Chapter 34
Jersey
There hasn't been a shortage of regrets in my life. I think every day brings some form of wishing something was different.
Today that list is a mile long, but as much as I can stay in my room pacing, wishing I'd never set eyes on Caitlyn Rudd, I know better.
I knew the woman was different the fucking second I saw her walking toward that cross the first time. I hadn't even felt that way with Eden, and that's a hard fucking bitter pill to swallow, considering I made vows with that woman.
Somehow, deep down, I knew Caitlyn was going to change my life, and I think mentally I've been fighting against the idea of it despite the physical connection we've had multiple times.
There's no getting her out of my mind. There's no chance that I can let her leave, thinking she means less to me than any other woman I've come across in my line of work .
I have no fucking clue why I couldn't express my feelings for her minutes ago when she left, and I can't say that I have the courage to say them now, but I know she was upset when she left, and I have to make sure she made it home okay.
I grab my leather jacket and the keys to my bike and head out, knowing I can make it down the mountain faster than driving something with four wheels. It still seems to take forever, my head conjuring up all sorts of horrible things that could happen between here and her house.
I'm only partially relieved to not see her car wrapped around a tree on my descent, but nothing prepares me for what I find when I make it to her house.
Caitlyn is fine, better than ever, I'd say, with the way she's hugging the man on her front porch.
Rage fills me up, and my first instinct is to park my bike and ram that guy's head into the nearest fucking tree, but I don't own her. I can't dictate what she does or who she sees. We weren't even close to being exclusive, and if all I wanted was sex from her, the sight of the two of them together shouldn't bother me at all.
I rev my engine, drawing both of their attention with plans to speed off and wash my hands of her completely, but when he releases her and she looks in my direction, all I see is pure panic and terror in her eyes.
I try to read the entire situation, first struggling to shake the idea that she's with someone else from my head. Before I can park my bike, I notice the gun pressed into her side a second before the man wraps his arm around her waist and drags her into the house.
Jesus, is this really happening right now?
I jump off my bike, unconcerned when it tips over on its side, and opt to hide behind her car because it's the only thing in the driveway that provides any form of protection if the guy decides he's going to start shooting at me from one of the windows on the front of her house .
It isn't Scott Wilson, and I don't recognize the guy. I pull out my phone, selecting Casper's contact information as I try to run every face from the club through my mind.
"What's—"
"I have a hostage situation at Caitlyn's house. A man with dark blond hair. I don't know eye color. He's approximately six feet tall and has a lean build. He’s wearing a fucking peacoat and a Christmas sweater. He has her at gunpoint."
"I'm going to dispatch some of the guys. Do you want local law enforcement?"
"They'll just fuck everything up," I mutter. "What do you have?"
"Nothing yet," he says, sounding disappointed in himself as I hear his fingers working over his keyboard.
"I don't see an unfamiliar car anywhere near. What did her security system show?"
Silence fills the line.
"Casper!" I growl.
"That she turned it off at eight seventeen this morning. It's been disarmed all fucking day."
"And the other system?"
"I'm working on it," he says, and I feel vindicated that I've won the argument I had with the guy when he said it was a violation of privacy to have a secondary control on her system that she couldn't deactivate. The woman had windows unlocked and no batteries in her smoke detectors. She'd be dead if I let her just exist in life without interference. Hell, I don't know how she has made it on her own as long as she has.
"I need to go in."
"You need to wait for your team," Casper snaps. "They're already on their way. ETA fifteen minutes max."
"Who are you sending?"
"Everyone. "
"He could be doing God knows what to her inside right now," I argue.
"Wait for your team, Jersey."
"He was touching her," I pant, feeling more and more out of control as the seconds tick by. "She doesn't like to be touched."
I peer around the side of her car. I don't know if the lack of activity is a good or a bad thing.
"Who the fuck is he?"
"I'm working on it. I've got several good images from the camera system and I'm running them through facial recognition."
"It doesn't matter who he is," I remind myself out loud. "He's here to hurt her. This never ends well. All I have is this fucking .380," I say, pulling the handgun from my boot. "I'm so fucking unprepared."
"We can't go through life prepared for war every single second of the day," he argues, but hearing it and knowing it to be true doesn't calm anything inside of me.
"I didn't check her cameras," I mutter. "I should've checked. We should've had someone at her house."
"We've been spread thin working all these leads we got from Adair's paperwork."
"Doesn't fucking matter," I grind out. "We fucking failed her. I failed her."
"ETA three minutes. Hemlock called in local law enforcement, but I think our guys will get there first."
"I don't fucking have three minutes," I growl.
"Two and a half," Casper says. "Let Hemlock take the lead. You're too invested."
"I have to save her," I manage, the sting of tears making my vision blurry. "I can't fucking lose her too."
"You won't, Jersey. You won't."
How the fuck does he even know? He can't possibly predict the future .
My hands tremble as I fight the urge to run toward the house and kick in the front door. I'll be met with a rain of bullets, but if he plugs them all into my chest, then he won't have any left for her, and that is a deal I'm willing to make.
"A minute and a half, man. Hold tight."
I swallow against the lump in my throat. I know going in there half-cocked and full of ego will only end badly. I've seen it too many times before. I'm no fucking superhero, and I know, for a fact, I'm not bulletproof. I don't even have my vest on. It would've been cumbersome as fuck to drive to Ohio and back with one on.
I was prepared to drive by her house and make sure she was safe, not get into a shoot-out with an unnamed man holding her hostage.
"Good job, Jersey. They're pulling in now."
I breathe a sigh of relief before ending the call. I know someone else on the team will have Casper on the line, so there's no sense in pulling him in two directions.
Three SUVs pull up outside of her house, each one strategically placed for optimal sight on the house and protection for us standing on the opposite side of them.
"Casper is working through facial recognition," Hemlock says when I join him beside one of the vehicles. "We have—"
The crunch of gravel draws all of our attention, and I know I'm frowning when the lone police car pulls up. I'm ready to spit nails when a guy climbs out who looks like he just graduated from the academy this past weekend.
He struts toward us like he has plans to save the world today, and it grates on every exposed nerve I have.
"The house isn't on fire," he says, his eyes sweeping over each of us.
I can tell the second he decides he doesn't like us. His shoulders hitch up a little higher as if he thinks he can take us all on in a fight and come out the other end victorious .
I know he was told there was a fire because nothing moves cops up a mountain like the threat of dry trees lighting the tourist destination up.
"It's a hostage situation," Hemlock says, standing at least four inches taller than the sheriff's deputy. "Where are the rest of your force?"
"A hostage situation?" He swallows, and I see the fear form on his face.
He can man up and face a bunch of us, but the threat of what he would consider real danger makes him want to cower away and change the direction of his entire life. Maybe a job at Scott Wilson's dinner and movie theater is in his future.
I scowl in his direction.
"And who are you? Rival gang members?"
"Boy," Hemlock says with a growl. "We called you out of courtesy. Now, get some real cops here and go sit the fuck down."
"That sounds like a threat—"
The man-child snaps his mouth closed as he slinks back a few steps when Zeus inches closer to him.
"I'm calling b-back u-up," he stammers as he walks back toward his car.
"You do that," Hemlock says as he turns his attention back toward the house.
"We can't wait for more cops," I say, terrified at what could already be happening to her inside.
"I have no intention of waiting. We just have to figure out the best game plan," Hemlock says.