The Rogue
Chapter 3

Addison pulled into the parking lot behind the Thirty-Third precinct as if it were home, sweet home. Which, she supposed it was. She’d never felt all warm and fuzzy about her apartment, and she sure as hell didn’t have a giant, Brady-Bunch-style family like Chloe and Ryan. But from the minute she’d set foot in the Thirty-Third as a bright-eyed and eager-to-please patrol rookie, Addison had felt a sort of rightness she’d never felt before. She belonged here, with her unit-mates.

Being married to her job was just fine by her. After all, she wasn’t ever going to get married to a person.

She’d rather get shot at for a living than take a risk like that.

Getting out of the Dodge Charger that she and Maxwell shared custody of whenever they were on the clock, Addison made her way back inside the precinct. Digging into Myles Bishop would probably take her a couple of hours. But after nearly five years in Intelligence and three on patrol before that, she knew what real fear looked like. She knew how it acted, and she knew how it felt in her own veins.

Chloe had been scared of this guy. Which meant Addison would work as late as she needed in order to figure out what Myles Bishop was up to. Even if it was nothing nefarious. And even if Ryan was being a tremendous pain in the a*ss over it.

Make that a tremendously hot, tremendously se*xy pain in the a*ss. One who possessed a glorious a*ss of his own, perfect for grabbing hold of as he thrust between her legs just hard enough to make her—

“That’s enough,” Addison warned herself, her cheeks (and a few other parts she didn’t want to contemplate) warming enough to make her forget the late-February chill in the air. So she and Ryan had shared a night loaded with the best se*x she’d ever had, and maybe she was having a hard time shaking the memory of it. He was still a potential problem with her case, riling his sister up and wanting Myles strung up by his toes immediately, if not sooner. Addison was going to have to keep Ryan in line as she investigated, and that meant squashing all those dirty thoughts of the night they’d spent together, once and for all.

She made it to the desk sergeant’s station, where patrol cop Xander Matthews stood next to his live-in girlfriend-slash ADA, Tara Kingston.

“Hey, Hale,” Xander said, his dark brows lifting as his eyes flicked over the clock above the counter-sized desk. “You’re here kind of late, huh?”

“Back atcha.” She grinned, pausing to say hello to Tara. “I caught a case on my way out, a little while ago, and now I’m back to do some digging.”

Xander’s eyes sparked with interest. “Anything good?”

“I’m not sure yet, but it is a little close to home.” Addison proceeded to lay out the details of Chloe’s complaint, including the fact that she was Ryan’s sister. The cops at the Thirty-Third and the firefighters and first responders at Seventeen hung out enough that both Xander and Tara knew Ryan fairly well, and Tara shook her head in concern.

“God, that’s rough. It’s shockingly hard to prosecute stalkers unless there’s been a clear, documented threat or an overt act of violence.”

“That’s pretty backward,” Xander said, his frown indicating exactly how he felt about that little truth bomb. “By then, it’s too late.”

Nope. Not on Addison’s watch. “And that is exactly why I’m going to roll up my sleeves and check this out so I can keep Chloe safe.”

“Want some help?” Xander asked, sending a pang of surprise through Addison’s chest.

“You want to spend your evening on a case?”

Xander’s mouth hooked into a smile. “Well, I want to spend the evening with my freaking awesome girlfriend. But it sounds like you could use the help, and if a couple hours of my life will make a difference in keeping Chloe safe, then yeah. I’m happy to stick around. It’s Dempsey’s sister.”

Having help, especially from someone as sharp as Xander, would honestly be a boon. Not to mention, it would make a face-to-face with Myles possible if Addison had backup. Knocking on the guy’s door without another cop by her side was against protocol, never mind also being potentially dangerous. “I’m not going to say no to that.”

“I could use a night to catch up on work, myself,” Tara said. Turning to Xander, she arched a copper-colored brow. “And you are the very best man I know. I’ll see you later.”

“Text me when you get home,” Xander said, clearly fighting off the urge to go full-on PDA and k!ss Tara goodbye.

Something odd pinged around in Addison’s rib cage, but she fought it off with a cheeky grin. “You guys are so cute. Like, not even kittens and puppies can compete with you. For real.”

Xander gave up an aw-shucks smile that made the whole thing even cuter. “Come on. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Mmmm. Okay, Officer Adorbs.”

They both said goodnight to Tara one last time before heading up to the Intelligence Unit’s main office. The room was one large, high-ceilinged square filled with several groups of desks clustered together into workstations, the largest of which spanned an entire wall of the office opposite a bank of windows. To be fair, that one belonged to Capelli, who did all sorts of techie things that blew Addison’s mind on the daily. It also had an expansive six-monitor array above it where the unit posted all the key information on any given case, so no great shock that it commanded the most real estate.

For now, she’d start small, just to get her head around this one. “Okay,” she said, parking herself at her desk as Xander sat in the workspace next to her. It had been Frankie’s spot when she’d worked with them on the Beck case a couple of months ago, but ever since they’d wrapped that one up, it had been a basic repository for both Addison’s and Maxwell’s overflow. Not that Xander seemed to mind. “Let’s start with a little background on Myles Bishop so we can see what we’re dealing with, here. I’ll check him for priors and LKA, if you want to take work history and social media,” Addison offered.

“Deal.”

Half an hour later, they’d learned way less than Addison had hoped for. “So, no priors, no red flags—not even a parking ticket—but also not a lot to sift through,” she said. On the one hand, it was encouraging that Myles didn’t have a list of violent priors as long as Addison’s leg. On the other, it didn’t give her much to go by.

Xander shook his head, diving in with precision. “No. Myles Bishop, thirty years old.” He clicked his way through a couple of screens on his desktop computer. “Moved here about a year ago from Jacksonville. The Florida DMV has a former address—692 Palmside Way—but I couldn’t replace a whole lot else. Seems like a pretty private guy. Right now, he’s renting a place over on Cantrell Street in Fireside Park.”

“Nondescript part of the city, not bad but not super upscale,” Addison murmured, her brain turning over thoughts like stones, poking at what might be beneath. “Not a surprise for a single, thirty-year-old guy.”

“And he is definitely single,” Xander continued. “Never been married. Works in the IT department at Porter Consulting.” Xander gestured to the website on his monitor. “Best I can tell, he’s a programmer of some kind. His position is remote, though. The company is based in Tennessee.”

Addison looked at the DMV photo on Xander’s monitor. Myles looked average in every aspect of the word, the sort of guy you’d mentally catalogue as white, medium build, maybe five-ten, brown hair, then promptly forget you’d ever seen.

Although it left a vaguely rotten taste in her mouth, Addison played Devil’s Advocate. “So, this guy has no history of violence and no complaints against him. Internet searches come back clean. He has no social media accounts other than the one he used to follow Chloe, which is, unfortunately, set to private.”

“Does that feel weird to you?” Xander asked.

“It feels private,” Addison countered. “Which, given how loosey-goosey most people are with their personal information in this day and age, is unusual, but not necessarily weird in a bad way. I mean, Capelli is the same, and he’s always cautioning us about the dangers of posting personal information online, even if it seems harmless.”

“Okay, but it’s not necessarily good, either, though. Capelli is a former hacker-turned-surveillance expert. He’s probably the exception. Most people who don’t have much of a footprint are hiding something,” Xander said, and oh, yeah, he was going to make a freaking fantastic detective one day.

“That may be true. But you know the deal. When you hear hoofbeats…”

“Think horses, not zebras,” Xander finished.

Addison nodded, pointing to the monitor. “Exactly. Yes, Myles Bishop could be private because he’s hiding something. But he could also be private for the same reason that Capelli is: namely, he doesn’t want the whole world to have access to what he ate for lunch, or—more importantly—that he ate it at the new Asian fusion place a few blocks over.”

Reality was, Myles could be a guy who had simply overstepped his boundaries a little. There were plenty of douchebags in the city. Lord knew Addison had firsthand knowledge of that from swimming in the dating pool, herself. Chances were high that once Chloe rebuffed Myles firmly and made it clear she wasn’t interested, he’d take the hint and move on.

“Okay,” Xander said, tilting his head in acknowledgment. “So, what do we do now?”

Resolve swirled in Addison’s chest. Could Myles be some run-of-the-mill cretin who had mistaken Chloe’s niceties for interest? Sure. But Addison hadn’t just seen the fear in Chloe’s eyes. She’d recognized it. Understood it on a level that very few people did. She knew that fear, and it was her job to keep people like Chloe safe—not to mention, people like Ryan reassured—so she said, “Now, we go out to Fireside Park and have a little chat with Mr. Bishop about boundaries. No matter his intent, Chloe felt threatened, and I’m not about to let that slide.”

Grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair, Addison fell into step with Xander, both of them making their way downstairs, then out to the Charger. She called their intended destination in to dispatch, per protocol, pulling out of the parking lot and into the now-light city traffic, heading toward Myles’s place.

“So, ah, thanks for letting me tag along,” Xander said. “I really appreciate it.”

Addison laughed. “News flash. So do I. I wouldn’t be able to do this visit solo, and I know you’re good for the backup.”

“That actually means a lot to me, so…you know, thanks.”

The quietness of his response tagged up with the sincerity in his voice, and reality hit Addison like a great, big duh sandwich. “You’re finishing up your assignment with Dade soon, aren’t you?”

Lucinda Dade was one of the best veteran patrol cops in the entire RPD. She paired up with rookies to teach them the ropes, but those partnerships only lasted until the rookie in question was ready to leave the nest.

“Yeah.” Xander nodded, looking out the passenger window as the city zipped by. “She said she’s pretty sure I’ll be okay without her.”

Addison grinned. “That sounds like something she’d say.”

“It’s a direct quote,” Xander said, half-smiling himself.

“Have you thought about where you want to go from here?” Addison asked, and Xander waited a few beats before answering.

“I have a couple of options. I’m enrolled in the online bachelor’s program at Remington University, majoring in criminal justice.”

Her brows lifted. While it wasn’t strictly necessary to have a bachelor’s degree in a police-related specialty if you wanted to move up the career ladder, it sure as hell didn’t hurt. “So, you’re thinking of becoming a detective, at some point?”

Xander nodded, then took a noticeable breath. “Yeah. Specifically, um, an Intelligence detective, actually. I mean, I know it’s a long way off, and I’d have to earn it,” he scrambled to add, and aw, he was so endearing for a big, tough guy that Addison couldn’t even mess with him.

“I think you’d be a great Intelligence detective,” she said.

Xander’s relief was palpable. “You do?”

“We might have to work on your confidence, like this much”—she kept one hand steady on the wheel as she lifted the other, her thumb and forefinger an inch apart—“but yeah. Of course. I’ve thought so ever since you helped us on the Sansone case last year.”

God, that case. Tara had been in grave danger, and even then, Xander had kept his cool. “Thanks,” he said. “That means a lot to me. In a non-a*ss k!ssing kind of way.”

Addison laughed. “You’re welcome, in a non-patronizing kind of way. Why don’t we get in a little practice? How would you run this visit to Myles Bishop if you were taking point?”

Xander dove in without hesitation. Talking through all the variables and possibilities kept Addison’s mind from wandering to a certain se*xy firefighter, and by the time they pulled to a stop in front of Bishop’s apartment building, she was alert and ready for answers.

“Looks pretty quiet,” she said, taking in their surroundings as Xander called in their arrival and they got out of the Charger. The building was nondescript, one of probably three dozen just like it dotted just outside of downtown Remington, all owned and managed by large rental companies.

“It does,” Xander agreed. He still did a careful visual sweep, Addison noticed, and yeah, she was glad to have him along for the hey-how-are-ya.

“Okay. Bishop lives in apartment 24D.” They made their way past the glass double doors that served as the main entryway to the lobby, taking in the cookie-cutter hallway lined with locked mailboxes. Addison scanned the resident directory, replaceing the call button for Bishop’s apartment easily enough. Ten seconds passed after she’d given it a firm push, and when a second go yielded the same result, she considered her options.

“Oh!” came a voice from beside her. “Are you waiting for someone to buzz you in?”

“We are,” Xander said, turning toward the redhead who’d asked the question. “Myles Bishop. He’s in 24D. Do you know him?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t. I’m only a couple doors down—24A.” She pointed to herself and smiled. “But he keeps to himself. Are you friends of his?”

In the interest of disclosure (and also because she didn’t particularly love when Sergeant Sinclair chewed her out for bending the rules), Addison said, “Actually, we’re with the Remington PD.” She flashed her badge, waiting for Xander to do the same before adding, “We just had a couple of questions for Myles.”

“Strictly procedure,” Xander said, his smile offsetting the redhead’s wide-eyed shock. “To be honest, we were hoping he could help us out with something, but he’s not answering the buzzer.”

“Oh.” The woman divided a look of concern between Xander and Addison. “Well, I could let you up, if you want. I mean, if you think it’ll help. Or if you want to leave him a note under his door, maybe?”

“That would be great,” Addison said. Bishop might not be home, in which case, they’d be back at square one. But he seemed like a pretty private guy. The kind who would, say, ignore his buzzer if he wasn’t expecting anyone. If Addison had a shot at talking to him tonight—even a long shot—she had to take it.

The last thing she wanted was to have to tell Ryan she hadn’t gotten anywhere tonight. God only knew what he’d say. Or worse, do.

Falling into step with Xander, they made their way through the lobby, then up to the second floor. Addison noted the security camera in the elevator, along with the absence of any others in the corridor or over the stairwell.

“Thanks so much,” Xander said to the redhead, smartly waiting for her to go inside her own apartment and shut the door before turning to Addison.

“Here goes nothing,” she murmured under her breath, knocking firmly on the door marked 24D. “Myles Bishop? RPD. Please open the door.”

She counted her heartbeats, measuring her breaths evenly to keep both perfectly in check.

Nothing.

She knocked again, loudly enough that he wouldn’t be able to miss it if he were home. “Mr. Bishop, are you there?”

After another round of total silence, Xander tipped his head toward the door. “Looks like he’s not home.”

“Yeah,” Addison said. Logic dictated that there were a million reasonable places Myles could be, and she knew far better than to jump to a conclusion of wrongdoing with no evidence to support it. Innocent until proven guilty had to be her barometer, and there were always two sides to every story.

Even if this whole thing was starting to feel just the tiniest bit off.

“Well, shit,” she said, giving the door one last look before turning on her boot heels to head for the elevator.

“So, what now?” Xander asked.

“Now we go back to square one until we can track this guy down.”

But first, she had to tell Ryan she’d come up empty, then hope she could keep him from losing his shit long enough for her to figure out what the hell was going on.