* * *
Hot and sweaty from a ten-mile run along the coast, Brielle walked into her luxurious bathroom, shed her clothes, and stepped into the shower stall. Cool water rained down on her sore body. She noticed fresh bruises on her torso and on her arms, but she didn’t mind, even as she winced in pain. Training to be a SWAT officer was worth it. After passing a written, verbal, physical, and mental exam, she and one other woman in the LAPD were chosen to move forward…meaning she’d landed back at the police academy for further instruction and intense fitness training. The other woman had already been dropped after two weeks because she couldn’t handle the physicality.
Brielle was determined to make it all the way. Her rank as a sergeant, her intellectual brilliance, and sharpshooter status weren’t worth a damn if she couldn’t take the physical bouts with a sparring partner bent on taking her down, and the other challenges tossed at her. So, she worked out with a personal trainer five days a week, a former heavyweight boxer to be exact, in LA’s famous Main Street Gym, the same one used as the interior for Mighty Mick’s inRocky I.
As she dried her tender body, the physical pain involved with her training wasn’t nearly as bad as the emotional pain her ex-boyfriend inflicted upon her heart. Sometimes she couldn’t help thinking about their final confrontation.
After a long day in the field where she’d been caught in a gang war, she’d gotten home late, too tired to do anything but take a shower and fall into bed. She’d completely forgotten about Malcolm’s art exhibit at The Broad. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity for him, and she’d missed it.
When he stumbled into their bedroom, half drunk and furious with her, he screamed, “What the hell, Bri? Where were you? I can’t believe you stood me up on the most important night of my life! For God’s sake, wake up!”
She jerked awake, stunned by his tone of voice and the contemptuous expression on his face. Rising to a sitting position, she mumbled, “I’m so sorry. I forgot. I got home and…”
Malcolm’s face turned red. He grabbed her arm and pulled her from the bed. “Youforgot? You’re never there for me when I need you. All of our friends, no,myfriends, told me to dump you months ago even though I love you. Not anymore. Not after tonight. I’m tired of taking a backseat to your career. I’m sick of your emasculating me every time I turn around. I’m not tough enough for you, not able to protect you, not able to offer you anything you need. I’m done.”
Brielle watched in horror as he started flinging drawers open and tossing her clothes at her. “Get out. Take what you can carry tonight, and I’ll pack the rest of your things. You can pick them up outside in the hallway tomorrow.”
She couldn’t believe Malcolm was throwing her out of their apartment, actuallyhisapartment, in the middle of the night when she didn’t have anywhere to go. With as much dignity as she could muster, she dressed and made sure she had at least one clean uniform and her guns.
Standing at the front door, gazing at him with something akin to pity in her eyes, she declared, “I truly am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. But the fact that you feel less of a man because you can’t handle my career is not my problem. It’s yours.”
She lifted her chin, looking exactly like the daughter of Cameron “Hurricane” McAdams should. Her father taught her pride. However, her mother’s gentle, loving spirit also ran through her blood, and her tone and expression softened.
“I’m not the woman for you. I can’t give you what you need, and you definitely can’t give me what I need, either. One day I hope you meet a woman who will love you unconditionally and give you what you both need and want.”
She’d spent the night at a hotel, and for the first time in her life she called in sick in order to look for a place to live and pick up her personal possessions. For a girl who grew up on the wild coast of Maine and the wide-open spaces of Boulder, Colorado, Brielle hated living in LA.
She drove south until she reached Laguna Beach and found the house on the cliff. When Mrs. Bosco at Laguna Beach Realty learned she was a sergeant with the LAPD, she slashed the asking price by one fourth. Too good of a deal to pass up, she bought it instead of renting. It also helped that the realtor recognized the McAdams name. A month later she’d been accepted into the SWAT program and the ugliness with Malcolm didn’t matter anymore. Oh, she missed the sex, but not his constant whining and complaining about the lack of time she spent with him.
“Screw that,” she muttered, reaching for a bottle of water in the fridge. “I don’t have time for relationships.”
But if she did, she’d want a man so comfortable in his own skin he wouldn’t feel as if he had to compete with her career for her time and attention.
Thinking about relationships brought her best friend Faith to mind. It’d been too long since they’d spoken. Just as she reached for her cell phone, it vibrated with an incoming call.
Her face lit up with a smile. “Hey, Faith! What’s up? I was just thinking about you.”
Chapter 3
“Nothing’s up. I just wanted to touch base. It’s been awhile since we’ve talked…” Faith’s voice trailed away.
An unexpected shiver ran up Brielle’s spine. She’d never heard that shaky and nervous tone in her friend’s voice before now. They’d been best friends since sharing a dorm room at Northwestern University their freshman year. The moment they’d started talking about their personal experiences and family history they realized how much they had in common. Their families were actually connected since Brielle’s brother Trey was an FBI agent and Faith’s uncle Patrick Stoker was a former FBI commander. Back in the day Tex worked for Stoker before he quit and joined the SEALs. When Faith’s parents were killed flying over the Alps in a small charter plane, she went to live with Uncle Patrick and Aunt Susan. At the moment her physically active aunt and uncle were hiking in Europe.
“What’s wrong?” Brielle asked. “You don’t sound like yourself at all.”
“Nothing, really. Boyfriend trouble,” Faith responded.
Brielle frowned. “Boyfriend trouble? You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone.”
“Well, um, it’s a new relationship. We’re figuring things out, I guess.”
Brielle didn’t believe a single word out of her friend’s mouth. “Huh.” Instead of pursuing the boyfriend track, she changed the subject. “So, what are you working on now? I thought you deserved a Pulitzer for that four-part series you did last year on Latoya, the homeless teenager.”
Faith gave a nervous laugh. “So did I. But I guess my story about a homeless girl fighting for her survival every day while earning straight A’s in high school and receiving a full ride to Northwestern didn’t rate any recognition.”
“Your writing was phenomenal.”
“Thanks. I’ve got…a few irons in the fire at the moment.”
