Provoked Page 3

  “Detective Kennedy—welcome to the thirty-seventh.” The man extended his hand to shake Riley’s. “If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

  Riley nodded. From the corner of his eye, he saw the door open and he turned. Lieutenant Lis stepped out of the office and caught Riley’s stare. A simple nod with no smile told him they were not going to talk about last night. She remained professional. Riley reminded himself he should remain that way as well.

  “She’s a cold bitch. Then again, she’s a lieutenant. We’ve bet on whether she likes men. Get my drift?”

  Riley heard the office politics in one sentence. He wondered if Kennedy was sexist when he stressed she’s a lieutenant. Riley chuckled within. Oh, she definitely likes men. And I think hot is more appropriate for her than cold. Riley turned to him, smiled, and nodded. One thing he knew for sure: his place here was temporary. He may as well get along and be agreeable.

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Lieutenant Lis poured her coffee and looked over once more, but this time her glance directed at Kennedy. Without a word, he retreated to his desk. That told Riley she had their respect, no matter what they thought of her. He felt more than respect for her. That thought scared him. One hot, steamy night with her wouldn’t leave his mind. A confirmed bachelor married to his career, he’d had many one-night stands, but Basia was different than other women. She was sexy, confident, and mysterious. He wanted more. He wanted to know more about her. For some reason, she was difficult to erase from his mind. Perhaps her rule of first names only had intrigued him. He loved her accent. Her thick Polish accent told him she hadn’t grown up in New York. Riley knew there’d be no chance in hell he’d get a second night with her. The only things he knew about her were her name and occupation; though he’d never wanted to know any more about a woman. It didn’t matter now; he knew he’d have to keep it professional.

  Riley poured his third cup of coffee. An hour had passed since he’d been introduced to Basia and assigned to his desk. He looked at the pile of folders on there. A date stood out on one of them. It brought back the memory of the night he’d been shot and his partner killed. He set his coffee down and reached for the file. He read it. What shocked him—her address. A block away from where the shooting happened. Tragedies on the same night, one block apart. He wondered if there’d be any connection. He searched in the report for a contact. Something intrigued his investigative mind to start with this one. He found Adam Crawford’s name and number. He picked up the phone. If anything, he’d get the heck out of the office. Riley felt like a caged rat. A desk job wasn’t his thing. He needed something to get his mind off her too.

  “Crawford Property”

  “Detective Riley Briggs here, you reported a missing person, Mr. Crawford?” Riley flipped back through the file for the name. “Beth Wilson,” he added.

  “Yes. Have you found her?” Riley heard compassion in the man’s voice.

  “No, I'm sorry. I have a few questions. May I come by this morning?”

  “I already told the police everything I know.”

  The compassion in the man’s tone had disappeared. Riley wondered why he’d initially sounded concerned.

  “Did you know Beth?” Riley questioned.

  “No. I was her landlord.”

  The man mentioned he’d be at the brownstone all day and to call when he arrived. Riley thanked him. He thought about Adam’s choice of past tense was her landlord.

  “Lieutenant?” Riley knocked on the opened door. Both lieutenants were deep in conversation. Basia looked up. Her dark lashes lifted and the bluest eyes hit him hard.

  “Yes?” Lieutenant Fields asked.

  Riley reminded himself to remain professional and ignore the sudden urge to take Basia right there on the desk. He cleared his throat and shook that thought.

  “I’m heading out to question the man who reported a missing person.”

  “It’s good to see you take the initiative, Detective. I know you don’t want to be here, and it may not be as exciting as homicide or an undercover drug op, but I’m grateful to have your help here. Take Kennedy with you.”

  Fields politely thanked him. He wondered what the hell he meant by grateful. Missing Persons didn’t need a detective from the undercover drug operations task force.

  The one thing Riley knew for sure was that he’d had the most unbelievable night of passion. The repetitive thoughts about the night before scared him, thinking he had feelings for her. Riley wanted more. More time with Basia. He wanted to know more about her but sensed her heart to be cold and locked. Besides the fact that they worked together, her body language disclosed professionalism. Riley knew a relationship would be impossible, but he still read undeniable attraction in her expressive eyes. It gave him a glitch of hope. Hope that when he’s back on the street, another night with her might be possible.

  ****

  Basia’s focus went back to the paperwork on her desk before Riley closed the door. Once she heard it shut, she looked up again. Through the blinds she watched his ass walk toward Kennedy. He does look good in jeans. Last night fogged her concentration. She found it difficult to get Riley off her mind. She’d had one-night-stands before. In fact, that’s all she ever allowed herself since she left Poland. She swore she’d never have another serious relationship. She’d convinced herself that part of her died when she ended her husband’s life. Her career was her life. Once is enough, Basia. Don’t screw things up. Two nights with the same man only leads to complications.

  She never allowed herself to trust a man completely, so she kept to one-night stands with her rule of first-names-only. Not that she had many. She’d continuously punished herself for her husband’s death. She knew she’d committed murder. She should be behind bars instead of putting others there. What she’d done haunted her night and day, but she continued to assure herself that she had no other choice. She wanted to live. She had her career and that would be enough, or so she thought until she met Riley.

  After Darek’s memorial, she spent a month in her parents’ home, sorting through memories, mostly of her parents. Anything of Darek’s she donated to charity. Basia didn’t want one ounce of his memory left in her home. He’d killed her parents; rigged the brakes on their car, which led them off the mountain road that tragic night. She confided to no one. Though she’d heard him confess that day on the phone, she had no proof. Not one so-called friend of Darek’s had shown for the memorial. He had no family and she assumed his drinking buddies had been just that. At first, she wanted to sell the family home. She had no desire to return to Zakopane, but something kept her from listing the home for sale. A month after Darek’s death, she received a call from her former boss in New York.

  “Basia, how are you holding up?”

  “Lieutenant, how nice to hear from you; I’m okay. It’s been rough. I hadn’t expected to return to Poland to bury my parents, and then my husband.”

  Lieutenant Ron Matthews first met Basia in the last year of her forensics degree. Her internship with his team had impressed him. She enjoyed using forensics to help the police force put away criminals and decided on a career with NYPD. Ron personally recommended her to the academy and then offered her a job on his team. After more than a decade on his team, they’d become close. Ron had called her as soon as he’d heard about her parents’ deaths. By then, Basia announced the news of her engagement. She called him a couple of weeks after Darek’s death and mentioned she might return to New York. He’d been her mentor. She loved working on his team.

  “You mentioned, the last time we spoke, you’d thought about returning to New York. Is it still your plan?”

  Basia smiled with hope that a position on the team had become available. There was nothing left in Poland for her. Not that she’d made a lot of friends in New York, except for the waitresses she spoke to daily at the diner. Her team had been her family there. With her parents gone, she wanted to return to her American family.

  “Yes, of cours
e; did a spot come up on the team?”

  “The reason for my call; I just announced my retirement for next month. With your approval, I’d like to refer you for the position. I’ve already spoken to the department head, and it’s yours if you want it.”

  Her prayers had been answered. It was the best news she’d received with all the tragedy that had taken place upon her return to Zakopane.

  “But, I resigned almost a year ago. Can I easily come back? And, with a promotion?”

  “You didn’t actually resign. I put in a year’s leave of absence and told them you were going to Poland for family reasons. I wanted to make sure Poland was where you wanted to be. I’d hoped you would decide to come back.”

  Basia took a deep breath. She could return to New York and leave Zakopane and the tragedies that haunted her. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then say yes. The rest is just paperwork. Do you think you can arrange to be here in a couple of weeks? That will give us a couple of weeks to get you adjusted into your new position.”

  Excitement raced through her. A couple of weeks? Heck, I can be there tomorrow.

  “I can. I will. Yes, thank you, Lieutenant. I’m so ever grateful you have this confidence in me. I won’t let you down.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll see you soon. Let me know when you arrive.”

  Basia arrived in New York on Valentine’s Day. Lieutenant Matthews’ retirement happened at the end of the month. It would be a year in March since she’d left. So much had happened in the past year. She felt at home as she hailed a cab outside JFK Airport.

  “Where to, Miss?”

  Basia subleased her apartment when she left for Poland to a coworker, who was getting married in May. She decided to book a hotel for the next few months and then return once the sublease was up. Basia’s stomach growled after she settled in her room. She realized she hadn’t eaten since she left Poland. Once the plane took off she’d relaxed, she’d slept through most of the flight. She got away with murder; not that she was proud of the fact. Relief had set in as she left Poland and everything that had happened in the past year. She looked at her suitcases and figured she could unpack the next day. Basia wasn’t expected at the precinct for two days. She wanted to adjust to the time zone before she began her new job. For now, all she wanted was a good cup of coffee and food.

  She knew just the place. She found her way to the diner she’d loved. Basia hoped she’d run into Beth; a waitress at the diner who’d always been friendly to her. Basia remembered Beth confided before she left for Poland that her boyfriend abused her. She’d given Beth some pamphlets on abuse but knew most women were too scared or trapped to use the resources. Basia remembered Beth’s friends; two other waitresses who lived in the same brownstone as Beth. Their boyfriends were recognized, small-time drug dealers and known to mistreat their girlfriends. After her abuse from Darek, she wanted to help these women escape their abusive relationships. The door chime rang as Basia entered the diner and Beth turned toward the door.

  “Basia, where have you been?”

  Beth offered her a cup of coffee. Basia thanked her. “Poland for family issues; how are you, Beth?”

  “Same.” Beth rolled her eyes, “Still with him and still trying to leave him.”

  Basia reached out to touch Beth’s hand. “I’m thinking of starting a small group in the neighborhood for women who need someone to talk to. Are you interested?”

  Beth set the coffeepot down on the table and slid into the booth.

  “I don’t know, Basia. If he found out I was talking about him, about the...you know; it might only make things worse.”

  Basia sensed her hesitation and her fear. She knew both only too well. She’d experienced those feelings with Darek.

  “I assure you, it will be a small group and private. Nothing said in the group will leave the group. We can call it a book club or something. I want to help, Beth, emotionally and financially.”

  Beth’s expression held hesitation but also a glimpse of hope. Basia knew Beth wanted out of her relationship. Basia smiled with her response.

  “Okay. I know two friends need this too.”

  Basia asked for Beth’s notepad and pen. She wrote down her cell number and handed it to Beth. “Call me and I’ll set it up. Bring your friends with you.”

  Beth nodded. The sound of the diner’s door-chime took her attention to the front door. Beth reached for the coffeepot and rolled her eyes.

  Basia heard sarcasm in Beth’s comment. “Adam, just what I need now.”

  Beth thanked Basia and headed in his direction with the coffeepot. Basia remembered him; a regular at the diner and Beth’s landlord. She remembered Beth referred to him as quietly creepy. He never spoke to anyone in the diner, except Beth; and to order the same thing every time. Anyone could tell he definitely had a thing for Beth.

  Chapter Four

  Adam Crawford began his day: Groundhog Day as he always referred to it. He’d been the owner of the brownstone since he turned eighteen. He filled the bucket and grabbed the mop. Adam’s daily routine began. He’d lived on the narrow residential street of Centennial-era brownstones since his junior year of high school. After his mother’s death, his father took to the bottle and lost their home. The brownstone had been an investment his grandfather left Adam’s father. It became their home. The loss of Adam’s mother eventually killed his father. Within four years, his father’s drinking took him with a heart attack and Adam inherited the brownstone. Not that it was a great prize but it had become all Adam knew.

  A New York neighborhood that continually called the police when the music was too loud and cars blocked the sidewalk. Adam learned, not long after he moved there, that the steady visitors dropped by probably to score drugs. They were young, sort of tough kids that came in and out of the brownstone constantly. The rough-looking men who lived in the building hung out on the front steps of the brownstone, working on their souped-up cars, which they parked on the sidewalk with blasting music rolling out of the windows.

  Adam thought it would be cool to hang out with them, but when he’d mentioned it to his father; he got backhanded across the face. Adam rubbed his jaw. He remembered the sting. It’d had been the only time his father ever hit him. Adam learned quickly to listen to his father and never befriended the men, who were now his tenants. His father warned him they were no-good, lowlife drug dealers, and unless he wanted to end up in jail, he best keep his distance. His father told him not even to talk to them. Adam learned early on to clean and perform any maintenance early in the morning, when most of them slept. Adam wondered if his father had been scared of the men. Adam wasn’t. They were just a pain in his ass. Pains he’d do anything to get rid of, but until he could, their drug money paid the rent.

  “Morning, Adam,” Mrs. Clarke greeted Adam with a warm smile, as she passed by the laundry room on the first floor. Adam returned the gesture and kept about his business. Mrs. Clarke, his eldest and longest tenant, had more energy at eighty-two than some of the tenants that were in their thirties. She’d been there over thirty years, fifteen longer than Adam. Adam’s father always referred to her as the sweetest little old lady you could meet. She always treated Adam as the son she’d never had. He respected Mrs. Clarke. His father taught him to be helpful with her bags upon her return from the shops. Mrs. Clarke—part of Adam’s Groundhog Day. She was the only tenant he liked and actually spoke to; except for Beth, he had a soft spot for her.

  After he mopped the laundry room and lobby area, he went next door to the convenience store, as he did every morning for his paper and a coffee.

  “Morning, Sir,” Adam politely greeted the store owner, as he did every morning. Adam had known him for fifteen years but couldn’t remember his name. He’d been too embarrassed after so many years to ask him. The store owner always called Adam by his first name, which made him feel worse. He hoped the older gentleman appreciated the respectful greeting of ‘Sir.’ That was the extent of their conversations over fifte
en years.

  Adam took the stairs to his third floor apartment. The first door stopped him in his tracks. He just posted the vacancy sign for it. He remembered the young woman who lived there…Beth. Adam filed the missing person’s report six weeks ago. He never heard from the police, but at least with the filed report he could list the apartment for rent. Then he remembered the asshole of a boyfriend she claimed to love. Adam was happy he was dead. The jerk deserved nothing less. He heard Andy had been shot in a drug deal gone bad. The same night he’d last seen Beth.

  Adam tried many times to evict Andy O’Donnell, as he’d tried with Andy’s brother. Peter O’Donnell had been a pain in Adam’s ass for years, with his drug deals, until his death a few months back. Peter’s girlfriend left suddenly after Peter’s death. The O’Donnell brothers were trouble, but Adam had a business to run. Adam remembered the day he’d asked Andy in the elevator, not long after Peter’s death.

  “Can you clear out the contents of Peter’s apartment? I have tenants that want the apartment.”

  “You cold-hearted, fucking prick; my brother just died.”

  “If rent isn’t paid, then someone will have to empty the apartment.”

  Adam ignored Andy’s foul mouth. He could care less about the idiot or his brother. Peter’s girlfriend, on the other hand, had always been nice to Adam at the diner. She worked with Beth.

  “Then I guess that someone is you. You’re the fucking landlord. I’ve already collected my brother’s personal items.”

  Andy brushed Adam’s arm with his shoulder as he stepped out of the elevator on the third floor. Beth turned to Adam before she followed Andy. “I’ll stop by tonight and collect any personal items left. Whatever’s left can be donated or tossed.” Beth’s kindness touched Adam’s heart. Adam nodded and continued down the corridor to his apartment. He’d always felt sorry for Beth. She didn’t deserve the asshole she lived with. At least with both brothers dead, Beth and Lisa were rid of the abusive lives they’d lived.