Jameson
I stand with my back to my brothers and fellow uniforms in the third-floor conference room as we go over the possibility that tonight’s bogus fire alarm at the benefit is correlated with the sick fuck who’s after my girl. And us. I’ve racked my brain for an answer and just can’t come up with anything. Even Dad and Uncle Leon—who’s due to retire in the coming months—are up here with us. I sent Chris home once things calmed down at the benefit. I know Royal’s with Mel and she’ll keep her safe, but Royal’s not Mel’s dad. I’ve spent enough time with Chris, and feel like I know him well enough, to say that he’d lay down his life for his girls without a single thought to the matter, and that’s the kind of man I want keeping my girl safe when I can’t be there.
I know things are hectic and she’s probably distracted, but I wish Mel would just text me and let me know she made it home safely. Maybe that she’s dress shopping or picking out fucking china patterns online. I don’t give a fuck. I just want to know my fiancée is home, in bed, and safely planning our future. I’ve already sent her four text messages, and though it’s likely irrational, I can’t stop the fear that’s swelling in my gut. They left the benefit almost two hours ago now.
“I think it’s similar, that’s all,” Jack says firmly. The Chief shakes his head and dismisses the idea.
“Collector’s in custody, Jack. You’re the reason we were able to put him away,” Capriotti says. I don’t know who invited that arrogant fuck up here, but I guess he’s useful. I mean, he’s lead on the case so I guess this is his business, too. It’s just that I still haven’t forgiven the prick for traveling and then illegally blocking my shot and having the fucking nerve to make a comment about Royal that I won’t be forgiving anytime this century. Fucking asshole is good at his job even if he doesn’t have a charitable bone in his damn body. I swear, there was so much blood coming from my nose that the poor kids watching the game started screaming. Chief rode my ass about that for over a month, putting me on bathroom duty right when he decided to try a colon cleanse.
“You’re seeing what’s not there, but I think we need to look at what is and how that pattern reflects The Collector’s MO,” Jack says. Capriotti starts to argue with him and both men get loud and neither will back down. Soon, Capriotti has the entire firehouse—save for Royal who also isn’t answering my fucking messages—against him. Doesn’t matter if any of the boys think he’s onto something, they won’t go against one of their own.
There’s a ruckus on the stairs, and Chris Kincaid comes into view. He’s holding a small wooden box in his hands and clutching the railing as he pulls himself up. Damn, the man looks like he’s going to pass out from exhaustion. How fucking fast did he run up here? I rush out into the hallway and help him into a chair that’s in the hall. He’s not a feeble man by any means, but I think he took the stairs three at a time at high speed from the way he came into view so quickly. He catches his breath for a moment, then stands and meets my eyes. He’s still struggling to breathe normally but nods his head to the conference room. A civilian getting into the house and upstairs without being escorted is basically unheard of, and it’s no less acceptable for one to drop in on a house meeting, but he’s here and it’s obviously important.
I head back into the conference room behind him, and everybody stops what they’re doing to stare at us. Chris smooths down his tie and holds out the wooden box to Capriotti who eyes it with great suspicion.
“I got back to the apartment and the girls weren’t there,” he says quickly. “Reginald, our, uh, doorman had this at the front desk for me. He said a teenage kid, couldn’t have been older than fourteen or so, dropped it off and paid him a hundred dollars to make sure I got it. My driver called me shortly thereafter to tell me he’d been carjacked.”
I grip the table behind me so hard that I can’t feel my hands after a while. My Lulu, my fiancée, is missing. She can’t be missing. She can’t be hurt. She can’t be gone. I won’t ever forgive myself if something happens to her. I won’t be able to function or keep on being me. I don’t know how to be Jameson without Lulu. Now that I’ve had her, I can’t not have her.
Never again.