Surrender Ch. 01

Stephen Marshall drove with haste under the half-crescent moon and darkly lit sky full of stars that shone too brightly for his own liking. Thin, gray clouds were scattered across the black sphere of endless ebony that sank down deeply into his bones.

Freedom, his lungs craved. Fresh, dark freedom that only the atmosphere could provide for such a demanding spirit. Men of his particular eminence weren't overly found of restriction or confinement. He needed room to breathe, room to cast the dark slate of his eyes toward the horizon that seemed to stretch on for endless miles of eternity.

An eternity just waiting for him to explore.

Tonight, however, his yearning for freedom would exist only in imagination. Tonight, he had a job to do. One that required his sole attention and focus.

He wasn't one of Manhattan's hottest detectives in New York's low-profile Occult Crimes Unit for his avid daydreams that mostly took place far, far away from New York City, somewhere warm and near a beach, and where he didn't have to spend his days hunting down seventeen year old wannabe thugs and convicted criminals simply to put food on his table.

Hell, he hardly ate anyway. There was precious little time spent worrying about the trivial necessities such as food or sleep, especially when he was too busy playing the big bad cop by dodging bullets, saving the damsel in distress, or in this particular situation, driving like a bat out of hell through Times Square at three o'clock in the morning to chase a supposed murder suspect all the way from Times Tower on 43^rd. street, clear past Broadway and onto 9^th. Avenue.

Stephen wasn't by any means ready to keep time with Fast and Furious, but like any self-respecting city boy who spent thirty years inhaling car exhaust, smelling the pungent sweat of horses, and feeling the rush of passing cars and crowds, he knew how to handle his toys. He liked them small, fast, and compacted with powerful energy that wasn't easily tamed.

Just like his women.

After jerking the sleek black, 2012 Jaguar around a sharp bend in the road, Stephen drew his gaze to steal a quick glance toward his silent partner, Nora Simmons, who was now clutching the edge of her seat with white, ashen knuckles.

A humorous smirk formed on his handsome face as he took in the rare shift of fear swelling in her round, golden eyes and the unfamiliar strained muscles tightening in her pretty features. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail high on top her head, but several strands of blonde silk swayed loose to frame her heart-shaped face and too wide eyes.

Stephen resisted a laugh. "Don't close your eyes, doll face. We need to stay on this guy's ass, even if that means driving in circles all damn night."

Nora jerked to regard him with a dark, golden notice of warning. "You let me worry about his ass. Just keep your eyes on the road. There's no promotion awaiting in headquarters for cops who break laws in order to catch their man." She quickly looked back to face the windshield that was teeming with a rainbow of bright city lights and two dull, red tail beams belonging to the piece of trash 1999 Toyota Corolla that sped forward in a frantic attempt to escape their pursuit. "And don't call me doll face," she finished with a snap.

This time, Stephen glanced down at her pursed, full lips as her teeth bit down on the pretty pink shade that formed her mouth. With reluctance, he let out a raspy-throat chuckle and looked away. "Anything you say, detective Simmons."

They raced forward several hundred feet in utter silence. An occasional screech of tires and the blistering music of blaring horns seemed to echoed on for miles between his right temple and his left. Stephen pushed hard on the gas pedal that had them roaring through the intersection at a ravenous speed. Ignoring the annoying traffic lights and the countless pedestrian crossing signs, Stephen floored the Jaguar forward, uniting with the fierce vibration alerting every nerve in his body on fire. His hands were starting to sweat, his heart, calm and steady as it remained; it pumped a heavy dose of adrenaline through the thick veins in his neck, shoulders, and arms. He clutched tighter to the steering wheel as the a bright light and the sound of thunder exploded close ahead of him.

It happened so fast that Stephen barely had time to process the next few minutes in his mind. One moment he was chasing the Corolla through Times Square, and the next there was a body flying out the driver side door as the car took an unexpected left turn to crash head on into the front entrance of Forever 21.

Reacting completely on impulse, Stephen slammed on the brakes, nearly flying through the dashboard and sending his partner screaming through the small glass front that was their sole protection from the massive waves of fire spurting out from the shimmering Corolla that was now rapidly fading behind a thick gray wall of smoke and fire.

More fire rolled out from under the car; smoke piled high into the sky as Stephen cursed aloud and braced himself for the impact of slamming straight into the back of the flaming Corolla.

Nora screamed from somewhere beside him, but the sound of steel and metal jolting against each other at 80 mph, and the violent shriek of shattering glass was enough to deluge all other sounds.

Stephen spit out the bitter taste of his own blood from the corner of his mouth as he moaned deep in the back of his throat. There was a permanent indention of his right knee in the center of the crumpled dashboard. He couldn't move it. His left remained untouched, although bright red blotches of wet liquid bubbled up through the thick denim of his jeans from shards of glass piercing his leg and thigh with its fragile torture.

He sucked in a labored breath before turning to look at Nora.

She was lying very still in the passenger seat beside him. Her face was splattered with blood, as well as her clothing and the entire interior of his Jaguar. Her eyes were closed shut, but there was a steady pulse that moved her chest up and down in a slow pattern that meant she was alive.

"Nora?" Stephen's voice came out a hoarse rasp that sounded entirely unnatural. He tried moving his arms, luckily finding them able to move about with little pain. He placed one hand on Nora's arm and lightly shook her. "Nora?" he called again, only to be answered by silence.

She quietly stirred, but it was apparent she was lost to sleep.

Stephen mumbled a foul curse as he attempted to move his legs. A paralyzing pain shot up through his body that felt like dancing knives sawing through the thick layers of skin, muscle, and bone. But he ignored it. He continued to work his legs free until his mind was close to drifting away to exist somewhere far in the untamed folds of his imagination.

But just as his eyes started to close, he heard a male voice spring to life from somewhere behind the eerie background of gray and black smoke.

With as little movement as possible, Stephen turned to peer out his shattered window to see a tall, lean figure staggering forward in his direction. It was apparent that he was injured; no man could throw himself out of a moving vehicle onto concrete pavement and live to talk about it. But there he was, breathing, walking, bleeding, but fully alive and still holding the .22 caliber weapon he had used to shoot the clerk at the local gas station he had been accused of robbing.

Whatever the odds, the man was alive.

And he was headed in Stephen's direction.

Swallowing another low curse, all Stephen could think about was Nora. It would be impossible to pry her out of the car before this crazy psychopath could blow their brains all over Times Square. Even with the faint drum of police sirens howling in the background, Stephen knew he was running out of time.

With a loud grunt that set his leg on fire, Stephen did his best to lean over the limp Nora until his larger body was completely shielding hers from the man's view. He reached down under her seat to sort through the remnants of broken glass and torn up metal, to finally grasp the hilt of her Glock between shaky hands. He aimed, counted to three, and then fired the single bullet lodged deep in the chamber toward the approaching man, who was close enough to raise his own weapon.

Stephen fired first, missing the man by less than an inch. Not bad, considering he was on the verge of unconsciousness, and completely warped into an unnatural position that would be nearly impossible to hit the broad side of a barn.

But one bullet was all that he had. And now it was lost, as well as all chances of him making it through this one alive.

The man sneered a vicious gleam that looked borderline barbaric behind streams of blood draining down the sides of his face, and his long, uncombed hair thrown about his ugly features as he slowly made his way to the destroyed Jaguar. "Go to hell," he nearly shouted, lifting his arm to point the tiny round barrel through the shattered window.

Stephen refused to close his eyes; he merely stared at the stranger who was willing and ready to end his life. But then something beneath him stirred and a soft, timid voice cut through the silence before the loud blast of gunfire numbed a large part of his hearing.

"You first," Nora hissed before pulling the trigger of the Glock she held out in her hands that sank the bullet heart deep in the center of the man's chest.

Even after a squad team of police officers, a few men from homicide, two ambulances, and three different fire trucks made their way to the scene, Stephen still wasn't entirely certain what had happened.

He and Nora were carefully pried a part from the demolished sports car, where they now lay on separate stretchers being prepared to load in the back of an ambulance.

Stephen turned his head to look at his partner, who was securely strapped down to the incredibly uncomfortable mattress. "You were awake the whole time, weren't you?"

She couldn't move her head, but her golden eyes shifted in his direction. "Seemed like a good plan to me."

"The next time someone sticks a gun in my face, I would appreciate a little communication."

This time, it was Nora's turn to laugh. She turned her head as far as she could to pierce him with another one of her phony warning glares. "I just saved your life, detective Marshall. The only thing I want to hear from of you is a nice long thank you in the forms of dark chocolate and red wine."

Stephen's lips spread a part in a cunning smile. "Is that all, detective Simmons?"

Nora's eyes narrowed with mischief as the paramedics began lifting both stretchers in the back of the ambulance. "We shall see, doll face."

Two weeks later.

Rain poured heavily on the hood and down the sides of his patrol car as he slowed down to parallel park along the crammed street right outside of Nora Simmons's brownstone. The rain was coming down so hard that he could barely make out the small black numbers on the front door to indicate that he had successfully arrived at his destination.

Perhaps he should have called first, but one quick glance at the three story building was enough to conclude that every light in the house was turned on, prompting his suspicions that Nora was home. Still, it would have been courteous to announce his intentions of stopping by after two weeks of zero communication from his partner.

But Stephen wasn't ideally the formal, classy, gentlemanly sort of guy. Hell, he wasn't above making rude gestures or using foul language in front of strangers; their offense had little, if any, effect on him. He was a man who spoke his mind; he didn't give a shit what anyone thought about him. Call him arrogant, cocky; whatever it was, Stephen had every intention of releasing some of that male ego authority on the one and only woman who could push his buttons without even saying a word.

But that was just it.

Nora hadn't spoken to him since they were both escorted from the crime scene that took place nearly two weeks ago on Times Square. She hadn't returned his messages, she hadn't shown up at work, and even Sargent Weller was clueless as to her peculiar, remote behavior that was extremely abnormal for Nora.

Something was up. And Stephen was determined to go to extreme measures to find out.

Which was why he was here, showing up outside her home, unannounced and uninvited with two bottles of red wine and a large bag of dark chocolates, a simple as a peace offering that she wouldn't slam the door in his face and tell him to go to hell.

The wine and chocolate were merely a bribe. But then again the woman had saved his life. The least he could do was oblige her requests and treat her to a relaxing evening, while he thoroughly intended to probe her with questions until she confessed her reasons for avoiding him.

Okay, perhaps relaxing wasn't quite the appropriate word, but Stephen was determined to crack her, even if it meant risking the vile taste of wine and the unhealthy aftermath of consuming chocolate all damned night.

After putting the car into park and turning off the engine, Stephen tucked his Glock behind the waistband of his jeans and grabbed the bag of wine and chocolate before opening his door. He sprinted through the white mist of pouring rain that beat wildly against the sidewalk, and was starting to flood the ditches on either side of the street.

Hastily walking up the five steps that led to Nora's front door, Stephen reached out to bang on the large brass knocker when he noticed the door was cracked open.

Unease shifted in his dark eyes as he shook his head to release the droplets of water draining from his hair and face. He rapped his knuckles on the wooden door, then upon hearing nothing in return, he pounded on the brass knocker.

Still nothing.

Regarding the silence as an unspoken welcome, Stephen pressed his hand to the door and pushed it open. He wasn't exactly certain what to expect, but dark red walls, white carpet, oak furniture, and classical music playing loudly in the distance, wasn't it.

Nora had always seemed the average, plain-Jane sort of gal. She never wore makeup, her hair was always pulled back into a ponytail; her clothes mainly consisted of brown or black khakis, and she always wore a jacket, no matter what the weather, that reached her waist and completely covered her chest. She was attractive enough, but most definitely not the sort of woman whom Stephen enjoyed waking up to after a long and exhausting night of promiscuous sex.

But adding to his confusion, Stephen slowly entered the house that was anything but Nora, and made his way into the small foyer that quickly merged into a vast living area. A caramel-colored sofa and love-seat sat side by side in adjacent to the tanned-colored recliner and oak coffee table. Fake plants decorated the floor and some of the furniture in vibrant shades of greens that matched perfectly in contrast to the dark red walls and shiny tile paneling.

Stephen breathed slowly as he made his way into the living room and contemplated whether or not he had invaded the wrong house. But as he turned to regard the broad stairwell to the right of him, he noticed a picture on the wall of Nora and an older woman, who were smiling and locked in a mother-daughter embrace while standing on a beach in front of the ocean.

Relieved that he wasn't breaking and entering a perfect stranger's home, Stephen quickly decided it was time to make his presence be known. "Nora?" He set the bag of gifts down on the coffee table before making his way toward the stairwell. "Nora, are you home?" He wasn't certain she would be able to hear him over the loud music that seemed to be playing from upstairs.

Shit.

He didn't want to scare her. Perhaps she was sleeping or in the shower. Any woman, cop or citizen, would freak out if a strange man suddenly appeared in her bedroom without any heed of warning.

Perhaps he should have called first.

Not that it would have made a difference. Nora wasn't answering his calls, which was all the more reason to quite fucking around and charge the staircase like a trained, professional cop with seven years of experience under his belt.

Squaring his shoulders, Stephen took the first two steps before a shimmering sparkle of light drew his attention to the study, where another recliner was tipped over on its side, and shards of broken glass lay spread across the floor.

Halting in his tracks, Stephen felt his heart speed with anxiety as he stared at the pile of glass. "What...the fuck?" He looked for the source of the glass and found a single oak book shelf inside the study with the front door smashed to pieces. The door to the study had a hole pushed through the center, with tiny flakes of wood mingling among the glass particles.

Stephen's heart raced, this time settling high in his throat as he reached around to grab his Glock. He wrapped firm fingers around the stock barrel and took the steps at a slow, easy pace. He held the gun out in front on him, his eyes solely focused on the top of the stairwell that led to a small hallway with three doors on one side. The first door was small and narrow, as if entry to a linen closet; Stephen ignored it. He pressed forward to the second door, which was cracked open to reveal a bathroom; a marble counter top and a large mirror hanging on the wall that allowed him to see the bathtub filled clear to the brim, with dozens of lit candles flickering around the entire circumference, as well as on the counter, the stool, and on the floor.

Narrowing his eyes, Stephen passed the bathroom and crept closer to the last door, which was also propped open to reveal the source of the music, dim lighting, and a dark shadow shimmering into view that looked all too familiar.

Stephen fought the urge to lower his weapon, but many years of working crime scenes quickly dominated his natural born senses by forcing him to hold tightly to his gun as he pushed the door completely open with his foot.

There, standing nearly five yards away, stood a woman with a familiar face, but with a strange, panicked expression smothering her petite features with a startling emotion that Stephen had seen far too many times in his particular line of work.

Fear.

And not only was she pointing a gun in his face, but she was also naked. Completely and one hundred percent naked.

"Shit," they both swore in unison.

"Steph...what the fuck?" Nora shouted before lowering her weapon and turning to wrap herself in a towel.

Stephen was momentarily knocked speechless.

Which didn't happen often.

He didn't even lower his gun; he merely stood there, his mouth hanging wide open and gawking like a fifteen year old school boy who had just seen his first tit.

"I...uh...I was just..." He stumbled over his words, finally managing to lower his weapon and place it back inside his jeans without blowing a hole in his ass. "I'm sorry." His voice was shaking with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..."

"What are you doing here, Stephen?" Nora demanded, clearly pissed by his bold intrusion. She finished wrapping herself inside the barely-there towel that left little to the imagination.

Only he didn't have to imagine it.

He had seen her. All of her. He had just seen Nora Simmons naked. His partner...Nora...had been standing in front of him naked.

Stephen cleared his throat and attempted not to stare at her long legs that looked both well tanned and athletic; he failed, and then gradually lifted his gaze to study the plump swells of her breasts pushed up behind the knot she had tied in her towel. Her hair was down for the first time, left long and wavy across her slender, tanned shoulders that looked soft and firm.