The Rogue
Chapter 5

Ninety minutes, one workout, and a lightning-fast shower later, Addison’s head was back in the game. Her Tae Kwon Do forms always allowed her to focus (not to mention, kicking her a*ss on the regular), the deliberate, familiar movements bringing a sense of calm to any negative energy she might tangle with.

But not to se*xual tension so thick, you could bite it like an apple, sing-songed her l!bido, and ugh, that did it. She was going to put an end to this se*x drought—and the flashbacks of all the magical things Ryan could do with his tongue—as soon as she got off shift tonight.

Tugging open the door to the Thirty-Third Precinct’s main entrance, Addison gave the desk sergeant a badge-swipe and a big ol’ smile, then headed up to the Intelligence Unit’s office on the second floor. While b***d-relative family had always signaled a hellscape for her, the relationship she shared with her unit-mates was a decidedly different beast. Every single one of them had proven time and again that they’d have her back no matter what, and they trusted her implicitly to have theirs when their lives were literally on the line. Addison didn’t take that lightly—in fact, as far as she was concerned, that fundamental trust was everything.

After all, her unit-mates never got mad and broke her arm. They never told her she was worthless or weak. A runt. And they damn sure never wrapped their fingers around her mother’s neck with the full intent of squeezing the life out of her.

So, yeah. Her fellow cops at the Thirty-Third? They were definitely more family than her b***d relatives had ever been.

Addison took a deep breath, then stuffed the thought into its hidey-hole in her chest, where it belonged. It was time to kill this day with kindness, once and for all. “Good morning, beautiful people,” she said, slipping into the shiny, happy demeanor she wore like a shield. Detectives Isabella Walker and Liam Hollister were already camped out at their desks, both up to their elbows in paperwork, and Capelli slid his headset off to give her a nod. Maxwell sat at his side of their perennially untidy workstation, looking up as Addison approached.

“It is a good morning, isn’t it?” he said, his grin roughly the size of Detroit, and she stopped short in the middle of the linoleum.

“Who are you and what have you done with my partner?” she demanded.

Things only got weirder as Maxwell laughed. “What? I’m not allowed to be happy?”

“Is this a trick question?” Addison’s eyes narrowed, her suspicion pinging further when Detective Matteo Garza laughed, too.

“You might want to get used to it,” Garza said to Maxwell with a shrug. “I still get it all the time.”

“Get what? What is going on with you two?” Addison asked.

“Not me.” Garza lifted his hands in innocence. “Not this time. This one is all on your partner.”

“Maxwell, you haven’t told her yet?” Isabella asked, and Hollister, who acted as her partner far more often than not, let go of a laugh.

“You didn’t tell me first when you did it, you know,” he said.

Addison counted to three and tried not to murder the whole damn lot of them. “For the love of God and before I scream. Did what?”

Maxwell shook his head and ended the suspense. “Frankie and I got engaged last night.”

Jaw, meet floor. “Holy shit,” Addison blurted, clapping her hands over her mouth for only a second before adding, “Are you serious?”

Maxwell nodded, the big oaf, and Addison didn’t even think twice about completely invading his personal space to give him a tackle-hug. “Gah, I knew it!” she said, grinning right back at him. “I’m so freaking happy for you two.”

“Thanks. I know it’s kind of shaking out fast, but we’ve lost a lot of time together already, and there’s no doubt in my mind that Frankie’s forever, you know?”

Something odd plucked at Addison’s rib cage, disappearing before she could fully identify it. “Wow. First Garza and Delia, now you and Frankie. Is everyone getting hitched around here, or what?”

“I’m not,” Capelli volunteered. “I mean, Shae and I have talked about it, but…”

“You have?” Isabella asked, her brows-up expression matching everyone else’s, including Addison’s.

Capelli pushed his dark-rimmed glasses over his nose with a nod. “Of course. We’ve been together for nearly as long as you and Kellan,” he pointed out, and of course, he’d lead with a quantifiable statistic. So Capelli. “But we’re really happy doing what we’re doing. We don’t feel a particular urge to change that, simply for the sake of making our relationship legally official, and neither one of us wants children. Therefore, getting married just doesn’t feel logical, even though we know we’ll always be together.”

After a beat, Garza said, “That makes perfect sense.”

“Doing what works for you is the most important thing, dude,” Hollister agreed.

Addison nodded. “Really. You and Shae are the real deal, ring or no ring. I’d even put your initials in a heart on my notebook in pen.”

The weird feeling in her chest rebounded like an echo, leaving her to wonder what the hell. Relationships might not be her thing, but she’d always been genuinely happy for her friends when they’d found partners. She had a job she loved, one that kept her busy AF, not to mention, super fulfilled. She had semi-regular, attachment-free s*ex, which was just the way she liked it. So, this emotional heartburn she was feeling right now? Definitely weird.

Maxwell cleared his throat, bringing Addison back to the moment. “Hey, not to change the subject, but I meant to ask. How did that call go last night? Anything there?”

Addison nodded gratefully, although she was certain there was a not-small amount of irony in the fact that she’d rather talk about a potential felony than love, sweet love. “Yeah, actually. It’s a bit of a weird one.”

Her sergeant, Sam Sinclair, walked into the Intelligence office in a living embodiment of perfect timing. “Hale. Heard you caught the complaint that was called in last night. You want to give us a rundown?”

“Absolutely.” She sent the file that she and Xander had started last night to Capelli, although it didn’t take her more than a couple of breaths to get through a summary. “Chloe Ferguson, twenty-five, called in a harassment complaint.”

An image of a much happier Chloe, pulled from her Instagram page, flashed over the center screen of the case board, courtesy of Capelli, and Addison’s chest tightened at how different the younger woman had looked last night.

She pushed past it, forcing herself to focus. “She claims Myles Bishop, thirty, whom she knows casually but not romantically, showed up at her apartment without invitation three nights ago. He bypassed the security doors and was waiting for her outside her apartment when she arrived home from work.”

“Not okay,” Hollister said, frowning at the driver’s license photo of Bishop that Capelli had just posted beside Chloe’s.

“But also, not necessarily illegal,” Sinclair said, playing Devil’s Advocate.

Addison shook her head, her ponytail brushing her shoulders. “Chloe didn’t tell him where she lives, so it was definitely a bold move, but no. Not illegal. Last night, however, things escalated.”

She filled them in on Chloe’s claim that Bishop had followed her, glaring threateningly enough to scare her into calling Ryan and Ryan into calling the police, and the scant background information she and Xander had dug up on Bishop before their visit that had been all knock, no talk. “So, all I could replace after a quick background check were the basics. No red flags, but nothing really personal, either.”

Addison covered Bishop’s lack of a criminal record, current address, and employment history. “I’d like to take another run at him today, try to get a bead on him and how he responds to Chloe’s complaint, then go from there. She was genuinely scared. I think it warrants more digging, for sure.”

Sinclair lifted his chin in a nod. “Take Maxwell. In the meantime, Isabella, you and Hollister pull whatever street cam footage you can replace from Chloe’s route home last night. Garza and Capelli, you take the security film from her apartment three nights ago. Let’s see if we can definitively place Bishop in both places. We’re going to need proof to get a protective order and possibly pursue charges.”

He paused to give the team a serious stare. “We take all cases seriously, but the firefighters at Seventeen are family. Dempsey’s one of ours, which means we don’t rest until his sister is safe. Let’s go.”

“Copy that,” Maxwell said, and everyone else nodded in unison.

Addison thought of Ryan’s vow to protect Chloe no matter the cost, the memory of his parting stare from this morning sending a little shiver over her before she brushed it aside and gave Maxwell a smile. “Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

They headed downstairs, with Addison swiping the keys to the Charger and Maxwell still in such a good mood that he didn’t even bitch about it. Morning traffic had started to ease, and Addison retraced the steps she’d taken with Xander last night, heading away from downtown Remington and toward Fireside Park.

“Bishop works remotely, so we have a pretty good chance of catching him at home this time,” Addison said.

Maxwell tilted his head as he scanned their surroundings through the passenger window. “I take it you want point.”

“We can start that way,” she said. The truth was, this visit had the potential to shake out in two very different directions. Bishop would either play nicely or he wouldn’t. There were benefits and drawbacks to both scenarios—every reaction told a story, even the defensive ones. But she and Maxwell had done this dance so many times that they had it down to an art form. If Bishop didn’t respond well to Addison, they could pivot.

“You got it,” Maxwell said. A few minutes later, Addison parked in front of the nondescript apartment building, taking a few seconds to call in their location to dispatch before getting out of the car and falling into step beside Maxwell. Daylight didn’t do much for the building, which was still a cookie-cutter apartment complex just like bunches of others in this part of the city. Still, it was in a decent, if not particularly charming, neighborhood.

Addison led the way to the lobby, replaceing the buzzer for Bishop’s apartment and giving it a firm push.

To her surprise, a male voice replied. “May I help you?”

“Good morning,” she said. “My name is Detective Addison Hale. Is this Myles Bishop?”

A pause. Then, “Yes. Is something wrong?”

Yeah. She wasn’t touching that one. “Just a few questions for you. Is it okay if I come up?”

The door leading farther into the lobby buzzed open in response, and cue up more surprise. Easy calls were about as existent as glitter-encrusted unicorns, though, so she kept her head on a swivel as she and Maxwell headed into the elevator.

“Guess he’s going to play nice,” Maxwell said, and a smile tugged at the corners of Addison’s mouth.

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” she murmured. “Anyway, things could change once we ask him about Chloe.”

Maxwell nodded his agreement. She watched him take note of the security cameras and the layout of the lobby, including all the exits—you never did know when you’d get a runner—just as she had last night, and did again now. The second-floor hallway was quiet, and Addison gave Maxwell a fast, furtive glance, waiting for his microscopic nod before knocking on Bishop’s door.

“Mr. Bishop? It’s Detective Hale,” she said. Her pulse danced faster, adrenaline doing its familiar slide through her body as her brain doled out instinctive responses to keep it in check. Breathe in, two, three, breathe out, two, three, four, five.

The door swung open, a man matching the driver’s license photo posted on their case board giving her a polite smile. “Hi,” he said, the word half-question, half-confusion as he looked from her to Maxwell. He didn’t budge from his spot in the doorway, though, which meant she was going to have to work for it.

“Mr. Bishop. This is my partner, Detective Shawn Maxwell. We’re investigating a harassment complaint. We’d like to ask you a couple of questions. Can we come in?”

Bishop’s confusion turned into an apologetic smile. “I was actually just on my way out. Would it be okay if we talk on my way downstairs?”

Addison’s radar twanged out a warning, but she smoothed over it with a smile. “We only need a minute of your time,” she tried, but he was already stepping out, locking the door behind him.

“Of course. Although I’m not sure how I can help you.”

He started down the hallway, but both Addison and Maxwell remained planted on the carpet, forcing Bishop to turn back around. No way were they going to conduct an interview in a non-controlled environment, much less one that their person of interest dictated. They couldn’t make him let them into his apartment, but they could sure as hell pin him to one place while they questioned him.

“We can talk right here,” Maxwell said. A flash of annoyance rippled through Bishop’s eyes, so fast that Addison would have missed it if she wasn’t examining him like a science project, but he covered it quickly and well.

“Sure, I guess. What can I do for you?”

“Do you know a Chloe Ferguson?” she asked, taking in every ounce of the concern moving through his expression.

“Yes. She works at the bakery where I sometimes grab breakfast. Is she alright?”

“When was the last time you saw her?” Maxwell asked without preamble. A tiny muscle in Bishop’s jaw went tight, and he kept his focus on Addison as he answered.

“Three, maybe four days ago? Please, can you tell me if she’s okay? She’s such a sweet woman. Did something happen to her?”

“Don’t worry. Chloe isn’t hurt,” Addison said with a reassuring smile to balance out Maxwell’s gruffness. “Can you tell us about the last time you saw her?”

Bishop paused in thought. “It must have been Monday.”

The night of the flowers.“Do you remember when and where?” she pressed.

“Of course.” He smiled. “Chloe had told me she had a really difficult assignment due this week in one of her classes. She seemed really stressed out about it. So I stopped by her apartment to cheer her up. It must have been six, maybe six thirty in the evening.”

“Did she invite you?” Maxwell asked, but Bishop didn’t skip a beat.

“I wanted to surprise her,” he said, lifting his hands almost shyly. “Truth be told, we’ve been flirting for the past month. The attraction is mutual.”

“Even though she didn’t tell you where she lived,” Maxwell said.

Bishop remained unruffled. God, he even smiled. “Well, no, but like I said, I wanted to surprise her. She didn’t seem to mind that I stopped by.”

This guy was either an excellent liar or galactically impervious to social cues. Regardless, it was time to cut to the chase. “Yeah, see, here’s the thing, Mr. Bishop. That’s not what she told us.”

“What?” Bishop’s eyes went wide. “Wait. Is…is Chloe claiming that I harassed her?”

“Showing up on her doorstep uninvited when she hasn’t given you her address or her phone number is pretty ballsy, don’t you think?” Maxwell countered. “I mean, you two aren’t even dating.”

Bishop’s expression remained entirely neutral in the face of Maxwell’s grumpy-cop routine, but he angled himself toward Addison as he answered. “Look, she’s always friendly whenever I see her. Smiling. Flirting with me. You can ask anyone at the bakery. I had no reason to think she wasn’t interested.”

“Even so, you bypassed the security doors downstairs to wait for her right here, by her door,” Addison said. “It is pretty forward.”

“I only did that because Chloe wasn’t home,” Bishop said easily. Man, he had an answer for everything. “I was going to wait for her outside, but it was freezing that night. One of the other tenants felt bad when she saw me standing there in the cold and buzzed me in, but I didn’t mean to scare Chloe. I’d certainly never harass her. I was simply responding to her encouragement.”

Addison fought the urge to roll her eyes. This guy was thick as a brick. Unfortunately, his story still fit neatly into the total misunderstanding category.

She looked at him, holding on to their eye contact until it was borderline uncomfortable, before she smiled and calmly asked, “Where were you last night from six to eight PM?”

“Last night?” Bishop shook his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I was here.”

“So, you didn’t see Chloe last night at all?” Maxwell asked.

“That’s what I said,” Bishop replied crisply, and oh, hell.

Maxwell’s dark brows lifted toward the shadow of his nearly shaved hairline. “It’s actually not what you said.”

Bishop stole a quick glance at Maxwell’s hulking frame and f**k-with-me-and-regret-it stare, smartly dialing things down. “I apologize,” he said, stepping back in the narrow hallway. “I’m just taken aback by this whole thing. No, I didn’t see Chloe last night. I worked online until about eight, then I went out to get a late dinner.”

“Where?” Maxwell asked.

“The Italian place about four blocks over. I’m sorry, why is this relevant?”

Addison measured her words with care, watching for their impact as she said, “Because she told us that you followed her home from her class last night, and that you were acting in a threatening manner.”

“That’s impossible,” Bishop said dismissively. “I was working.”

“Okay. Did you interact with anyone online? A co-worker? Your boss? Anyone who can verify that?” Addison asked.

Bishop stayed silent for a minute, which Addison thought was a point in their favor until he spoke. “Look. I feel badly that Chloe misunderstood my intentions the other night at her place. I really do. But I didn’t follow her anywhere, and I didn’t threaten her.”

“She claims that you did,” Maxwell pointed out. “Are you saying she’s lying?”

“I’m saying she must be mistaken,” Bishop said, and was he kidding? Now, he was going to gaslight Chloe when she wasn’t even there? “It was dark out, right? Whoever was following her might have just looked like me—there must be thousands of people in the city with a similar build. Or maybe she just thought someone was following her and it was another misunderstanding on her part. I don’t really know. But unless you’ve got proof that it was ‘me’”—he hooked air quotes around the word—“I think we may be done, here.”

Damnit! As much as Addison hated it, everything he’d said was plausible. They certainly had no reason to keep him, much less arrest him. Not yet, anyway.

“Thanks for your time,” she said, putting all of her effort into clamping down on the “you smarmy a*sshat” that her brain desperately wanted to tack on.

Bishop gave her a tight smile, ignoring Maxwell completely as he turned to walk away.

Maxwell—being Maxwell—waited until he got three strides down the hallway before he said, “You might want to do yourself a favor and stay away from Sweetie Pies.”

Bishop’s shoulders hitched, his movements jerking to a halt so quickly that adrenaline speared through Addison’s system.

But when he turned to face them, that charming smile was right back in place. “I live awfully close to the bakery, Detective. I understand that you want me to stay away from Chloe, but as for being in the area, well. If I live here and she works here, I can’t make any guarantees that she and I won’t accidentally cross paths, now can I?”

With that, he sauntered away.