Frisked In Fondant

The details were seared into his brain after weeks of tracking the string of home invasions which grew increasingly violent. He’d eaten and slept with the details, breathed them in with every breath, and mapped the targets in hopes of seeing a pattern. The dots on the map had looked like a cluster. He’d connected them in the order of the strikes and a pattern emerged. The pattern led him to believe the next strike would be in one of two neighborhoods.

Three questions nagged as he stared at the information before him.

Which neighborhood?

Which home?

How much violence?

“I say they’re going to strike again tonight.” Detective Blake walked into the bullpen with his partner, Detective Burns.

“Nah.” Burns glanced at a note on his desk, not appearing to be interested in whatever it was. “They already hit this week.”

“Tonight. They’ve been increasing frequency.”

Kyle ignored Blake and Burns, the newest transfers to his precinct. They weren’t bad guys or detectives, but their crass habit of betting on the outcome of cases didn’t sit well with Kyle. A new bet was coming and anyone unfortunate enough to be home during the next invasion would be a gambler’s ante as well as a robber’s victim. The only part of it he wanted was to see the end.

“How about it, Riley? Will they strike tonight?”

“Do I look like I have a crystal ball?” Kyle snapped, a little harsher than intended, but he’d lost his ability to ignore the annoyance of their bets.

“You any closer to catching them?”

He stared at the files and shook his head. He might have a different answer if his partner, Lisa, hadn’t left him. She had some ridiculous notion about giving birth being a good reason to take time off. Insert smile and eye roll here.

“You patrolling again tonight?”

Kyle nodded. Driving around town, even though he’d exchanged his officer’s blues for a detective’s badge years ago, accomplished nothing, but it made him feel active and productive. Feeling useful settled him. Before Lisa’s maternity leave, talking to her had been enough to clear away the clutter in his mind. In her absence it was in the silence of his car where he’d escaped the clutter in his mind long enough to think of making a map. He hoped driving would give him another brainstorm.

“Let us know if you need backup.”

Kyle had worked with a few temporary partners since Lisa went on leave, but no one shared his rhythm. Even when he’d changed their rhythm in an attempt to minimize her risk, she’d been the only person he felt in sync with. Until he could work with Lisa again he’d work alone.

“Will do.”

Hours later, too tired to be safe on the road, Kyle decided to head home. His cell phone rang mid U-turn. He pressed his thumb against the steering wheel button to answer.

“It’s Blake. They hit again.”

Tiredness vanished beneath adrenaline, someone’s need for help, and Kyle’s need to end the invasions. “Where?”

Blake gave Kyle an address less than three miles from his own home. Too close for comfort, but more disconcerting was the chance this one had gone very bad.

“You need backup?” Blake asked.

“Uniforms on the way?”

“Yes.”

“I should be fine.” His heart rate kept pace with the car’s RPMs. “I’m two minutes out.”

As he drove closer, he checked for signs of anything out of place. He saw nothing. Nothing except a cop car and an ambulance in the circular drive of a large, nicely manicured home almost identical to the neighboring homes. The cake-shaped mailbox was not like the others in the neighborhood.

Kyle parked behind the patrol car. After grabbing a flashlight and pair of rubber gloves from the center console, he got out. He didn’t go immediately to the royal-blue front door, but instead walked the perimeter. One of the uniforms on scene had probably already done it, but Kyle liked to know what he was walking into.

At the previous scenes there hadn’t been broken windows or visibly damaged locks. All evidence of a crime had been inside. Here seemed to be no different.

The lawn was freshly cut; the hedges and rose bushes were neatly trimmed, with no broken or bent branches. The window ledges didn’t appear to have been tampered with. Raising his hand to knock on the door, he formulated possible scenarios on how the invasion had gone down.

The absence of on-looking neighbors suggested the paramedics and officer had pulled in with their sirens off. It made their job easier to not wake the neighbors and have them underfoot. As a bonus, the victim kept a little of their privacy.

Scenarios of how the invasion may have gone down played in his head. Speculation in the absence of any witness reports was hard to work from but he would catch the perpetrators. Officer Berkstrom opened the door.

Kyle had run across him at some other scenes and had always been impressed with his work. With home invasions being particularly touchy situations, Berkstrom’s talent for reading a scene and handling a victim with the exact right touch made him a great first responder. With Lisa out, Kyle was even more appreciative of the man’s skill. She embodied the softer touch, and he’d shamelessly let her take the lead in situations needing one.

“Detective Riley. Sorry to call you so late.”

“It’s the job.” Kyle put the gloves on and surveyed the scene as he moved deeper into the house. The signs of force missing outside were everywhere inside.

Overturned furniture, open drawers and cabinets with the contents pulled out. Couch and chair cushions tossed about, glass knickknacks shattered. Picture hangers were bare on the walls while the pictures lay among the mess on the floor.

“The rest of the house this bad?”

“Downstairs is the worst.”

Kyle gritted his teeth against the futility of how close he’d been while not being close enough to help stop this attack.

Smears of blood were on the hallway table and wall. The sight, rich with hatred and violence, accelerated his pulse. He told himself the small amount of blood was a good sign. At least, he hoped it was a good sign.

“Any sign of the perps?”

“None.” Berkstrom nodded toward the back. “The homeowner’s in the kitchen with the paramedics. She’s not talking other than to refuse going to the hospital. My partner’s in there in case she says anything.”

Bravery was something he generally applauded, but stubbornness was something different. Refusing help when it was needed was nothing more.

Kyle pointed toward the back of the house. “Kitchen that way?”

“Yes.” Berkstrom led the way toward a short hall.

Glass crunched beneath Kyle’s feet despite his efforts to not disturb the scene.

Nothing about this home invasion was methodical. It was a blitz attack, quick and dirty. More pictures and photographs had been pulled from the walls and dropped to the floor. Two pictures caught Kyle’s attention and had him stopping.

The first was an older picture of a man and woman. They faced each other, smiling and either on the brink of kissing or pulling back from one. Looking on was a young girl with eyes he’d seen before. Her face was a combination of grossed out and curious.

The second picture was recent and familiar, because he was in it. It had been taken after his friend Victor Green, who he’d gotten to know through another friend, Jace Nichols, married Darci at their Guardians of the Galaxy-inspired wedding. They’d taken as many goofy pictures as they had serious ones. This was one of the goofy ones, and standing at his side was a woman with the same eyes as the little girl in the picture watching her parents.

Many of the women from the wedding party were in multiple pictures, but only one was in almost all of them. And only one of them had the same eyes as the little girl from the other picture. The seductive eyes which had visited his dreams several times since the wedding.

Factor in the cake mailbox with flourishes similar to the Glittering Groot wedding cake, and Kyle’s blood ran cool. Gisella.

He looked toward the kitchen and swallowed. “Shit.”

“You know her?”

“Yes.”

Gisella Sands. She’d been less flashy than her friends in terms of bling, but she’d struck him as colorful and somehow wounded. Her home, beneath the disaster of the scene, reflected the spark of the passionate baker who’d easily made him laugh. Mismatched furniture didn’t entirely suit the sedate appearance of the upscale neighborhood, but their mixtures along with vibrant colored pillows and whatnots suited the woman he’d escorted at his friend’s wedding.

Every moment he’d spent with Gisella over those few days returned. The sass in her smile. The twinkle in her eye. The spirit in her laugh. The tempting scent of cake batter and sugar. The seductive curve of her ass beneath the snug white dress she’d worn to the rehearsal dinner. Its laced-up back had showcased creamy skin he’d been unable to resist touching. It all returned as vividly as it had been during Vic’s and Darci’s wedding.

He’d stood beside her in pictures, sat with her at dinner, entertained guests at her side, danced with her. He’d almost kissed her, almost asked her out, almost called her in the weeks after. He’d always stopped himself, and now it seemed as if he was being put back on the path he’d chosen to step away from. One which led to her.

When he stepped into her kitchen, his blood stilled. The room around them faded and for a moment he only saw Gisella.

Pale and fragile-looking, she lay on the floor with two paramedics on one side and Berkstrom’s partner on the other. Kyle moved closer. Her forehead, temple and jaw were swollen. A terrifying amount of blood covered her neck and the top part of her chest.

He’d witnessed horrifying things since joining the force, but nothing chilled him to the core like seeing Gisella covered in blood. Too much blood.

One paramedic held his fingers against her wrist and asked her questions to check her cognitive abilities. The other used a small flashlight to test the reactions of her pupils. Berkstrom’s partner held a large wad of gauze against her throat to absorb the blood.

The woman Kyle had been drawn to but told himself to stay away from, though he couldn’t remember why at the moment, had gone from being a tall and curvy blonde who radiated light to a victim who needed help. Who needed protection.

Moving to the side where Berkstrom’s partner was turning varying shades of green, presumably from the sight of blood, Kyle motioned for him to move aside. “Let me.”

The officer stepped back, wiping his shaking hands on his pants. Kyle took the officer’s spot near Gisella’s side and the paramedics. “How is she?”

“Vitals are strong.” B. Neil, according to his name tag, pressed an ice pack to the swelling on her head. “Her pupils aren’t as responsive as we’d like to see after a hit to the head. She may need stitches for the cut. Won’t know until we get the bleeding to slow.”

“Do them here.” Her command sounded more like a croak, and she didn’t manage to hide her wince. “I can’t leave.”

Her hair was tangled on one side, more likely from the thief’s hand than from sleep. Fear trembled in her gaze, beckoning Kyle’s protective urges. His hand shook against her neck. He placed the other hand against her leg, offering her warmth, or possibly hoping to find some—he wasn’t sure which. He was aware of the unsteadiness of his fingers against the skin of her legs.

Kyle swallowed the knot of need to pummel whoever had hurt her. When he eased away the soaked wad of gauze, he took a moment to look at the cut before replacing it with a fresh wad. Wide and jagged, it was too close to her jugular for comfort.

Rage and a thirst for vengeance shoved forward, fighting for a frontline spot with his need to protect her. Cases rarely got beneath his skin. Even more rare were the times he wanted to protect a victim while visualizing all the ways he’d punish the perpetrator. Knowing Gisella and her friends, caring about them, altered the landscape.

He should hand the case off to someone who could be more objective. The only other detectives on duty with a light enough load were Blake and Burns. They weren’t getting close to Gisella.

“Gisella.” He forced his voice to its calmest level and pressed the fresh gauze against her wound.

“Kyle?” Her gaze quivered as it shifted to meet his. Her face trembled and formed into crinkles, which reflected fear and then relief. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a cop.” He held his gaze steady, keeping her attention as he reminded her of what she had to know. “Home invasions are part of what I do.”

“Glad it’s you.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Baked an engagement cake. Took the trash out.” She spoke without moving her mouth, as if every move was a pain in her neck. “Came back in and they were here. She hit me over the head, dragged me around while they searched. He cut me when they didn’t find anything valuable.”

A man and woman team. A couple? Siblings? Those tended to be the relationships most likely to support crime and violence. “Maybe tomorrow you can get with a sketch artist?”

“Call them now. I’m not leaving.”

He didn’t look away from her when he asked the paramedics, “Can you do stitches here?”

“If the cut is clean and shallow enough for butterflies. Otherwise, she’ll have to go to the hospital to get it cleaned and closed.” N. Gilman, the second paramedic, answered. “If her pupils don’t respond properly, I’m going to insist she go to the hospital anyway to get checked out by the doctors.”

Kyle had several questions for Gisella. They took a back seat to her. His fingers shook as they uncurled and rested against his thigh. “You need to listen to them.”

“I can’t leave. They could come back. She wanted the jewelry she saw in the pictures.”

“Where is it?”

Gisella’s eyes shifted to the paramedics and officers. She shook her head. She’d taken a blade to keep her hiding place a secret. It made sense she wouldn’t tell him in front of people she didn’t know, regardless how trustworthy they should be.

“Is it safe?”

“Hope so.”

Kyle leaned close and whispered, “If you tell me, I can check.”

She paused before turning her mouth closer to his ear. “Litter box.”

Those two words should never be sexy. Her whisper was as sexy as her answer was surprising.

Kyle choked back a chuckle but not a smile. He’d heard of people hiding valuables in the freezer or coffee cans, but not litter boxes. It was different and smart and very like the woman he’d been tempted by.

“I think they’re safe, but—” blood seeped slowly through the gauze beneath his hand, “—if these guys say you need a doctor you’re going with them.”

He played a card he knew would get her to do what he wanted. “Otherwise I’ll call Vic, who will tell Darci.”

“Don’t. Please don’t.” Her eyes begged for his silence.

Satisfied he’d get his way, Kyle shifted aside when Neil, the head paramedic, reached for the gauze. “Let’s get you cleaned up. After, we’ll check your pupils again and see what’s what.”

Gisella grabbed Kyle’s hand, squeezing tight. “You won’t leave?”

“I’m right beside you.” And that was where he stayed while they moved her to a chair and the paramedics worked to clean and close her wound. Fortunately they decided butterfly stitches would be enough. Still, the need to pound someone’s face returned with every crinkle of her eyes as she tried to remain relaxed while Neil pulled her flesh together for each butterfly stitch.

When she was stitched up and they’d wrapped a bandage around her neck to keep the wound clean, Gilman checked her pupils again. “They’re responding better, but I’d still feel better if you went to the hospital to get checked out.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Kyle admired her strength and was concerned with any injuries they couldn’t see. He also wanted to see her relax so he could get more information out of her, and the tension in her body when they mentioned the hospital suggested a visit there would only make matters worse. “Give me instructions, and I’ll keep an eye on her.”

The words crossed his lips while the recognition of a line being crossed snapped into focus. Professionalism dictated he call the sketch artist, get CSI out, and then leave. The quicksand of complicated involvement had sucked him in the moment he’d seen Gisella in the pictures.

She’d appealed to and scared him at the wedding. Everything about her shouted involvement when all he wanted was some good times. Or, he had. Now, after holding Lisa’s baby—his goddaughter—once, he wasn’t sure he was interested in no strings. Knowing he wanted involvement on a deeper level didn’t make taking chances less terrifying.

Gisella Sands defined terrifying.