Geri Krotow - Reunion Under Fire

“Oh.” He must have a family. She didn’t see a ring, but a lot of officers didn’t wear them. It was for practical safety as a wedding band could lead to a severed finger in the midst of an operation, and to protect their loved ones from the vilest criminals who’d stalk their families. For some reason her stomach sank, and she experienced her first wave of defeat since returning to Silver Valley. Not that she’d hoped he was single, like her. His chuckle shook her out of her emotional pothole.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m not married, Annie.” Oh, no, was she that freaking obvious? “What about you? Are you with anyone?”

“It’s none of my business if you’re single or not.” She bit her lip. “For the record, I’m not married, either. Or with anyone.”

“Ever been?” His teeth were so straight, so white, so sexy in that strong face. His lips were full for a man, yet only heightened his masculinity. “Annie?”

“Hmm? What?” She blinked. “No, never married. A few close calls.” One in particular that swore her off serious relationships for a long while after college and probably doomed the other, longer relationships she’d had. And made her extra sensitive to women like Kit. “You?”

Josh shook his head. “No, but I came close, too. I was engaged for a few years.” His face was unreadable. She wondered if he’d been hurt, why the relationship didn’t work out.

“That’s a long time. What ended it?” Shame sent warmth into her face again, and she held up a hand. “Wait, nix that. Sorry, it’s none of my business.” She’d come in here to help out Kit, possibly save her life. Instead she was flirting with a man she didn’t know, not anymore, not as the man he was today.

A tall, sexy length of police officer.

“That’s all right, Annie. It didn’t work because of a number of things, but mostly me. I wasn’t willing to commit to anything other than...” He trailed off, his eyes misting over but not with tears. Memories.

“Other than your job. I get it.”

“It wasn’t, wasn’t... We weren’t right for each other is all.” He cleared his throat, and she watched the smooth movement of his Adam’s apple, looked at his clean-shaven jaw and almost groaned when she noted the cleft in his chin. She had to stop this. She wasn’t in town for a fling, and a relationship with any man she met in Silver Valley would be short-lived. Her heart couldn’t deal with that right now. It was achy enough, thank you very much. “What about you?”

“Me? Oh, I’m pretty much a career girl.” She hated how much of a coward she was. Here he’d admitted some pretty private stuff, and all she gave him was a cute Mary Tyler Moore reply? “And my job at NYPD is all-consuming. As I’m sure you can imagine. Do you have a psychologist on your force?”

“No, but we contract out as needed. Whenever there’s a shooting, suspicious circumstances around a case that might be due to an officer, or when we have a rough accident or other first response scene.”

She nodded. “That’s what my job was meant to be, originally. But now we have so many cops who are military veterans with PTSD, and who’ve seen the worst here at home, too.”

“You mean like 9/11.”

“Yes. And the human trafficking.”

“We’ve got our share of the sex trade here in Silver Valley, believe it or not. This past year we had a local strip club employing underage girls from Ukraine. ROC brought them in. We’re working a huge case right now, as a matter of fact. There’s another suspected ROC group of underage women en route to Silver Valley. We’ve been able to stop these shipments before, miles away, but each time it’s getting closer to Silver Valley proper.” She saw the enormity of it in the lines etched between his brows.

“That reminds me—when I spoke to Kit, I got the feeling that how she came to the States might be questionable.”

“Hold that thought while I look a few things up.” His fingers flew over his keyboard, and she had to fight the urge to stare at his masculine hands. A man’s hands had always been one of her weak spots, and Josh’s would have made the throb between her legs pulse even if they weren’t. Guilt hit her in her gut. She was here to help out an abused woman, not get all sexy on an old crush.

Josh frowned as he read an open file. “The woman you’re talking about, Kit Valensky, is married to Vadim Valensky, the scumbag we suspect has dealings with ROC but never have been able to nail. We’re fairly certain he has ties to Dima Ivanov, but since the death of the number two guy in that chain of command, Yuri Vasin, there’s no connection we can prove. Did you know that we took out Vasin right here in Silver Valley two months ago?” He waited for her to shake her head. Heck, what had happened to her hometown? “We were thwarting a human trafficking operation the ROC ran. They’re up to it again, I’m afraid. Valensky’s a dangerous character if a fraction of what we suspect he’s responsible for is true.” Josh’s smile was gone, his intention clear. He wanted Valensky off the streets as much as she wanted to make sure Kit was safe. And Annie knew who Ivanov was—everyone in East Coast law enforcement did. He was the head honcho for ROC on the Eastern Seaboard.

“Kit’s in danger, then. We have to get her out of there.” Would waiting until the knit and chat night be good enough? Annie didn’t want to think about what could happen to Annie between now and then.

“ There is a six-bedroom mansion on the top of Silver Hill, on the way to the mountains. The Appalachian Trail traverses right alongside its eight-foot wall. It’s a veritable fortress.” Frustration laced his words.

“You sound like you’ve tried to get on his property.”

“Maybe.” He stayed silent on the topic, and she respected that. She didn’t need to be privy to all the workings of a local case. But she still wanted Kit in a safe place.

“Josh, look, you don’t need to give me any details, but what I do need is a report filed that I witnessed those bruises on her. She’s supposed to come to our knit and chat tonight, between six and eight.”

“What’s that, a knitters’ meeting?”

“Yes. My grandmother has built quite the community with her shop, and the women as well as some men take care of one another like family. One of the regulars was in the shop earlier, and she was very friendly to Kit when she came in. Actually, you know the woman—it’s Ginny Vanderbruck.” They’d gone to school with Ginny’s granddaughter. “It’s clear to me that Kit is well liked and that the other knitters feel protective of her.”

“Let’s say she comes in tonight. Are you going to ask her point-blank if she’s in danger?”

“Absolutely. It’s my job. The only reason I didn’t yesterday is because I didn’t want to frighten her into not coming back. I gave her my number.”

“That’s good, all of it. I’m impressed, Annie. You’ve done more for Kit Valensky than anyone local’s been able to do in a long while. I don’t need her statement to press charges against Valensky, but if we can get her to confirm he did it, all the better.”

“So you’re saying she’s asked for help before?”

Josh’s expression stilled, and she knew the minute he trusted her. He shook his head. “Not here, not in Silver Valley. There are reports from where they lived before, though, out of state, in a rural area. The neighbors called in the loud noises, shouting. She and her husband told the responding officers that it was a mistake, that she was fine. She refused to press charges. They lived in a smaller house in a subdivision, according to the records. We only have them because we’ve been watching Valensky. At that time there were repeated complaints from the neighbors of angry shouting, the sounds of fights. But each time, she showed up at the front door with Valensky and said she was fine, and the local officers let it go. Which as you know, means they didn’t do their damned job. If it’d been an SVPD officer, he or she would have handled it the right way. We would have separated the two and got statements. They would have been recorded on the officer’s police cams. Charges would have been pressed.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his chestnut hair. It was short cropped but just long enough to remind her of the looser curls he’d sported in high school. God, how many times had she tugged his hair when they’d made out ad infinitum in that beat-up station wagon?