FALL TO PIECES

Chapter One

Lexi woke slowly. The familiar feel of her bed, the comforting smell of her laundry detergent lingering in the sheet pressed against her face, reassured her. I’m home. I made it home. Head pounding, mouth dry and tasting like a barroom floor–or how she imagined a barroom floor would taste–and with seven-hour old whiskey roiling in her stomach threatening to reappear, Lexi opened her eyes. A man lay snoring beside her, his head down by her feet and his well-toned, hairy body sprawled on top of the sheets. They’d lost the duvet while tangling over it in the pre-dawn hours. Lexi remembered without embarrassment picking him up at the bar and bringing him home with her, the vigorous sex she’d semi-enjoyed but couldn’t remember his name. Bending a leg, she planted a foot in his cute behind and shoved him out of bed.

“Time to go, Romeo.” Lexi stifled a laugh at the distinctively female yelp as he tumbled to the floor. The sheet puddled around her lap as she sat, but she didn’t bother with false modesty. She reached for the water bottle she’d had the foresight to leave on her nightstand and watched with disinterest as her companion stood. Guzzling water, rinsing the taste from her mouth, she assessed. He was good-looking, athletically built, and a decent lay, but dumb as a stump if memory served. Lexi had no interest in learning more.

“How about we get a shower and some breakfast?”

“You can shower and eat at your place. Get out.” Lexi capped the water and placed it on the nightstand. The foul stench of sex and sweat wafted, and Lexi gagged. She needed a shower and solitude. She wanted him out. His expression—disbelief and indignation—suggested he would not shake without some prodding. Lexi opened the nightstand drawer enough to reach inside, casually.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“As a heart attack.”

“You bitch.” The oath was low and his tone nasty.

Lexi lifted her service pistol from the drawer and held it pointed down, suppressing the urge to laugh as he grabbed his clothes from the floor and hustled out of her bedroom. When the door slammed shut, echoing through her condo, she laughed. Lexi returned the gun to the drawer and stood. The room spun. She extended an arm for balance until the world settled and staggered into the bathroom. Avoiding the mirror, avoiding herself, she twisted the knob to hot and stepped into the shower.

Lexi stood under the spray, forehead against the tile, while the remains of the night swirled down the drain. She shivered, though the water beat down on her at a punishing temperature. It couldn’t warm her. Nothing could. Lexi was hollow inside, carved out, numb, and empty in a way no amount of sex or whiskey seemed able to fill. I’m not whole; I’m not here. Her heartbeat sped up, and weight pushed down on her diaphragm. Lexi pressed the heel of her hand between her breasts as she gasped. She welcomed the sharp bite of anxiety. She welcomed anything that felt like something. It was proof she hadn’t died alongside Robert.

The pretty bathroom in cool shades of green speckled with blood, bone, and brain matter.

Her head spun, and she lunged, naked and dripping, from the shower to hunch over the commode and vomit. Lexi welcomed that, too.

***

The police academy looked like a school, which essentially it was, with classrooms, lecture halls, an auditorium, gym, and cafeteria. But unlike most schools, the basement held a firing range, and officers milled with cadets even at this early hour trying to get in some target practice or re-qualifying. Lexi drew heads as she strode through the halls. Her looks had always drawn attention, and she didn’t care. In the past, she’d enjoyed it, encouraged it. But since Robert’s death, the eyes on her felt exploitive. Lexi struggled not to unleash the anger that always simmered under the surface of her skin. Instead, she nodded and smiled at those who hailed greetings and used her hip to push open the door to the locker room.

Lexi stowed her jacket and sunglasses before donning the required ear protection and yellow-tinted safety glasses. With extra clips of ammo stuffed in her back pockets and balancing fresh doughnuts and cups of hot coffee, Lexi entered the gallery. The smell of lead and gunpowder did more to ease her headache than the fistful of ibuprofen she’d swallowed before leaving the house, and the rat-tat tattoo of gun reports made her heart race better than any hit of caffeine could. It was invigorating. Lexi made her way down to lane seven and watched as her friend neatly put three rounds in the head, two in the heart, and one in the privates of the paper assailant hung twenty feet away with practiced ease.

“Weapons down; safety on; clip removed. Back away from the firing line,” a disembodied voice demanded.

Kylee Donovan secured her gun and turned, hands on her hips. “You’re late, Detective.”

“Astute observation, Counselor.” Lexi held out a cup, pointed to the bag of donuts, and went about the business of switching out the slaughtered target for a fresh one. The range wasn’t open to the public, but before joining the District Attorneys’ Office, Kylee Donovan had been one hell of a cop, and her husband still was. The range master bent the rules for her, and once a week, the two former classmates met for coffee and target practice before work.

“Heard you had a good time last night.”

“Jesus, the guy left my place about an hour ago. How the hell did you hear about it already?” Lexi held the return button-down, listening to the tiny motor grind and the whoosh of paper, as she sent the new target flying. Kylee’s words were gentle, but Lexi heard the judgment underneath. It wasn’t anyone else’s concern what she did or with whom. Lexi had no husband to answer to. She swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. Not here, not now.

“Cops gossip, you know this.”

Lexi cleared her throat. “I was on my own time. They should mind their own business.”

“No arguments here. You want to drink yourself into an early grave and bang every loser on the planet, have at it. Not illegal, and the only person you’re hurting is yourself. But if you want to keep personal business private, maybe you shouldn’t be conducting it in public. Or at least not in a cop bar.”

Lexi released the snap on her shoulder holster and palmed her weapon. It felt at home there, an extension of herself, something she’d experienced the first time she held a gun and every time since. Lexi set the 9mm down and lined up her clips. “Every bar in the northeast is a cop bar, Ky.”

“You know what I mean, Lex.”

“Shooters ready.” The voice boomed and echoed against the concrete walls.

The officer to her left squared his shoulders, corrected his stance, and didn’t look over. He heard this whole conversation. Damn it. The exposure, the vulnerability, the need to shrink back, to hide shamed her. The shame had pride crawling up her spine, strengthening her resolve. Lexi picked up her firearm, loaded the clip, and shot a glance over her shoulder. “I don’t remember you being this bossy when we were students here.”

The volley of erupting fire cut off any response Kylee might have made. Muscle memory, innate skill, whatever was responsible, allowed Lexi to fire with precision, though her mind was elsewhere. Lexi wasn’t wrong: every bar in northeast Philly was owned by cops, employed cops, or patronized by cops. Some, more than a few, hit a hat trick. But Kylee wasn’t wrong either. Lexi’speers, her supervisors, and Robert’s contemporaries would’ve recognized her last night. She could’ve picked a different place, one outside her district.

‘Self-destructive behavior,’ the department’s shrink had called it. Along with ‘survivor’s guilt’ and Lexi’s favorite ‘professional suicide as opposed to actual suicide because she identifies as a cop first, a woman second, and a wife last.’ She hadn’t gone back after that and no one had made her. Lexi waited for the ultimatum, sure one was coming, to hand over her badge or return to therapy. But none came. She suspected what few friends of Robert’s remained at headquarters subverted that eventuality. But she was pushing it and their goodwill.

“Weapons down; safety on; clip removed. Back away from the firing line.”

“Before you start,” Lexi said, “you’re right. If I don’t want people to talk, I should be more discreet.”

“This is all I’m saying.” Kylee grinned, and they switched spots.

Lexi decided not to tell her about the strip of sugar glaze on her friend’s cheek. Payback for the unspoken reprimand, whether or not I imagined it. “How are Jayson and the kids?”

“They’re all good. Happy and healthy. I’m telling you, Brady was such a delightful baby, such an easy toddler. Karma’s giving it to me with Jessica. She climbs anything and everything.”

“She’s not even two yet. How much of a handful can she be?”

“We found her naked in the backyard, hanging from the clothesline about twenty minutes after I put her up for a nap. Laughing hysterically, by the way, the kid has no fear. We can’t figure out how she passed us to get out there.”

Lexi laughed. “Sounds like my kind of girl.”

“Well, we’re at our wit’s end. How do you babyproof for an acrobat slash ninja? Jayson threatened to run away from home.”

“Bullshit, he loves you too much.”

“He offered to take me with.” Kylee winked and aimed.

As Kylee fired, Lexi ignored the dull ache in her chest that mirrored the weight from the earlier anxiety attack. Kylee and Jayson had earned their happiness, and Lexi admired them for it. Lexi wasn’t about to let some odd pang of envy interfere with one of the few friendships she had. What if she and Robert had had kids? Or more?

Pushing the useless question aside—why dwell on something she’ll never get an answer to—she picked up her coffee and sighed as the heat warmed her throat, then her stomach. It wasn’t much, but it was real. Focus on what’s real.

Chapter Two

I wonder if he realizes the comb over emphasizes the bald spot. Hiding his amusement, Xavier schooled his expression as his new captain pontificated. The office was nearly identical to every captain’s office in any police station he’d seen. Mismatched furniture around a metal desk. Overflowing filing cabinets and half-dead potted plants. The smell of mold and cheap aftershave mixed with grease from whatever the foam containers sticking from the wastebasket once held. He tilted his head a fraction of an inch, and his gaze landed on the street outside the grimy window. A bus chugged past, belching gray smoke from its exhaust. Xavier had the impression of sluggish, miserable people packed inside. Not different from D.C. But the similarities ended there.

Xavier didn’t like Philadelphia. The population was only slightly less annoying than New Yorkers and Bostonians, and that by a narrow margin. Mostly, they whined too much. Took the whole underdog thing too far to heart. As though Rocky Balboa was a real historical figure and not a fictional—and, in his opinion, badly portrayed—character. Yeah, Philadelphia is the Jan Brady of the east coast. But he owed a favor, and Xavier Knight allowed no red in his ledger.

Sensing the rotund officer was winding to a close, Xavier refocused his attention. He didn’t like the man. Shepherd seemed puffed up, more like a politician than a cop. Nepotism ran rampant in every police force in every city—Xavier had witnessed it personally—but he didn’t have to like it.

“Now her late husband was a beast of a man, a hell of a cop. Real police.”

I hate that saying. Xavier nodded politely. He was adept at faking respect.

“There are whispers that the only reason she came up through the ranks as young as she has is that Robert pulled strings and then, you know, his legacy.”

Xavier swallowed the snort. “Are you saying you’re partnering me with a substandard detective?”

“No, no. Not at all.” The captain had the grace to flush. “I didn’t say I thought that, but there are people who do. And because she knows they do, she has a bit of a chip on her shoulder. Even bigger than most women on the force. She’s a good cop.”

“For a woman?”

The short man smiled widely, nodding his head, as though proud of Xavier for understanding, although he said, “I don’t encourage that kind of sexism in my house, Knight. Every man and woman, with a badge, is a part of Philly’s blue line.” Captain Shepherd stood. “Let me show you around.”

According to her file, Detective Alexandra Danvers was more than a “good cop” by any standard. Danvers boasted an excellent clearance rate in a city known not just for its cheesesteaks but for a high annual murder rate, thriving drug market, and beleaguered police force. Precious few official reprimands or civilian complaints, no allegations of excessive force or other civil rights violations, high marks at firearms and hand-to-hand, and multiple citations rounded out her career. But her file also showed a problem with authority—hard to blame her if she’d been working long under the guidance of the misogynistic midget currently leading him around—and other behavioral concerns. Xavier didn’t think she received any special treatment before her husband’s death, every promotion and accolade earned but grudgingly afforded based on the language used by her superiors. Although her late husband may be the reason she wasn’t forced out before now.

“There she is.” The captain sighed. “Danvers.”

“Captain.”

The woman who stood from behind the beaten but neatly organized desk wasn’t beautiful by societal norms, but his breath left him in a whoosh as a shock of desire sent awareness down his spine. She was tall, nearly as tall as own six-foot-two, and under the nondescript jacket, he had the impression of wiry strength. Like a swimmer. Or a runner, perhaps. Thick golden-brown hair pulled back into French braid highlighted razor-sharp cheekbones. Cheekbones that drew attention, like two arrows, to full pink lips. When he followed those lines up, he found slanted feline eyes, under sharply arched brows, watching him with mocking amusement. Xavier pulled in new air and hushed the attraction.

“Xavier, I’d like to introduce you to Detective Alexandra Danvers. Danvers, this is your partner, Xavier Knight. He’s new to Philadelphia, out of Boston. Try not to send him running back there.”

“Sure thing, Cap.”

Xavier registered the barely disguised sneer despite the neutral tone of voice. Since the short man flushed and bounced from foot to foot as though he needed to urinate badly, the captain noted it as well. He bit back the urge to grin. Those eyes–what color are they?–flashed back to him and Xavier chilled. Danvers looked at him as though she sensed his amusement and approved. That couldn’t be. People who knew him well couldn’t see through his stoicism, didn’t get his dark and often off-beat sense of humor. Xavier could, with little effort, reveal nothing of his thoughts or feelings. The talent made him a formidable investigator, a fierce poker player, and a rotten boyfriend according to his ex. This woman is a stranger, albeit an extraordinarily attractive one, but still a stranger. His skin crawled, an unusual sensation, one he hadn’t remembered experiencing since before his grandmother passed on, and he wanted to shuffle his feet as though she caught him nicking cookies before dinner. The way she’d assessed him, with cool eyes, as though she knew him already, made the skin on his scalp tighten. No wonder the captain disliked her so intensely. I bet she made him face his inferiority with nothing more than a look.

“I’ll take over from here. Thanks.”

Danvers turned and strode purposefully away, clearly expecting him to follow and summarily dismissing their superior. About ten feet from them, she paused, looking back over her shoulder.

“You coming, or what?” She asked.

“I should let you get on with it. I’ve got things to do. Important things, for important people.” He hiked up his drooping slacks. “Welcome to the Fifteenth, Knight. Good luck.”

Danvers pointed to different doors and stairs, identifying booking and the locker rooms, as they progressed in a large circle back to her desk. Xavier appreciated the moment to gather himself. To repair the chinks in his professional demeanor. To calm the unease. The attraction. Stop looking at her ass.

“That’s your desk.” Danvers pointed.

It faced it hers, was as ugly and battered, with more than its share of nicks, gouges, and hastily scrawled profanity. The blotter was torn, and the desk lamp sat askew. The phone was more recent, in comparison, perhaps only ten years old. The chair pushed under it sat tilted at an angle, opposing the lamp. Like every desk he’d ever had, it was unremarkable in its familiarity and a far better anchor to reality than staring at her backside.

Xavier eased himself into the ancient chair, testing it would hold his weight before trusting it wouldn’t pitch him onto the floor like a cranky bull. As uncomfortable as it was ugly, it seemed sturdy enough. “Computer?”

“You’ll have to request one. It takes a bit. If you can get the captain to sign off, you can use your personal laptop while you wait,” she answered. She’d put her attention on the paperwork they’d interrupted, but the corner of her mouth quirk up as he released his grip on the desk edge and prayed the chair wouldn’t collapse.

“Do you prefer to be called Danvers?”