My phone buzzing in my pocket saves me from going over there. “Detective Lynch,” I bark through the line.
“Detective!” My precinct’s new captain, Duncan Rayford, snaps through the line.
“Yes, Cap?” He’s not who I want to deal with right now.
“Get your ass down to the station right now!” He hangs up before I can ask why, and I’m cursing more now than I was when I left Celeste’s side.
Grabbing my car keys, I’m in no rush to leave as I stroll out the front door. The lights are on at her house and I see her mother in the den, where all that damn liquor was, and a sour feeling punches me in the gut. I want to check on her, but I know if I don’t get to my captain now, he’ll be bitchier when I do get there.
With one last look at Celeste’s, I jump in my Crown Vic and head into the city. My need to get home sooner rather than later drives me as I rush through the traffic and nearly get hit going through a yellow light.
Sliding to a stop in a spot marked for detectives, I’m out and running inside the building like there’s a fire on my ass. I’m barely through the door before I hear his voice.
“Lynch!”
“Damn, someone’s in shit,” one officer mutters as I run past him.
“Hey, Cap, what’s up?” I’m standing in his doorway as my sergeant walks up behind me, pushing me through and slamming the door shut.
“Sit down, Martin,” Sergeant Stokes instructs.
For the first time since getting the call, worry slithers down my spine, and that knowing in my gut intensifies. Something is about to go horribly wrong.
“I’ve put up with a lot of your shit since coming here,” Captain Rayford reflects. It hasn’t been that much, but I don’t say so. “However, your actions reflect on this department, therefore, when an accusation of rape comes in, I have to investigate.”
My jaw drops and my eyes I’m sure are wide as fucking saucers.
Rape?
“Who the fuck said that?” I’m in complete shock and drop into the chair behind me.
“We got a call this afternoon. We can’t tell you who it was from, Marty, you know that.” Stokes looks at me with pity.
“I didn’t fucking rape anybody!” Outrage fuels my anger and I jump to my feet, pacing in front of the captain’s desk. “I haven’t even been on a date in six months,” I mutter to myself, and then it clicks. “Was the complaint rape or statutory rape?” I look Rayford directly in the eye.
“Statutory,” he confirms.
“The fucking Davises,” I hiss. “Celeste Davis is fucking eighteen. I didn’t lay a finger on her until two days ago, and I promise you I knew her damn age before I did. I wouldn’t have touched her otherwise.”
“She’s in high school,” Rayford points out, not denying my conclusions.
“You didn’t touch her before this?” Stokes asks.
“Fuck no. I didn’t want this shit happening. Beside age of consent is seventeen, why is this a fucking issue?” There’s nothing in the NYPD manual saying I can’t be with a woman as young as her–I fucking checked.
“He’s saying you were together when she was sixteen. That you’ve been hanging around there for years,” Rayford explains.
“Fuck me. Onyx is their goddamn neighbor, and yeah, I practically live there, but you and I both know, Gracie keeps my ass busy with those kids so I’m not getting into shit.” They are all well aware of the power of Grace. The woman may be shy, but she’s a damn powerhouse.
Stokes stares at Rayford as he hems and haws over whether there’s truth to my words or not. He knows damn well I wouldn’t do this shit. I’m a good fucking cop, always have been.
“Alright. You’re right. I thought it was hinky when we got the complaint, but I have to follow up. What’s his deal?” Rayford raises a brow.
It’s like talking about my love life with my parents. “He caught us kissing when he and his wife came home from a weekend trip today. Didn’t like that I assessed his ass as violent and threatened to toss him in the slammer if he hit Celeste.”
“I see.” He looks down and the feeling in my gut intensifies yet again.
“What?”
“He said something about sending her away. To protect her.”
“Are we done here?” She’s not leaving, not if I have anything to fucking say about it. I’m not about to rip her family apart, but I’ll damn well show them I’m good for Celeste. I can and will treat her right.
“We’re done.” Rayford nods. “Don’t do anything that will make me arrest you, Marty.” Nodding to him and my sergeant, I’m out the door and running back to my car, rushing out into busy fucking traffic because I have to live in the city that never fucking sleeps.
I can only hope I’m there in time to stop whatever the Davises are about to do. If they take Celeste from me, I’m not sure what I’ll do.
Chapter Five
Celeste
“I can’t believe you just did that!” I scream at my father.
He lied. To a police captain.
“Martin never touched me before two days ago. He’s too good of a man to do something that could ruin both of our reputations.”
I’m so mad tears are freely falling from my face.
“He shouldn’t have touched you to begin with. You’re a child. You have no idea what it means to be intimate with a man,” Dad counters, and I want to scream at the top of my lungs.
“You’re going to live with your Aunt Ruth,” Mom pipes up, a glass of vodka and cranberry juice in her hand. Heavy on the vodka. “Sex and drinking, you obviously can’t be tamed.”
I watch the woman who gave birth to me, and I wonder, not for the first time in my life, if these people know me at all.
Running my fingers through my hair roughly, I stare at them.
“Do you even know me? Do you pay attention to anything? I get straight A’s, I’ve been accepted to some of the top universities and colleges in the country and I’ve never been on a date! How can you say that because I kissed a man,”—they don’t know for certain we had sex—“and tried a shot of vodka, for curiosity’s sake,”—it’s only a little white lie—“that I’m out of control?”
My father has the presence of mind to at least appear guilty for his baseless assumptions. My mother, however, just takes another damn drink.
“Did you ever think I’ve been so starved for attention that accepting Martin’s love was so easy because neither of you care enough to pay me any mind?” I know it’s a low blow, but they exchange a look that says maybe I’m getting through to them.
“Now listen, we’ve taken good care of you, we don’t deserve these accusations,” Dad says, but there’s no real heat behind his statement.
“Really? You don’t? Let me ask you then, what were my top colleges? Which one have I been dying to go to since I found out about their photography programs?”
It’s been a couple months since I’ve spoken to them about it, but they knew. Dad looks embarrassed. Mom takes another drink.