Until he was satisfied that the attempt on Rachelle’s life had truly been a random act of violence, he planned to unearth all he could about the pretty reporter and what she might be working on that would put her life in danger.
* * *
Rachelle kept her gaze on Carter as the subway train zoomed down the track. The rhythmic noise of the rails brought back the memory of the train bearing down on her. A shudder ripped through her, setting off a maelstrom of pain from the many bumps and bruises the fall caused. She forced the horrific images of what had happened earlier away. However, the fear lingered. She’d probably have nightmares tonight.
Or dreams of strong arms, making her feel safe and secure, lifting her from the train tracks while the thunderous applause from the crowd and the bark of the world’s cutest dog rang in her ears.
She pushed the thought aside, too. It was fine she found Carter good-looking and she was grateful for his rescue, but she wasn’t looking for anything more from him than a source that would provide her a front-page story to bring justice to the world.
Or, at least, justice for his brother.
And earn her notice from prestigious news outlets.
Consciously redirecting her mind to the phone call Carter had received, curiosity burned through her veins like a wildfire. She wanted to know more about Chief Jordan Jameson’s murder. But the look of disappointment on Carter’s face had let her know the call hadn’t been about the investigation. “Who’s ‘the munchkin’?”
Carter folded his arms over his chest. “My daughter.”
Ah. A call from the wife. Why would he be asking his spouse about Jordan’s murder? “Is your wife in law enforcement, also?”
His jaw hardened. He kept his gaze forward this time. Not even looking at her. His Adam’s apple bobbed. For a long moment he stayed silent, his expression unreadable and she feared she’d just overstepped with her question.
“I’m a widower.” His voice came at her low and sharp.
Her heart clenched. Had his wife died in the line of duty? An innocent bystander? Or an illness? Or some other horrible death? It was too much to bear thinking about. She went back to her earlier question. Munchkin was his daughter. “How old is she? Your daughter,” she clarified.
“Six.”
“That must be hard. Raising a child on your own. How old was she when her mother passed?”
He shifted his stance, tucking his hands behind his back and widening his feet. “These are not questions I choose to answer in this venue.”
Properly chastised, she folded her hands over her notebook in her lap. Yes, this wasn’t the place to ask about his personal life. Too many ears, too many eyes and too many unknowns. “Of course. Forgive me.”
He remained silent, but his chin dipped slightly.
Rachelle would take the slight movement as forgiveness from a guy like Officer Carter Jameson any day of the week.
She glanced warily around the subway car. Several people were clearly nervous to have an officer and K-9 on board. It was a diverse group of individuals. Some were clearly families heading home from a day in the city. Others obviously were tourists, with cameras around their necks or holding subway maps in their hands. The rest of the passengers most likely were workers getting off from their city jobs, possibly heading home to one of the other boroughs where it wasn’t so expensive to live.
She found herself looking for a man in a gray T-shirt and baseball hat with brown hair, of medium height. None fit that description in the car. Could the incident on the subway platform have been related to her investigation into Jordan Jameson’s murder? She suppressed a shiver of dread.
A casual glance at Carter found him watching her with his inscrutable gaze. Unperturbed, she met his gaze fully and assessed him as he assessed her. This was a man who was used to intimidating others. With nothing more than a stony stare, a formidable stance and a big dog.
She’d learned a lot in the last year since moving to New York City. Who to stay away from, who might cause trouble and that at any moment some celebrity, thinking they were incognito, could appear right next to her on a subway car, a street corner or in a restaurant. Carter wouldn’t be looking for celebrities. He’d be looking for the ones who were doing bad things.
Like the guy who’d pushed her off the platform. She knew to keep her eyes open and sharp. The fact that she’d failed to notice the danger really irked her. She should never have allowed herself to get close enough to the edge to be pushed off. Normally, she stayed back until the train came to a stop. The only explanation had to be she’d been too focused on Carter.
When the subway train pulled into the next station, Carter and Frosty moved to stand near the opening doors. The dog sat at Carter’s heels, his nose twitching at everyone who came in and out of the car.
“How did you come up with the name Frosty?” she asked him.
Carter glanced over his shoulder at her and arched an eyebrow.
Raising her hands in acknowledgment that she’d received the message—not here, not now—she opened her notebook and added more questions to her growing list. She kept her mouth closed for the remainder of the ride but couldn’t help the impatient bounce of her foot as the subway car rolled along.
She was glad when they finally switched trains to head out of Manhattan to the borough of Queens.
As they exited the subway car, Rachelle was sure she heard several sighs of relief. She didn’t understand why the dog and officer made people so anxious. Carter and Frosty were there to serve and protect. Yes, the police in general seemed to have a bad rap in the media over the last few years. And she wasn’t naive—she knew there could be bad apples on any tree. But the NYC K-9 Command Unit had, until recently, a really good reputation.
However, people were losing confidence that the K-9 Unit could solve their own chief’s murder, let alone any other crime. After five months with no answers, she had to admit she was frustrated, too. Which in part was what had prompted her to begin her own investigation.
Along with the fact she wanted to advance her own career.
But she’d rather think about the more altruistic reason she was diving headlong into Jordan Jameson’s life. His murderer needed to be caught and justice served. She and everyone else in New York would sleep better knowing a killer was off the streets.
A shiver traipsed down her spine, reminding her of the terrifying event she suffered in the subway. She rubbed at the dirt streaked across her skirt. The skin underneath protested. In fact, her whole body ached from the impact of the fall now that the shock had eased.
She really didn’t want to contemplate why someone had pushed her off the subway platform. Better to chalk it up to a onetime thing than to live in fear. She refused to believe the incident had anything to do with her inquiries into Jordan’s life.
With Frosty on Carter’s left and Rachelle on his right, they walked away from the subway station and onto the sidewalk. This was her neighborhood. The residual fear and stress keeping her muscles bunched tight throughout her body began to melt away like butter on her grandma’s biscuits. They neared the mini market where a slim man in his sixties swept the front walkway.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lee,” she called with a wave.
Mr. Lee looked up and smiled at her. “Ah, Miss Rachelle.” His gaze narrowed at Carter and Frosty. “Are you okay?”
“Perfect,” she replied. “You?”
“Well, thank you.” He hurried inside the store.
They headed down the street with the late afternoon traffic buzzing by. She could feel Carter’s curious gaze. She glanced