The Rogue
Chapter 11

As far as Ryan was concerned, the only thing worse than a shift with six calls between dinner and daybreak was a shift with six false alarm calls between dinner and daybreak. He’d spent most of the wee hours responding to fires that hadn’t existed, faulty carbon monoxide detectors that had signaled trouble when there was none, and a woman who had left her curling iron on by accident and called nine-one-one just so Squad could play Ryan’s least favorite game, “hey, what’s that smell?” Add to it the fact that sleep was already at a premium because of the late nights he’d spent keeping an eye on Chloe’s apartment, and he was fairly certain that he was less than one step away from The Walking Dead.

“Rise and shine, Daredevil,” Hawk said with a grin as Ryan zombied his way into the common room, and he considered giving the guy the finger for both his use of Ryan’s nickname (which, fine, was pretty fitting) and his profuse morning glee.

Ah, f**k it. Too tired. “Can I rise and shine if I never technically went to bed?” Ryan asked, filling his travel mug to the brim with coffee.

Hawk laughed. “’Course you can. The sun is up. The birds are singin’. This day is yours for the takin’, my friend.”

Ugh, yeah. He totally gave Hawk the finger. “I’m heading home,” he mumbled past his yawn.

“Saves me from having to kick you out of your bunk when B-shift gets here in twenty minutes,” Hawk said. Gates and Faurier were still in their bunks, sleeping like it was their life’s mission, but Ryan had always preferred digging himself out of bed, even after a night as rough as the one he was coming off of, to crash properly at home.

Rubbing his eyes, he made his way through Station Seventeen’s main doors. Hawk hadn’t been wrong about the sunshine and birds—looked like yesterday’s unseasonably warm weather was making an extended stay of things. Crazy shifts always put him in a vacuum, where things like the weather only existed tangentially and the outside world was practically a fairy tale, and he checked his phone to bring himself back to reality.

“Huh,” Ryan said, his brows tugging at the sight of a voicemail from Grace, left about an hour ago. Tapping the icon, he waited for the message to filter over the line.

As soon as he heard her voice, the seriousness with which she’s said things like “please don’t freak out” and “Chloe is safe, but”, his boots slammed to a stop on the sidewalk. His fingers shook as he scrolled to Grace’s number and hit send, his heart ricocheting against his ribs while the phone rang once…twice…

“She’s fine,” came Grace’s voice, and funny, even though he knew she’d never lie—especially about something so serious—it did nothing for his composure.

“Somehow I doubt you’d leave me a voicemail and lead with ‘don’t freak out’ if that were fully the case,” Ryan said.

Grace huffed. “Fine. Chloe is safe. Still sleeping. She stayed here last night.”

“I’m going to need the full story,” he pressed, and thankfully, his no-bullshit sister got right to it.

“She met me at Montgomery Park yesterday for lunch and that guy, Myles, was there.”

“What?”Ryan was going to end this bastard. “Did you call the cops?”

“Of course,” Grace said. “Detective Hale and her partner, the really big guy with all the tattoos? Maxwell? They came right out.”

His sister proceeded to give him a rundown of everything that had happened yesterday, starting with her wanting to get Chloe out of her apartment since it had been such a nice day and she hadn’t seen so much as a trace of Bishop for over a week, and ending with Addison’s promise to do all that she could to replace something they could act on.

Okay. Okay. First thing’s first. “How is she, Grace?” Ryan’s throat tightened, turning the words to gravel. “And please don’t bullshit me.”

Grace paused. “She’s really scared, Ry. I haven’t seen her like this in a really long time.”

God damn it! “The RPD needs to pick this guy up before I get my f*****g hands on him,” Ryan bit out. Speaking of which… “Why didn’t you call the firehouse as soon as this went down? I would’ve come right over.”

“First of all, Chloe wasn’t in any overt danger. I was with her the whole time, and the police responded quickly. Secondly, you were on shift, potentially running into burning buildings and saving people’s lives,” Grace said. Before Ryan could hotly point out that both Captain Bridges and Hawk wouldn’t have thought twice about giving him personal leave for something like this, she added, “and third of all, call me crazy, but I thought you might fly just the teensiest bit off the handle and get yourself into trouble.”

“Did Addison put you up to this?” he asked, pacing the sidewalk leading to the lot where he’d parked his Mustang.

Grace’s knowing laugh was his first clue that he’d mis-stepped. “Addison, is it?”

“Detective Hale,” he grumbled. Do not think of k!ssing her. Do not think of how unbelievably good it felt or how badly you want to do it again. Do not…

“Mmm,” Grace said, and Ryan knew better than to think she’d let him off the hook for this. “No. Detective Hale did not put me up to anything, although if she’s worried you’re going to do something rash, then I have to say she’s as smart as she seems.”

“Gracie,” he began, but his sister made a noise of protest.

“Don’t you ‘Gracie’ me, Ryan Lucas Dempsey. She said she’s looking into this, and I believe her.”

She was in rare form, weaponizing his full name like that. But Grace wasn’t the only Dempsey who took no crap.

“Has she given Chloe an update yet?” Having exhausted every avenue of burning off his frustration, he headed for his car, keys in hand.

“No. I told you, Chloe’s still sleeping. But Ry—”

“I’m on my way to the precinct.”

“Ryan,” Grace tried again, but no. No f*****g way. He was going to make sure they put an end to this, today. Now.

“I’m going to talk to Detective Hale in person. Keep Chloe safe. I’ll be there as soon as I leave the Thirty-Third. I love you, G,” he added, mostly because it was true, but a tiny bit to pad the fact that he ended the call before she could protest again.

He had to fight some early rush hour traffic on his way downtown, which did nothing for his shitful mood. Finally, after a trip that felt as if it had taken an ice age, he pulled into the parking lot behind the Thirty-Third precinct. His adrenal glands, which had already done triple-time in the last twelve hours, pumped out a fresh batch of the good stuff, propelling his boots over the pavement and his pulse through the stratosphere.

“Can I help you?” asked the desk sergeant, looking like he wanted to do anything but.

Ryan scraped for a breath. “I need to see Addison Hale, please.”

The sergeant—Riordan, according to his nameplate—raised his bushy brows. “Is she expecting you?”

“She is not,” Ryan assured the guy, his smile all teeth.

“Well, good luck with that. Name?” Riordan asked.

“Ryan Dempsey. It’s urgent.”

“Uh-huh.” Sergeant Riordan gave him a dubious look, but reached for the phone on the desk in front of him regardless. He exchanged a low conversation with someone that Ryan couldn’t quite parse the details of, then hung up a minute later.

“She’ll be down shortly,” Riordan said, gesturing to a set of chairs along one wall. “Have a seat.”

The last thing Ryan wanted to do was sit, or wait, or do anything at all that would let the emotions churning in his gut turn to reason. Pacing the linoleum, he let his energy fuel him, and by the time Addison appeared in the lobby five minutes later, he was wound so tightly that he wanted to explode.

“What the hell happened?” Ryan blurted before she could say anything. “Bishop stalks Chloe in broad daylight and you don’t even call me? Please tell me you have him in custody.”

Addison looked at him, her expression entirely composed. “Why don’t we replace a good place to take a breath and talk privately?”

“I don’t want to take a breath,” Ryan said. “What I want is to know what’s going on with this case.”

Something flickered across her light green stare, her body settling into just enough of a don’t f**k with me stance to make him notice. “Let me rephrase. We’re either going to replace a good place to take a breath and have this conversation privately, or you’re going to take a field trip to central booking. I don’t recommend it, personally, but hey, you do you.”

He forced his emotions to stand down, nodding. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. I’m sorry. This is just…”

“A lot. I know,” Addison said. To the desk sergeant, who was pretending not to eavesdrop and doing a shit job of it, she said, “Mr. Dempsey and I are going to have a chat in Room Five, in case anyone upstairs needs me.”

“Not your keeper,” Riordan muttered, but Addison only added wattage to her smile.

“Boston cream donuts from the Holy Roller,” she sing-songed back.

The guy harrumphed, but hell if there wasn’t a smile hidden somewhere on his stern face. “Take Room Six. O’Sullivan worked all night in Five. It still reeks of bad pizza and even worse cologne.”

“You’re a peach, Riordan.” Tilting her head down the hallway from which she’d come, she said to Ryan, “Shall we?”

“Did you just bribe him with donuts?” Ryan asked as soon as they were far enough away to be out of earshot.

Addison didn’t even bother skirting around it. “Yup. But come on, we’re cops. Liking donuts is an occupational pre-requisite.”

“Let me guess. Your favorite are the ones with the pink icing and rainbow sprinkles.”

“And now you know what to get me for my birthday,” she said brightly, stopping in front of a door labeled Room Six. “Come on in.”

Ryan followed her over the threshold. The room was more of an office, really, with a desk on one side and two chairs opposite, and a slim bookshelf along the far wall. “You use these for interrogations?” he asked, unable to curb his curiosity.

“No. These are for things like meetings with social workers or people from the ADA’s office. Sometimes we use them to catch up on paperwork.”

She gestured to one of the chairs, but Ryan shook his head, his nervous energy rattling back to life. “What’s going on, Addison? Why didn’t you call me yesterday?”

“Because Chloe is an adult, for starters,” Addison said. “And, secondly, because she asked me not to. She knew you were on shift at the fire house, and she didn’t want you to get upset.”

Oh, that was rich. “Did you really think I wouldn’t get upset about this, no matter when I found out?”

“I think it wasn’t my call to make,” she said slowly. “Chloe was unhurt, and even though Maxwell and I offered to take her to the clinic in case she wanted to talk to a counselor, she declined. Grace was with her—she’s fantastic, by the way—and promised that Chloe could stay with her until we had an update.”

“And do you?”

Addison let out a slow breath. “Not yet.”

Ryan tried his very best not to detonate on the spot. “Not yet,” he repeated, and she shook her head.

“Chloe is certain that the man she saw was Bishop, but she also admitted that he was about fifty feet away and wearing a baseball hat pulled down low over his face.”

“Please tell me we aren’t going to do this again,” Ryan bit out.

Addison’s hands found her h**s, her fingers splaying around the badge clipped to her jeans. “If I had an alternative, believe me, I’d use it. We looked at footage from street cams around the park, and while we found loads of men matching Bishop’s description, we were able to rule nearly all of them out with facial rec. It doesn’t help that he’s a white guy of average height and build. Going through the footage took forever.”

Ryan replayed her words in his head, snagging on one in particular. “You said nearly.”

“I did. We did replace one guy who fits the description whose face isn’t visible on the footage. His hat is pulled down too low, and he never looks up at the right angle for us to get a good look.”

“That’s him. It’s got to be,” Ryan said, and Addison nodded.

“We showed an image from the footage to Chloe last night and she positively IDed him by his clothing, but…”

No. No. “Don’t tell me there’s nothing you can do?”

“We can’t prove it was Bishop,” Addison said. “And even if we could, he was fifty feet away from her, and all he did was wave. He didn’t threaten her. He didn’t even try to go near her.”

“Bullshit!” The word exploded past Ryan’s lips. “He’s following her, Hale. Invading her privacy. Scaring the hell out of her. It’s all a mind game to him, where he gets to be in control. How does he get to terrorize her while you sit back and do nothing?”

“I’m not doing nothing,” Addison said, frost covering her words. “I’m doing my job, which has rules. I don’t get to freelance, no matter how much I want to. I’m not going to risk having a case against Bishop fall apart down the line because I didn’t follow protocol. If we bring him in now based on what we have, we wouldn’t be able to keep him for more than twenty minutes.”

“This guy is stalking her.” Ryan jammed a frustrated hand through his hair. “Do you really think it’s an accident that you didn’t get his face on any of those cameras? He knows exactly what he’s doing, and we’re letting it happen.”

Addison shook her head. “I don’t think it’s an accident, at all, which is why we called Tara in again yesterday. The law is a little murky when it comes to stalking cases. It shouldn’t be,” she added. “But it is. Still, Chloe deserves to be protected and she feels threatened by Bishop, so Tara is looking into a way to at least get a temporary protective order.”

“What about charges?” Ryan asked. “Bishop needs to have this on his record.”

“I don’t disagree. We’re still trying to replace a way to charge him, but without sufficient evidence, it’s an uphill battle.”

What little was left of Ryan’s composure shorted out. “An uphill battle. Addison, she’s my sister. She’s already been through hell. What if”—his throat knotted as his anger softened to fear—“what if this breaks her?”

“Hey.” She slipped into his personal space to cup his face between her hands, and hell if the simple move didn’t calm him. “Look at me. I am not going to let that happen. I swear. But now more than ever, we need to keep Chloe calm.”

He exhaled, letting the feel of Addison’s hands steady him. “I know. I don’t want her to be upset. But when I think of what he’s doing to her—”

“I want him to pay for this, too, Ryan.” Addison’s eyes glinted with pure honesty. “I just need you to trust me and hold tight for a little while longer while we work with Tara and the DA’s office to keep Chloe safe, okay? Can you do that?”

Ryan wanted to say no. He wanted to give in to impulse and push back and replace Bishop and take action, right f*****g now. There was only one thing stopping him.

Despite the emotions surging through his system, when Addison looked into his eyes and promised she’d protect his sister, he found himself trusting her.

“Okay,” he said. “I can do that.”

Surprise darted through her stare, but still, she said, “Thank you.”

She lowered her hands, and he felt the loss of her touch immediately. “Can we still keep an eye on Chloe’s apartment at night?” Ryan asked, disappointment flooding him when she shook her head.

“Not like we did last week. Now that Intelligence is looking at re-opening a case against Bishop, I can’t jeopardize that by going off-book. Any surveillance is going to have to be sanctioned by Sinclair and on the record. Plus, Maxwell and I are backing up Narcotics on a raid tonight. However”—she lifted a hand, likely in response to the protest he was very obviously about to launch—“you can absolutely stay with Chloe at Grace’s, or at her place if she wants to go home.”

Ryan nodded. No chance was he not keeping an eye on Chloe, now. “And in the meantime, you’ll work with Tara?”

“I will,” she said. “But, Ryan, listen to me. I need you to promise you won’t do anything that will put this case at risk. If you see Bishop lurking around, you get Chloe safe and call nine-one-one. Don’t go after him on your own. Understood?”

It took all Ryan’s strength not to argue, but finally, he said, “Fine. I’ll do whatever it takes to make charges stick to this son of a bitch.”

Addison smiled. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Thank you for helping Chloe. And for not dragging me down to central booking.”

Her smile turned just tart enough to make him want to taste it as she turned toward the door. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Dempsey. The day’s not over yet.”