Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

32. Clara

Chapter 32

Clara

R J and I stumble to the front porch, our breaths creating a cloud above us as we finish our run. “Do you know what the plan is for today?” I ask, stopping on the bottom step to stretch my Achilles, caution having me scan the road behind us yet again, even though my Bryce alert hasn’t gone off.

He halts next to me, mirroring my actions. “No, but I got permission to use the dojo today, if you’d like to learn some self-defense.”

I swallow down a flutter of fear. “That sounds good. I’m hoping if I tire myself out enough, I might sleep better.”

“It couldn’t hurt to try.”

“No, it really couldn’t.”

I switch up my stretches, RJ following me, the silence between us comfortable. He looks different now, in a hat instead of his earmuffs to protect his bare scalp from the cold. Just like with Jansen the other night, a strange urge to verify he’s the same guy comes over me, and I close the distance between us, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Exhaustion is making me paranoid.

After a moment, RJ’s arms band around me, and needing the closeness, willing to risk taking it too far, I wrap my legs around his waist.

I want things to go too far.

Surprisingly, he groans and carries me up the porch, pressing me against the front of the house, our pelvises grinding against each other, our bodies messy and urgent.

We kiss, each moment building in intensity, and I’m wondering what things are on RJ’s bucket list and how quickly I can check them off, when he pulls back, his eyes as unfocused as mine feel. I panic, but his gaze stays warm.

“Inside?”

Oh thank God. “Yes, please.”

I slip my legs down as he keeps me caged in his arms, protected, precious.

Forcing one of his gloved hands into mine, I break the trance, tugging him to the front door.

The bright teal envelope waiting there ruins it, though.

RJ sees it a moment after me. “God damn it.”

Snatching the envelope up, I stuff my gloves into my pocket before tearing it open. I just want to get this over with, so I don’t have to live with the sense of dread squeezing my chest like a sports bra two sizes too small.

I want the fun stuff. I want to pretend the next ten minutes never happened.

Inside, there’s another “Thinking of You” card, a photo of children’s stuffed animals and toy soldiers decorating the front, and inside, two pictures, one of Jansen’s naked ass as he books it around the house, Walker and I holding each other up with laughter, and the other of me waltzing with Trips.

The looks on our faces, the longing and pain, distract me from further investigation. Until RJ curses.

And there, at the bottom, another threat. “Broken girls get broken toys,” scrawled across one photo.

I find myself bundled into RJ’s arms, his voice soothing, his fingers digging into my scalp, pulling my ponytail loose. “Sugar, we’ll stop him. We’ll find a way,” he whispers to me, my breath halting, but no tears gathering.

I really am becoming a broken toy.

A cough from the foot of the porch pulls me from my pending meltdown, and I catch sight of Officer Tom Reed in a big tan puffer jacket on the front sidewalk. “You,” I say, my speaking ability fleeing at the whiplash of the last two minutes.

RJ’s body grows taut beside me, his arms squeezing tighter, like if he could, he’d pull me inside of him to protect me from this new threat.

“Yeah. Me. I was stopping by to let you know Bryce is out and that your restraining order is still active. You’re free to call me if you run into him. Do you need my card again?”

I’m certain my incredulity is showing when the officer’s brows furrow.

I figure I’ll throw him a bone. A verbal bone chucking, perhaps. “No shit. We figured that out almost a week ago. Thanks for your concern, but you’re too late.”

“He’s been here? Stalking you? That violates the terms of his release. ”

Marching down the stairs, I shove the card into his hands. “He’s crafty, but yeah. He’s been letting me know he’s around. Watching. With this new delivery, the whole downstairs of the house will probably have to be abandoned. Apparently, I’ve done too good of a job staying out of my room for him to catch the good stuff this time.”

Officer Reed looks at the photos, his brow still creased, checking the card and the envelope next. “He didn’t sign it.”

“I can’t imagine I’ve collected a second stalker. Unless you’re here to confess?”

He sputters out a half a laugh. “No. How many of these?”

“This is the third.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t use gloves? That your fingerprints are all over all three of them?”

“Yeah. Mine and guys.”

“Why didn’t you let me know? Reach out?”

“What could you have done? How would it have helped? As you said, he didn’t sign them. And you’re the one who let the scumbag back out.” My voice is loud, echoing over the snowy street, but I can’t even pretend to keep my cool. The anger that I thought I didn’t have, that Trips has been slowly coaxing out? It’s found a target.

Sorry, Officer Tom Reed. Your system is fucked up. And you get to hear about it.

“Clara, that wasn’t me. He’s helping us get to the ringleader of the shared group. We might shut down this cell with his help. People a hell of a lot higher up the food chain made the call.”

“Well, that call was bullshit. And now I’m the one who has to sit here covered in it. ”

RJ slips behind me, his palm warm on my waist, and the creak of the front door tells me my yelling has brought reinforcements.

Officer Reed slaps the collection of paper against his palm, not meeting my eyes. Not absorbing the anger I’m throwing around. “You said there were more. Could I see them?”

“No,” RJ grumbles from behind me.

Twisting, I see the same anger I feel amplified on RJ’s face as he stares at the officer, the same intense look that scared me before I knew him. Up at the front door, Walker’s standing in his slippers, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles look ready to crack, his own mask of fury evident.

“Why?” I ask.

“To build a case. Stalkers always escalate. He’ll mess up, and then we’ll catch him.”

“You mean, when the stalker you let out of jail physically harms me, you will at least have a bunch of vaguely threatening notes to show to the judge when you aim for the stricter sentence?”

His lips twist. “Clara, I want to help. There’s a reason I ended up on this task force, and it’s because sex crimes need to be policed harder, differently, than other crimes.”

“I thought it was so you could get a shiny new promotion. Get your name in the paper?”

He finally meets my anger, his own gaze tired. “It was. But… I’ve only been there a few months, and the shit I’ve seen? It’s bad.”

“Not so bad you’d keep a pedo stalker in jail, though.”

He taps the papers against his thigh, staring over my shoulder at the party house next door. “Please, Clara. Show me what he sent. At least let me know how worried I should be, how closely I should monitor him while he’s out.” When he looks back at me, there’s actual sincerity. None of his cop-lie-bullshit. Just a tired man with a shitty job, knowing he’s fucked up, but not sure how to make it right.

I can’t meet his gaze. It’s too pleading, and the urge to bend flares. Instead, I stare past his idling green sedan, watching a New Year’s bar crawl flyer caught in the wind as it’s buffeted down the street, lost to the whims of the breeze. A gust catches it, forcing it to take a hard right and cartwheel between two houses.

My anger whooshes out, resignation taking its place.

“Okay. Fine.” I turn to Walker, and he nods, disappearing inside.

We stand in silence, RJ’s hand still warm against my waist. I lean back into him, and after a moment, his arms wrap around me.

I ignore the question in Officer Reed’s eyes. The photos will explain well enough why he’s so confused about who I’m dating.

The longer we wait, the more my mind wanders, and I imagine what it would be like working on a sex crimes task force, the FBI acceptance I refuse to address popping into my mind before I force that thought away.

Policing sex crimes would be terrible, hours spent looking at videos of the worst things people can do. Those poor kids.

I wasn’t a kid when Bryce entered my life. I was legally an adult, if only by five months.

But to see small kids in the same kinds of situations I was in? Hellish .

RJ’s been tracking the same problems, the same videos and heartbreak. How long before he’s as worn down and jaded as the officer in front of us?

I clear my throat. “Reed, totally hypothetically, how does your confidential informant program work?”

RJ’s hand gets tense, but I stare at the cop a scant few feet from me, not wanting to give away that I’m not asking for me. “Hypothetically?”

“Yup. Pure curiosity.”

He gives me a look that says he knows I’m not the person I pretend to be, which is both true and so new that his suspicions are wholly misguided. “It would depend on what information is being offered. And what kind of damage was caused in pursuing that information.”

“Once again, hypothetically, if I had learned some things about people like Bryce. Names, locations, things like that. Would anonymity protect that information? If no one was hurt in finding that info. Once again, totally—”

He cuts me off. “Hypothetically. I’m getting it, Clara.” He chews on his cheek. “If this information was hypothetically available and retrieved with no injury or crimes, as in pure ‘word on the street’ style, I might be able to get a CI situation set up.”

“What about on the ‘digital streets,’ as opposed to listening at doors?”

RJ’s pulled tight behind me, but he was just complaining that all he could do was steal the monsters’ money. He can't put them in jail.

Do I trust Officer Tom Reed to keep them off the streets? No. I don’t. I can’t after he was part of the system that let Bryce out.

But if he could even remove a single monster? It’s more than what we can do. One less monster for RJ to track. And every singular monster behind bars is one less monster scattered across his screen, like grains of rice spilling from a tear in a bag.

Officer Reed stares at me, trying to get me to say more, but I won’t. RJ needs this help, but he needs protection as well. I can give him both if I’m careful. “I’d have to check with my superiors. But it might be possible.”

“Good to know.”

Walker opens the front door, Trips marching down the stairs with him.

“Thank you,” I say, “for that insight into my hypothetical question.”

Officer Reed gives me a look that says he knows nothing about what I was suggesting was actually hypothetical, but refrains from mentioning anything else about it.

Trips stops beside me, Walker slipping between the two of us, taking my hand in his. Three of my four men surround me, Jansen likely sleeping through the noise. But three of the four feels good, safe, even if one of them can’t be mine, not really.

Another problem for another day.

Trips looks ready to explode as he forces my gaze to his, his hand brushing my cheek then swiftly dropping to his side. “Are you sure about this?”

“What are we going to do with them? Make a scrapbook? ”

RJ huffs out a laugh despite his tension. Trips rolls his eyes, but pauses long enough for me to stop him before he hands the two cards and photos to the cop.

“Can you share what we got today?” I ask, and Officer Reed complies with a sour face.

Too bad. This shit is mine, even if I don’t want it.

Trips and Walker look at the photos, the card, and the taunt, Walker squeezing my hand and pressing a kiss to my forehead, RJ’s arms still tight around me.

I watch the cop’s face as he flips through the photos, noting how his brow creases and he swallows, trying not to show how surprised he is by what he finds.

He’s not that great of an actor.

“When did you get the first one?” he asks.

“It showed up on Christmas Eve, but I didn’t open it until Christmas Day.”

“And the, ah, photo that came with the Christmas card? When is that from?”

Trips is vibrating with rage, and I want to soothe him, but I know he won’t let me. “The Friday before that.”

“The next one?”

“This last Thursday. And the photo was from Christmas Day night.”

He tucks the photos back into the cards, swallowing again before meeting my eyes. “That’s quick. He was only let out a few days before that first photo was taken. And three threats in less than a week? That’s not a good sign.”

“No shit.”

“You know him best. What are the chances that I’ll find his fingerprints on these cards or photos? ”

I think about the care Bryce put into his studying, into organizing our lives, making everything a glittering prism of mock perfection. Now, all he has left to care about is his hatred of me. “Close to zero. He’s careful. Smart. And quite obviously, obsessive. The photos are probably on his phone, but unless access to that is part of his plea deal, I don’t know what you can do, honestly. The only reason I’m filling you in is because you drove over to warn me. That counts for close to nothing, but maybe you actually want to help. You know, before I end up some God-awful statistic.”

Trips drags his hand through his hair, eyes squeezed closed, a small, pained noise escaping. Walker steps closer, while RJ pulls me against him, like they could somehow keep me safe just by being beside me.

Officer Reed nods, tapping the collection against his leg before holding out his hand for the newest gift from my ex. “I’ll do whatever I can. And as far as the other thing, I’ll dig into it and see what I can find.”

“Thanks,” I say, suddenly uncertain I made the right call asking the police to help.

But it’s the best option. It’s not like we’re equipped to go full vigilante mode on these creeps, as much as they deserve it.

Taking the newest card, he nods at me, then the guys, and I can tell he’s forcing himself to look them each in the eye. Which after seeing at least some naked ass, shows a certain amount of bravery.

None of us move until he drives away, as if without discussion we agree that the threat must be long gone before we open our door again .

The warmth of the house makes my cheeks burn, but as the door closes, I know even this warm space, full of love and comfort, is no longer safe.

We can’t keep training here. Bryce is smart enough to figure it out.

I’ve lost my room. I’ve lost the common spaces. I’ve lost the freedom to just enjoy existing in comfort with these men I’ve come to care about.

And it fucking sucks.

Bryce is a problem. And I need to knock that problem off my list again. Fast.