SEIZED Part 1: New Adult Romantic Suspense (Seize Me Romance Fiction Series) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SEIZED

  First edition. March 7, 2015.

  Copyright © 2015 JC Coulton.

  ISBN: 978-1507088142

  Written by JC Coulton.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Seized, Part 1:

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  To Be Continued

  This series is dedicated to the men in blue, and to the one that got away...

  Seized, Part 1:

  A Steamy New Adult Romantic Suspense Thriller

  Seize Me Romance Fiction Series

  by

  JC Coulton

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SEIZED PART 1

  First edition. March 7, 2015.

  Copyright © 2015 JC Coulton.

  Written by JC Coulton.

  This series is dedicated to the men in blue, and to the one that got away...

  “To stay alive she needs to learn to let go.”

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  Thanks for reading Seized Part 1!

  Sincerely,

  JC Coulton

  Website: http://jccoulton.com/

  Like me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JCCoulton

  What would you do to have a second chance with the one that got away?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Carrie

  A surge of raw power fills my body.

  I feel so alive. It’s beautiful. I love to dance. Getting lost in the music makes me forget everything bad. It reminds me of who I am, and who I’m so close to becoming.

  The bass is pounding. My hips are fluid, and April and I are owning the dance floor. Lights flash on the writhing bodies around us. The nightclub is crowded, but through the sweat and the lights I see that my friend is finally starting to loosen up.

  We’re officially on vacation, dancing and drinking the night away. This hip Times Square club in New York, Caliber, belongs to April’s uncle, and the staff has been treating us like queens. I’ve sensed more than one set of eyes on us since we got here, but tonight is not supposed to be about guys, so I block out everything else to concentrate on the beat.

  The DJ takes the crowd into another frenzy and all around me sweaty bodies raise their arms in the air. I’m cheering along with them. It’s addictive. I can’t get enough of this night. April is dancing beside me, eyes closed, her white dress hugging her slim body in the strobe lights. Then, a heavily muscled guy in a blue shirt starts to edge in behind her.

  He’s looking cocky, pressing himself closer and making bottle to mouth motions to see if she wants a drink. Shaking her head, she pulls away quickly. I think he gets the message, but April signals to me that she’s had enough.

  “Carrie, let’s go!” she screams to me through the music and the noise. I follow her off the floor. She obviously needs some distance from hotty over there, and I’m keen for a breather after what’s become an epic night.

  My name is Carrie James, and I can honestly say that my life is good. These days, anyway. I have a career and a loving family. But my friend April is in another place entirely. April’s been super dark lately, and understandably. It’s been a hell of a year. Sometimes I don’t know how she’s coped with it all. But then I remember. Humans are resilient. We can heal from anything.

  A rush of love overtakes me, and I grab her arm. Together, we wheel toward the bar of the busy nightclub. This is the girl I grew up with, and we’ve shared everything. She’s the one I told about my first kiss. We had sleepovers in the tree hut her dad built. We even got our drivers’ licenses on the same day. I couldn’t have made it through tenth grade without her, and it’s great to see her finally beginning to look happy.

  We take our place in the throng of party people waiting for drinks at the bar. I watch as three hot bartenders work the crowd. The combination of slicked back hair and Japanese tattoos is paired with stylish white shirts and aprons. It makes them look delectable. I can see the club is all about aesthetics, and it’s hot in more ways than one. Everyone is sweating. Even behind the bar, Mr. Barman has a sheen of sweat on his skin. For a second, I imagine what it’d be like to have him press his chest against mine. Giving nothing away, I smile at him and motion for service. I know I’m safe in my thoughts and my fantasies. They’re all I allow myself these days. Men can’t be trusted. It’s better to just enjoy myself, and walk away. I know the barman has been told to look out for us tonight, but I flutter my lashes anyway. No harm done.

  Just as he begins to make his way over, I feel April let go of my hand and start to pull away from the bar behind me. I lean in close to put in my order, and catch an alluring scent of aftershave as he smiles back at me. He must be just twenty-one, all boyish good looks and clean white teeth. It’s not like I’m over the hill or anything—far from it at twenty-three years old—but this puppy seems a little young, despite his sexy exterior.

  I turn to see what April wants—our drinks are on the house of course—but she’s got her phone in her hand and is furiously scrolling. Damn! She’s gone right back to looking tense and worried. Something must be wrong, again. Grrrr! I don’t want to be mean about it, but she’s not the only one trying to escape tonight.

  These dramatics and big reactions she has to every little thing are starting to wear me down. I wish she’d just let go a little and stop stressing so much about the details. April is a professional worrier. She carries the world on her shoulders. She has a right to be sad, but the truth is this has been going on for years.

  “What are you drinking!” I yell through the loud beats. April just shakes her head, her chin wrinkling in thought. Jeez, that girl is stubborn. I know she’s not going to tell me what’s happening. We used to be one hundred percent connected. We used to share everything. It makes me sad to see the changes. She’s really pulled away, but I guess that’s what grief does to a person.

  When her parents died in January, it was devastating. It shocked our whole community and put a massive barrier between us. It’s like she kind of disappeared. She got caught in the details of life, and almost stopped living when her parents did. That said, I can’t imagine how she must be feeling to have lost them. April’s family was close. She always knew her mom and dad had her back. I remember when she called to tell me they had died. She could hardly talk. Road deaths are so sudden and violent. It was tragic.

  I know I have to quit complaining about our relationship. She’d never admit it, but she needs me more than ever. I have to put my frustration aside in short order, so I try not to be too demanding as I prompt her again for her drink order.

  “Hon, do you know what you want? We’re holding up the line here.”

  I’m getting a dirty look from the girl next to me. But I ignore her and th
e barman as I look closely at April through the flashing light.

  She really doesn’t look well. People jostle against her, competing for bar space, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes are fixed on her phone and it’s like I’m not even here. Whatever is going on has cast a pale sheen on her face and a tense line to her jaw. At just under five-foot-nine, April has curves to boot and honey blond hair. She’s most short girls’ worst idea of a best friend, but right now, there’s no room for jealousy. All I feel is worry.

  It must be a message from some creepy guy. They can’t keep their hands to themselves around April, and she’s had plenty of practice dealing with unwanted attention. The guys back in Cedar Rapids have been after her for as long as I can remember. It started with notes from Tommy Ross in grade school, and never stopped. She’s had a couple of boyfriends, but most of the time she’s learned to fend off those advances.

  While we’ve both been getting attention tonight, I can’t help comparing my own curves and dark coloring to her classic beauty. And that’s not to mention her brains. April may be quiet, but she’s super smart. She’s a veterinary nurse now, and is studying to become an equine specialist. Men have never mattered to April as much as they have to me. All she seems to focus on is studying, her family, and Benny, the damned Golden Retriever. I swear that dog has owned her heart since we were ten years old. None of her boyfriends or would-be love interests has gotten close.

  But I can see this is something different. April’s face is almost frozen in the light of the phone. Whoever it is that’s texting has totally killed the moment, and I feel a rush of anger at them for spoiling our night. This was supposed to be a girls’ night out. We badly need to forget about men and work. Both of us have been on a knife-edge this last year, and we’re past overdue for a night of letting loose.

  Granted, my parents are still alive and well. Compared to April, I don’t have much to worry about. She not only works full-time, she studies. All I have to moan about is my job in all its torturous glory. The truth is, my boss is a real control freak. He never assigns me with the work I want. It goes to everyone else on the team, and I’m starting to wonder if journalism is even right for me.

  I’m just a researcher right now for KCRG, the local network in Cedar Rapids. But journalism is my passion. Uncovering the truth and educating the public is something I was born to do, but it’s hard to get a foothold with the network. They keep sidelining me with boring research projects. It’s even harder to keep my cool when I see my classmates making solid headway into their careers. I feel so unsure of myself. I’m starting to think I’ve got some grandiose idea of my abilities, and everyone at work is just waiting for me to realize and quit.

  Right now though, it’s time to forget about all that work crap, and focus on the here and now. I need to find out what’s making my friend look so sick. I know April can hold her liquor, but how many have we actually had? I’ll always admit to being the wild one, but it’s not like she’s an angel. We’ve been downing shots since midnight, so maybe it’s just too much for her.

  She didn’t even want to come here. It’s her Uncle’s club and her family is a little difficult. But I wanted us to have a good time. On my researcher’s salary, I needed to take advantage of the free drinks. So I made the decision to come here and it looks like it was the wrong one. I see her tense mouth and pale face, and a sliver of guilt penetrates my tequila-fueled brain. I tell myself off sternly. Carrie James you are NOT being a good friend. Grabbing April’s hand again, I leave the cute bartender and our forgotten orders behind and begin to lead us through the crowd toward the exit. There’s nothing better for tequila brain than fresh air, and I can see April needs to get out of here.

  The hipster coat check girl waves to us as we head up the stairs from the happening lower level. Caliber is packed with drunken revelers this late on a Saturday night, but the staff are impressive. Not snobby at all, even though this place gets great reviews and they are well within the scope of exclusive when it comes to the New York scene. Jackets in hand, we make it to the top and the security guy lifts the red rope for us. I start to lead April away from the noise. It must be three in the morning, but Times Square is still rocking. Yellow cabs and cars full of laughing people cruise past. Their blaring horns remind me to put my coat on. I don’t like drawing attention to myself in public, and the pressure of my hemline aside, I’d kill to snuggle up with a burger and shake right now.

  Despite our quick exit, April still looks tense. She’s silent as we make our way along the street so I decide to just be straight up. “Look,” I say, “I can see you don’t want to talk about it. But I’m worried.”

  “I’m fine,” she says, “just stupid family stuff.”

  I see something change in her eyes, and my reporter’s instinct sets off alarm bells in my head. She’s about to tell me something that will pique my interest more than just boy drama.

  “Fresh Hawtdoogs, get ’em fresh.”

  We’re interrupted by a vendor who’s out selling dogs way too late. April actually jumps at his grating call, and I’m reminded of a scared kitten when I see her. She’s really nervous about something, and I need to get her back to the hotel, like yesterday.

  “Well, you know my uncle?” she says. I nod, remembering the creeper from the funeral who looked like a slimy version of April’s mom. “Ever since the accident, things have been weird with him.”

  Now I’m listening.

  “What sort of weird?” I ask, wondering why she doesn’t just spit it out.

  “He just keeps showing up at the house acting like the man, trying to give me money and buy me food and stuff.”

  I only just hold back my scoff. Anyone else would be stoked to have a generous uncle, but of course April is totally stuck in her head about it.

  Sensing the dismissal in my eyes, she doesn’t say anything further, and nothing about the message on her phone, so I decide not to pry. I love her but I don’t want to be part of this drama.

  “Here, hold this will you?” April gives me her purse as she reaches down to adjust the shoe strap on her heel. I can see it’s been rubbing. It’s red as hell, and I wince in empathy. Standing up again, she mutters, “It’s not like I don’t need the money, but Mom never even used to talk to Uncle Jessup.”

  April’s -, near-fake laugh doesn’t buoy me one bit. She sees the serious look on my face and lapses into silence again. The sounds of the street fill our ears for a second.

  Then she adds, “It’s kind of why I didn’t want to come here tonight.”

  Nodding my head, I realize this is a dead-end conversation and decide to change the subject. I’m convinced she’s hiding something, but who am I to stop her from having a private life. All that should matter is her happiness.

  April sways a bit on her heels, and although I want to ask more questions, now is not the time. We’re supposed to be having fun tonight, and I don’t want to bring us down any further. We may be two girls from Iowa, but we know how to party, and we’ve given it a good run tonight. Now it’s clearly time to go back to the hotel.

  Leaving April’s side for a moment, I step out to hail a cab. The street is nearly empty, but I can still hear that annoying hotdog guy harping on with his street meat mantra a couple of blocks back. I wave at a passing taxi, and then another one, but they’re both busy. My feet start to ache and I know it’s well past time for something to eat. Another cluster of cabs pass me by and I’m starting to feel the return of reality.

  I look back to complain about the pain my new heels are causing, but April is staring in shock at the road behind me. Car doors slam in unison and someone shoves roughly past me. I swear, no one knows how to be polite these days. Then I see that four big guys in masks have stormed the pavement. My stomach drops when one takes hold of April’s arm. He’s got a gun and he’s holding it to the back of her neck. All of a sudden bad manners have become the least of my worries.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Blake

  Ano
ther late shift on 43rd Street, and it’s not so bad. I’ve got my coffee. The station is quiet, and shit here could be a lot worse. This gig has improved tenfold since I made Detective. No more Saturday nights pounding the pavement. No more drunken losers messing with me for the sake of it. It’s funny how everyone hates cops until the day they need them.

  At five years on the force, I’m no longer a newcomer and I like it. I’ve been through more than half the punk cops ahead of me, but age matters around here. It’s all about hierarchy and toeing the line. I’m making my way up slowly regardless. Schmoozing and office politics are not my greatest talents. The brass pisses me off too much to spend any amount of meaningful time with them.

  The truth is, this job is not what I dreamed of, but it’s what I’ve got and that’s good enough. There’s no point to life if you’re miserable all the time. I’d be no damn good to anyone as a crying mess in the corner. I can’t stand those fools. Bitching and moaning about every little thing. It’s better to be grateful.

  Soon, I’ll take a break and hit the weight room. 43rd was refurbished a while back. Some government fund to tidy up Times Square, but it’d be a good station even without the flashy technology. I’m more at home here than anywhere else. There’s great food nearby and enough machines and weights downstairs to float the boat of any macho cop we get through the doors.

  At least that makes it easy to stay lean. There’s no way I’m gonna turn into one of those donut-eating fat boys. No way. Something about those assholes bugs the crap out of me. They give the NYPD a bad name. People see them and think we’re all stuck in the past with big, fat guts and curly moustaches. The department is a different beast these days but some things will always stay the same.

  Lieutenant Jacobs walks past. “Hey, Blake.”