The Rogue
Chapter 12

Ryan stood at the two-burner stove in Chloe’s apartment and stirred the pasta in the bubbling pot in front of him. She sat at the tiny café table nearby, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them as she watched him cook.

Although it had taken a bit of effort, Ryan had convinced Grace that it was smarter for him to stay with Chloe at her place than for all of them to stay with her again. The twins were in the throes of kindergarten, swim lessons, and indoor soccer, and throwing their routine off wasn’t on anyone’s agenda. Plus—and Ryan hadn’t wanted to give this a whole lot of thought, because if he did, his head would explode—Bishop was clearly stalking Chloe, and he was good enough at it that he was dangerous.

Any chance, however small, that he’d show up at Grace and Patrick’s was too big of a risk. When Chloe had agreed that she’d wanted the comfort of her own space, Ryan had brought her back to her apartment, deadbolted the door, and crammed himself onto her love seat for a four-hour nap while Chloe had crashed in her room. She looked better now that she’d had some rest, although still miles away from her normal, happy self, so Ryan had gone for the one thing guaranteed to make Chloe feel better.

Cheesy buttered noodles.

“Have you always put that much butter in these?” Chloe asked, and leave it to the chef-in-training to notice the copious amounts of butter sitting on the counter, awaiting their fate.

“They’re called cheesy buttered noodles, not cheesy broccoli noodles,” Ryan said, stirring the pot one last time before killing the heat and draining the pasta at the sink. “But to answer your question, yes, I have, and I don’t mess with perfection.”

When Chloe had come to live with them ten years ago, she’d been painfully thin, her appetite non-existent. Lou and Carleen had tried everything to get her to eat. One night, Ryan had come over after a particularly grueling day at the fire academy and made the best meal any ravenous twenty-two-year-old could ask for: buttered noodles with a metric ton of cheese.

Chloe had tiptoed into the kitchen, taking a tentative bite after he’d offered her some, then polishing off an entire bowl. Between the decadent one-two punch of butter and cheese and the carby goodness of the pasta, Ryan’s cheesy buttered noodles were the definition of comfort food, and even though he couldn’t remember the last time they’d shared a batch, he hadn’t hesitated to make them for Chloe tonight.

“Fair enough,” she said, unfolding her legs and sock-footing her way to a nearby cabinet to pull out two bowls. “Thanks for coming over.”

“No worries. Jack’s going to switch off with me tomorrow, and Lou and Carleen will come by, too.”

Chloe bit her l!p. “I feel bad that I didn’t tell Lou and Carleen about all of this before now. I didn’t want them to worry, and was just hoping…I thought he’d gone away.”

At Ryan and Grace’s encouragement, Chloe had finally given in and let Lou and Carleen know what was going on a few hours ago. They’d reacted predictably, with high levels of concern and outrage. But in the end, they supported each other above all, so they’d buckled down and created a plan with Ryan, Grace, Jack, and Miguel to be sure Chloe stayed safe.

“I know. Me, too.” Wanting to distract her from any thoughts of Bishop, Ryan led into another thing he knew would comfort her. “Hey, I meant to tell you. Everyone at the fire house pretty much lost their minds over those cookies you brought by a couple weeks ago.”

A smile poked at the edges of Chloe’s mouth, tiny, but there. “The red velvet ones?”

“Yeah. I think Tyler ate, like, a dozen of them.”

Chloe’s smile made a definite appearance. “He did not.”

“Hand to God,” Ryan said. “He’s still talking about how good they were.”

“He’s so sweet. I’m glad he liked them,” she said, her cheeks flushing slightly at the praise. “I’m also glad you were willing to take them off my hands, considering that test batch yielded over a hundred cookies.”

She watched Ryan stir copious amounts of butter and cheese into the warm pasta in front of him, her smile faltering. “Do you think I’ll be able to go back to class, with Myles out there?”

Ryan heard Addison’s voice in his head, reminding him to keep Chloe calm. “I hope so. Detective Hale said she’s doing all she can to get a protective order in motion. We just have to trust her.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

The question whammied Ryan right in the solar plexus. “I, uh. What?”

Chloe scooped up a heaping pile of noodles and put them in her bowl, then repeated the move twice more before saying, “Ha, Grace was right. You totally do.”

Oh, the hazard of having sisters. “You and Grace talked about me and Detective Hale?”

“I was cooped up in her house for twenty-four hours and she wanted to distract me.” Chloe shrugged. “What else were we going to talk about?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Literally a thousand other things?”

“Not as much fun as gossiping about you and Addison,” Chloe said.

Damn it. “Grace told you I used her first name.”

Chloe cradled her bowl between her palms and returned to the table, smiling serenely. “Oh, yeah. But what’s the big deal? She’s smart. She’s kind. She’s pretty. Also, pretty bada*ss. Why shouldn’t you like her?”

Ryan grabbed his own bowl and slid into the chair across from Chloe’s. “It’s a little complicated.”

“Because of this”—she broke off, her shoulders tightening by a fraction—“thing that’s happening with Myles?”

“No,” Ryan said. “Not because of that.” As much as he loved Chloe, he wasn’t about to tell her about his insanely hot fling with Addison or the repeat k!ss they’d shared the other night. “She’s just not exactly into relationships.”

“You didn’t, like, ask her to move in with you or anything, did you? Run off to Vegas? Buy matching rocking chairs for your porch?” Chloe deadpanned, and Ryan rolled his eyes.

“No, smarta*ss.” He knew he should leave it at that and clam up; after all, talking about relationships with his baby sister—even (maybe especially) casual ones—wasn’t really his thing. But they could both use the distraction, and honestly, Chloe wasn’t wrong. Ryan did like Addison, probably more than was wise.

“I think someone hurt her once,” he said quietly. “And so she’s wary of getting close to anyone.”

“Oh.” Chloe concentrated on her pasta for a long minute, twirling the gooey strands around the tines of her fork. “But you do like her, right? I mean, you guys have some pretty serious energy going.”

“Well, she has literally threatened to arrest me twice over the past two weeks,” Ryan said, but rather than let him off the hook, Chloe snorted.

“Let’s be honest. You probably deserved it. And no dodging the question.”

He thought of the k!ss he’d shared with Addison the other night, the way he’d been certain he’d never get enough of her no matter how much he tasted and took. How she’d listened to him talk about his family with both curiosity and genuine interest, how she’d anchored him in an ocean of emotions earlier with nothing more than a simple touch.

Then, he said, “I’m sure I’ll live to regret telling you this, but yes, Nosy Nellie. I like her.”

Chloe smiled the first real smile he’d seen from her in weeks. “Well, that makes you pretty smart because I like her, too. Just try not to screw it up, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“No sweat, brother.”

They ate the rest of their dinner in comfortable quiet. Chloe packed up the leftovers and washed the handful of dishes while Ryan dried, and they made their way to the couch, where he grabbed his laptop from the coffee table.

“House rules,” he said, nodding at his Netflix queue. “You pick.”

But before Chloe could answer, her phone pinged with an incoming text. “Oh, this might be Addison,” she said, lifting a reddish brow at him as she picked up her phone. “She said she’d give me an update as soon as she—”

Chloe dropped her phone, recoiling as if it had grown sharp, sudden spikes, and Ryan’s pulse clattered at his throat.

“Chlo? What’s the matter?”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her eyes saucer-wide and her face drained of color. “He’s texting me.”

“What?”Ryan half-yelled. “How the hell would he get your number? You changed it last week.” Snatching her phone off the floor, he flipped it face-up, where a text from Unknown Caller lit the screen.

It was so nice to see you in the park yesterday.

“I’m calling Addison,” Ryan said, reaching for his own phone. But then, another text buzzed through.

That blue sweater looks so pretty on you. You know it’s my favorite.

Ryan looked at Chloe, registering the soft blue sweater she was wearing, then the windows on the far wall, and his pulse went ballistic.

Bishop was watching her. Watching them, right now.

He was here.

Something inside of Ryan snapped, unravelling out of control. “That’s it. I’ve had enough of this shit,” he bit out. Handing Chloe’s phone back to her, then handing her his own cell phone, too, he said, “Don’t reply to those texts and don’t use your phone at all. The cops are going to want to see it. Lock the door after me, then go lock yourself in the bathroom and call Addison from my cell. Tell her Bishop is here.”

“He’s here?” Chloe yelped, her gaze wild.

“Not for long. I’m taking care of this,” he told her. “Lock the door after me, do you understand?”

She nodded, and Ryan turned toward the door and stormed out, determined to finish this once and for all.

“Okay,”Sinclair said, dividing his stare between Addison and Maxwell as they took one last look at the plan Narcotics had sent over about an hour ago. “This one is pretty straightforward. Still, I want your eyes and ears wide. Everybody goes home to sleep in their own bed tonight.”

“Except the guys doing this deal,” Addison quipped, and Sinclair raised a graying brow at her.

“If all goes as planned, they won’t be seeing their beds for fifteen to twenty years.”

Addison’s cell phone vibrated in her back pocket, and shit, she’d gotten so caught up in this raid that she’d forgotten to call Chloe with an update. “Hey, Ryan. I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“Addison? Addison, you have to come quickly. Please. Myles is here. Outside. I don’t know.”

Chloe’s words tumbled together, tangling in Addison’s brain for a second before they connected with a snap, filling her chest with ice water.

“Slow down, Chloe. Where are you?” Addison waved madly for a pen, which—thank f**k—Maxwell pressed into her hand.

“Home. My place. Oh, God. Oh, God,” Chloe said, clearly panicking.

“Are you in immediate danger?” Addison asked, her breath whooshing out of her at Chloe’s “no.”

“I don’t think so. He—he texted me. He said he could see me but Ryan made me lock myself inside.”

Dread formed a heavy ball in Addison’s stomach. “Where is Ryan now?”

“He went downstairs to replace Myles, but I can’t…I’m too scared to go to the window. I don’t want Myles to see me.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit! “No, that’s smart. Stay inside with the door locked. I’m on my way right now, okay? And if you feel like you’re in immediate danger before I get there, call nine-one-one. Do you understand?”

“Y-y-yes,” Chloe whispered. Addison ended the call and swung toward Maxwell and Sinclair, both of whom were already in motion.

“Bishop showed up at Chloe’s apartment. I don’t have a lot of details, but Ryan’s there and I don’t think this is going to end well.”

“Damn it,” Maxwell said. “Bishop’s got some serious shit for brains.”

“Either that, or he’s unstable,” Addison pointed out, and yeah, they had to move faster.

Sinclair shook his head, following them down the stairs to the main floor. “I’ll call Hollister and Garza in to back up Narcotics. You two go take care of this. Call patrol for backup and keep me posted.”

“Copy that,” Addison said over her shoulder as she ran toward the precinct’s main doors, then to their unmarked car outside. She put the address into the GPS and slid into the passenger seat, wanting to be able to talk to Chloe distraction-free if she or Ryan called back. Maxwell didn’t dawdle, gunning the Charger toward Chloe’s apartment building as fast as he could while still keeping them safe.

“Main, this is fifteen twenty-four, en route to forty-seven Baker Avenue, apartment 16A. Requesting patrol backup,” Addison said into the radio.

“Fifteen twenty-four, this is main,” came the reply over the radio. “Be advised, patrol unit thirteen sixty-two is already on-scene.”

Wait… “How can that be?” she asked Maxwell. “Chloe called me before she called nine-one-one. Unless”—oh, no. No, no—“Main, this is fifteen twenty-four. What’s the call at that address?”

The radio crackled in her hand. “A nine-one-one caller reported an assault. Two white males on Baker Avenue in front of the address. Medical assistance has been called to the scene for injured parties.”

The air in the car grew suddenly thin. “Copy that,” Addison managed. Her imagination ran unchecked, fear making her heart pound so hard and so fast, she was certain the stupid thing would jailbreak right from her chest. Her hands shook—for f**k’s sake, they never shook—at the thought of Ryan going after Bishop. Of Bishop being unstable, possibly armed, of the fifty different ways Ryan could be gravely injured and bleeding out on the pavement right now, and she fought her surging adrenaline with all her power.

“Hey,” Maxwell said, plowing through a red light. “Chloe’s safe. You just talked to her. Patrol is on the scene. This is going to be okay.”

But rather than soothe her as they normally might, the words just bounced off the panic building inside of her. Addison had seen enough, she’d endured enough, to know this very well might not be okay. Bishop was dangerous, even if they couldn’t f*****g prove it, and Ryan was impulsive to the point of recklessness. Of course Ryan had gone after him—how had she thought for even one second that he wouldn’t? And now, he was possibly hurt, maybe even gravely, and a brand of fear that Addison hadn’t felt in over a decade flew beneath her skin, filling her up and turning her breath to sand.

What’s the matter, little girl? Are you scared?

No, no. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t feel this. Not now.

Stupid. Weak. And now you’re going to cry? I’ll give you something to cry about, you little bitch…

Addison jammed her eyes closed, reaching, reaching—

Find your calm, Master Ah-lam’s voice whispered from deep in her mind. No matter the threat, your calm is your power. Find it inside of you to fight your enemy.

“Okay. Yeah,” Addison said, grappling with first one inhale, then another. She had to be calm, to exercise absolute control over her feelings so she could make smart decisions, so she could survive. She rationed her breathing, centering her focus and setting her fear inside the box where she’d learned to lock it away so long ago. By the time they pulled up to Chloe’s apartment building a few minutes later, her adrenaline had been relegated to the back seat of her central nervous system, her hands steady and her mind scalpel-sharp.

Addison radioed their location to dispatch before getting out of the car. She took a swift survey of the scene, relief crashing through her as she registered the sight of Ryan, alive and upright and looking supremely put out by the fact that Xander had him detained over by his patrol cruiser, the blue-and-white lights flashing garishly against the dark of the evening. Bishop stood, equally upright but worse for wear, by the ambulance that had responded to the scene.

His light brown hair was mussed, his left eye well on its way to swelling shut, and he pressed an ice pack that the paramedics must have given to him over it as he scowled. Xander’s partner, Lucinda Dade, stood less than a breath from Bishop, watching him with some high-level stink-eye. Chloe wasn’t anywhere to be found, but since Ryan wasn’t currently erupting à la Mount Vesuvius, and no further calls had come through from dispatch, Addison had to assume the younger woman was safe.

“Bishop first,” she murmured, and Maxwell nodded. They headed over to the spot where Dade had semi-sequestered him, and Addison lifted her chin in greeting as they got close.

“Officer Dade,” she said, shooting a look at Bishop but not saying a word. “What’ve you got?”

“Detectives,” Dade said with a no-nonsense nod at both of them. Gesturing to Bishop, she said. “This is Myles Bishop.”

“Oh, we’ve met,” Maxwell grunted, and Bishop frowned, then winced at the movement.

“Detectives Hale and Maxwell. How lovely to see you again,” he said.

“I don’t think ‘lovely’ is the word I’d use, considering the circumstances.” Addison clipped each word to the quick. Before he could respond, she looked at Dade. “You were saying?”

Dade continued. “It seems Mr. Bishop, here, has gotten himself into an altercation.”

“More like I was attacked while minding my own business,” Bishop interjected, and Maxwell rose to true grumpy-cop form in less than a blink.

“Until you’ve been asked for your version of events, you’re interrupting,” he said. Bishop’s frown said he wanted to argue, but he stayed quiet, letting Dade finish.

“Witnesses claim Mr. Bishop and Mr. Dempsey, over there”—she nodded to Ryan—“engaged in a physical altercation after a brief but heated verbal argument. One witness called nine-one-one while two others broke up the fight. We arrived on-scene a few minutes later. I took witness statements while Mr. Bishop received medical attention. I was just about to question him further when you arrived.”

“Thank you. We can take care of that now that we’re here,” Addison said, making every effort to ensure that her voice remained level. “Officer Dade, may I please have a word with you while Detective Maxwell chats with Mr. Bishop?”

“Of course.” Dade waited until they were out of both earshot and Bishop’s line of sight before lifting her eyebrows with curiosity. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’ve got a case brewing around this guy.”

Addison was entirely unsurprised that the street-seasoned veteran cop had made the logic leap. Still, she asked, “What makes you say that?”

“Aside from the fact that Intelligence doesn’t respond to simple assault calls when there are no dead bodies involved?” Dade asked. When Addison gave up a fair enough dip of her chin, Dade said, “Something about Bishop seems off. According to the one witness who saw the fight start, Bishop was standing in front of the building, loitering and texting, almost like he was waiting for something, then Dempsey came out a minute later and took a swing.”

Finally. Finally, some leverage. “So, you think Bishop baited him, somehow?”

“What I don’t think is that he was just minding his own business, like he claims,” Dade said. “The witness also said she overheard Dempsey yelling about Bishop stalking his sister. It feels a little more complicated than Bishop having been attacked for no reason.”

At the mention of Chloe, Addison said, “Thanks, Dade. Maxwell and I will take it from here. Can you do me a favor, though? Chloe Ferguson is Dempsey’s sister. She lives in apartment 16A.” She nodded up at the building. “She’s leveraged a couple of complaints against Bishop. Can you head up and sit with her until I can sort through all of this and talk to her myself? She’s pretty freaked out.”

Dade must have sensed what an understatement it was, because understanding flashed over her face. “Of course. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

“I’ll text her to let her know you’re on the way.” Chloe probably wouldn’t go near the door unless Addison did, which was just the way Addison liked it. She sent a quick message to Chloe letting her know to expect Dade, waiting for Chloe to reply with an “okay” before thanking Dade and locking down her composure at the knowledge of what was next.

She had to talk to Ryan without murdering him, or—worse yet—throwing her arms around him with pure relief that he wasn’t stupidly, stupidly hurt.

Metering her heartbeat to the rhythm of her purposely even footsteps, Addison walked over to the spot where Xander stood beside Ryan, who was still clearly agitated, his body language throwing off no less than a dozen different translations of “f**k this.” His knuckles were scuffed and bruised, a superficial cut marking the outer curve of one cheekbone, and the reminder of just how pear-shaped this could’ve gone brought Addison’s own anger to the surface.

“Matthews.” She nodded at Xander, who took one look at her and simply stepped back in deference as she shot a look at Ryan and said, “Start talking. Right now.”

He didn’t dispense with a single pleasantry. “This is bullshit, Addison! He was watching her. Then, he texted her to let her know it! I don’t know how he got her new number, but he’s messing with her head on purpose, the sick f**k. He’s lucky those guys broke things up when they did, because seriously, I—”

Addison lifted a hand, watching Ryan’s eyes go wide, then wary. “Walk it back, Ryan. I need you to calm down and tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

He huffed out a breath. “Chloe and I were in her apartment. She got a text from an unknown number saying how nice it was to see her at the park, then another one talking about what she was wearing. He described her sweater. It was obviously Bishop.”

Son of a bitch. She was going to have to get Capelli to trace those texts immediately, because there was a zero-point-zero percent chance that Bishop was dumb enough to let her see his phone without a warrant and she had no probable cause to make him fork the damn thing over. “So you knew he had to be nearby, watching her.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, jamming a hand through his hair. “Chloe got really scared, even worse than before, and I just…I snapped. I told her to lock herself into the apartment and call you, and I came down here. Bishop was just standing on the sidewalk, the smug little shit, like he’d been waiting for me.”

Unease clamped Addison’s rib cage like a vise. Bishop was clearly stalking Chloe, and he was also just as clearly smart about it. If he’d baited Ryan into attacking him, then played the victim, it created even more reasonable doubt than he’d had yesterday, making it look like this was some sort of unjust vendetta of a hotheaded older brother. “Then, what happened?”

“I asked him what the f**k he thought he was doing, stalking Chloe. Watching her.” Ryan’s jaw locked, a muscle twitching beneath the suggestion of dark stubble there. “He said he had no idea what I was talking about, but then”—Ryan broke off, his expression pure anger—“the bastard lifted his phone and smiled at me.”

“Whoa,” Xander breathed, lifting both palms in apology a second later. “Sorry. But that’s pretty diabolical. No wonder you tried to turn the guy into finger paint.”

Addison frowned at both of them. “What happened, then?” she asked, although she was pretty sure she knew how the rest had shaken out.

“I lost my temper,” Ryan said. “I took a swing, he sort of swung back, and…well, I guess you know the rest.”

Oh, she knew the rest, all right. She just had no idea how to make it work in Chloe’s favor. “Okay. I need to go talk to Bishop and see if he wants to press charges.”

“Wait, what?” Ryan asked, his chin whipping upward. “He’s stalking Chloe, Addison. For Chrissake, he described exactly what she was wearing. He’s terrorizing her, and he gets to press charges against me for protecting her? Are you f*****g kidding me with this?”

All the calm that Addison had meticulously built on her way over here receded like a wave rushing back to the ocean, leaving the once-covered shoreline exposed and bare. “No, Ryan. I’m not kidding. I asked you for one thing—one thing—and that was to let me handle things if Bishop showed up.”

“I know, but—”

“There isn’t room for but, Ryan.” She stepped forward, anger replacing the calm she’d cultivated and the fear she’d packed away. “I know it’s hard to see Chloe so upset, and I know you want to protect her, but she was inside, behind a locked door. You’re the one who went barreling out of the building, you’re the one who instigated the physical altercation.”

“Because he’s stalking her!” Ryan said, making Addison’s frustration surge again.

“It still jeopardizes the case! If Bishop presses charges, any judge who looks at a request for a protective order won’t just see iffy proof of harassment. They’ll also see an older brother who was far too quick to assault the accused, who—oh, by the way—didn’t really fight back.”

“That was probably on purpose because he knew people were watching,” Ryan argued. “Besides which, he taunted me.”

Addison’s short laugh in response held none of her trademark happiness. “And a thousand bucks says that while every single one of those witnesses saw you throwing haymakers and him just defending himself, no one heard him bait you. He is smart, Ryan. He’s calculating. And he’s using your temper to his advantage.”

“But—”

Whether it was all the emotion she’d been trying to squash down finally boiling over, or her sheer frustration of trying to get even a tiny break in this case, Addison couldn’t be sure. But the tether that always, always kept her anchored to her calm snapped in half, her feelings pushing her into a freefall.

“No. I don’t have any more room for your freelancing.” She moved in front of him, locking her gaze over his as she got close enough to see his pupils flare. “I took you at your word when you said you trusted me, but I should have known better than to think you could keep your recklessness in check. If this case tanks because of your actions tonight, it will be your fault, yes. But it will still be my responsibility. So, please, save all your arguments and justifications and anything else that would probably be used against you in court right now, and let me try to salvage this.”

Turning to Xander, whose jaw had unhinged in surprise, she didn’t even bother to check the anger in her voice as she said, “If he so much as says a goddamned word, arrest him.”

And then, she walked away.