Still Falling (Home In You #0) Page 2

  “Two guys? The news said just one.” Gabe’s voice escalated and then seemed to shrink into a sound she hardly recognized. “You . . . you get a good look at ’em?”

  Bree shook her head like he could see her through the phone line. “They both wore masks. The guy who dragged me into Frankie’s kept me face out, but I saw the red bandana under his hood.” She exhaled through her mouth, failing to ward off the fresh memories pressing in like a fist to her sternum.

  “What’d Josh say? Did you—?”

  “No.” Gabe knew better than to ask her that. Josh was off limits. She looked at the clock over the entertainment center. “I need to run. Go by the hospital and meet me at the house later, ’kay?”

  “You sure you’re—?”

  “I’m fine.” Yeah, because everyone who was fine could barely get the words out. Right. She withdrew the rosin for her bow, wishing she could coat her vocal cords instead. “I’ll see you at Mom and Dad’s around three. Be careful.”

  “You too. For real, Bree.”

  She smiled at his protectiveness. “I will. Love you.”

  The room fell still. Blasts of A/C soared through every tiny hole in her sweater, as though trying to fill the silence. And once again, the chill collided with the comfort left from Josh’s touch last night.

  Cutting off the feeling, she made a note to call maintenance and soaked in the sunshine stretching over her through the floor-length windows like a much-needed blanket.

  With the violin cradled against her jaw and her fingers over the strings, she lifted her bow. If she could just clear her headspace, she’d be fine. No thoughts of Josh or Dad or even Gabe. Just the retreat of music.

  Two bars in, the escape she sought after wavered along with her usual dexterity. She set the instrument down and stared at the trembling hands in front of her.

  She wanted to blame it on the urgency of needing to get Gabe out of Astoria. Or at least on the insufficient amount of sleep she’d gotten between detectives asking for her statement and nurses checking on her through the night. But if she were honest, nothing left her more shaken than how easily a single encounter with Josh had reawakened a truth no amount of time would change.

  The ring she’d returned the night she’d said goodbye wasn’t the only thing he’d kept. He still had her heart.

  Chapter Three

  Collision

  Josh stopped at Mount Sinai Hospital on his way in to the precinct. He approached the two units posted at Lieutenant Ramirez’s door. Both uniformed men nodded at Josh, to which he tipped his head in reply.

  From the doorway, he looked in on the couple who’d almost become his parents. To him, that hadn’t changed. He’d always looked up to Bree’s dad. Did what he could to honor him.

  Her mom had the guest chair pulled up to the bed as close as it would go and kept her husband’s burly hand clasped in her dainty ones. Soft prayers in Spanish blended into the array of beeps from monitors cataloguing Lieutenant Ramirez’s vitals as he slept.

  The daisies Josh had brought to Bree’s room last night now sat on the windowsill here like a slam to his gut. As if the fact she hadn’t told him she was back didn’t already prove she still wasn’t ready to give them a second chance.

  Mrs. Ramirez startled at one of the officers’ handheld radios going off. She turned. “Josh.” That was all it took. She crossed the tiles and wrapped her arms around him without hesitation.

  The hospital’s antiseptic scent mixed with the perfume he’d always associated with home. Though stronger than the soft vanilla spray Bree wore, it still reminded him of her.

  He stood tall, firm, wanting to be the solid rock she needed right now. “We’ll catch the guys who did this, Mrs. Ramirez. I promise.”

  “I know.” She leaned back, squeezed his hands, and then wiped the freckled cheeks she’d passed on to her daughter. She returned to her husband’s bedside with the kind of faith a lifetime of serving as an NYPD wife required of someone. She may not put on a uniform every day, but she bled blue with the rest of them.

  Josh motioned to the vase of flowers. “I heard they released Bree this morning.”

  “She would’ve fought them tooth and nail if they hadn’t.”

  Now that he could picture. Anyone who gauged Bree by her five-foot-two petite frame never saw what was coming.

  His wistful smile joined Mrs. Ramirez’s until a palpable weight in the air dragged them down.

  “We should’ve told you she moved back.”

  Keeping a stoic expression for her sake, he shook his head. “You know as well as I do she would’ve let me know if she’d wanted to.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s a question of wanting to, honey.” Rather than expound, Mrs. Ramirez ambled toward the window. “She made the Philharmonic Orchestra. She’s auditioning for an associate chair this week.”

  Given Bree’s talent, he wasn’t the least bit surprised she’d be considered for a prominent position. The real question that gnawed at him was what happened to the girl who would’ve turned it down?

  Mrs. Ramirez cupped a hand to the back of her neck, worry fatiguing every movement. She stared out the window and into questions Josh knew well enough to recognize. “We just got our Brianna back. She finally came home. Even agreed to go out with her dad. After this . . .” Watery eyes turned toward him. “What if we’ve lost her for good now?”

  How many times had he turned over the same question in his head? The answer was always the same. Wait. No one could blame her for running after her uncle was killed. And yeah, maybe it’d take her longer than they all hoped to heal. But ultimately, she’d remember her life was here. She had to.

  He smiled with all the assurance he could assemble. “That won’t happen. I—”

  Footsteps rumbled in from behind him. “D’Angelo?”

  Josh turned and met a nod from his partner directing him out to the hall. He kissed Mrs. Ramirez on the cheek. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

  It would be this time, wouldn’t it?

  When he slipped out of the room, Daniels looked him over. “You all right?”

  “Fine.” Liar.

  “Good, ’cause Sarge wants us in the squad room, ASAP.”

  “Do I need to grab a cup of coffee first?”

  She snorted. “More like a keg.”

  This couldn’t be good.

  Back at the precinct, traces of perspiration mingled with hints of burnt coffee, while radio static clashed with slurred requests for lawyers. Josh looked around the squad room—his second home. Nothing like it.

  Sergeant Perez hung up his desk phone and waved them into his office. “D’Angelo, Daniels, you’re off the beat until further notice. Starting today, you’re assigned to one . . .” He thumbed through a stack of paper overflowing onto the others covering his desk. “Brianna Ramirez till we have a better assessment of the situation. I want one of you stationed at her apartment at all times. Take shifts. She doesn’t leave her place alone, understood?”

  Josh simply stood there, blinking. Daniels nudged an elbow to his ribs.

  “You’re putting us on police escort?” he managed to get out. “For Bree Ramirez?”

  Daniels wasn’t lying. He needed something a heck of a lot stiffer than coffee.

  Sarge stared at Josh above the wiry rims of his glasses. “Do I need to spell it out for you on the whiteboard?”

  The guy’s shiny bald spot had more polish than his personality.

  Josh ignored the look of warning Daniels darted his way. “No, sir. It’s just . . .”

  “The perp took a shot at one of our own. It’s all hands on deck until we catch the creep. That includes making sure he doesn’t try tying up loose ends by taking out Lieutenant Ramirez’s daughter. You follow me?”

  Following him wasn’t the problem. “I want this guy as bad as anyone, boss, but—”

  “Then get outta here.” He reached for his phone and handed Josh a slip of paper. “Pick her up at this address and stay in your st
reet clothes for this assignment. We’re counting on the perps to be dumb enough to make a move while we’re there.”

  “On it, sir.” Daniels grabbed Josh’s arm and wheeled him into the hall. “Jeez, D’Angelo, where’s your head?” she whisper-yelled on their way to the parking lot. “I know this is personal, but orders are orders.”

  “I know.”

  “So, what’s the prob? I thought you’d want to be the one to protect Bree.”

  “Of course I do.” Just not like this.

  Knowing Bree, she was already furious about being in this predicament to begin with. Having him tail her every move would only make it worse, not to mention awkward.

  Unless things had changed.

  Being her security detail would at least give him the chance to get close to her. Maybe even break through her walls . . . Or go crashing headfirst into them like a hopeless glutton for punishment.

  Moaning, he withdrew his keys from his pocket and met a man-up expression from Daniels across his Dodge pickup. He cracked a smile. Leave it to his partner to put him in his place. As usual.

  “Fine, but we’re stopping by Frieda’s first.”

  Brow raised, Daniels opened the passenger side door. “You’re bringing her flowers?”

  “Trust me, I’m gonna need all the help I can get.” He climbed in. “You think it’s too late to transfer to the fire department?”

  “Ooh, that bad, huh?”

  Josh laughed it off.

  Apparently, Daniels didn’t buy it. She stopped him before he cranked the engine. “Hold up. All jokes aside, I know you’ve got a lot of pressure on you with your mom’s in-home care expenses. Now, with your old fiancée back in town . . . If you need to take a leave of absence, don’t be afraid to—”

  “I’m good, Daniels.”

  “You sure? ’Cause I need my partner to have a clear head in the field.”

  He clenched his keys, knowing she was right. “All clear, I swear.”

  She grabbed her seat belt and gave a definitive nod. “Then let’s roll.”

  After swinging by his friend’s mom’s flower shop for another bouquet of daisies, they parked opposite a swanky twenty-story apartment building. He slid his sunglasses down his nose. This was where Bree lived now?

  With a quick glance at the suddenly pitiful looking flowers he’d brought, he left them in the truck and got out. He and Daniels leaned against the fender facing the street as they waited.

  Daniels sipped her coffee. “How long has it been?”

  Josh angled his head as if he didn’t know exactly what she meant.

  “Since you last talked,” she added anyway.

  He picked at the cup sleeve. “Three years, eleven months, and twenty-three days.”

  “Wow. Not still hung up on it or anything, are you?”

  Always would be.

  The tease in her voice yielded to concern. “For real, D’Angelo. If this is too hard for you . . .”

  “Thought we already settled this,” he said a little too brusquely.

  She dished his attitude right back with a single raised eyebrow. “Clearly.”

  He heaved a thick sigh. What could he say that she obviously didn’t already know? He chucked his empty coffee cup into the city trash can on the corner.

  Drum beats from up the sidewalk drew his focus to a street performer hustling for change. Unlike some, the kid had legit talent.

  Each beat released memories from Josh and Bree’s middle school phase of swearing they’d perform on the streets together one day. Him on the drums, her on the violin. Even at that age, she wielded her bow with such finesse, she could make anyone fall in love with music on the spot. And with her.

  Daniels nudged him in the arm. “That’s her, right?”

  He turned, froze. All except for his pulse. It followed the drummer’s lead, accelerating to a rhythm only Bree could set off inside him.

  She stalled just outside the exit, averted her gaze when it intersected his, and straightened the purse strap on her shoulder. Visibly steeling herself, she switched hands holding her violin case and lifted her chin before starting for them.

  Leave it to her to be the only girl in Manhattan wearing a sweater and tights in June. Wind played with her auburn curls and circled around a flowy blouse that seemed to take her natural elegance to a higher level.

  She stopped in front of them with a rigid frame projecting the same poise and determination she held on stage.

  Daniels looked between them and raised her coffee cup. “I’m gonna get a refill. I’ll just leave you two to—”

  “No, it’s fine.” Bree rested the bottom of her case on the sidewalk. “Sergeant Perez already briefed me on the assignment. I understand the requirements. I’m actually supposed to meet my brother at our parents’ house at three. So, if we can stop there before you take me to the Lincoln Center, I’d appreciate it.”

  She made appropriate eye contact with him and spoke in a polite tone, as if she were addressing a random officer she’d never met instead of her childhood sweetheart.

  Okay, so they’d had some distance, but they had history too. Seeing her dismiss it so easily gutted him all over again.

  “Were you ever gonna tell me you moved back?” The words poured out like his heart was a busted faucet he couldn’t turn off.

  She lowered her head, her voice. “No.”

  Another slam. “Why?”

  “You know why.” She opened the door to the back seat of his extended cab and slid her case inside. “The same reason I shouldn’t have gone to Astoria at all.”

  So much for thinking time might’ve erased the line she’d drawn between them. A slow simmer mounted on top of the hurt. “’Cause you’re too good for us now?”

  She swung the door shut and glared.

  Daniels jutted a thumb behind her. “Yeah, I’m gonna go get us all some coffee.”

  Josh kept his gaze locked on Bree’s fierce amber eyes while Daniels strode toward a coffee cart on the plaza.

  Bree tugged her sweater cuffs under her fingers. “Do you really want to rehash this?”

  “Considering you left without talking through it with me? Yeah.”

  “You didn’t give me much choice.”

  The heck he didn’t. “I gave you a ring, Bree. You’re the one who chose to leave.”

  “After you chose . . .” Stopping herself, she shoved her curls out of her face. A slow exhale brought her eyes to his again, composed this time. “Look, we both made choices. It’s done.”

  That didn’t stop it from hurting. He could see it on her face—the sense of betrayal, of loss. Reopening his own wounds was one thing. Seeing Bree still hanging on to the pain he had no way of healing about killed him. “Bree . . .”

  She cast a glance around the busy sidewalk. “We’re not doing this here.”

  He swallowed the rest of what he’d wanted to say. She was right. Even in street clothes, he was still on duty. Letting emotions get in the way of his job would only risk everyone’s safety.

  After Bree climbed in the truck, Daniels strolled back over with her eyes on him like she was waiting for the all-clear to enter a crime scene.

  Josh nodded as he rounded the back bumper.

  “Good thing you brought flowers,” Daniels said over the truck bed. “This oughta be fun.”

  That was one way of putting it.

  Chapter Four

  Splintered

  Josh cut the engine in front of Bree’s parents’ row house and immediately reached for his Glock.

  “D’Angelo.” Daniels had her focus trained on the same thing he did—the front door, ajar. He jutted his chin for Daniels to move out.

  Bree scooted forward in the back seat. “What’s wrong?”

  “Stay put.” He shut his door and scanned the property.

  Bree clambered out of the vehicle. “Gabe?”

  Josh jogged around the bumper and caught her before she could cross the yard. “You need to wait in the truck.” He knew that
look. Knew how deep her obstinacy could run.

  “If Gabe’s in there—”

  “Then we’ll get him out safely. But I can’t do that with you in there too.” He touched her face on instinct and held her gaze with assurance.

  Her lashes fluttered as though fighting to keep her eyes on his. Her chest rose in expansive movements, and he almost kissed her right there.

  What was he doing this close to her, this familiar? Every ounce of his training shouted orders to back away, yet the yearning that’d been driving him to console her since she fell off her bike in the third grade led his feet a step closer and his thumb across her cheek.

  She breathed in. Dodging his eyes, she stepped away and fumbled for a response until an awkward about-face finally sent her back to the truck. It was probably better she hadn’t said anything.

  Josh nodded at Daniels to approach the porch. Backed against the trim, he looked at her. “On my mark. Three, two, one.” He entered first, Daniels right behind. Guns raised, they secured the house a room at a time.

  “Clear,” Daniels called from a back bedroom, to which Josh replied the same.

  In the middle of Gabe’s tossed room, he wedged his Glock in his waistband behind his back and snapped a few photos with his cell. No sign of Gabe or a struggle in the rest of the house. Whoever had been here came with a single purpose. What were they looking for?

  “You make any sense of—?” Daniels stopped short around the doorway and looked from the barely visible floor to Josh. “Wow, looks like a bomb went off in a Nike store. World’s sloppiest teenager or crime scene?”

  Josh slanted a grin.

  “I’m just sayin’. It’s pretty sad when my own kid brother’s room doesn’t look much different.” She followed him out to the living room.

  While she radioed Central, Josh studied the house that’d been a second home to him growing up. Details poured in from every corner—dozens of photos painting stories along the walls, the Sunday paper draped across Mr. Ramirez’s faded recliner, familiar traces of Grandma R’s paella recipe lingering in the kitchen like a permanent fixture.

  His pulse spiked at a blank spot on the mantel. Bree’s graduation picture.