Читать книгу Seeking The Truth - Terri Reed - Страница 15

“We’re heading back to our unit’s headquarters in Queens,” Carter said to Rachelle as he reined her in from questioning the witnesses.

He was determined to discover the truth about why someone would want to harm her, which meant he needed to keep her close and grill her about the incident. “Come along with us.”

“Wonderful. I live not far from there. Do you think I could get a tour of the station?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Carter looked down at Frosty, who stared at him with trusting eyes. “All right, partner, let’s head out.”

The dog’s ears perked up, his tail thumped once and then he stood. The crowd had thankfully thinned. Yet, Carter couldn’t shake the stress of seeing Rachelle tumbling off the platform onto the tracks.

“Let’s go aboveground where we can hail a taxi.”

“You don’t have a vehicle?”

“I do, but parking in the city is nearly impossible for any length of time.”

“Would you normally travel back to Queens via a cab?” she asked, her intelligent eyes studying him.

“No. Part of our job with the transit bureau is to ride the subway,” he told her. “But we can take a cab today.”

She shook her head. “Not on my account. I’d rather you do as you normally would. It would be better for my story.”

Grudgingly, he respected her dedication. He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

They walked to the platform for the downtown train and stood behind the yellow painted barrier.

He doubted Rachelle realized he’d slowed his pace to keep her within reach so he could grab her and protect her at the first sign of danger. Coming from a family with a long line of police officers, protecting others was built into his DNA.

His cell phone rang. The caller ID announced his brother Noah. Again. Two calls in one shift? Carter quelled the spike in his pulse. Noah had offered to watch Carter’s daughter, Ellie, on his day off because their parents were unavailable.

Keeping an alert eye on those around them, he pressed the button. “Hey, just about to leave the city. Your reporter friend has asked for a tour of the station.” Carter glanced at Rachelle, watching her scribble in her flowered notebook.

Noah chuckled. “Not my friend, pal. But I’m glad you’re not complaining.”

“That will happen later. It’s been exciting so far.” Traumatic would be a better descriptor but Carter would save the story for when he saw Noah.

“Well, you can start complaining now. I’ve been called into headquarters. My day off is over, and my babysitting time is up.”

Hope flared. “News on Jordy’s killer?”

Rachelle’s gaze snapped to his. Carter saw the curious gleam in her eyes. Reporter, remember! He couldn’t let his guard down around her. He’d learned the hard way the media only wanted the sensational and twisted the truth to meet their own narrative.

Noah sighed. “No. Nothing to do with the case.”

Disappointment curdled the hope.

“You’ll need to come directly home,” Noah continued. “Mom and Pop aren’t back from Fire Island yet.”

“Is Zach around?” Even though his youngest brother had married and moved out, he came around the family home often. His brothers took turns babysitting Carter’s six-year-old when their mom and dad were not available.

“On patrol this evening. And Katie’s not feeling well.”

Katie, Jordan’s widow, was five months pregnant. Carter’s heart ached knowing his oldest sibling would never get to hold his child, watch his child take his or her first steps, or hear the sweet voice of his own kid calling him Daddy.

Carter cleared his throat before he could speak. “Why don’t you bring the munchkin to the station house. I’ll grab her there.”

“Will do.” Noah hung up.

Rachelle raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” He was saved from having to explain further by the arrival of the train. “Here we go.”

They boarded a middle car. As usual, he and Frosty were greeted with a mix of nervous glances and stiffened spines or open interest. Carter gestured for Rachelle to take a seat near the car’s end door. He and Frosty stood guard.

Until he was satisfied that the attempt on Rachelle’s life had truly been a random act of violence, he planned to unearth all he could about the pretty reporter and what she might be working on that would put her life in danger.

* * *

Rachelle kept her gaze on Carter as the subway train zoomed down the track. The rhythmic noise of the rails brought back the memory of the train bearing down on her. A shudder ripped through her, setting off a maelstrom of pain from the many bumps and bruises the fall caused. She forced the horrific images of what had happened earlier away. However, the fear lingered. She’d probably have nightmares tonight.

Or dreams of strong arms, making her feel safe and secure, lifting her from the train tracks while the thunderous applause from the crowd and the bark of the world’s cutest dog rang in her ears.

She pushed the thought aside, too. It was fine she found Carter good-looking and she was grateful for his rescue, but she wasn’t looking for anything more from him than a source that would provide her a front-page story to bring justice to the world.

Or, at least, justice for his brother.

And earn her notice from prestigious news outlets.

Consciously redirecting her mind to the phone call Carter had received, curiosity burned through her veins like a wildfire. She wanted to know more about Chief Jordan Jameson’s murder. But the look of disappointment on Carter’s face had let her know the call hadn’t been about the investigation. “Who’s ‘the munchkin’?”

Carter folded his arms over his chest. “My daughter.”

Ah. A call from the wife. Why would he be asking his spouse about Jordan’s murder? “Is your wife in law enforcement, also?”

His jaw hardened. He kept his gaze forward this time. Not even looking at her. His Adam’s apple bobbed. For a long moment he stayed silent, his expression unreadable and she feared she’d just overstepped with her question.

“I’m a widower.” His voice came at her low and sharp.

Her heart clenched. Had his wife died in the line of duty? An innocent bystander? Or an illness? Or some other horrible death? It was too much to bear thinking about. She went back to her earlier question. Munchkin was his daughter. “How old is she? Your daughter,” she clarified.

“Six.”

“That must be hard. Raising a child on your own. How old was she when her mother passed?”

He shifted his stance, tucking his hands behind his back and widening his feet. “These are not questions I choose to answer in this venue.”

Properly chastised, she folded her hands over her notebook in her lap. Yes, this wasn’t the place to ask about his personal life. Too many ears, too many eyes and too many unknowns. “Of course. Forgive me.”

He remained silent, but his chin dipped slightly.

Rachelle would take the slight movement as forgiveness from a guy like Officer Carter Jameson any day of the week.

She glanced warily around the subway car. Several people were clearly nervous to have an officer and K-9 on board. It was a diverse group of individuals. Some were clearly families heading home from a day in the city. Others obviously were tourists, with cameras around their necks or holding subway maps in their hands. The rest of the passengers most likely were workers getting off from their city jobs, possibly heading home to one of the other boroughs where it wasn’t so expensive to live.

She found herself looking for a man in a gray T-shirt and baseball hat with brown hair, of medium height. None fit that description in the car. Could the incident on the subway platform have been related to her investigation into Jordan Jameson’s murder? She suppressed a shiver of dread.

A casual glance at Carter found him watching her with his inscrutable gaze. Unperturbed, she met his gaze fully and assessed him as he assessed her. This was a man who was used to intimidating others. With nothing more than a stony stare, a formidable stance and a big dog.

She’d learned a lot in the last year since moving to New York City. Who to stay away from, who might cause trouble and that at any moment some celebrity, thinking they were incognito, could appear right next to her on a subway car, a street corner or in a restaurant. Carter wouldn’t be looking for celebrities. He’d be looking for the ones who were doing bad things.

Like the guy who’d pushed her off the platform. She knew to keep her eyes open and sharp. The fact that she’d failed to notice the danger really irked her. She should never have allowed herself to get close enough to the edge to be pushed off. Normally, she stayed back until the train came to a stop. The only explanation had to be she’d been too focused on Carter.

When the subway train pulled into the next station, Carter and Frosty moved to stand near the opening doors. The dog sat at Carter’s heels, his nose twitching at everyone who came in and out of the car.

“How did you come up with the name Frosty?” she asked him.

Carter glanced over his shoulder at her and arched an eyebrow.

Raising her hands in acknowledgment that she’d received the message—not here, not now—she opened her notebook and added more questions to her growing list. She kept her mouth closed for the remainder of the ride but couldn’t help the impatient bounce of her foot as the subway car rolled along.

She was glad when they finally switched trains to head out of Manhattan to the borough of Queens.

As they exited the subway car, Rachelle was sure she heard several sighs of relief. She didn’t understand why the dog and officer made people so anxious. Carter and Frosty were there to serve and protect. Yes, the police in general seemed to have a bad rap in the media over the last few years. And she wasn’t naive—she knew there could be bad apples on any tree. But the NYC K-9 Command Unit had, until recently, a really good reputation.

However, people were losing confidence that the K-9 Unit could solve their own chief’s murder, let alone any other crime. After five months with no answers, she had to admit she was frustrated, too. Which in part was what had prompted her to begin her own investigation.

Along with the fact she wanted to advance her own career.

But she’d rather think about the more altruistic reason she was diving headlong into Jordan Jameson’s life. His murderer needed to be caught and justice served. She and everyone else in New York would sleep better knowing a killer was off the streets.

A shiver traipsed down her spine, reminding her of the terrifying event she suffered in the subway. She rubbed at the dirt streaked across her skirt. The skin underneath protested. In fact, her whole body ached from the impact of the fall now that the shock had eased.

She really didn’t want to contemplate why someone had pushed her off the subway platform. Better to chalk it up to a onetime thing than to live in fear. She refused to believe the incident had anything to do with her inquiries into Jordan’s life.

With Frosty on Carter’s left and Rachelle on his right, they walked away from the subway station and onto the sidewalk. This was her neighborhood. The residual fear and stress keeping her muscles bunched tight throughout her body began to melt away like butter on her grandma’s biscuits. They neared the mini market where a slim man in his sixties swept the front walkway.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lee,” she called with a wave.

Mr. Lee looked up and smiled at her. “Ah, Miss Rachelle.” His gaze narrowed at Carter and Frosty. “Are you okay?”

“Perfect,” she replied. “You?”

“Well, thank you.” He hurried inside the store.

They headed down the street with the late afternoon traffic buzzing by. She could feel Carter’s curious gaze. She glanced at him sideways. “My apartment is only a few blocks from here. I stop in occasionally for fruit or milk.” Her own curiosity prompted her to ask, “Do you two always receive that sort of reaction? I noticed on the subway that many people were nervous with you two aboard.”

He shrugged. “It happens. Some people get antsy around authority figures. We’re trained to discern the difference between a nervous Nellie and a real crook.” He peered at her. “How did you end up in New York?”

“Who doesn’t want to live in New York?” She wasn’t about to tell him she had applied and accepted the job at NYC Weekly as a way to escape her family. “My hope is to write something that will be picked up by a major news source and lead to a job with them. And this New York job seems the best possible place for that to happen.”

“Why journalism?”

She shrugged. “When it was time for college, my maternal grandmother suggested journalism.” She affected a prim voice. “‘Turn your rebelliousness to usefulness,’ was her advice. I took it.”

“She sounds like a wise woman.”

Sadness slipped over her. “She was. She passed on while I was in college.”

“I’m sure she would have been proud of you,” he commented.

At the corner, they waited for the light to turn green before crossing.

“Thank you for saying so.” She didn’t add that her father had said the opposite when she’d made the decision to leave Georgia.

The walk signal appeared, and she stepped out onto the street.

The squeal of tires on the hot pavement filled the air. A car careened around the corner, aiming straight at her. Her lungs froze. Her body refused to move. Carter’s hand wrapped around her biceps and yanked her back onto the sidewalk mere seconds before the brown sedan whizzed past, barely missing her.

She put a hand over her beating heart. “Crazy driver.”

Carter regarded her with an intensity that set the fine hairs on her nape to high alert. He used the radio on his shoulder to report the incident and the fact the car’s license plate had been removed.

“Come on.” He ushered her quickly across the street to a three-story brick building with square windows and an American flag waving over the entrance. Carter stopped to open the glass doors of the public entrance.

“Would there be time for a tour?” She didn’t like the way her voice quaked. The fright from nearly being run over still zoomed through her veins. Having her life flash before her eyes twice in one day made her nerves raw.

Carter’s mouth lifted at one corner. “Yes, I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Excited by the prospect of seeing the inner sanctuary of the K-9 Unit, she followed him inside. Carter and Frosty patiently waited while she went through security and then received a visitor’s badge from the front desk officer sitting behind a large U-shaped desk.

Having never been inside a New York Police Department precinct, she found it fascinating. The lobby had a warmth to it she hadn’t expected. Pictures of dogs and their handlers gave the beige walls life. The phones rang incessantly, keeping the receptionist busy.

Joining Carter and Frosty near a set of stairs, she observed, “Much different than the small police station back home.”

Carter led her up a flight of stairs. “Really? Where is back home and why do you know what the inside of the police station looks like?”

“Vidalia, Georgia. As to why...” A flush heated her cheeks. “I was a bit of a rebellious scamp as a child. I was caught picking flowers in Mrs. Finch’s garden. My father thought he’d scare some sense into me by dragging me down to the sheriff’s station and demanding that Sheriff Potter put me in jail. I think he wanted to frighten me straight as it were.”

Pausing, Carter stared at her. “Seriously? The sheriff didn’t...”

“No. He told me to apologize to Mrs. Finch and he never wanted to see me inside the station house again. He never did.”

“Hmm.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he was hmming about.

They entered a large space dotted with cubicles for the officers and their dogs. At the far end were enclosed offices. Carter led her to his desk, where he locked his weapon in the bottom drawer. Frosty lay down on a large round fluffy bed underneath the desk corner.

“Can you tell me now how Frosty got his name?”

Carter hitched a hip on the edge of his desk. “He’s named after William Frost. He was an officer with the NYPD back in the ’80s. He was murdered in a gang-related shooting.”

A pang of sorrow touched her. “That’s so sad. Do all the dogs get their names from fallen officers?”

“They do, in some variation. I chose Frost rather than William because he was all white like a blast of winter frost.”

“What breed is he?”

“German shepherd.”

“Really? I’ve never seen one like him before.”

“The white version of the breed comes out of Canada.”

“That’s funny. The Great White North.” She wrote that down. “You said Frost, but you call him Frosty.”

“Ellie, my daughter, liked Frosty better. And it stuck.”

“What a pretty name. Ellie. Your daughter sounds charming.”

“She is.” He looked past her, and his features visibly changed, taking on a soft tender look that had her heart thumping against her rib cage.

She turned to see a blond-haired, blue-eyed pixie streaking toward them.

The little girl jumped into her father’s arms. “Daddy!” she squealed.

She gave Carter big, noisy kisses on both cheeks.

Carter’s deep rumble of a laugh hit Rachelle like an acorn from her parents’ oak tree, digging into her psyche and making her want to hear more.

Holding his beautiful little girl on his hip, Carter smiled at Rachelle. “This is Ellie.” The child regarded her with open curiosity. “My pride and joy.”

There was no doubt about that. “Hi, Ellie, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Honey,” Carter addressed his daughter, “this is Ms. Clark. She’s a reporter.”

The way he emphasized the word reporter had Rachelle stiffening her spine. Wariness entered the little girl’s shining eyes. “She’s one of those.”

Rachelle tried not to take offense. Clearly the Jamesons didn’t hold reporters in high regard.

“All right, you two,” a deep masculine voice from behind Rachelle admonished. “No need to scare our guest.”

Rachelle spun around to find herself face-to-face with Chief Noah Jameson. She’d seen his picture in the New York Times, as well as her own paper on numerous occasions over the past several months.

Dark circles were evident beneath his green eyes. She could only imagine the stress of losing one brother and taking over a high-profile position amid controversy.

Rachelle scribbled down her observations, her pink pen flying over the pages of her flowered journal.

“I like your book,” Ellie said. “Can I see it?”

Rachelle clutched the notebook to her chest and gave a nervous laugh. “These are my work notes. I’m doing an article on your father. And Frosty.”

Carter set Ellie’s feet on the floor. “Okay, munchkin, I need a moment with Uncle Noah.”

He glanced at Rachelle. “I need to tell Noah about today. All of it.”

Rachelle swallowed back the sudden jump of residual fear. “We’ll be fine here.”

She looked at Ellie and was a bit disconcerted by the way the girl was assessing her, much as her father had done.

As the two men walked away Ellie asked, “What happened to your skirt? It’s dirty.”

Smoothing a hand over the mark, she replied, “I fell.” She didn’t add she’d been nearly run down in the street. And almost flattened by a train.

Ellie slipped her hand into Rachelle’s. “Is my daddy helping you?”

Carter certainly had his hands full with this little perceptive child. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

And she couldn’t begin to express her gratitude to him for not only saving her life but also for being a path to furthering her career.

“Are you married?”

Taken aback by the little girl’s question, Rachelle glanced up to see Carter had paused midstep as if he’d heard his daughter’s query. His lips twisted in a rueful grimace before he turned and walked into Noah’s office, closing the door behind him.

Smothering a grin, Rachelle shook her head at the little girl. “No, I’m not.” And she had no plans to be for the foreseeable future.

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “That’s good.”

Deciding it was best not to pursue that comment, Rachelle asked, “School must be starting soon, right?”

The little girl released Rachelle’s hand and hopped onto her father’s desk chair. With the heel of her hand on the desk, she sent the chair spinning. “Yep. In a couple weeks. I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Why not?”

Ellie stopped spinning and stared at her. “It’s school.”

As if that should explain everything. Rachelle laughed. “Well, there is that. But aren’t you excited to see all your friends and have recess and art? Art was always my favorite subject. I could get messy and not get in trouble.” Though with budget cuts she wasn’t sure art was taught anymore in public schools.

Ellie resumed her spinning. “Oh yes. I’m excited to see Kelly and Greta. I’ll be in Mrs. Lenny’s class. We’ll get to do a garden project. My daddy said I could bring butterflies.”

“He did, did he? That’s fabulous. You have a good daddy.”

“Yep.” Ellie stopped the chair to peer at her. “He’d be a good catch, as my grandma says.”

Uh-oh. Was she trying to play matchmaker?