Yours for the Night Read online

  highways.

  It was closer to thirty by the time he pulled up into the police station lot, and he ran into Ramsey on the steps.

  “We have her car located down on a street in the Lower Haight,” he said. Unfortunately, that meant next to nothing to Garrett.

  Almost. “Wait. Where is Pierce Street?”

  Ramset stopped in his tracks. “That’s in Lower Haight. Why? What’s there?”

  “The business for the appraiser the Walkers use for their store,” Garrett said, filling Ramsey in on their adventure at the bar the night before.

  “And you didn’t bring this directly to me because?”

  “There’s no proof he’s involved, or any of them. Just what we could guess from what we saw, which wasn’t much, aside of what my contact had to say. We know Hayden had some involvement with them, but there’s no overt connection to the robberies. It’s all circumstantial,” Garrett said, feeling more annoyed with himself by the minute. It was circumstantial—which meant the next step should have been obvious to him, but he was so wrapped up in his emotions for Tiffany, he hadn’t been thinking about the case.

  “She probably went down there to get some kind of proof,” Ramsey said, speeding up.

  “Yeah, that would sound about right. Arthur said something about being out of town for the holiday. Maybe she’s just in his place and turned her phone off to keep quiet,” Garrett said hopefully, but he didn’t believe it. His instincts told him something was very wrong.

  “I lost my first partner in a shooting, you know,” Ramsey said as they fell into silence.

  “Pardon?”

  “None of my business, but you’ve only been in town a week,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Wondered if this was a permanent thing.”

  Garrett tried to keep up. What the heck was Ramsey getting at?

  “What’s that got to do with your partner?”

  “You have that look. Who’d you lose?”

  Garrett decided to play along, just to see where it was going. “My wife. Six years ago.”

  “Ah. Sorry. That’s bad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “My partner, that was a little more than eight years ago,” Ramsey responded, breaking his thoughts. “We were both new detectives. She was hot,” he said with a smile and a whistle. “It’s not a good thing to get involved with someone you work with, but you know how it is. We did anyway. I couldn’t keep my hands off her, fell hard. Young love,” he said whimsically, but Garrett could still detect the note of pain lingering under his tone.

  “What happened?”

  “Routine drug bust. Sometimes I still find myself going over it in my head, how it could have happened. How we missed it. Uniforms brought in a guy, higher than a kite. He’d been searched, cuffed, but he had a gun shoved down inside his boot and he shot her right where she sat at her desk. He didn’t care about her in particular, he just started shooting randomly. We were talking about where to grab lunch when, suddenly, she was just gone.”

  Garrett felt his stomach turn. He knew there were no words that could adequately respond to such a horror. Jonas’s words came back to him full-force, making him crazy to find Tiffany. Where could she be?

  “My wife was a prosecutor on her first big case. We were meeting for dinner to celebrate. The guy she put away, his brother had been following her. Plowed his SUV into her side of the car at an intersection. She was DOS,” Garrett said, just as mechanically. Dead on scene.

  Ramsey cursed. “So, you’d never do that again, huh? I mean, if you met her again, you’d never make the same mistake twice.”

  “What?” Garrett asked.

  “Your wife. If you met her, would you do it again, knowing the result?”

  Garrett didn’t say a word.

  “I asked myself that a lot. But I have to tell you, after the worst of it passed, I had a lot of good memories that outweighed that bad one. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it, my time with her. I missed it and I want it again. You know, the passion, the sex…and the rest of it, too.”

  “So is this your way of telling me I’m making a mistake if I walk away?” Garrett said, turning to look at the detective as they hit a red light.

  “Nah. It’s my way of letting you know that after an appropriate amount of time, maybe a week or so, when Tiffany’s really pissed at you and feeling lonely, maybe a little vulnerable, I’m going to ask her out,” Ramsey said, and laughed. “So if you plan to change your mind, I suggest you do it fast.”

  If it wouldn’t have risked both of them getting killed, Garrett would have hit the guy. So all of this to let Garrett know he was interested in Tiffany? What a guy.

  He had no doubt the detective meant it. He’d seen how Ramsey looked at Tiffany, and why not? He was right. They were both here, and had made a connection, one that could easily be built through the commonalities in their work.

  Ramsey would show her the ropes, help her along, while touching her, kissing her, taking her to bed....

  No way in hell.

  “I would,” Garrett said under his breath.

  “What?”

  “I’d do it again. With my wife. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss those years that went before, even knowing how it was afterward.”

  He didn’t want to miss the years he might have with Tiffany, either. The past week had been amazing, and he wanted more. Much more. He didn’t need to say it; he could tell Ramsey knew what he was thinking by the broad, tell-tale grin on the detective’s face.

  “I hope it works out. But if it doesn’t, don’t worry, I’ll still be here to pick up the pieces.”

  “Go to hell,” Garrett responded, but without any punch as they approached Freddie’s.

  “The Waller station is just a few blocks over. I’m calling for some backup, just in case,” Ramsey said. “I have a feeling about this,” he said more to himself than Garrett.

  Garrett agreed, and it was all he could do to stay in the car. The lights were on in the back rooms of The Dice, for one thing, and it was the middle of the night. He supposed there could be some other explanation, but he knew Tiffany was in there. He could feel it.

  Two more cars pulled up behind them a few minutes later, and Ramsey looked at him. “Stay in the car.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.” Garrett gave him a look, and Ramsey sighed, tossing him a Kevlar vest from the backseat.

  “Fine, but try to stay out of the way,” he said, signaling to the other cars where four more officers appeared.

  Surrounding the building, they found the doors locked, no surprise, and so Garrett brought them around to the window in the alley he and Tiffany had look through before.

  Tiffany and Arthur were both sitting in chairs facing Freddie and a tall guy with a gun.

  Ramsey lowered his voice, telling as much to the cops out front, giving them permission to enter the premises in whatever way they needed to.

  However, as he did so, he saw Freddie motion to Tiffany and Arthur to stand—they were apparently leaving, the armed guy ushering them out.

  As Arthur stood, he limped, and turned to reach for the chair—it was obvious they had worked him over pretty well to get whatever they needed from him.

  Garrett’s heart was in his throat as he couldn’t see anything but Tiffany’s back. Had they hit her, too?

  His own fist clenched.

  “If she’s hurt…”

  “Down, boy. We’ll end this shortly,” Ramsey said, a hand on his shoulder as they got up and took position. “I don’t think they’d risk more than roughing them up on the premises, so it’s good we got here before they took them away. Let’s go.”

  As they rounded the front of the building and Ramsey joined the other officers, Garrett stayed to the back, at the corner of the building, as instructed. It killed him to hold back, but he wasn’t armed, and he had to trust Ramsey to do his job now.

  As the officers got through the door, sending silent signals to each other for how to proceed, everyone froze as two shots
rang out. Silence was broken, shouts filling the air as the police stormed forward and Garrett bolted from his spot right after them, hoping they weren’t too late.

  * * *

  TIFFANY GROANED IN pain, rolling on the floor. She flailed and kicked at anything around her, feeling contact with something, someone, but not able to concentrate on the voices around her. The fiery pain on her skin was distracting her from everything else.

  She knew, when Arthur had told Freddie that he was going to expose them, that time was running out if she didn’t do something. Desperate, she managed to stumble forward into the thug—Edward, as Freddie called him affectionately—and pickpocket her pepper spray. As he paused, she used it—and the stuff went everywhere. It certainly blinded Edward, and shots rang out, but she had no idea where they hit. The last thing she saw was everyone dropping, including herself, Arthur and Freddie. Multiple cries of discomfort immediately rose along with a whole lot of other noise.

  When someone grabbed her shoulders, she fought back, assuming it was Edward, but then the scent—what she could smell through her irritated nasal passages—told her differently.

  “Garrett?”

  “Pepper spray!” someone yelled, and then warned everyone not to rub their eyes, which was torture.

  The next thing Tiffany felt was someone gently wiping down her face with a cooling, soothing cloth, and she sighed, trying to open her eyes, which still burned.

  “Take it easy. You really sprayed that stuff around, it will be airborne for a while,” Garrett said, coughing as he ushered her out into breathable air.

  Opening her blurry eyes, she saw figures milling around, and heard more sirens. More wet wipes were pushed into her hands, and she didn’t hesitate to use them, feeling the effects of the secondary exposure to the spray diminish considerably, though her eyes continued to burn and water, as did her nose.

  “I never used that stuff before. I had no idea it did that,” she said.

  “Only because you didn’t aim straight,” Ramsey said with a smile in his voice, then a cough. “You kind of sprayed the whole hallway.”

  “I did aim for Edward, but I wanted to get Freddie, too, and then I lost my balance,” she explained. Her finger had been on the spray pump the whole time.

  “You managed to take them all down peacefully just as we went in, so good job, Walker,” Ramsey said.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “Tracked your car to Arthur’s street, and Garrett filled me in from there.”

  “I went to your place, your parents’, looking for you,” Garrett said, his tone reflecting a depth of emotion that might have made her cry if her eyes weren’t already tearing like mad. “I couldn’t find you, and it was the worst day of my life. Then we tracked you here, and I saw you in there…” he said, pulling her in for a tight embrace.

  “Ah, get a room before I have to arrest you for gross displays of public affection,” Ramsey teased. “Then I’ll need you both down to the station for your statements as soon as possible.”

  “Finn… Detective Ramsey,” she amended, given the scene, and all of the officers nearby. “Arthur Hayden talked to me tonight. He wants to be a federal witness. He says he can name names as to the jewel thieves, and everyone involved,” she said.

  “Really? You never fail to surprise, Tiffany. We’ll make sure he’s taken care of. EMTs are on their way over to check you out. One of the uniforms can take you back when you’re done. Don’t argue,” Ramsey said as she opened her mouth to do just that, and then he turned back to business.

  “You were looking for me?” she asked Garrett. “Why?”

  “We can talk about that later. Let the EMTs check you over now,” he said gently. “Then I’ll take you home.”

  She did as he asked, letting the technicians poke and prod, thoroughly checking her out, but except for the remnants of discomfort from the spray, which were rapidly subsiding, she was fine. Arthur had taken a beating, though, the poor guy, and that had been hard to watch. She told Garrett about it, her voice cracking.

  “I hope I never have to see anyone treat another person like that again. It was awful. I thought they were going to kill him right there,” she said as the EMT told her she was fine, gave her some advice for taking care of her eyes, and left. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this work after all.”

  Garrett tipped her chin up, kissed her.

  “You’re fantastic. You closed this case with a bang, sweetheart,” he said. “For your first case, this is pretty impressive stuff.”

  “Yeah? Even though I pepper-sprayed myself and everyone around me?”

  “Especially because of that. You thought on your feet, you kept everyone alive and took the bad guys down. Though I’d prefer you didn’t get so close to them if you can avoid it.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that, too. It was scary.”

  “Good.”

  “How so? I’m not supposed to be afraid. What kind of fraidy-cat P.I. am I going to be?”

  “Fear keeps you safe. Makes you aware and helped you get out of this situation alive. Go with that.”

  It was what she needed to hear, and the tears that poured out now were from everything bottled up inside as she wrapped her arms around his neck and let it all out.

  “So I can cry like this and still be a P.I.?”

  “Absolutely, but only with me,” he said gruffly, handing her another tissue from the stack the EMT left.

  Tiffany didn’t know what to make of that, and didn’t want to ask here on the street, police and other personnel still all around them.

  “I’d love to get cleaned up. And I’m starving. I have a ton of leftovers at the house—want to come share them with me?”

  “I can’t think of a better Thanksgiving meal....” he said, and went to find their ride.

  Tiffany’s head was swimming with the events of the night, the way it all ended, and most specifically, what Garrett had meant when he said he needed her. That he had gone looking for her.

  Her heart was almost too afraid to hope, but after what she had gone through that evening, she knew she was at least going to take her chance to tell him how she felt. What she hoped for. If it was thrown back at her, well, those were the breaks.

  They were quiet in the squad car on the way back to her apartment, except that Garrett didn’t stop touching her for a moment. Not for a second.

  “Ramsey said they’d get your car and have it brought back here,” Garrett told her on their way up the stairs.

  “That was nice of him,” she said, glad to be home. She was exhausted, sore and starving. Her eyes and skin felt almost normal, just a little irritation remained, and she sighed contentedly as she stepped back into her apartment.

  She had to admit, it felt a whole lot better with Garrett here with her than being alone, as she had been earlier.

  The look on his face told her they had to talk, but she took a deep breath, needing time to decompress.

  “I have to get in the shower. If you want to heat up the leftovers, they’re in the fridge,” she said, not quite making eye contact as she busied herself with winding her fingers together.

  “You take your time. I’ll handle the food,” he said, leaning in to tip his forehead against hers, their noses just touching, before he left to do just that.

  Tiffany did take her time. She followed the EMTs instructions to a tee, and emerged cleaner, fresher and unable to stall for one more second.

  All the time, she wondered what Garrett wanted to say. She knew what she wanted to tell him, but suspected that what he was going to say was going to hurt a lot more than the pepper spray.

  At least he was going to be honest with her, she told herself, and she respected that.

  Right.

  Putting on her most comfortable yoga pants and a soft sweatshirt and fuzzy slippers, she didn’t figure she needed to dress up for leftovers and being let down gently at four in the morning.

  Padding out to the front room, she blinked in surprise.


  The coffee table in front of her big leather couch was set with a pretty linen that she recognized as her grandmother’s—Garrett must have looked for it in the kitchen cupboards. There were candles, plates and wine glasses with a bottle of chilled champagne that she had been given last New Year’s as a gift, but had never opened. She’d almost forgotten it was in the refrigerator, as she hadn’t had anything to celebrate in a while.

  Garrett came in, carrying two plates heaped with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy and cranberry sauce, and her mother’s secret recipe butternut squash.

  Tiffany’s mouth watered for the food, and for the man carrying it. He looked delicious as well, his button-up shirt casually undone at the top, his jeans fitting just right as she let her eyes travel the length of him down to his bare feet. Even the man’s feet were sexy, she thought.

  “Hungry?”

  “Definitely,” she said, willing to put food before any conversation for the moment. Back at the scene at the bar, she’d felt far braver about telling Garrett that she was falling for him. Now, she just shoveled in the Thanksgiving goodies and watched as he poured the champagne.

  Garrett Berringer sure knew how to break up with someone in style, she thought.

  He handed her a glass. “To the conclusion of your first big case, and to many future ones,” he said.

  She smiled, accepting the praise. “Thanks. Though no more pepper spray, ever.”

  He laughed, and they finished their plates, talking about nothing more than how wonderful the food was, and in truth, after her close call, Tiffany thought it was probably the best food she had ever had in her life. She’d be sure to tell her mother tomorrow, but would leave out the bit about the close call.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes, thank you. Much better.”

  “Pie?”

  While she welcomed the chance to delay the inevitable a bit longer through food consumption, it was probably better to get this over with. Then she’d have the pie to herself. Comfort pie.

  “No, I’m full. That was even better than when we had it at dinner earlier,” she said, trying to sound casual.

  “It was. Being captured by bad guys will kick up the appetite,” he said with a smile. “Among other things.”