Page 14 of Desire

Chapter 11

It was earlyon Friday evening, and I sat on my couch watching television when my intercom buzzed. I wasn’t expecting anyone so I ignored it. Within a few seconds, it buzzed again. Grudgingly, I got up and pushed the call button.

“Yes, can I help you?” I asked the person who likely hit the wrong button.

A deep, sexy voice crackled over the speaker in response. “Ms. Carter? My name is Detective Webber from the Pinegrove Police Department. May I come up? I’d like to speak with you.”

Confusion ran through me. Why would the police want to speak to me? “I’m sorry, but what is this about?” Who knew if this guy was who he said he was. I couldn’t be too cautious.

“I’d rather discuss it in private. You’re welcome to contact Connor Black if you’d like to verify my identity.” He must have sensed my hesitation.

What the hell? Upon hearing Connor’s name, my heart rate accelerated. Did this have something to do with Alex? Connor did say he’d spoken to a police acquaintance of his. Was that what this was about? Needing to find out, I was no longer hesitant.

“No, no. I’ll buzz you in. Come on up.” I released the speaker button and pressed the button the unlock the front door. Then I waited in anticipation for the knock, which came only moments later.

Stepping over to the door, I peeked out the peephole to see a gorgeous man in a suit standing there. I cracked open the door, leaving the security chain hooked, just in case.

“Yes?” I questioned.

He reached inside his suit and pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open, exposing the badge inside, and introduced himself again.

“Ms. Carter, I’m Detective Daniel Webber. Like I said, I spoke with Connor Black the other day, and I was hoping I could ask you a few questions. May I come in? I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“Yes, please, come in,” I offered, closing the door only long enough to unhook the chain. I held the door open for him as he entered on a whiff of Old Spice, a scent I always found sexy on a man. “Now, can you tell me what this is about?”

He turned, and his eyes scanned my body from head to toe. I had been lounging around the house and hadn’t been expecting company, so I was braless in a tank and short-shorts. It was a slow, almost sensual exam that actually had my body heating by the time his eyes met mine. I put my hands on my hips and tapped my foot. “If you’re done eye-fucking me, can we move this conversation along?” I asked, bitingly. If this was about Alex, I didn’t have time for this bullshit, no matter how hot the detective was.

He blinked, raised his eyebrows at my blunt words, and then threw his head back in laughter. “Oh, I like you. It’s no wonder Black’s afraid of you. You’re a spitfire. I bet you keep him on his toes.”

I huffed, “Look, Detective, no disrespect, but what the fuck do you want? If this is about Alex, quit dicking around and ask me your questions. This is my son’s life you’re being blasé about.”

My words sobered him. “You’re right, I apologize. Yes, I’d like to speak with you about Alex.”

I nodded in acceptance of his apology. “You said you had questions for me. I’ll tell you anything you need to know to help my son.” I directed him to the living room where I offered him a seat and something to drink. He sat, but declined the drink.

“Black told me your story. I’d like to hear from you why you think your son is in danger,” he stated, pulling out a notebook and pen from his inner suit pocket.

I took a seat on the other end of the couch and described both of the phone calls I received from Alex. “He sounded scared both times. And he hung up quickly the second time after mentioning that ‘he’ was coming. Alex said he couldn’t be found talking to me or he would get in trouble. Why would he get in trouble for talking to me? I’m terrified, because I don’t know where he is or what is happening to him. And then there’s the bruise.”

“How long has it been since you last heard from your son?” he asked.

“Almost two weeks.” I watched as he scribbled on his notepad.

“He said nothing else to you except that he would get in trouble for talking to you?”

I shook my head. “Both of our conversations lasted less than two minutes. He whispered so softly during the second call that I almost had trouble hearing him. But he definitely sounded distressed when he hung up on me after he said someone was coming.”

He looked up from his notepad. “You say he spoke softly. Are you sure you heard him correctly? Maybe he meant someone wanted to use the phone so he needed to go.”

“That’s not what he said, Detective,” I snapped. “This is exactly why I didn’t come to you guys in the first place. I knew you wouldn’t take me seriously.” I stood up and made my way to the door. I opened it in expectation of his departure. “If those are all the questions you have, you should probably go. I don’t think you can help me.”

I stood there impatiently, and irritated at this total waste of my time. He stood from the couch, put his notepad and pen away, withdrew something else from his pocket, and strode over to me. To my surprise, he reached up, swept my hair away from my face, and cupped my cheek in his large, but gentle, hand. He rubbed his thumb across my cheekbone as he spoke.

“I do believe you when you say your son needs help, Bridget. Sadly, as a police officer, my hands are tied until I can find proof that your son is in danger. But as a man who wants to see justice done, I’ll do what I can, unofficially, for Alex. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best.”

He removed his hand from my face and reached down to clasp one of mine. He turned it over and placed something in it before closing my fingers around it.

“If you need me for anything, call me. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.” He walked out the door I forgot I’d been holding open without a backward glance. A little stunned by his touch, I slowly closed the door, before turning around and falling slightly backward against it with a loud exhale. I felt a sharp stick to my palm and remembered he’d given me something. I opened my hand and unfolded the crumpled card he’d placed in it. I smoothed out the crinkled paper and studied the name, Detective D. Webber, and what was most likely his personal cell number.

Well, that was unexpected.

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