Chapter 3
Brandon
The surveillance equipment hummed in the corner of my bedroom, three monitors displaying different angles of the building's common areas. I'd been staring at the feeds for two hours and hadn't retained a single useful piece of information.
All I could think about was Samantha on my couch last night. The way her lips had parted when I touched her face. How close I'd come to kissing her before that locksmith called.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and forced myself to focus on the screen.
This case was the whole reason I was here.
The drug operation running out of this building had connections to the ring that killed my partner, and I was not going to blow it because I was distracted by a woman with sad eyes and honey-blonde hair.
Even if that woman was currently moving around in the apartment next door, torturing me with every footstep.
I could hear her shower running through the wall. Could picture her in there, water streaming over curves I had no business thinking about.
"Get your head in the game," I muttered.
My phone buzzed. Text from Captain Reeves: Status update?
Still establishing cover, I typed back. Building trust with residents. No movement from primary targets yet.
The primary targets were three mid-level dealers who'd been using this building as a distribution hub for six months. We'd been watching them, building a case, waiting for them to lead us to their supplier. The supplier who'd set up the ambush that killed Danny.
My partner. My best friend. The guy who'd been like a brother to me since the academy.
I stared at Danny's photo on my phone background. We'd taken it at a barbecue two weeks before he died, both of us grinning like idiots, beers in hand.
"I'm going to get them," I told the photo. "I promise."
Samantha's shower cut off. More footsteps. Her closet door opening and closing.
I needed to request a transfer. This was too close. She was too close. If she got caught up in this operation somehow, if she got hurt because I was distracted...
But I didn't text Reeves to request the transfer. I told myself it was because I was already established here, already making progress. Moving someone else in would set the case back weeks.
The truth was simpler and more selfish. I didn't want to leave.
I wanted more nights on that couch with her. More almost-kisses.
My phone buzzed again. This time it was intel from the team. One of our targets, a guy named Kyle Ackerman, had a meeting scheduled at a counseling center this afternoon. Mandatory drug testing as part of his probation.
I pulled up the address and swore. I checked my files, even though I already knew what I’d find. Yup. It was at Samantha's counseling center.
"Son of a bitch."
Kyle was one of her clients. Had to be. Which meant she was closer to this case than I'd realized. Which meant she could become a target if the dealers thought she knew something.
I pulled up the surveillance photos we had of Kyle. Twenty-six, multiple priors for possession and distribution, currently on probation and supposedly clean. He'd been working as a courier for the dealers, moving product between buildings.
If Samantha was counseling him, if she suspected anything...
I grabbed my phone and almost texted her. Almost warned her to be careful, to watch her back. But I had no good reason to know about Kyle. No explanation that wouldn't blow my cover.
"Damn it."
I heard her leave for work. Forced myself not to go to the door, not to manufacture another excuse to see her. I spent the rest of the morning reviewing case files and trying not to think about the woman next door.
By mid afternoon, I was climbing the walls. The surveillance feeds showed nothing. No movement from the targets. No suspicious activity.
I went for a run to clear my head. Six miles through the neighborhood, pushing myself until my legs burned and my lungs ached. It helped, marginally.
When I got back to the building, Mrs. Kim was in the lobby with approximately forty grocery bags.
"Let me help you with those," I said.
"Oh, you're such a nice young man." She beamed at me. "Are you settling in okay? Do you need anything? I made too much japchae last night. I could bring you some."
"That's really kind, but I'm good."
"Nonsense. Growing boy like you needs to eat." She patted my arm. "I'll bring some by later. You're in 3B, right? Next to Samantha?"
"Yeah."
"Such a sweet girl. Works too hard, that one. Always coming home late, looking tired." Mrs. Kim shook her head. "She needs someone to take care of her."
I picked up the grocery bags and followed her to the elevator. "I'm sure she takes care of herself just fine."
"Of course she does. But everyone needs someone, you know?" She gave me a knowing look. "You two would make a nice couple."
"We just met."
"So? My husband and I got married three months after we met. Fifty-two years we were together before he passed." She dabbed at her eyes. "When you know, you know."
The elevator opened and I helped her carry the bags to her apartment. She thanked me profusely and promised to bring me a plate later.
Back in my apartment, I showered and changed, then settled in front of the monitors again. At four thirty, Kyle Brennan showed up on the feed, entering the building through the side entrance the dealers preferred.
He went straight to apartment 4G.
I watched the feed as two other guys joined him. Mitch Gordon and Leo Vance. All three primary targets in one place.
They were getting bold. Or sloppy. Either way, it was the break we needed.
I texted the screen shots to Reeves. All three together. Might be planning something.
His response came fast: Stay on it. Let me know if they move.
I watched the monitors for the next three hours. The dealers stayed in 4G. No one came or went.
Around seven thirty, Samantha came home. I watched through the lobby cameras, shoulders slumped, looking exhausted. She checked her mail and headed for the elevator.
A minute later, I heard her door open and close. Heard her drop her bag, heard her greeting her cat.
I should stay focused on the monitors. Should keep watching the dealers.
Instead, I listened to her move around her apartment. Heard her in the kitchen, running water. The TV turning on.
My phone rang. Reeves.
"Spencer. We need to move on this soon. The DA's getting antsy."
"I know. But we don't have the supplier yet. If we move now, we lose our chance at the bigger fish."
"I'm aware. But we can't wait forever. These guys are distributing heavy product. Every day we wait is another day someone could overdose."
Like Danny did, except he hadn't been using. He'd been undercover, and the dealers had figured it out and forced a lethal dose down his throat while I was three blocks away, clueless.
"I'll get you the supplier," I said. "Just give me a little more time."
"Two weeks, Spencer. Then we're moving with or without the supplier."
He hung up.
I stared at the monitors. Two weeks to close a case I'd been working for eighteen months. Two weeks to get justice for Danny.
Two weeks before Samantha found out I'd been lying to her about everything.
The smart thing would be to keep my distance. Stop looking for excuses to see her. Stop wanting things I couldn't have.
But when the fire alarm went off at two in the morning, piercing and insistent, I was out my door before I could think twice. I had to get to Samantha.
***
SAMANTHA
The fire alarm dragged me out of a dead sleep, disoriented and panicked. I stumbled out of bed, grabbing my phone and my keys, shoving my feet into sneakers.
Pepper was under the bed, yowling. I dragged her out and stuffed her into her carrier, then grabbed a sweatshirt and bolted for the door.
The hallway was filling with sleepy, annoyed residents. Mrs. Kim was in a pink bathrobe, rollers in her hair. Mr. Okoye from 3C was on his phone, complaining loudly about false alarms.
Brandon's door opened and he stepped out in jeans and a t-shirt, hair messy from sleep. His eyes went straight to me.
"You okay?"
"Fine. Just trying to remember if I have everything."
We joined the stream of people heading for the stairs. The elevator was off-limits during fire alarms, and I was on the third floor with a cat carrier that weighed approximately one million pounds.
Brandon took the carrier from me without asking. "I've got her."
"You don't have to..."
"I've got her."
We made it outside, joining the crowd of residents on the sidewalk across the street. It was October and the temperature had dropped, my breath making clouds in the air. I pulled my sweatshirt tighter, shivering.
The fire trucks showed up five minutes later, lights flashing. Firefighters went inside while we waited.
"False alarm," someone near me muttered. "Third time this month."
Brandon set Pepper's carrier down and shrugged out of his jacket. "Here."
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"It's not that cold."
He held out the jacket. "Take it, Samantha."
I took it, wrapping it around my shoulders. It smelled like him, clean and masculine and distracting. "Thanks."
We stood there, not talking, watching the building. Around us, neighbors chatted and complained. Mrs. Kim was telling anyone who would listen about the time there'd been an actual fire in 1972.
The firefighters emerged twenty minutes later, giving the all-clear.
Everyone filed back inside, grumbling. Brandon picked up Pepper's carrier again and we took the stairs back up.
At my door, I fumbled for my keys. "Thanks for carrying her. And for the jacket."
"Anytime." He didn't leave, just stood there watching me.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just making sure you get inside okay."
I unlocked the door and pushed it open, releasing Pepper from her carrier. She shot past me into the apartment, clearly traumatized by the whole experience.
Brandon lingered in the doorway. The hallway was empty now, everyone else back in their apartments. We looked at each other. The air between us felt heavy, charged with the same electricity from last night on his couch.
"Samantha..."
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want me but you're trying not to."
His jaw clenched. "Maybe I do want you."
"We agreed that was a bad idea."
"We did."
Neither of us moved.
"Because we're neighbors," I said.
"Right."
"And you have secrets you won't talk about."
"I do."
We stared at each other. My heart was racing, my skin too hot despite the cold night air still clinging to me.
"I should go," he said.
"Yeah."
He didn't move.
The elevator dinged at the end of the hall. We both turned to look, watching as it opened and Mr. Okoye got out, nodding at us as he passed.
When I looked back at Brandon, his expression had changed. More intense. Focused.
"Why do you look at me like that?" I asked.
"Like what?"
"Like you're trying to memorize me."
"Maybe I am."
The words hung between us. My apartment door was open behind me. His was closed behind him. We were alone in the hallway, and everything felt inevitable.
"This is a bad idea," I said again.
"The worst."
"We barely know each other."
"True."
I should go inside. Close the door. Put distance between us before I did something stupid.
Instead, I said, "Do you want to come in?"
His eyes went molten. "Are you sure?"
No. Not even a little bit. But I nodded anyway.
He closed the distance between us in two steps, backing me against the doorframe. His hands came up to frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones.
"Tell me to leave," he said.
"I should."
"But are you going to?"
"No."
He kissed me.
It wasn't gentle or tentative. It was desperate and hungry and everything I'd been thinking about for the past thirty-six hours. His mouth moved over mine like he'd been starving for it, one hand sliding into my hair, the other gripping my hip.
I made a sound in the back of my throat and pressed closer. His body was solid against mine, all hard muscle and restrained strength.
My keys fell out of my hand, clattering on the floor.
Brandon broke the kiss, breathing hard. He bent to pick them up, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Invite me in," he said, holding out the keys.
I took them, hand shaking. "Come in."
He followed me inside and kicked the door shut behind us.