Chapter 5 Beckett
Six hours and we’ve got a whole lot of nothing. Files lay open on the conference table, and Shawn is seated across from me, head down as he scans an inventory report from the scene of the accident.
It wasn’t something I could stomach. Especially given the photos included. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to remember Paul as he was and not what I saw on that stainless steel slab when I’d been called in to identify his broken body.
My cell dings, so I lift it and see a text from Carly. It brings a smile to my face. Perfect timing.
Carly: Hey, girl. Thinking about you. Hope all is going well with the handsome detective. Is he there now? You should send your friend a pic.
Me: You have no idea how much I needed you to text me. Thanks. I’m okay. Detective Sampson is here, too. And no, I won’t be sending you a pic.
Though the mental image of him shirtless from earlier assaults me now, and my cheeks heat. I set my phone down.
When it dings again, I don’t hesitate to pick it up.
Larry: Still waiting on your response. Hope you’re having a great day, beautiful.
Bile burns my throat, and I groan, closing my eyes and setting my phone aside to rub the heels of my palms against them. Maybe if I rub my eyes hard enough, it’ll erase his messages from my brain.
“You doing okay?”
I open my eyes, surprised to find Shawn staring at me. “Fine. Just dealing with someone who doesn’t understand the word no.” I force a smile. “I’m in need of some coffee, though.”
“Break room is straight across,” he says, pointing toward the door.
Even though coffee is the last thing my churning stomach needs, I push up from my chair. “Want any?”
Without looking at me, he raises his mug.
“Got it.” Why can’t he be at least mildly tolerable? “I’ll be right back.”
When Shawn grunts in response, I pull open the door and step out into the main room of the police station. Uniformed officers move throughout the space in addition to those in suits and plain clothes.
Ahead, Shawn’s partner, whom I briefly met earlier, looks up and offers me a friendly smile. “You in search of caffeine?”
“I am.”
He gets up and lifts the mug on his desk. “I can help with that. This way.” He starts walking and gestures for me to follow as he weaves through desks and toward a glass door on the opposite side.
Anderson pulls open the door, so I step inside, and the moment it closes behind us, the noise from the precinct fades away. I breathe a sigh of relief, then start looking for the coffee.
Which Anderson has already started prepping. “So, how’s it going in there?” he asks.
“Slow,” I reply. “But I’ve waited a decade; what’s a little bit longer, right?”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. But I imagine you’re even more desperate for answers.”
“You’re not wrong there.”
As the coffee machine begins to drip dark, aromatic liquid into the glass pot, Anderson turns and leans back against the table, crossing his arms to face me.
“I’m really sorry about what happened to him. That’s awful.”
“Thanks.”
He nods. “I remember seeing it on the news. I wasn’t a cop back then, but the story was all over the place.”
My jaw clenches. “Yeah, they definitely didn’t try to keep it quiet, did they?”
“That’s the media for you,” he replies. “Have you guys found anything yet? I offered to help, but Shawn said you had it covered.”
“We do. For now. But thanks for offering.” I run a hand through my loose hair. “So far, we have nothing. But I’m optimistic that’ll change.”
“I hope it does, too.” He smiles. “I read the article about your last case, by the way. This morning, after you showed up, I looked into you.” His cheeks blush softly, and I smile. He’s genuinely adorable. Younger than me by a few years, but sweet.
“That was a tough case. But it wrapped up well.”
“Definitely seems like it did. You do good work, Ms. Wallace. And that’s not something I say about many lawyers.”
I laugh, not at all taking offense. My own partners disgust me with some of the cases they take on. We should be here to protect the victims—not support the guilty. “I completely understand that. Believe me.”
The door is yanked open, and a frustrated Shawn storms in. “Break time?” he asks Anderson.
“Just making our guest some coffee, partner,” he replies, completely unbothered by the fact that Shawn looks about ready to rip him a new one. The coffee maker beeps, so he turns toward it.
I glare over at Shawn. I know he’s helping me—and that’s great—but does he really have to be so rude all the time?
Anderson pours me a fresh cup, then offers it to me. “Cream is in the refrigerator, and we have sugar right over there.”
“Thank you so much.”
“No problem at all. Good luck. Let me know if I can help at all.”
“Will do.” I smile at him and watch as he fills his mug then leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
As soon as we’re alone, I whirl on Shawn. “So, it’s not just me you look down on?”
His gaze finds mine. “Excuse me?”
“You talked to your partner like he’s your employee.”
“He’s new. Sometimes he gets distracted and doesn’t get done with his paperwork. When that happens, Counselor, who do you think has to do it? Since I’m currently occupied with your case, wouldn’t you like me to be focused on it instead of what he didn’t finish?”
I glare at him. Hot and cold.
That’s what he is.
“You still didn’t have to be rude. He was just making me coffee.”
“I didn’t realize you needed help.” Shawn turns to leave the break room without ever refreshing his own cup of coffee. I glare after him.
How did I ever find myself attracted to someone like that?
And I suppose the better question is: Why does he still make my heart beat faster whenever he looks my direction?
By the time I get back to the conference room, he’s already seated in the same place he was when I left.
Before I have the chance to take my seat, my phone rings. After lifting it, I check the readout, and frustration eats away at what’s left of my patience for the day. I could let it go to voicemail, but he’ll just keep calling.
“I told you I’m not interested.” The moment the words leave my lips, Shawn’s head snaps up with such force I’m surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.
“And I told you that people don’t tell me no, Ms. Wallace. I’m a man who gets what he wants.”
“Except when I wiped the floor with you in court,” I snap.
This earns a slight grin from Shawn.
“That was business. I’m hoping our relationship can become a bit more personal.”
“I’m sure you are, but I’m going to say this as plainly as I can. I am not interested in any way, shape, or form. It has nothing to do with my dead husband—as you so eloquently put it last night—and everything to do with the fact that even being in the same room as you makes my skin crawl.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Which means I’m under your skin.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Is he serious? How do I get the point across that I am not interested when he clearly has no respect for me or the word no?
The phone is plucked from my hand before I realize Shawn has gotten up and crossed the room.
“I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care,” he growls into the line. “What I do care about is the fact that you are harassing Beckett. So, leave her alone, or I’m going to personally come visit and make sure you get it through your thick skull that she is not interested in you. Got it?”
Shawn’s gaze levels on mine, and warmth spreads through me. I should be mad that he grabbed the phone, right? I can handle myself. But the way he’s watching me erases any anger I might have had if it had been anyone else who snatched the phone out of my hands.
“You’d better remember that before you pick up the phone to call her again.” He ends the call and offers me the phone.
The break in eye contact is enough to snap me back to reality. “I was handling that.”
“I know you were. And I had every intention of leaving it to you until you said he accused your lack of interest as being related to your ‘dead husband’. A man who would say that is a man who isn’t going to back down until someone makes him.
I may have just saved you the trouble of an assault charge on what I’m sure is a squeaky-clean record. ”
“He’s a lawyer, and you essentially threatened him.”
Shawn barks out a laugh that catches me off guard. “Then let him come out here and deliver that news to me in person.”
I stare at him, unable to tear my gaze away.
He’s smiling.
Actually smiling.
Clearing my throat, I force my attention away from him and take my seat. “You’re probably right about him, and to be honest, every time my phone has dinged or rung since last night, I’ve been irritated, thinking it was him. So, thanks.”
Shawn nods. “You’re welcome, Beckett.”
We’re two weeks away from Christmas, and although there’s not a single drift of snow to be found as I walk down the streets of Seattle, it shows.
Everywhere, there are signs and decorated trees. Fake snow in the windows, smiling people with bags full of gifts going in and out of shops. It makes me happy to see it, and as I walk, I can’t keep the smile off my face. I even managed to pick up a few gifts for my mom.
Mom. My heart aches for home.
It’s been a long time since I was away from her for Christmas, but if I don’t find what I’m looking for, I don’t know that I’ll be heading home.
I have to know the truth. Even if it means missing Christmas Day with my mom for the first time in years.
We can celebrate when I get back, and it’ll be just as special then.
My thoughts drift back to Detective Shawn Sampson. I know he grew up here in Seattle—that’s pretty much the only thing I learned about him on our nightmare of a date. Does that mean he’ll be spending time here with family? Or does he spend it alone?
The image of him standing shirtless in that conference room assaults me, and I beat it back down. When he’d turned to face me and I’d caught sight of that nasty scar on his chest, I couldn’t focus on anything else. Who put it there? Why? Was it an accident? Or done on purpose?
I shake my head to try and clear the image of his hair-dusted, muscled chest.
The guy is handsome; there was never any question of that. He definitely has the rugged detective look down, but we clashed—hard.
And for me, physical connection just isn’t enough to build a relationship on. No matter how badly I wanted to. Honestly, he’s the first man since Paul that actually interested me romantically.
I’d wanted there to be more than a spark there…and I’d certainly gotten that. Except what I found was a full-blown wildfire, capable of leveling the both of us right where we stood.
We’re too volatile together. Too different.
Something that has only been highlighted by our afternoon together.
I step through the front doors of the hotel with my bag of take-out dinner in hand, then head toward the elevator. Before I press the button, the doors open, and an older couple smiles at me as they step off together, hand in hand.
As I turn and watch them through the closing doors, my chest aches. Oh, how I wanted to grow old with Paul. We’d had our whole lives ahead of us. I know that God has a plan for everything, and most of the time, we don’t see what it is, but his death nearly killed me.
It took everything I had to keep waking up every day. And even then, I know it wasn’t me that kept me going. It was God. He was with me in my pain and the anger that drove me those first few months.
And He’s still with me today.
The elevator doors ding, so I step off and head down the hall toward my room. It’s the first time I’ve eaten all day, so I’m stoked about the cheeseburger slowly cooling in the bag I’m holding.
Dinner then research.
And first thing tomorrow, it’s back to the precinct. Maybe if I show up with a fresh cup of coffee for Shawn, he’ll be in a better mood. I can make an effort, even if, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter.
What would it take for a man like that to smile?
To feel something other than the anger and frustration that seem to drive him?
Using my keycard, I unlock the door and push it open.
The room is dark, so I reach for the light.
But before I hit the switch, a large body slams into me, knocking me back into the now closed door.
Adrenaline surges through my system, and the air leaves my lungs in an instant.
I drop my bag of food to bring my knee up into the groin of my attacker.
He falls backward, so I slam my fist into his face. Pain explodes up through my wrist, but I don’t let my mind focus on that.
Not when precious seconds count.
With the distraction, I whirl back on the door, my hand closing on the handle.
A hand grips the back of my hair, and I’m ripped backward.
“Help m—” I start to scream, but a gloved hand covers my mouth as I’m held tightly against a large chest.
“Better keep your mouth shut,” he warns, voice deep and disguised by a distorter.
I squirm against the hold, fighting with everything I have in me, but a hand circles my throat and squeezes.
I choke, my lungs burning as I fight for air.
He releases my mouth and spins me around before slamming me back into the wall. Using his body, he presses me into the wall as both large hands go around my throat.
I try to scream.
With frantic fingers, I try to work at the hold of my attacker, but as my vision begins to fade, I grow weaker.
No. I cannot die like this.
Not now.
God, please.
“If you don’t stop looking, you’re going to find yourself dead, too,” the attacker growls.
The distorter makes it impossible to make out the voice, and with the lights out, I can’t see a thing.
I reach up with trembling fingers to try to feel for his facial features—anything that might help me identify him if I survive, but the mask he’s wearing is thick and covers everything.
My hands fall back to my throat when he tightens his grip.
“Do you hear me?” he asks, pulling me forward and slamming me back into the wall.
I try to scream again.
Try to do anything, but I’m helpless.
He pulls me away from the wall and throws me onto the ground.
Panic claws at me as I suck in a ragged breath and try to crawl away.
But he’s there, pinning me to the ground.
A cloth saturated in a sickeningly sweet liquid is shoved over my face, and I fight the urge to breathe, knowing that if I do, there’s no telling what will happen to me.
But it’s useless.
The fibers scratch against my skin, and as I slowly lose the fight for consciousness, all I can do is send up a prayer.
The Lord is my Shepherd.