Chapter 17
Tyler knew Chloe was full of shit. She put on a decent show for Sinclair, but by the time they’d made it out of the Intelligence office and back down to the street in front of the Thirty-Third, she’d bitten her lip four times and not uncreased her brows once.
He got it—things like arson and murder were scary enough to most people.
But for someone who knew that fear first-hand, who was also trying to protect a thirteen-year-old kid from that exact brand of danger?
Sometimes even the best protectors needed someone to stand at their side, and he’d promised to be Chloe’s wingman.
No matter how pretty she’d been when she’d come undone in his arms or how good he’d felt not walking away from her afterward.
Tyler’s heart picked up the pace. Okay, so they’d had sex (great sex.
Incredible sex. Earth-cracking, orbit-bending sex, and damn it, he should’ve known that promise would come back to bite him on the ass).
But despite his worries that things would get weird after they’d seen each other naked on purpose, they’d just carried on, business as usual.
In fact, every time his phone had lit up with texts from Chloe, he’d felt better than usual.
When she’d walked into the Thirty-Third today and gifted him with that smile? He’d lit up like a fucking firecracker.
Stowing that thought for later examination—or, preferably, no examination and no feelings that went with it—Tyler slid a glance at her through the late afternoon sunlight and addressed the matter at hand. “Okay, Ferguson. Air it out.”
Her lower lip fell free of her teeth, but at least she had the good grace not to come at him with some “air what out?” bullshit he’d have had to call her on.
“Sorry. I’m just used to making macarons and éclairs and the occasional batch of pain-in-the-ass croissants.
All of this high-stakes stuff is just a lot to process. ”
“That tracks,” he said, because it really did. “You’re not going to go home and bake nine dozen chocolate chip cookies, are you? Or make up some last-minute bachelor and bachelorette party stuff to do without me just to keep busy?”
That, at least, earned him a small smile. “The cookies, maybe. But the party is in forty-eight hours. And, unfortunately for my desire to stay busy so I don’t overthink things, my wingman is an incredibly efficient guy, so there aren’t any tasks to invent. We have literally done them all.”
Tyler gently nudged her shoulder with his own as they walked through the parking lot behind the Thirty-Third. “I’ve heard that guy is pretty cool.”
“Funny, you’re not the first person to tell me that today,” Chloe said.
Tyler’s curiosity stood at full attention. “Seriously?”
“Don’t get too cocky.” She arched a coppery brow, which probably would’ve had more of an impact if her smile wasn’t sneaking through. “Esme said you’re pretty okay ‘for a grown-up’.”
“Wow,” he said, although yep, he was laughing. “That’s one tough kid.”
“Yeah.” Chloe’s expression grew serious. “I just wish I could do more to help her.”
His boots came up short on the pavement. “You are helping her, Chloe.”
“I’m there for her, and I know she’s starting to trust me,” Chloe said, just as wide open with her feelings as ever, and something in the vicinity of Tyler’s chest lurched.
“But everyone else is such an active part of the investigation. You, with Nat’s team.
Addison and all the Intelligence detectives.
I’m not saying I want to jump into anything dangerous or interfere.
I get how stupid that would be.” She paused for a self-deprecating tilt of her head.
“But Esme was so reassured when you leveled with her about the fire and explained the details. She even asked me about it again today.”
“She did?” Tyler asked, surprised, and Chloe nodded.
“Like you said, she’s tough. I think knowing the score, even when the facts are scary, helps her process, and to be honest, I get that. I’m the same way. No surprises, everything on the table.”
Well, that explained why Esme had been so pissed off when she’d been kept out of the loop, along with why Chloe had fought so hard to tell her exactly what was happening. Knowledge was power, and right now, getting it was the only thing either of them could control.
The idea sparking in Tyler’s head went directly to his mouth, out before it had even fully formed.
“We could go to the lab.”
Chloe’s brows lifted high enough to breach the top of the sunglasses she’d slid into place when they’d hit the parking lot a few dozen paces ago. “Non-sequitur much?”
Tyler shook his head, rolling back his thoughts. “Esme wants full disclosure to feel safer, right? Maybe if I walk you through the fire scene so you can see the whole thing first-hand, we can give her another update together. Then she’ll know what we know, just like when the fire happened.”
“Wait, that’s allowed?” she asked, and okay, he really needed to stop letting his fucking feelings take control of his mouth when he was around this woman. Still, what harm could going to a cleared fire scene do? Especially if it would help both Chloe and Esme.
“We’d have to ask to be completely sure.
” The dead last thing he wanted was to put Chloe in potential danger, followed closely by screwing up an active arson investigation.
“But both the Arson Investigation Unit and the RPD have already processed the scene. Even though there’s a lot of damage to the building, none of it is structural, and I’d be with you the whole time.
We’d still have to be careful, of course, but—”
“Yes,” Chloe said, her vigorous nod an exclamation point. “Yes, I want to go. Like now, if at all possible.”
And that was how, after a phone call to Nat and another to Sergeant Sinclair, Tyler found himself with Chloe in the passenger seat of his Mustang as they made their way to a crime scene.
“So, you’re making some headway with Esme,” he said.
On the surface, he knew that opening up a conversation with her that would surely involve a bunch of emotions might not win any best-idea-ever awards.
But it wouldn’t be the first, and anyway, he’d done a lot more personal things with her in the past couple of days without the earth falling off its damn axis.
As long as they kept sticking to her feelings, they’d be fine.
She nodded, a wisp of hair slipping out of her low ponytail to frame her face as she turned to look at him.
“She’ll be at the party for a while on Saturday, which feels like a win.
She’s still keeping me at arm’s length on the big stuff, but I’m not entirely surprised about that.
I do, however, know her favorite band, that she likes pepperoni pizza and chocolate-chip cookies, and that she hates English class with a piping-hot passion. ”
“Progress,” Tyler agreed, then added, “Is hating English class a teacher thing?”
“I don’t think so. She said she’s struggling with the content. They’re reading Pride and Prejudice, so I can’t say I blame her.”
He put a hand over his heart, feigning injury. “First of all, I’m not sure we can be friends anymore if you’re going to hate on Jane Austen. Secondly, I might be able to help.”
“You like Pride and Prejudice?” Chloe asked, her doubt clear in both her tone and her expression.
Tyler scoffed. “I’m more of a Persuasion guy, personally, but yeah. I can get down with Pride and Prejudice.” He let Chloe goggle for a full three seconds—yeah, it was a tiny bit mean, but her WTAF face was so cute—before having mercy on her.
“My mother taught English lit for twenty-seven years, remember? She’d take it as a personal affront if I didn’t like Jane Austen. Anyway, if Esme needs a tutor, I bet my mom would be willing to work with her.”
Chloe’s smile gave him no less than six separate very bad ideas. “Do you think so?”
Mom, mom, think of your mom before you end up with a fucking unicorn in your pants, you idiot.
“Sure,” he said, but only after clearing his throat.
“She’ll be at the party, too, so you can ask her then.
But since you’ve got the guest list memorized—probably alphabetically—I’m guessing you knew that. ”
Ryan and Addison had insisted on the first few hours of their bachelor and bachelorette party being an all-ages affair so not only all their friends’ kids could have some fun, but Lou and Carleen would be sure to ditch their “too old for that” argument.
Of course, they’d insisted Tyler’s mom make a solidarity appearance.
Which, as Tyler had suspected, Chloe had known, if the flush on her cheeks was anything to go on. Not that she was going to give Tyler the satisfaction of admitting it out loud.
“Aw, how cute. You’ve got jokes.” She patted his forearm sweetly, and he covered his resulting burst of want with an even smile.
“Laugh all you want, but I know you, Ferguson. I’m not wrong.”
She rolled her eyes, but the kick of her lips had her busted. “Just drive, Gates.”
He did, and they arrived at the fire scene about ten minutes later. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, he made sure his RFD badge was visible on his hip, then got out to grab the heavy-duty Maglite he kept in the safety kit in his trunk, along with two disposable N95 masks.
“You ready?” he asked Chloe, who had gotten out to meet him at the back of the Mustang.
He would’ve known her answer from the look on her face alone. “Yes. Let’s do this.”