If You Say So (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 6)

“Riel,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

I flicked my head in the general direction of Yao.

“I had a person he’s been searching for in custody,” I answered. “Had to bring him in because he decided to run. There was a foot chase, and he decided to meet pavement.”

She looked over her shoulder at where Yao was standing next to the young teen who’d been of interest in the case he was seeing to with the gunshot victim at the high school.

This kid was, supposedly, the one that had been doing the shooting.

Which was why Yao had been called in, and why the be on the lookout, or BOLO, had been put out on him in the first place.

“You’re working in this weather?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Kind of. They put me in a cruiser.”

She blew out a breath, looking relieved.

“That’s good,” she said softly, looking away. “The thought of you on that bike in this weather scares me.”

I tried not to feel happy that she cared whether I was safe or not but failed.

“Would you like to grab some lunch with me?” I asked, wanting her to say yes, but knowing she’d say no.

She looked around for something to help her get out of the offer, I assumed, but came up short.

“You should go,” the woman next to her said. “Your lunch break is coming up.”

Frankie looked like she’d been shoved into a corner with no way out.

I took a step back and raised my hands. “I’m not going to force you to go, Frankie.”

I didn’t force women.

I didn’t want Frankie to go to eat with me if she’d rather be anywhere but.

Frankie’s eyes went to the side where the woman sat, then sighed and stood up, gesturing for me to follow her.

I did, at a very safe, respectable distance.

She rolled her eyes and gestured for me to follow her into the break room.

I did, reluctantly.

The harsh lights hurt my eyes, and with one quick sweep of the room, I realized there would be no escaping them.

At least in the hospital hallways, there were still parts of it that were less bright than the others.

In the break room, though?

There wasn’t a single place to hide.

“I brought enough food for a couple of days,” she said, going to the fridge.

I was already telling her no before she even opened it.

“No,” I said. “I’m not eating your food.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious,” I said. “I don’t want to eat your food.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at me with a sad smile on her face.

“You’re avoiding me,” I said.

She hadn’t outright walked the other direction when I’d come into the room, but I had seen her three times since dinner the other week, and each time she’d found something to keep her busy.

The first time had been at the supermarket.

She’d seen me, made eye contact, smiled. Then she’d turned down the nearest aisle, adding food to her buggy and moving at the speed of light in the opposite direction.

The next two times had been at the hospital.

Both times had been me either transporting a patient to the hospital or taking one from the hospital to temporary lockup.

Each of those times, she’d seen me and turned and walked in the other direction.

And it was starting to get on my nerves.

She looked taken back by my honesty but shook her head and gestured to the chairs at the table between us.

When we both took our seats, she folded her hands in front of her and looked at the table as she started to explain.

“I’m not…” She blew out a breath. “Riel… I’m really fucked up.”

I didn’t doubt that for a second.

That made two of us.

“My lines are blurring,” she said. “Things are becoming a little confused in my brain, and every time that I think I have a handle on it, something sneaks out and yanks me right back into a place that I really shouldn’t linger in.”

I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

She rubbed her face vigorously.

“You’re enough like him that it’s making me project my feelings onto you,” she finally said. “You talk like him. Act like him. Smell like him. Hell, you even dress like him. And… it’s driving me insane. It’s making me chaotic. And it’s confusing, okay? Luca is gone. And you’re here.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“It’s been two years, and I still want him just as much now as I did the day he left,” she whispered. “I pray for him to come home every night. I still check the news religiously. And, if I’m being honest, and I’m sorry if this hurts, I wish every day that it was him that came home and not you. Which makes me a terrible person.”

Her blunt honesty was refreshing.

“There are days that I wish that I hadn’t come home at all,” I told her bluntly.