her away, glancing back at me with a nod.

There were a few staff there when I left, but the clinic had been closed for the day. I sketched a wave at Lazlo, who was tapping away on a computer, a cop leaning over his shoulder. Normally, we'd exchange goodbyes, shoot the breeze if we had time, but he seemed as wrecked as I felt. There was another cop on the door, and we nodded. Then it was time for me to head home, grab the SUV, and get the kids.

I needed to see my girls.

I pulled into Charles and Clare's driveway a little after six, my hands still tight on the steering wheel. Parking the car, I let out a long breath and sat there for a moment, feeling as though I'd left a piece of myself back at the clinic. The day's events had sapped my energy, but I glanced up as the front door burst open and there they were—my gorgeous girls. Daisy came bounding down the steps, her blonde pigtails bouncing, those clear blue eyes, so much like her mother's, sparkling with the innocence of her seven years. Scarlett trailed behind and her darker hair, like mine, was loose in curls, but when she looked up and caught my eye, her mother's blue gaze shone from her face and my heart twinged with a familiar ache.

I pulled my shit together, stepped out of the car, and braced myself for the impact as two bundles of energy hit me with hugs. "Daddy!" they chimed, and the weariness melted away, replaced by the warmth of their embrace.

"How was your day, girls?" I asked, holding their hands as we walked back to the car.

"It was the best!" Daisy gushed. "Clare let us help make dinner, and I cut tomatoes!"

"And I found a spider!" Scarlett added, her face alight with the day's adventures.

I wasn't the biggest fan of spiders, or indeed of any creepy-crawlies, but Scarlett was going to be a professor of spider-ology one day, or so she'd informed me. I knew that if such a degree existed, Scarlett would be right there at the front of the line to sign up.

"I don't like spiders!" Daisy said and pouted.

"I didn't show you!" Scarlett defended.

"You were gonna!" Daisy protested.

Luckily, Clare came out behind them—her arrival cutting short the building spider debate—followed closely by Charles.

"Thanks for looking after them, Clare," I said gratefully.

She grinned at me. "It was fun. Any time."

We said our goodbyes, and soon enough, the girls and I were driving back to the rented house we were still settling into. There was the question of whether it would become our permanent home, with an option to buy after a year as part of my rental agreement. Still, with my contract only running for two years, and with the memories of New York still clinging to me, I couldn't think about putting down roots yet.

"Daddy, are we going to stay in this house forever?" Daisy's question from the back seat caught me off guard. How did she know I was thinking about that?

I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "I like it."

"Me too," Daisy said.

"What do you think, Scarlett? Do you like it here?"

Scarlett was quieter, her expression thoughtful. "Can we go back to New York one day?" she asked, her voice small, but hopeful. "I miss Jamie and my friends."

My chest tightened at her question. New York was a lifetime away. "We'll see, sweetheart," I replied, keeping my voice even. "LA is our home for now, but we don't have to stay in this house."

Scarlett didn't look convinced, but she nodded, pressing her face to the window as the city lights began to twinkle on.

"Can we get a house with a pool like Clare and Charles have?" she asked after a pause.

I smiled then. If a pool would win her over, then sure, we'd get a pool.

"Give it a year, and we'll see."

I knew the decision about where we'd settle down would come, as all big decisions do, in its own time. Meanwhile, though, I had Scarlett smiling at the thought of a pool, and Daisy chatting away about their day, and it was enough to forget the horrific scene I'd witnessed.

Only when the girls were in bed, everything flooded back in the silence of my room.

"Think of something else," I muttered as I punched my pillow into submission. I lay down, closed my eyes, tried to empty my thoughts of everything that might keep me awake.

And I swear, my last thought was of a grumpy cop with tired green eyes.