Partners in Crime (Gambling on Love Book 4)

  PARTNERS IN CRIME

  M. Andrews

  Partners in Crime

  Copyright 2017 M. Andrews

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Editing by:

  Kathleen Payne

  Cover Design by:

  Kari March Designs

  Cover Image Copyright 2017

  Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  DEDICATION

  For Taylor

  Contents

  Partners in Crime

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Hank

  A LOUD BANGING on my apartment door jolted me awake. The hot morning sun seared into my tired hungover eyes. I glanced over at my alarm clock, my eyes slowly came into focus on the red numbers. It was fucking seven in the morning. “Who the hell?” I groaned, rolling out of bed. I looked over at the left side of the bed expecting to see Becca, I think that was her name, lying next to me. Much to my relief, the sheets were empty. Blondie saved me the trouble of having to kick her ass out.

  I flipped the blankets back, swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and rested my feet on the soft beige carpeting. I ran my hands along my face and through my hair before standing up and walking over to my dresser. Slipping a pair of boxers and a t-shirt on then walked through my apartment to the front door. The pounding in my head grew stronger with every step I took, reminding me why I should have stopped after that fifth shot of tequila.

  As I opened the door, I was met by a tight lipped, wrinkled faced woman. Her salt and pepper black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she was conservatively dressed in a dark gray pant suit. She reminded me of the nuns at my elementary school when I was a kid. That stern face was not the image I was expecting to see at my door.

  “Are you Hank Ross?” she asked in a stern rasp of a voice.

  “I’m Hank Ross, whose asking?” I replied feeling rather annoyed that this up tight bitch had disturbed my sleep.

  “I’m Colleen Bateman, I’m with social services. Do you remember a Chloe Jensen?”

  Chloe Jensen, now that was a name I hadn’t heard in almost a year. “Yeah, I remember her, why?” Last time I saw Chloe she was picking her clothes up off my bedroom floor.

  Chloe was one of the dispatch girls down at the precinct. She had a huge crush on me. After a few too many beers, and a dose of Oxy, I threw her a bone and took her home with me. A month after our night together, she unexpectedly quit her job, and I never saw her again.

  “Miss Jensen gave birth to a baby girl two days ago, that she claims is yours. Seems Miss Jensen left the hospital in the middle of the night, leaving this letter behind indicating you as the father.” She handed me the letter, and I stared down at the crisp, white piece of paper, the black lettering blurred all together. Panic ripped through me as the memories of that night came flooding back. Chloe had mentioned that she was on the pill, but I bagged it anyway . . . just to be safe. Chicks will say they are on the pill just so they can try and trap you with a baby. The next morning, I found the broken condom on the floor. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I should have triple bagged it.

  “Mr. Ross, I know this is a lot to process, but we need you to come down to the hospital and submit to a DNA test so we can verify that you are indeed Colby’s father.”

  Colby, her name was Colby. I had a daughter. The words played over and over in my head. My heart was pounding a mile a minute, and my head felt like it was about to explode. I had a fucking kid. How the hell was I going to take care of a kid. I can barely take care of myself. I’ve always been so careful. It felt like I was being punished. I could tell this woman to fuck off, that there was no way this kid is mine, but something inside me needed to know.

  “Fine. Let me get dressed, and I will meet you at the hospital.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, I found myself sitting in a hospital room while a nurse drew my blood. The fluorescent light flickered above my head, the room was cold and sterile. The nurse gave me a small smile before she took the vials of my blood to be tested. Soon, I was going to find out if I was a father.

  This all seemed like some crazy nightmare, that at any moment I was going to wake up back in my apartment. During the drive to the hospital, time seemed to stop. I had so many questions racing through my mind. Why didn’t Chloe contact me after she found out she was pregnant? Why did she run away? By the time I reached the hospital, my head was fucking spinning like an out of control car.

  A few minutes later, the nurse returned to my room wheeling in a bassinet. “I thought you might want to meet your daughter. She looks like you.” She softly smiled and picked up the pink little bundle, gently placing her into my arms. The moment she made contact with my arms, I felt an instant connection to the tiny infant. She looked up at me with her little blue eyes and softly cooed at me, like she somehow knew I was her dad. I examined her face, she had little, pink, chubby cheeks, and her tiny lips formed a little O. She had my nose, my eyes, and my dark brown hair. I didn’t need a DNA test to tell me that baby was mine.

  “Would you like to feed her?” the nurse asked.

  “Sure,” I replied nervously.

  She handed me the bottle, and I gently push the nipple into her mouth. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Colby the whole time she ate. That sweet little girl already had me completely wrapped around her finger.

  Two hours later, the social worker returned with the results of the DNA test. She didn’t even have to read the results.

  “We need to talk about your options. Miss Jensen has signed over her parental rights. You can choose to raise Colby or you can put her up for adoption, and I will make sure she finds a loving family to take care of her.”

  The thought of another family raising my child made me sick to my stomach. Colby was my responsibility now, and I am going to raise her. I had no fucking clue how to take care of a baby, but I knew, without hesitation, I couldn’t let Colby go.

  “There is nothing t
o discuss. Colby is my daughter, and I am going to take care of her.”

  “If that is your final decision, I will have the hospital begin the discharge process and you can take your daughter home.”

  I have no idea what the fuck I am doing. On the way to the hospital, I was fully prepared to sign away my rights if the test came back positive, but after holding Colby in my arms, I couldn’t imagine my world without her. I love this little girl, and I will do everything in my power to make she grows up knowing how much she means to me. She may have been an accident, but she will never feel like she was.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Hank

  THE SHARP STING of the cold-tinged air burns my lungs as I run along the sand covered beach. The waves crashing against the shore is the only music in my ears. These morning runs are the only moments of solitude I get these days. A curious four-year-old keeps me on my toes from the moment her eyes crack open in the morning to when they finally close at night.

  A single father was not how I envisioned my life five years ago. Hell, having kids was something I never wanted. But then a tiny baby girl came into my life and turned my whole world upside down. And now I can’t envision my life without my daughter, Colby. Who knew a broken condom would end up being one of the best things to happen to me. Whether she ever realizes it or not, that sweet girl saved my life. I needed her just as much as she needed me. We are all each other has, and sometimes it’s both a blessing and a curse.

  I’m on this journey alone. There are days Colby throws a fit if she doesn’t get what she wants, and when I’m running on no sleep that I wish I wasn’t a father. But then come the days when Colby is snuggled up next to me on the couch while I’m reading her a story, and she looks up at me and says, “I love you daddy.” Now those moments make it all worth it. I used to feel guilty, well, I still feel slightly guilty when I get those feelings, but I have since learned that all parents have those days, it’s the struggle of parenthood. A part of me wishes I had a partner to help shoulder some of the work and fill the void I know both Colby and I are feeling.

  Colby is getting to the age where she is questioning why she doesn’t have a mom. How do you tell a four-year-old her mommy abandoned her in a hospital because she didn’t want her? There is going to be a point in her life where I won’t be enough. A girl needs a mother, and I don’t know if I will ever be able to give that to her.

  Relationships have never been my strong suit. To be honest, I’ve never been in one. My relationships with women always ended the moment the condom came off. There have been a string of nameless faces over the years. Most of which I can barely remember, thanks in large part to a mix of tequila and Oxy. By the time I was sixteen I was already heading down the path of self-destruction.

  I grew up in the superficial world of money and power. I was surrounded by people who believed that, because they had money, they could get away with anything and we did. I was a self-entitled little shit whose mother is an heiress to a massive lumber fortune. To me that meant I was king of the fucking world and completely untouchable.

  My father died when I was six, I don’t remember much about him before that other than what my mom has told me of him. I grew up surrounded by nannies and maids who did everything for me while my mother was away at social functions and fundraisers that were more important than being home with her son. The only stability I had was going out and getting high. It was the only thing that kept the loneliness of not having a father and an absentee mom at bay.

  My mom used her social status to keep me out of jail. She thought she was helping me, but it only made things worse. I was never held accountable for my behavior, which sent my ego soaring. I flashed my last name around town to get anything and everything I ever wanted. Girls fell to their knees in my presence, it made me feel like a fucking god. Even becoming a cop didn’t keep me from spiraling out of control.

  When the social worker came knocking on my door, I was on my fourth suspension, and one fuck up away from losing my job, and a pill bottle away from ending up in a pine box, six feet under. Colby saved my life. From that day forward, I got clean. I gave up drugs and women. I’ve devoted my life to raising my daughter.

  So, the million-dollar question is, can a man who spent most of his life treating women like fuck toys flip the switch to wanting to marry one. That is a question I don’t know if I can answer.

  I jog up the steps of my house, a two-story bungalow I bought in west Seattle after Colby was born. The tiny loft I was living in, in downtown Seattle, was not a proper home to raise a kid in. She needs a backyard where she can run and play. My mom offered to let us live in her guest house, which was fine while I was going through rehab, but it still wasn’t a proper home. Sure, it would mean free help with Colby, but I didn’t want to raise Colby in the same world I grew up in. I want her to grow up appreciating everything she has because she worked for it. To know there are consequences when you do something bad. I will do anything and everything to keep my daughter from going down the same road I did.

  As soon as the door click shuts behind me, Colby comes bounding out from the kitchen and straight into my waiting arms. And with that, my day begins.

  “Eww, Daddy, you’re all sweaty,” she protests as I squeeze her tighter.

  “That’s what happens when daddy goes for his runs,” I say, rubbing my sweat laced face along hers, making her squeal and try to push me away.

  “Colby, sweetheart, it’s time to come eat your pancakes.” My mother appears from around the corner.

  “Pancakes, I want pancakes too, nana,” I say in a kiddish voice that makes Colby giggle.

  “Not until you wash that stink off, my dear boy. I can smell you from all the way over here.” She waves her hand in front of her nose.

  “Yeah, Daddy, you stinky.”

  “You think I smell too, huh?” I tickle her sides. Hearing her laugh already makes my day better. “Okay, I’ll shower. You better save me some pancakes.”

  “You got it, Daddy.” Colby gives me a kiss on the cheek, then wiggles free from my grasp and skips off to the kitchen to eat her breakfast.

  Before I can head up to take a shower, my mother stops me. “Hank, are you any closer to finding a new nanny?”

  I pause at the foot of the stairs and turn to face her. “I have three more potential nannies coming for interviews today,” I reply. It’s been two months since Mrs. Pritchard, Colby’s former nanny, retired down to Florida. This woman was a godsend, but she was also pushing seventy, and with a little ball of energy that is Colby, keeping up with her was becoming an issue. It was hard for her to stay overnight on the nights when I would get called out on a case.

  The joys of being a detective, I can get called out at all hours of the day on a case, as well as work long hours. Which is why I’ve decided a live-in nanny is my best option. That is, if I can find the right one. So far, no one has been good enough.

  “Hank, you have interviewed dozens of nannies. You need to pick one already.” I can hear the frustration in her tone. Since Mrs. Pritchard left, she has been helping with Colby while I’m at work. She loves Colby, but she isn’t a spring chicken anymore.

  “I’m not going to settle for some second-rate nanny. This person is going to be living in my home and taking care of my daughter, and I am not going to let just anyone do that.”

  “I know you want to raise Colby your way, and I’m fine with that, but will you please at least let me help you find a proper nanny?” she pleads.

  “I can handle this mother. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to take a shower. My first interview will be here in a couple of hours.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nora

  “MOM, HAVE YOU seen my blue dress?” I yell up the stairs from the basement. I’ve searched every inch of my room and closet and it’s nowhere to be found. Of course, on the day of the biggest interview of my life, my lucky blue dress has gone missing. I’m a raging hot mess. My hair is still in hot curlers, I haven’t shaved my legs, an
d I have managed to somehow only line one of my eyes. Lord, give me the strength not to fuck up this interview.

  It’s been five months since the family I was nannying for moved back to Germany. I’ve been working as a nanny since my freshman year of college, and this is the longest I’ve gone between jobs. There are days when I look around my parents’ dark basement and question my sanity. I had the chance to move to Germany, to be Heidi and Emma’s full time nanny and, I, like a big idiot, told them no. What the hell was I thinking giving up a job like that to stay in Seattle and live in my parents’ basement. I should be institutionalized, but something told me my time here wasn’t done yet. Whatever I’m meant to do here, it better be freaking epic.

  My mom appears at the top of the stairs and, with a big sigh of relief, I see her holding my blue dress. “Don’t fret, I have your lucky dress.” She smiles warmly as she descends the stairs. “I pressed it for you. I don’t want you going to your big interview looking wrinkled.” She stops at the bottom of the stairs, eyes widening when she sees the entire contents of my closet covering the floor and furniture. “I see someone is a bit nervous.” She snickers.

  “Oh, and here I was thinking I was hiding it so well,” I deadpanned.

  She hangs my dress on the rack. “Sit down Nora, and I’ll help fix your hair.” Her tone is soothing and calming. She grabs me by the shoulders and guides me over to my vanity, forces me to sit down, and slowly takes each roller out of my hair.

  “Tell me about this new job.”

  The gentle brushing of my hair begins to relax me. Whenever I was scared from a nightmare, or stressed about a test, my mom would brush my hair and get me talking about whatever was stressing me out. Even now, at age twenty-six, it still makes me feel better.

  “It’s a single father. He works as a detective for the Seattle PD, which is why he needs a live-in nanny. Someone has to be there with his daughter, Colby, in case he gets called out on a case or is working late.” With every word and stroke of the brush, my stress is melting further and further away. “They live out by Alki Beach.”