The Line of Duty

Autor:in

Nichole Severn

Gelesen

19,5K

Kapitel

Autor:in

Nichole Severn

Gelesen

19,5K

Kapitel

🏰 Historical 🏙️ Contemporary

Chapter One

He had a lead.

The partial fingerprint he’d lifted from the murder scene hadn’t been a partial at all, but evidence of a severe burn on the owner’s index finger that altered the print. He hadn’t been able to get an ID with so few markers to compare before leaving New York City a year ago. But now, Blackhawk Security forensic expert Vincent Kalani finally had a chance to bring down a killer.

He hauled his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. He had to get back to New York, convince his former commanding officer to reopen the case. His muscles burned under the weight as he ducked beneath the small passenger plane’s wing and climbed inside. Cold Alaskan air drove beneath his heavy coat, but catching sight of the second passenger already aboard chased back the chill.

“Shea Ramsey.” Long, curly dark hair slid over her shoulder as jade-green eyes widened in surprise. His entire body nearly gave in to the increased sense of gravity pulling at him had it not been for the paralysis working through his muscles. Officer Shea Ramsey had assisted Blackhawk Security with investigations in the past at the insistence of Anchorage’s chief of police, but her formfitting pair of jeans, T-shirt and zip-up hoodie announced she wasn’t here on business. Hell, she was a damn beautiful woman, an even better investigator and apparently headed to New York. Same as him. “Anchorage Police Department’s finest, indeed.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Shea shuffled her small backpack at her feet, crossing her arms over her midsection. The tendons between her shoulders and neck corded with tension as she stared out her side of the plane. No mistaking the bitterness in her voice. “Is Blackhawk following me now?”

“Should we be?” Blackhawk Security provided top-of-the-line security measures for their exclusive clientele, including cameras, body-heat sensors, motion detectors and more. Whatever their clients needed, Sullivan Bishop and his team delivered. Personal protection, network security, private investigating, logistical support to the US government and personal recovery. They even had their very own profiler on staff to aid the FBI with serial cases. The firm did it all. Vincent mainly headed the forensics division, but he’d take up any case with Shea’s involvement in a heartbeat. His gut tightened. Hard to ignore the quiet strength she’d kept close to the vest when they partnered together on these past few cases. It’d pulled him in, made him want to get to know her more, but she’d only met him—and every member of his team—with resentment. Not all Anchorage PD officers agreed with the partnership between the city and the most prestigious security firm in Alaska. Officer Ramsey led that charge.

He shoved his duffel into the cargo area as the pilot maneuvered into his seat. The small plane bounced with the movement. The cabin, he couldn’t help but notice, filled with her scent. “I’m not here on Blackhawk business. I’ve got...personal business to take care of in New York. You?”

“I have a life outside of the department.” She hadn’t turned to look at him, her knuckles white through the taut skin of her hands as she gripped the seat’s arms. The plane’s engine growled at the push of a button, rotors sending vibrations through the sardine can meant to get them halfway to New York in one piece before they switched to another aircraft to make the rest of the trip.

“You guys ready?” the pilot asked. “Here are your headsets.”

Hell, Shea was so tense as she took hers, she probably thought the wrong gust of wind could shoot them out of the sky. She closed her eyes, muscles working hard in her throat. The tarmac attendants removed the heavy rubber blocks from around the plane’s wheels, and they slowly rolled forward. Every muscle down her spine seemed to further tighten.

Something inside him felt for her, forced him to reach out to offer assurance. Vincent positioned the headset over his ears, then slid his hand on top of hers. Smooth skin caught on the calluses in his palms, and suddenly those green eyes were on him. In an instant, her fingers tangled with his. Heat exploded through him, the breath rushing out of his lungs as she gripped on to him as though her life depended on it.

Pressure built behind his sternum as the small passenger plane raced down the runway, then climbed higher into the sky. His back pressed into the soft leather seats, but his attention focused 100 percent on the woman beside him. On the way her skin remained stretched along her forearm revealing the map of veins below, on the unsteady rising and falling of her shoulders when she breathed. Snow-capped mountains disappeared below the windows, only reappearing as the plane leveled out high above the peaks mere minutes later. The pilot directed them toward the mountains, but the pressure hadn’t released from his rib cage. Not when Shea was still holding on to him so tightly. He raised his voice over the sound of the engine. “I’m going to need that hand back sooner or later.”

“Right. Sorry.” Shea released her grip, then wiped her palm down her thigh, running the same hand through her curly hair. Her voice barely registered above the noise around them. “You’d think five years on the job would give me a little more backbone when it came to planes.”

“There’s a difference between facing the bad guys and facing our fears.” His hand was still warm from where their skin had made contact, and he curled his fingers into his palm to hold on to it for as long as he could. “At least there was for me.”

She slid that beautiful gaze to his, the freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose and onto her cheeks more pronounced than a few minutes ago. “You were with NYPD’s forensics unit for nine years before you came out here, right? Can’t imagine there’s much that scares you anymore.”

She’d be surprised. Her words slowly sank in over the engine’s mid-frequency drone, and Vincent narrowed his attention. She’d looked into him. There was no way she could’ve known how long he’d worked forensics by simply searching for him on the internet. NYPD records weren’t public information. Which meant she’d used her access through federal databases. Out of curiosity? Or something else? His attention darted to his duffel bag. He’d booked a private passenger plane out of Merrill Field for a reason. The SIG SAUER P226 with twelve deadly rounds of ammo in the magazine was currently nestled in his bag. He’d worked with Officer Ramsey before. The background check the firm had run on her when Blackhawk had need of the department’s assistance on past investigations hadn’t connected her with anyone from his past. But what were the chances that she of all people had ended up on this flight? “Someone’s been doing their homework.”

“All of you Blackhawk Security types are the same. You take the law into your own hands and don’t care if you jeopardize the department’s cases. You run your own investigations, then expect officers like me to clean up your mess. You’re vigilantes, and you endanger the people in this city every time you step out of your downtown high-rise office. So, yes, I’ve done my homework. I like to know who I’m being forced to work with.” She pinned him to his seat with that green gaze, and the world disappeared around them. “And you...you were a cop. You used to have a conscience.”

Vincent clenched his back teeth against the fire exploding through him. He leaned into her, ensuring she couldn’t look away this time. “You have no idea—”

The plane jerked downward, throwing his heart into his throat. The engine choked, then started up again. He locked his attention out through the plane’s windshield. His pulse beat loudly behind his ears. The rotors were slowing, grinding. He shouldn’t have been able to track a single propeller if they were running at the right speed. Gripping one hand around his seat’s arm, he pressed his shoulders into the leather and shouted into his mic. “What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know.” The pilot shot his hand to the instrument panel. “We’re losing altitude fast, but all of the gauges check out.” Wrapping his hand around the plane’s handheld CB radio, the pilot raised his voice over the protests of the engine. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Merrill Field, this is Captain Reginald, a Robin DR400, Delta-Echo, Lima, Juliet, Golf, with total engine failure attempting forced landing. Last known position seven miles east of Anchorage; 1,500 feet heading ninety degrees.” Static filled their headsets. “Can anybody read me?” The pilot looked back at his passengers. “The controls aren’t responding! I’m going to have to try to put her down manually!”

Vincent pressed his hand to the window and searched the ridges and valleys below for a safe place they could land. Nothing but pure white snow and miles of mountains. Jagged peaks, trees. There was no way they’d survive a forced landing here. There were no safe places to land.

“No, no, no. No! This wasn’t supposed to happen.” The panic in Shea’s voice flooded his veins with ice. She grabbed her backpack off the floor from between her feet and clutched it to her chest. Fear showed brightly in her eyes a split second before she was thrown back in her seat. She clutched the window. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

The engine smoked, and the plane jerked again. Vincent slammed into the side door. Pain ricocheted through the side of his head, but he forced it to the back of his mind. They were losing altitude fast, and dizziness gripped him hard. They had to get the engine back up and running, or they were all going to die. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Double-checking his seat belt, Vincent locked on Shea’s terrified features. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The mountain directly outside her window edged closer. “Watch out!”

Metal met rock in an ear-piercing screech. The mountain cut into the side of the plane, taking the right wing, then caught on the back stabilizer and ripped off the tail end. Cold Alaska air rushed into the cabin as luggage and supplies vanished into the wilderness. The plane rocked to one side, the ground coming up to meet them faster than Vincent expected. He dug his fingers into the leather armrest, every muscle in his body tensed.

The pilot’s voice echoed through the cabin. “Brace for impact!”

He reached out for Shea. “Hang on!”

THE SKY WAS on fire.

Red streaks bled into purple on one side and green on the other as she stared out the small window to her right, stars prickling through the auroras she’d fallen in love with the very first night she’d come to Anchorage. Rocky peaks and trees framed her vision, and every cell in her body flooded with pain in an instant. A groan caught in Shea Ramsey’s throat, the weight on her chest blocking precious oxygen. Her feet were numb. How long had she been unconscious? Her hands shook as she tested the copilot seat weighing on her sternum. Closing her eyes against the agony, she put everything she had into getting out from under the hunk of metal and leather, but it wouldn’t budge.

The plane had gone down, Vincent’s shout so loud in her head. And then... Shea pushed at the debris again as panic clawed through her. They’d crashed in the mountains. The pilot hadn’t been able to reach anyone on the radio. Did anyone even know they were out here? She couldn’t breathe. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as the remains of the plane came into focus. Along with the unconscious man in the seat beside her. “Vincent, can you hear me?”

His long black hair covered the pattern of tattoos inked into his arms and neck as well as his overly attractive face. His Hawaiian heritage and that body of a powerful demigod had tugged at something primal within her every time she was forced to work alongside him in the field, but she’d buried that feeling deep. He shouldn’t have been here. The pilot had told her she’d be the only passenger on this flight. She hadn’t meant for the Blackhawk Security operative to get involved—hadn’t meant anyone to get involved—but she’d been so desperate to get to New York. That same determination tore through her now as the plane jerked a few more inches along the snowbank. Out Vincent’s window it looked like they’d crashed at the base of a steep cliffside, with nothing but sky and snow in every direction. A scream escaped her throat as the cabin shook. One wrong move would send them down the short slope and over the edge.

“Shea.” A groan reached her ears as Vincent stirred in his seat. Locking soothing brown eyes on her through the trail of blood snaking through his left eyebrow, he pushed his hair back with one hand. “That...did not go as I expected. But we’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Was he trying to convince her or himself?

“I can’t...breathe.” Understanding lit his bearded features as he noted the seat pressing against her chest, and in that moment, her body heat spiked with the concern sliding into his expression. Memory of him holding her hand during takeoff rushed to the front of her mind. Vincent pushed out of his seat, and the plane slid another couple of inches toward the cliff. She closed her eyes as terror ricocheted through her. “No, don’t!”

“Shea, look at me.” His featherlight touch trailed down her jaw, and she forced herself to follow his command. He stilled, bending at the knees until her gaze settled on his. Her heart pounded hard at the base of her skull but slowed the longer he stared at her. “I’m going to get you out of here, okay? You have my word. I need you to trust me.”

Trust him. The people he worked for—worked with—couldn’t be trusted. None of them could. Blackhawk Security might help catch the bad guys, same as her, but at the cost of breaking the law she’d taken an oath to uphold. They didn’t deserve her trust, but the pain in her chest wouldn’t let up, was getting worse, and all she could do was nod.

He moved forward slowly, and Shea strengthened her grip on the metal crushing her. The only reason the seat hadn’t killed her was because of the padded backpack she’d clutched before the crash, but how much more could her body take? The plane was shifting again, threatening to slide right toward another cliff edge. They’d survived a crash landing from 1,500 feet. What were the chances they’d survive another? Vincent crouched beside her, the plane barely large enough to contain his hulking size. Although the gaping hole at the tail end helped. “Hey, eyes on me, Officer. Nowhere else, you got that? I’m going to try to get this thing off of you, but I need you to focus on me.”

Focus on him. She could do that. She’d spent so long trying not to notice him while they worked their joint investigations, it was a nice change to have permission for once. Pins and needles spread through her feet and hands as cold worked deep into her bones. The back of the plane had been separated from the main fuselage, and the bloodied windshield had a large hole where she’d expected to see the pilot in his seat. They were in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness, and temperatures were dropping by the minute. “You’re...bleeding.”

“I’ve survived worse.” He skimmed his fingers over hers, and her awareness of how close he’d gotten rocketed her heart into her throat.

“Worse than...a plane crash?” How was that possible? She’d read his service records, thanks to a former partner now working for the NYPD. Vincent Kalani had been assigned to the department’s Detective Bureau’s Forensic Investigations Division, collecting and analyzing evidence from crime scenes for close to ten years. Until suddenly he wasn’t. There was nothing in those files about an injury in the line of duty. In fact, it was as though he’d simply disappeared before signing on with Sullivan Bishop’s new security firm here in Anchorage.

“I think I’ve got this loose enough to move it. You ready? I need you to push the seat forward as hard as you can.” Vincent handled the leather seat crushing her chest. “On my count. One, two, three.” Together, they shoved the debris forward, and Shea gasped as much crisp, clean air as her lungs allowed.

“Thank you.” The pain vanished as he maneuvered the hunk of metal to the front of the plane, and a panicked laugh bubbled to the surface. Because if she didn’t have this small release, Shea feared she might break down here in front of him. The ground rumbled beneath them, and she stilled. The plane hadn’t moved. At least, not as far as she could tell. So what—

Another shock wave rolled through the fuselage, and she tightened her grip around the backpack in her lap. “Vincent...”

Fear cut through the relief that’d spread over his expression. “Avalanche.”

Shea twisted in her seat, staring up at the ripples creasing through the snowbanks high above, her fingers plastered against the window. Strong hands ripped her out of her seat and thrust her toward the back of the plane. Adrenaline flooded into her veins, triggering her fight-or-flight response. The plane tilted to one side as they raced toward the back, threatening to roll with their escape. Cargo slid into her path. Her boot caught on a black duffel bag, and she hit freezing metal. The rumble was growing louder outside, stronger.

“Go, go, go!” Vincent helped her to her feet, keeping close on her heels as the plane shifted beneath them. With a final push, he forced her through the hole where the tail end of the plane was supposed to be, but they couldn’t stop. Not with an entire mountain of snow cascading directly toward them.

Flakes worked into the tops of her boots and soaked through her jeans. She pumped her legs as hard as she could, but it wouldn’t be enough. The avalanche was moving too fast. She was going to die out here, and everything she’d worked for—everything she’d ever cared about—wouldn’t matter anymore.

“There!” Vincent fisted her jacket and shoved her ahead of him. “Head for that opening!”

Trying to gain control of the panic eating her alive from the inside, Shea sprinted as fast as several feet of snow would let her toward what looked like the entrance to a cave a mere twenty feet ahead of them. Her fingers ached from the grip she kept on the backpack, but it was nothing compared to the burn in her lungs. A rush of cold air and flecks of snow blew her hair into her face and disrupted her vision, but she wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Ten feet. Five. She pumped her free arm to gain momentum. Sweat beaded at the base of her neck. They were going to make it. They had to make it. Glancing back over her shoulder, she ensured Vincent was still behind her, but the plane had already been consumed. Snow started to fall over the cave’s entrance in a thundering rush, and she lunged for the opening before it disappeared completely.

And hit solid dirt.

She clutched the backpack close to her chest, as if it’d bring any kind of comfort.

Within seconds, darkness filled her vision, only the sound of her and Vincent’s combined breathing registering over the rumble of them being buried alive. She reached for him, skimming her fingertips across what she assumed was one of his arms, but the padding of his jacket was too thick to be sure. Dust filled her nostrils as she fought to catch her breath. Silence descended, the wall of snow and ice settling over the cave. “You saved my life.”

A soft hissing sound preceded a burst of orange flame. Shadows danced over Vincent’s features, his battle-worn expression on full display in the dull flame of the lighter, and a hint of the awareness she’d felt when he’d held her hand during takeoff settled low in her stomach. Faster than she thought possible, he hauled her from the floor and pinned her against the wall of the cave and his body with one hand, her pack forgotten. “Tell me why you were on that plane.”

His body pressed into hers. Shadowed, angry angles were carved into his features, unlike anything she’d seen before when they’d worked together. Shea pushed at him, but he was so much stronger, so much bigger. “Get off me.”

“Before we crashed you said, ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen.’” He increased the pressure at the base of her throat, simulating the crushing debris he’d pulled off her chest mere minutes ago. “There was no reason that plane should’ve crashed unless it’d been sabotaged. You know something, and I’m not letting you go until you tell me who sent you after me—”

Turning one side of her body into him, she struck his forearm with the base of her palm and withdrew her service weapon with her free hand from the shoulder holster beneath her jacket. She aimed center mass, just as she’d been trained, but kept her finger alongside the trigger. “Touch me again and I won’t hesitate to shoot you. Understand?”

He backed off, easing the blood pulsing in her face and neck.

“Nobody sent me after you, whatever the hell that means.” In the dim light of the flame, Shea swallowed the discomfort in her throat as though that would make it easier to breathe, but she wouldn’t lower her weapon. “I was on the plane because I need to get my son back.”