Chapter 5
Brandon
The surveillance feed showed nothing at four in the morning, but I checked it anyway on my phone. Samantha was asleep beside me, curled on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek. I should have been sleeping too, but my mind wouldn't shut off.
I minimized the surveillance app and set my phone face down on her nightstand. The screen glowed for a second before going dark.
This was wrong. All of it. I was lying in her bed, in her space, while monitoring the drug dealers one floor above us. Using her building, her life, as cover for my investigation.
And falling for her in the process.
My phone buzzed. Text from Reeves: Update on the targets?
I typed back: No movement. Still monitoring.
What I didn't tell him was that Kyle Ackerman, one of our mid-level dealers, was also one of Samantha's clients. What I didn't tell him was that the woman I was falling for could become collateral damage if this went sideways.
Samantha stirred beside me, rolling over to drape an arm across my chest. Even in sleep, she sought contact.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but it was useless. By the time the sun came up, I'd been awake for three hours thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.
Finally, I gave up and slipped out of bed. Samantha didn't stir. I pulled on my jeans and went to her kitchen, figuring I could at least make myself useful.
I got the coffee going and checked my phone again.
Still nothing from the team. The dealers were probably sleeping. Maybe the supplier would do the drop today.
"Morning." Samantha appeared in the doorway wearing yoga pants and a tank top, her hair pulled up in a messy knot. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Work stuff?"
"Something like that."
She gave me a look but didn't push it. Instead, she went to feed Pepper, who was yowling like she hadn't eaten in weeks.
"What's your day look like?" I asked, handing her a mug.
"Three sessions this morning, two this afternoon. Pretty standard." She took a sip and made a happy sound. "This is really good coffee."
"Thanks."
"What about you?"
"Meetings." Another lie. I had surveillance to review and reports to file and a case to close before Samantha got hurt. "Nothing exciting."
"You want to come over tonight? I could cook dinner."
I almost laughed. I was already here, standing in her kitchen, drinking her coffee. But I knew what she meant.
“Unless you're sick of me already."
"Not even close."
"Seven work?"
"I'll be here."
She smiled, and guilt twisted in my gut. She thought I was a technology consultant with boring meetings and spreadsheet deadlines. She had no idea I was a cop who'd been lying to her since the moment we met.
After she left for work, I went back to my own apartment and pulled up the surveillance files on my laptop. Spent two hours reviewing footage from the past week, looking for patterns, connections, anything that would help me close this case.
Around noon, my phone rang. Reeves.
"Spencer. We need to talk."
"I'm listening."
"Kyle Ackerman missed his check-in yesterday. His probation officer's getting nervous."
“He hasn’t left the apartment,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
“Let me scan real quick.” I should have been sent an alert if the door opened or if there had been movement in the hallway. "Does his PO know he's involved in distribution?"
"No. And we need to keep it that way until we're ready to move." Reeves paused. "But Spencer, if he's spooked, if he runs, we lose our connection to the other dealers."
"Unless he and the other two assholes flew out the window, they’re still in the apartment."
"I don’t like this. If they don’t come out by noon, find a way to get in there and see what was going on."
He hung up.
Yeah, like I could go up there and ask to borrow a cup of sugar.
Whatever. I’d figure out something. I pulled up Kyle's file.
Twenty-six, multiple priors, currently on probation and supposedly clean.
Working as a courier for the dealers in 4G.
And seeing Samantha twice a week for counseling sessions.
If Kyle was in trouble, if the dealers thought he'd talked to anyone about the operation, they might go after people close to him. Including his counselor.
I needed to warn her. But I had no good reason to know about Kyle, no explanation that wouldn't blow everything.
I spent the rest of the morning watching the monitors and trying to figure out how to keep Samantha safe without telling her the truth.
I was saved from having to go up there when all three of the scumbags stumbled out just before noon and left the apartment.
I reported that and let the street team follow them while I continued to watch the empty hallway and apartment in case the drop came while they were out.
It was mind numbingly boring and left me with way to much time to think.
By the time the scumbags came back, carrying takeout bags, I'd made a decision. I’d keep everything a secret until the case closed and then I’d tell her everything.
Beg for forgiveness and hope she'd give me a chance to make it right.
It was a shit plan. But it was all I had.
I showed up at her door with a bottle of wine and ingredients for the pasta dish my mother used to make. Samantha answered wearing jeans and a soft sweater, her hair down around her shoulders.
"Come in." She took the grocery bag from me. "What's all this?"
"I thought we could cook together. If that's okay."
"It's more than okay." She unpacked the bag on the counter. "Fresh pasta, pancetta, eggs. Are you making carbonara?"
"My mom's version. It's the only thing I know how to cook that doesn't come from a box."
We moved around her kitchen like we'd been doing this forever.
I handled the pasta while she set the table.
She poured wine while I crisped the pancetta.
Easy. Natural. Everything I didn't deserve.
The apartment soon smelled like garlic and cheese.
Pepper watched us from her perch on the back of the couch, judging silently.
"Tell me about your family," Samantha said, leaning against the counter with her wine. "You mentioned your mom's a teacher?"
"Third grade. She's been doing it for thirty years." I stirred the pasta, checking the texture. "My dad's retired now, but he was a mechanic. They still live in the same house in Boston where I grew up."
"Sounds nice."
"It was." I glanced at her. "What about your parents?"
Her expression shifted. "They moved to Arizona after Jake died. Too many memories here, I think. We talk once a week, but it's not the same."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. They needed to heal their own way." She took a sip of wine. "I just wish I could have helped them more."
"You were dealing with your own grief."
"I know. But I was his big sister. I should have known he was using. Should have seen the signs."
I turned off the heat and moved closer to her. "Addicts are good at hiding it. That's not on you."
"My brain knows that. My heart's still catching up."
I kissed her forehead, wishing I could take away that pain. Wishing I could tell her that I understood guilt better than anyone. That I'd been carrying it for two years, ever since Danny died on my watch.
"Come on." I guided her to the table. "Let's eat before it gets cold."
The carbonara turned out better than I expected.
We ate and talked about nothing important.
Her cat's weird habits. The guy in 2C who definitely wasn't just smoking regular weed. I’d put in a tip at the precinct to pay him a visit once this was all over.
The way Mrs. Kim had cornered me in the lobby yesterday with enough japchae to feed an army.
"She thinks we should date," I said.
"Mrs. Kim thinks everyone should date. Last month she tried to set me up with her nephew." Samantha twirled pasta on her fork. "He's eighteen."
"That's disturbing."
"Right? I had to explain that ten years is too big an age gap for me."
We finished dinner and I cleared the plates while she found a movie on Netflix. Something action-packed that neither of us really watched because we were too busy kissing on her couch.
"Brandon," she said between kisses. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"The woman who was at your place that first night. You said she was a client."
"She was."
"Was it really just about work? Because she seemed pretty angry."
I pulled back to look at her. "Are you asking if I was involved with her?"
"I guess I am."
"No. She was upset about a business decision I made. That's all." Another lie. The woman had been a contact from another case, pissed off that I'd arrested her boyfriend. But Samantha didn't need to know that.
"Okay." She relaxed against me. "I just needed to hear you say it."
"Hey." I tilted her chin up. "I'm not seeing anyone else. I don't want anyone else. Just you."
"Just me?"
"Just you."
She kissed me again, deeper this time. Her hands went to my shirt, working the buttons open.
"Bedroom?" I asked.
"Couch is closer."
We didn't make it off the couch. She straddled my lap, her hands in my hair, her mouth hot against mine. I got her sweater off, her bra unhooked, and then my mouth was on her breast and she was making those sounds I was already addicted to.
"Brandon. Please."
I lifted her enough to get her jeans off, then mine. The condom was in my wallet, and I had it on in seconds. She sank down on me, both of us groaning at the contact.
"God, you feel good." I gripped her hips, helping her move. "So good."
She rode me slow at first, then faster. I watched her face, the way her eyes closed and her mouth opened. The way she threw her head back when she was close.
The sight of it, the feel of her tightening around me, was almost too much.
""Don't stop," she gasped.
"Not a chance. Come for me."
She did, clenching around me, my name on her lips. I followed seconds later, holding her tight as I emptied myself into the condom.