Ezra (New Carnegie Androids #6)

Chapter 5 #2

I accompany them to the door and see them off. Once they’re gone, I order the music off completely and look around my new place, breathing in. Charlie crosses the floor and playfully circles my feet in a figure eight, beeping. It still smells a bit like new paint, and since there’s no rain to speak of, I open a few windows to air it out.

Trying to find something to do with myself isn’t quite as easy as forgetting my cares with someone as chatty as Zoey. After lazing about on the couch and tuning out the evening news, I scroll through my emails and messages. We’re nearing two hundred thousand dollars with the online fundraiser, but it still isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. I can’t put a number on losing someone. I’m a human being, not a life insurance company.

With the museum at the forefront of my mind, I send off emails to Arnold and Diana. Arnold’s is a bit more professional, inquiring if we can get together before opening to discuss what he’d like me to focus on when we get back. For Diana, it’s personal. I really miss her, and I hope she’s doing okay. I tell her as much before I resort to sketching.

But missing a friend inevitably turns into missing him . I draw Ezra from memory, sometimes without even realizing I’m doing it. I power my tablet down and set aside my digital pen with a sigh as I sit alone at my granite kitchen bar. He always comes into my mind, unbidden. Just when I think I’ve got a handle on my thoughts, they always trail back to him somehow. I’ll be minding my own business, getting things done, keeping myself busy. My thoughts inevitably wander.

It’s worse when I’m in bed. When I touch myself, it’s okay , but the only time it ever comes near to being satisfactory is when I think of Ezra, reliving what it was like to have his fingers hilted to the knuckle inside me, playing me like an instrument. Even then, when I do it myself, it’s still nowhere near as good. I have my vibrator to try to get me there in similar fashion, but it’s like buying a knock-off of your favorite brand or being crammed in economy when you’ve experienced first class. It’s just not the same.

That’s not even the worst of it.

I’ve started having nightmares. The setting is almost always the march or the museum, one or the other. I relive those bombings in terror, unable to stop them from happening, even though I have this sense of dread and I’m lucid enough to know what’s coming. When it happens, I look desperately for Ezra, knowing he looked after me twice. That he kept me safe and saw to my injuries.

But in my dreams, he never shows. I’m left to wake in a cold sweat, shooting up in bed and gasping for breath as I’m assailed by menacing androids with no synthetic skin or semblance of humanity. Only metal.

The word “purify”

carved into their foreheads.

Charlie always trills and peeks at me from his spot when I wake up in the middle of the night, nestled near my pillow. Now, he skitters into view from my bedroom, happily beeping and crawling up my body to perch on my shoulder. He shyly hid while my friends were here, which was probably a good thing. Zoey might’ve tried to kidnap him with how cute he is.

I shake myself out of thoughts. I won’t be tired for a couple hours yet. And even though I’m dreading going to bed, I need to find ways to distract myself. I could bury it all with more Humanity First, upload my intentions to social media, but I haven’t really touched it since it all happened beyond trying to raise money. I’m planning on going all out after the gala. That has to go off without a hitch before I reveal this new leaf I want to turn over, or I might negatively impact the money we’re trying to raise for the bombing victims. I want to talk to Dad about it too, try to get him on board, but it hasn’t happened yet.

I toy with my phone. Sifting through my contacts, I pull up Ezra’s number. I’ve done this a dozen times since he gave it to me, but I always stop myself. He made it clear that reaching out to him was for emergencies. If I felt unsafe, or if I needed help. Besides, anything could’ve happened in the past few weeks.

I force myself to be honest. I want not only to talk to him now, but all the time, and I should’ve said as much. I’d like to be connected with him, knowing my messages could come streaming across his vision, that he can answer without a second thought. I’d like to see him again. Hang out. Okay, more than that, but it’s not just about sex.

Even though I wish I’d been brave enough to straddle him and ride him hard until dawn, like I envision when I slip my hand between my legs at night, working my clit so hard multiple times, until it smarts the next day. Yikes . I should probably hydrate more.

But even admitting this all to myself sends me into a spiral of confusion. What am I doing? Here I am, daydreaming about a man I can’t have. There’s a reason he told me to contact him for dangerous reasons only. It doesn’t matter that he’s amazing. That he’s someone who can flip from stoic and hardened and sexy to warm and compassionate and understanding. He understood how I see my future, how it isn’t here in New Carnegie. And he wasn’t going to waste my time.

Except it’s not a waste of time. Not to me. I want to talk to him. We agreed we were friends before; maybe we can stay that way. If I don’t act, I’ll always wonder. I’ll regret it.

Impulsively, I hit the call button on my phone, his name lighting up across the display. I hear one ring tone, but all my courage dissipates.

Maybe I’m fooling myself. Maybe it’s not about me. What if this was all his way of telling me he doesn’t want to hear from me? That he’s guarding his own feelings, his own family. Am I being selfish?

“Goddammit, Kat.”

I toss my phone down. “Don’t do that again. Have another beer, and let it go.”

I’ve only got one left after Zoey and Bridger visited. Beer has never been enough to really get me drunk, but it takes the edge off. It’s quite late now, so the neighbor downstairs must be at work. I crank up my tunes, picking up where we left off by jamming to songs that are almost a century old. Say what you will about the twenty-first century; it had some decent music.

Relaxing means dancing around my new apartment in nothing but a pair of cotton shorts, an oversized T-shirt, and my socks to slide across the hard floor while I pretend my beer bottle is a microphone. In my head, I’m not here anymore. I’m fantasizing about karaoke night with my friends, maybe being a rock star, or performing in a singing competition. All these things will never happen, of course, because I’m lip syncing and can’t carry a tune to save my life. But no woman in the world can deny that when you have a place to yourself, dancing around to your favorite songs and playing pretend never gets old, whether you’re five years old or fifty-five.

Charlie watches me as he sits on the kitchen island. He taps the countertop to the beat with his two front legs.

“You are so cute.”

I giggle. “Good dancing, Charlie!”

I’m doing my best to moonwalk across the floor with my empty bottle in hand when there’s a hard, hurried knock on the door.

My shoulders sag. “Seriously?”

I grumble, ambling toward it. “Thought she had work. Totally cramping my style.”

I get ready to plaster on a fake oh, did I bother you again smile as I swing open the door. “Can I help?—”

My words die in my mouth instantly.

Ezra, dressed in his favorite trench coat with a hat on his head, gives me a once over before arching his eyebrow. His expression isn’t neutral or hard or ferocious. It’s soft. Even amused.

“—you?”

I finish awkwardly.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I open my mouth again, but nothing comes out. What do I do? What do I say? My heart is running laps in my chest, so much that the holo-watch on my wrist vibrates to let me know I need to slow down.

“Ezra,”

I sputter. “W-what are you doing here?”

“You called me,”

he answers.

I’m somewhere between embarrassed and elated, and I’m not sure which. Did he pick up immediately only to hear me end it before it could begin? Calls flow right into his visual feed, right?

My cheeks burn. “I...”

I don’t know what to say or how to recover myself. I can’t lie; he’ll know. I’m terrible at it anyway, even if he couldn’t scan me. Sheepishly, I stick with the truth. “I just wanted to talk. See how you were doing.”

“I see.”

Ezra studies me. “And the way you do that is to call me and instantly hang up?”

“You got me,”

I admit. “I chickened out. I stopped it, thinking you were probably busy.”

“I am,”

Ezra replies. “But Deion is finished for the evening, and I don’t remain at the precinct when he’s not there. We’d only just arrived home when I saw your call. When you ended the call so quickly, I was concerned.”

“That I might be in trouble?”

I cross my arms with a wince, contrite. Good job, Kat. You were so worried about wasting his time—then you waste it anyway.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m fine. As you can see.”

I motion around my apartment.

“I did see,”

Ezra agrees, the corner of his mouth slightly turned up. “I heard too. Your windows are open. Enjoying yourself?”

Now I wish I could transport myself through the floor. Dealing with cranky nurse neighbor would be better than this. I cringe, abashed. “You saw me dancing?”

He chuckles. And that fleeting smile anchors me to the floor. “I did. You seem to be doing well.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to waste a trip out here.”

“Katrina.”

Ezra presses his hand against the door frame. “Checking on you is never a waste.”

Androids aren’t ones to lie, Ezra made that plain. Despite the fact I’m mortified he saw my flailing from the window, hope kindles in me. “Do you want to come in?”

Ezra slowly nods, stepping inside. The door closes behind him. I do my best to ignore my stomach, doing a jig with a fresh dose of nerves. I never anticipated feeling this way, so relieved and yet so excited, so joyous at being able to speak with him again.

I try not to show it. He’s got an advantage over me as it is, being able to scan my vitals and determine how I feel from diagnostic information. Wearing my heart on my sleeve isn’t going to do either of us any favors. We’re just friends. He’s checking on a friend. Take it easy .

I set my empty beer bottle in the sink for now until I can recycle it. “Alice, turn the music off,”

I command, and the system obeys, my apartment going silent while Ezra looks around.

Charlie jets toward Ezra with a series of happy beeps, circling around him several times and touching his shoe gently with a leg. Ezra bends down and extends his hand to the little spider bionic, who grasps the cuff of his sleeve and begins crawling up his arm to his shoulder. “I see you discovered Charlie in your belongings.”

“You knew he was there?”

“I could sense him, yes. He seems happy with you. Would’ve been a shame to leave him behind.”

He turns his attention back to my apartment, allowing Charlie a few moments to beep and trill while crossing from one shoulder to the other along Ezra’s back. Then he patiently sets him back down on the floor. Charlie’s beady glowing eyes blink up at him, then he beeps loudly in indignation and follows him. “This is a comfortable setting. I can see why you preferred it to BioNex Tower.”

“I only prefer the location,”

I reply, acutely aware I’m in my pajamas and a pair of fluffy socks, while he looks perfectly put together. “But the Tower had better company.”

He turns to face me, curious. His smile hasn’t quit faded, and I’d like to think it’s because he’s just as happy to see me. “I happen to agree.”

I toy with my pinky finger, resisting the urge to bite my nails. It’s a bad habit that always pops up at the exactly wrong time, and I haven’t gotten them done to stop the bad habit in weeks. Not since before the bombing.

“Ezra, I know we said that—well, I know what we talked about, but I thought maybe?—”

He moves so quickly, I’ve barely registered that he’s crossed the room and collided against me. Before I lose my balance, he wraps his arm around my waist, places his hand beneath my jaw, and tilts my chin up, cutting off my sentence as his lips crash against mine. I go stiff, then melt when I feel his tongue search for mine. He doesn’t taste like metal, like anything. My eyes shut, and I’m not sure where my hands should go, but before long I grip his coat tightly, reciprocating as best I can.

Ezra is kissing me.

Inexperience hinders me as I try to match his eagerness. I’ve had a kiss or two, sure, but nothing like this. Ezra must sense it; he harnesses his strength, deepening the kiss to something smoldering and tender. A soft moan escapes me. I gasp as he lifts me, his hands on my ass, holding me steady. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders. My head spins. All thoughts of conversation are cast aside. I don’t want him to stop kissing me for anything.

But he breaks away, gritting his teeth. His expression twists from a hunger I’ve never seen to pure annoyance. “Fuck,”

he snarls, the backlit glow of his eyes flickering. He exhales heated air from his inner systems. With care, he lowers me to my feet, his hands on my waist.

“What is it?”

I ask, stricken, still reeling from a kiss that’s all but rendered me a puddle in the floor. He came to check on me. He kissed me. What does that mean? What do I want it to mean?

“I’m getting pinged by the precinct.”

Ezra grimaces. “Some sort of finding. I need to return. With Deion.”

No, no, no. Every fiber of my body is defiant. I want him to stay. Why him, why now? I douse it with fresh reality. Ezra is a detective; his entire life and purpose revolves around investigations like this. He isn’t allowed rest. What we shared while he watched over me was something rare.

This is what it’s really like for him. I have to respect that.

“Okay,”

I whisper, allowing my arms to fall to my sides, memories of his kisses still searing my lips. I do what I can to mask my disappointment, nodding. “I understand.”

Ezra loosens his grip on me. “This isn’t why I came over. To do this. I just saw you, and I...”

He trails off. “Perhaps the interruption is for the best.”

I flinch, steadying my breath. “For the best?”

My voice is faint.

Ezra sounds reluctant, almost apologetic. “Katrina, that isn’t what I?—”

“It’s fine,”

I cut in, forcing myself to shut down all hope and any expectations. The interruption was for the best. The truth is known to sting, isn’t it? Perhaps that’s what I needed to hear. I step back. “Really. I get it. You’re needed. You should go. It’s important.”

Ezra’s frown deepens. He nods. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Right. Safety. That’s what matters. I swallow and head for the door, ignoring the heat between my thighs as I open it for him.

“Thank you,”

I answer, keeping my tone tepid, unwilling to look him in the eye. I don’t want there to be any other indication of his effect on me. “Good luck with your case.”

I hear a soft sigh escape him. He lingers briefly next to me by the door, and then enters the hallway. “Good night, Katrina.”

“Good night,”

I answer politely.

When the door shuts, I lean against it and stare helplessly up at the ceiling. I don’t know what to think. How could he kiss me like that, and then turn around and regret it so quickly? Does he consider this a momentary lapse of judgment? When he came into my room and pleasured me, is that all it was? Can I blame him when I personally wondered the same thing?

I rub the bridge of my nose, shaking my head. What’re you doing, Katrina?

But there it is. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s for the best, and I have my answer.

Except I don’t want to accept that answer. I want to see him again. There’s a lot going on, but surely there’s got to be a way we could— no, Katrina, let him go —but fuck, I can’t!

I pick up Charlie and gently pat him as he swings his front arms over my shoulder, allowing me to carry him like a baby. “Why is this so fucking difficult?”

Charlie whistles curiously.

“No, not you. This. Romance. Life.”

I groan, collapsing heavily on the couch.

I shouldn’t be thinking about this. I should be focusing on fundraisers. Doing right by people. Showing my support. That’s when a sudden thought crosses my mind.

I’ve been trying to put together my own fundraiser for the families of the victims, one that would hopefully match those online. The gala is for high society, people Dad’s used to rubbing elbows with, not everyday people here in New Carnegie.

My old college didn’t want me there. But Dad has friends at the precinct.

Why didn’t I think of this before?

A few days later, I stand next to a holo-projector at the front of a quiet, low-lit conference room inside NCPD headquarters, dressed to the professional nines in a tailored blue pantsuit. I worked quickly with my dad to arrange this meeting and gather statistics to prove my point and lead a presentation for the bigwigs at the department. Normally, I don’t like throwing Dad’s weight around, but this is something that benefits everyone, and it couldn’t wait. Police Commissioner Winters and Chief Jacobs are among those in attendance, as well as other higher-ups in the department. Detective Washington is among them, though Ezra is conspicuously absent. I doubt they’d let an android attend this meeting, especially under certain circumstances, but that’s okay.

Ezra isn’t who I’m here for today.

When they all filed in an hour before, Washington was the only one who offered a faint smile of recognition at me. The rest? I might as well be speaking to the dead. There are a few coughs here and there and one or two nods, but otherwise, I’ve got no idea what any of these people are thinking. Judging by how much coffee they’re chugging, they’re far more tired than I am.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea at all,”

Chief Jacobs says, turning his attention to Commissioner Winters. “What do you think?”

Winters looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than here. “I think my wife should’ve been invited to this meeting.”

A rumble of soft laughter runs through the attendees, as though I’m the brunt of a joke. That’s when I know Ezra was right about Commissioner Winters being an asshole.

Deion doesn’t so much as smile. He only looks at me softly, like he’s silently apologizing for their behavior. I rally my wits. I’m not about to give the commissioner a fake laugh or kiss his ass.

“I wasn’t aware your wife made all your professional decisions for you, Commissioner,”

I retort quickly, my voice light and airy to ensure he knows I’m casting daggers—but politely. “Perhaps she should’ve been here. If you have her contact information, I’m happy to collaborate.”

Satisfaction rushes through me at the bewildered looks of all the men in attendance when they realize precisely what I said. All except Washington, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

Chief Jacobs clears his throat. “I think it has promise,”

he says to the commissioner. “But I’m not sure we can afford to spare any officers for a venture like this.”

The venture he’s referring to is the fundraiser I’m here to pitch—a city-wide breakfast, featuring police, firefighters, and other first responders, where everyone and anyone is welcome, and you don’t have to make seven figures or attend a gala to make a difference. Ten dollars buys all-you-can-eat pancakes. During my presentation, I made sure to rely heavily on successful percentages and the amount of positive PR, things law enforcement can always use in every city big and small.

It gets them recognition. It gets us the money we need.

“I can,”

Washington pipes up.

“What do you mean?”

Jacobs replies, turning to him. “We’re up to our necks in this TerraPura investigation. The ACU is spread thin as it is.”

“We’ve caught the Carson shooter,”

Washington replies. “I’ve got my task force working twenty-four seven. We could rotate them out through the day, treat an event like this as a kind of break, so they can return to work with fresh eyes. Besides, we can’t chain everyone to a desk, bombing or not. They’re still people. And they’re running themselves ragged.”

Winters turns his gaze to me. “You mentioned something about the android during your presentation.”

“Ezra,”

Deion and I say at the same time. I glance at him and stand a little straighter. He’s got one hell of a poker face. I wish I could say the same. “Yes. My father and I have always supported androids acting as assistance for emergency personnel and law enforcement.”

“That’s a surprise,”

Jacobs scoffs. “And news to me. What happened to ‘shut them all down’?”

“I’ve never advocated for shut-downs. Our fight is with massive corporations laying off human workers for cheap labor,”

I answer calmly. “But that isn’t the point I’m trying to make for this event. People are scared. I think this could go far to mitigate concerns, seeing us come together against TerraPura.”

“Coming together.”

Washington scratches his chin. “That’s an interesting idea, Miss Carson, I’ll admit.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,”

I say, trying to redirect to the subject at hand. “Now, Belmont County has an emergency android with the fire department. I think his name is Nolan. If we give the community a chance to interact with him—and Ezra as well—it’ll reassure the public that not every android is a walking bomb ready to go off.”

I clasp my hands behind me. “A compassionate event with a good cause that brings people together could do wonders for the city right now.”

“It could bite us in the ass,”

Jacobs warns. “They’ll say we’re wasting time, not doing our jobs.”

“They say that anyway,”

Washington says. “People are going to criticize us no matter what we do.”

Winters seems somewhat annoyed that Washington disagrees with him, but he waves a hand dismissively. “Fine. Five officers. Your pick. Preferably no more than two off the ACU task force, Washington. Get the other three from somewhere else. The rest can rotate off and on to get some grub.”

He’s not happy, but he agreed, and that’s what counts. I’m hoping the emergency departments I’ve got meetings with later in the week drive a bigger turnout. Fire trucks are always big hits with families, and I’m confident Belmont County won’t be as reluctant to participate.

As the meeting disperses, Washington approaches me with a reserved smile. “You seem to be doing well, Miss Carson. I have to say, I’m surprised.”

He gestures to the door, holding it open for me.

“About what?” I ask.

“That you’d be willing to represent your organization in an endeavor including bionics,”

he replies.

“The problem has always been humanity, Mr. Washington. I realize that now all too clearly.”

I step out of the conference room.

“Glad to hear it.”

I scan the bustling heart of the precinct, but I don’t see any sign of the one man I hoped I might run into. He’s not among the officers working at their desks, or anywhere else. “Will you tell Ezra I say hello?”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

Washington’s smile is a little too knowing for my comfort. He motions for me to follow him. “Come on.”

He leads me out of the precinct office to the parking lot, where rows upon rows of police cruisers and personal vehicles alike are parked. A silver Flagler SUV, both of its back doors wide open, idles in a lane between parking spaces.

“Ah, there they are,” he says.

That’s when I spot Ezra. A young girl with braided black hair darts around where he stands, hugging his legs and jumping at him with her arms outstretched as she chatters away. The closer we get, the more I can make sense of it.

“And then he tossed me into the air, and I spun, and he catched me?—”

“Caught you. And that sounds very difficult.”

Ezra’s voice is a deep, low rumble. There’s a kind of warmth I don’t think I’ve ever heard before. “I’m sure you did a good job.”

The little girl tugs at his hands. “Will you pwactice with me later, Ezwa? Pwease?”

“Of course,”

he replies, picking her up gently so she can wrap her arms around him and hug him tightly.

In an instant, I melt. I love kids. I’ve never really thought about having them myself, but my ovaries are nuclear detonators right now, and they are exploding. Ezra with his family is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen since discovering Charlie.

A lovely woman stands next to him, chuckling as she holds a clear container of dinner leftovers in one hand. “All right, DeDe, time to tell Ezra goodbye.”

“Aw,”

she says with a pout. “Okay.”

Ezra rubs her back and sets her down. Her little shoulders slump, lips turned down until he tilts her chin back up. “Hey,”

he says. “You have to do something for me now.”

“What?”

she says, disappointed as her mother rests a hand on her shoulder.

“Whatever you do,”

Ezra replies sternly, “you absolutely cannot smile. No matter what. Don’t do it. Don’t you smile.”

Little DeDe’s face twists as she tries very hard not to smile. She fails, beaming up at him brightly and giggles. That’s a clever trick. I can’t even resist the grin on my face and cover my mouth.

“You have a visitor,”

Washington calls as he goes to his wife and embraces her, thanking her softly for the meal.

Ezra turns to me as I hang back from the family. There’s another small child, a boy, waiting in the car seat, watching Ezra, then me, like a hawk with soft brown eyes. I feel like I’m infringing on something personal and not meant for me.

Yet I’ve never been more attracted to Ezra than now at this very moment, watching him handle the girl with such gentleness.

Ezra straightens, little smile fading.

I give him an awkward wave. “Hi.”

Ezra glances at Washington, who grins broadly at him. Ezra narrows his eyes at his partner and walks toward me. “Miss Carson,”

he greets me professionally. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to lead a presentation for a PR collaboration with the department,”

I reply, trying to play myself off as casual, like I wasn’t hoping for this the entire time. I’m probably failing miserably. “To raise money for the bombing victims and their families.”

“They give you a hard time?”

“A little bit, but when I presented data and how good it would make them look, they went for it.”

“Surprised Winters agreed,”

Ezra says wryly, clasping his hands behind him. He’s still wearing the same familiar clothes I saw him in the other night—long trench coat, a tie, the works.

I chuckle softly. “He hated it.”

“Good,”

he replies.