Chapter Thirteen
“Chris!” Randall’s wife opened the door with a baby strapped to her chest and a warm smile on her face.
“Hi, Jeanine.” Chris mustered as much enthusiasm as he could manage. He stepped forward, wrapping her in a gentle hug before pressing a soft kiss to Isaiah’s head. The scent of baby powder and the sweet weight of domestic life soothed him.
“I’m so glad you could come for dinner. I hope Randall warned you that meals around here are a total shit show. I can’t be held responsible for flying food,” Jeanine said.
Chris laughed, some of the tension in his chest easing. “I consider myself warned.”
“Hey, big guy,” Randall called from the back of the house.
Chris stepped inside and closed the door behind him as Jeanine headed for the kitchen.
“I told my lovely wife that we should leave you with the kids and make a break for it, but she wouldn’t go for it,” Randall said.
Jeanine’s laughter echoed from the kitchen.
“As usual, you look like crap,” Randall clapped him on the shoulder.
Chris managed a dry smile. After ensuring Isabela had gotten on her way, he returned a missed call from Randall.
He’d called needing a distraction, needing something to anchor him after the chaos of the last few hours.
But when it rained, it poured, and Randall had bad news. Chris’s home had been broken into.
“I stopped by my place on the way here,” Chris said. “Signed off and let the uniform go.”
Randall's expression sobered. “How bad was the damage?”
“Could’ve been worse,” Chris replied. “They came in through a back window, tripped the silent alarm. I had an alert on my phone, but it was silenced because ... I was in a meeting.”
A meeting in which I shoved my tongue down my attorney’s throat while she was just trying to survive her day.
“Doesn’t look like they took anything. Just trashed the place.” Chris ran a hand down his face. “My flatscreen’s toast but they didn’t get into the office. That door was still locked. Maybe they heard sirens and bailed early.”
Randall narrowed his eyes. “This break in screams both intimidation and amateur hour.”
“Yeah, I know.” Chris exhaled. “Thing is, two of my lawyers received threats this week. One of them was hit by a car this morning. Hit and run.”
Randall’s eyes widened. “Not Ms. Cruz?”
Chris shook his head. “No. Her boss, Marcus Walker.”
“Shit.” Now it was Randall’s turn to scrub a hand over his face. “You thinking it’s connected?”
“At first, I didn’t. But now?” Chris shrugged. “The timing’s too convenient.”
Randall nodded grimly. “We both know coincidences don’t exist.”
Before they could dig deeper, Jeanine’s voice called from the kitchen, “Come eat!”
Chris followed Randall down the hallway. He paused to ruffle the thick curls on RJ’s head. The toddler beamed up at him, juice box in hand. Randall scooped the almost three-year-old into his arms and buckled him into the highchair before Jeanine gently passed the baby to him.
“You’re in luck,” Jeanine said brightly. “Randall threw his famous pulled pork in the slow cooker this morning. Grab a plate and dig in.”
“After you,” Chris said, gesturing politely.
Jeanine raised an eyebrow. “What a gentleman. Hard to believe no one’s snatched you up yet.”
“Because I’m a gentleman,” he deadpanned, drawing a laugh from her.
Or because I might be tried for murder. Or because I’m a complete jerk who kisses women who just need a little comfort.
The image of Isabela, scrambling to escape their kiss haunted him. She’d practically run out of her own office, clearly shaken, not just by him but by everything happening around her. His gut clenched at the memory.
“So, how’s everything going?” Jeanine asked as she took a bite of her dinner. “I haven’t heard a peep about the shooting in a while. Do you think you’ll come off suspension soon?”
Sometimes he forgot that not everyone thought of his impending doom twenty-four seven. The media frenzy had faded. When he pulled up to his house earlier, the reporters were gone. To the world, it was old news. But for Chris, it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
“They’ve got me in a holding pattern,” Chris replied, voice flat. “The chief’s waiting to see whether the DA is going to pursue charges.”
“That’s such bullshit,” Jeanine said, her tone hot with indignation. “For the hundredth time, I’m sorry you’re going through this.”
Chris looked down, focusing on his plate. “Thanks. I’m lucky to have you guys in my corner.”
He took a bite of pulled pork to avoid her gaze. Her sincerity was clear, and it made the guilt twist deeper. He’d let down too many good people already. Whether he stood trial or not, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d already failed.
“So,” Randall chimed in, sensing a shift was needed, “I’m trying to talk Jeanine into a vacation. We need a change of pace and some warm water.”
Chris latched onto the new topic gratefully. “Oh yeah? Where to?”
“Maybe the Caribbean. Puerto Rico’s high on the list, no passports for the kids.”
Chris’s fork paused mid-air. “Izzy’s family is from Puerto Rico.”
He tried to sound casual, but Randall’s slow grin said otherwise. He’d read that line in her bio more times than he cared to admit. As a first-generation American, her parents were from San Juan. It stuck with him for some reason.
“Who’s Izzy?” Jeanine asked.
Ah, hell. The nickname had slipped out again. It was cute, a little fiery, just like her.
Chris wiped his mouth with his napkin, avoiding Randall’s smirk.
“Isabela,” he clarified. “One of the attorneys on my case.”
“And you’re on a first-name basis?” Jeanine asked, her eyes narrowing in curiosity as she rested her chin on her fist.
“No ... well, not really.”
“She’s the one I met with yesterday, hon,” Randall added helpfully. “Really nice lady. Not hard on the eyes either. Not that I was looking for myself. For Chris.”
Jeanine rolled her eyes, but the teasing was good-natured.
“Interesting, though,” Randall continued. “She seemed surprised your best friend in the whole wide world is Black.”
Chris shrugged. “Why would I mention it?”
“To help crush the narrative of you being some racist cop, maybe?” Randall offered.
Chris scoffed. “Come on, man. You know every racist says, ‘I’ve got Black friends.’”
Jeanine laughed. “He’s got a point.”
“Anyway,” Chris said, pivoting hard, “go on that vacation. My sister always says it’s worth the hassle to give your kids a glimpse of the world.”
“Nice dodge,” Randall said with a grin. “But I agree. Plus, I want to see Jeanine in a bikini again.”
“Then you better hire me a nanny so I can hit the gym,” she replied dryly, bending to pick up a rogue bun RJ had launched onto the floor.
Isaiah started fussing in Randall’s arms. The baby shifted his head back and forth across his chest.
“Sorry, bud,” Randall murmured, rubbing his son’s back. “I don’t have boobs. You need your momma.”
Randall stood, leaning over to kiss his wife on the head before depositing a now wailing baby in her arms. “Leave the mess when you’re done honey, I’m going to talk to Chris in the living room. I’ll clean up when we’re finished.”
“Alright. Chris if you leave before I’m done feeding this guy make sure you come back soon. We miss you,” Jeanine said.
Chris smiled. “Thanks for dinner.”
He and Randall stepped into the living room, giving Jeanine privacy.
“She looks great,” Chris said, genuinely. “You’re a lucky man.”
“Don’t I know it,” Randall replied. “You wanna stay? There’s probably a playoff game on.”
Chris hesitated, glancing toward the couch, but his feet carried him toward the door.
“Nah. Long day. I’m going to call Headquarters and try to get a copy of the official report from the break-in.”
Luckily, his guys at the precinct still had his back. So did the chief, though he had to tread lightly to avoid any political landmines.
“You’ve got something on your collar,” Randall said, squinting. He reached forward and brushed the open neck of Chris’s shirt.
Chris looked down and tugged at the fabric. A faint pink smear. Lip gloss.
“Probably barbecue sauce,” he said, trying to keep his voice even.
Randall raised a brow but didn’t comment. Chris’s stomach twisted. He could still feel the softness of Isabela’s lips, taste that berry gloss. He couldn’t forget how it felt when she leaned into him. How she needed him for comfort and how he’d ruined it by wanting more.
“Listen,” Randall said, his voice turning serious, “you need to be extra vigilant. No way the break-in at your house doesn’t tie in to all the shit happening with the attorneys. I’ll dig into the hit and run on your girlfriend’s boss.”
“Agreed. And thanks.”
Randall’s eyes twinkled. “So, she is your girlfriend?”
“No...” Chris opened, then closed his mouth before he let something stupid slip out. Like, no, but I want her to be. Or no, but I made out with her tonight. “Bye, Randall.” He opened the door and stepped into the warm, muggy night.
As the screen door shut behind him, Randall’s voice rang out, “I know that’s not barbecue sauce on your shirt!”
Chris huffed out a laugh and shook his head as he walked down the driveway. There was too much to unpack and no way in hell was he doing it with the best detective he knew. Randall would figure out just how far over his head Chris really was, long before Chris did.