Page 102 of Forgotten Promise

“What case?”

“They won’t tell me. As your captain, I demanded to know and was told that the LAPD is happy to do this favor for our friends at Interpol.” Captain Danielson grunted. “Meaning, my bosses told me to shut up and not ask questions because they’re happy to stick your ass on a plane if it means they can ask Interpol for a favor in the future.”

“I’m guessing that means they also aren’t willing to email the case files to me so I can look at them from the comfort of my slightly broken chair.”

“Damn it, I told you I’ll put in a requisition for a new chair.”

John grinned. The issue of his chair was, at this point, a comforting routine. As was the way the right arm periodically fell off.

Captain Danielson shook his head. “Whatever this case is, details are sensitive or need to know, but they think you can help.”

John leaned back, thinking. As a major crimes detective, he worked both robbery and homicide cases. He doubted this had anything to do with a homicide, but there had been a few robbery cases where he hadn’t been satisfied at the time that all players were accounted for. It had to be one of those.

“And I have to go in person.” John was seriously sick of planes.

“I tried to get you out of it, but like I said, the LAPD is happy to stick you on a plane in exchange for some goodwill from Interpol. They gave me this number.” Again, papers fluttered in a haphazard way that made John’s eye twitch. “They want you on a flight today, and this is the travel coordinator’s number. Said there’s a red-eye tonight that will get you to Monaco the fastest.”

“Tonight?” John asked, wondering what the hell the rush was. He hadn’t even unpacked his bag from the trip to Hawaii, although that had less to do with a lack of time and more to do with a lack of energy, fueled by depression.

He’d dropped the suitcase onto one of his brand-new, gorgeous armchairs. Looking at the furniture hurt.

“Yeah. I told them that was a quick turnaround, but they insisted. Flight leaves in,” the captain looked at his watch, “six hours, so I’m giving you the rest of the day off. Go home and pack and get your ass to the airport. Rush hour will be a bitch, so give yourself plenty of time to get there.”

John rose, forcing a grin because his boss would be suspicious as hell if he didn’t feign enthusiasm. This was a sweet opportunity for a simple LAPD detective. His captain had no idea just how many damn planes he’d been on in the past four days. “Monaco…maybe I’ll go to Monte Carlo, huh? Beats the hell out of working that shooting out of South,” he said.

The more he thought about it, this trip felt like it could be the answer to a prayer. Perhaps a change of scenery and a juicy case would keep him distracted enough that he wouldn’t spend every single minute of the day and night thinking about Benjamin and Kailani, wondering where they were, what they were doing.

The captain rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Do me a favor and keep this trip to yourself. If the rest of the guys find out you’re flying to Monte Carlo, I’ll have a mutiny on my hands, everyone pissed off that you’re going instead of them.”

“I won’t say a word.” John was absolutely going to tell everyone else about it and gloat when he got back. Maybe he’d bring the rest of the squad keychains.

Monaco. Home of Monte Carlo. He was about to travel to his dream location, so he was shocked he wasn’t more excited. However, thoughts of Monte Carlo no longer replayed in his mind as a Bond movie. Instead, all he could see were Kailani and Benjamin’s amused faces on the jet when he told them about his love of GoldenEye and all things James Bond.

“Pack enough for at least a week or two. Interpol said you could be there for a while.”

“Okay,” he replied with a bit too much of a heavy sigh.

The captain studied his face closely, and John realized he’d let his mask slip, the misery he felt coming out in his tone. As far as his captain knew, he just got back from vacation and should be relaxed and happy.

“Think I’ll need a tuxedo? Just in case I need to play super-spy?” John joked, trying to recover.

“I think you can leave the tuxedo at home, Double-O-Seven.” His captain was well aware of John’s love for the spy. Every time one of the new Bond movies came out, John dragged a bunch of people from the precinct—the captain included—to go see it.

Because he’d reached the ripe old age of thirty-five as a bachelor, he looked forward to the times when he didn’t have to do shit alone. As such, he had a weekly Thursday happy hour with a couple other detectives and a standing Monday night dinner date with his next-door neighbors, an older retired couple, whose adult kids all lived in other states.

“Try not to lose a bundle at the craps tables,” his captain warned as John headed for the door.

“I’ll do my best.” John returned to his desk, shutting down his computer and grabbing his stuff, considering it a win that he wasn’t dreading the idea of spending another night alone.

He’d never cared much about his house, never thought of it as a home as much as just a place to lay his head at night. But now, thanks to the furniture Benjamin had bought, the place felt almost cozy. And while Kailani and Benjamin spent barely a full hour there, he still felt their presence.

John had always been a loner, which wasn’t surprising considering his upbringing, but he’d never really considered himself lonely. Since returning from Hawaii, he realized just how empty his life was.

Benjamin and Kailani had shown him how amazing it was to be with someone. Those hours on Benjamin’s private jet, just talking and getting to know each other, had been some of the best moments of his life.

Which was sad as fuck now that he considered it.

He walked to the parking lot, recalling how Kailani had mentioned once that she had trust issues, something he certainly understood.

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