Chapter 59 The Call

Chapter 59 The Call
Detective Harris's POV

“Yes, sir!” The response came instantly through the line.

Even before I pulled the phone away from my ear, I could already hear the sudden shift on the other end—chairs scraping against the tiled floor, hurried footsteps of soldiers echoing through the hallway, and the senior commander's voice calling out coordinates.

Even though I wasn't really there, I could already tell how fast the soldiers were moving by now—probably securing their bulletproof vests, adjusting holsters, checking radios clipped to their shoulders while a couple of officers would head toward the patrol bay, where their service vehicles were parked, ready to roll out.

No wasted motion—no hesitation.

I ended the call without looking at Martha.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice breaking.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket without saying anything again.

Within minutes, black SUVs rolled into the street.

Doors opened, and officers stepped out armed, alert, and moving fast.

They surrounded the house—front, back, sides and every entrance.

Martha stared through the window.
Then she laughed again, “You're unbelievable,” she muttered.

Without looking at her, I simply said, “I'm just being thorough.”

“You think you're protecting me?” she said. “You’re trapping me.”

I smirked slightly. “I’m actually doing both at once.”

“No!” She suddenly snapped. “You don’t just want me to leave.”

I gave a small dry laugh. “You’re right.”

She blinked disappointedly, but I only continued, “I don’t want you walking out of here and disappearing. But I’m also making sure nobody touches you tonight. So you see, Martha, both things can be true.”

She crossed her arms. “You think you’re clever.”

I shrugged slightly. “No. I think I’m responsible.”

Then I stepped toward the door. “And right now, you’re not leaving.”

And with that being said, I immediately stepped outside into the night air.

The lead officer straightened as soon as he saw me walk out. “Sir.”

I nodded once and returned his salute, then I said, “No one goes in without my word. She doesn’t leave alone. Two officers on her at all times. Rotate shifts. No mistakes.”

“Yes, sir.” They responded dutifully.

Then I looked at the house one more time. “And if anyone unfamiliar comes within fifty feet, I want to know before they breathe.” I added smoothly.

The officer nodded again.

I didn’t say anything else. I just turned and walked away, Paris rushed after me like a pet.

We stepped into the car and shut the car door behind us, but I didn't drive immediately, I just sat there.

Then suddenly I grabbed the steering wheel very tight and sighed.

Then I leaned forward and gently knocked my forehead against it.

I didn't stop. I continued to bang my head against the steering wheel again and again.

“What am I doing…” he muttered

Paris on the other hand didn’t move. He just sat there quietly beside me, hands clasped tightly together, staring ahead like he was terrified to look my way.

“What—have—I—done?” I muttered again, the words coming out in fractured pieces, like Simeon on the verge of losing his mind.

Paris swallowed hard then slowly but eventually looked at me, “Sir…” he said softly. His voice shaky. “Maybe we should just… follow protocol.”

I let out a bitter laugh, “Protocol?” I muttered weakly.

Then I suddenly looked up, eyes dark. “Fuck protocol,” I said sharply, almost too unexpectedly.

Before Paris could react or even say a word, I turned sharply and grabbed his face with both hands, then I slammed my lips onto his.

I couldn't stop myself so I began to kiss him slowly. As if I wasn't feeling it just jet, I suddenly pressed his face closer and started to kiss him roughly.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t planned.

It was desperate, deep, and unexpectedly hard.

It had been a long time since I found another guy who captured my attention the way Paris did.

After the terrible breakup I had with my last boyfriend—a fully licensed pornstar, something I hadn’t even known until the internet decided to inform me—I vowed to remain single.

Finding out like that had destroyed whatever trust I thought we had. It wasn’t just the secret; it was the fact that he never intended to tell me. And maybe, deep down, I already knew he had commitment issues. He was always halfway in, halfway out—like I was temporary.

That was the real reason I ended things with him.

But then came Blue Shirt.

And somehow… I didn’t even know how I find myself kissing him now.

Oh God.

I think I’m stupid.

I didn’t even bother to ask if he was into guys or not… and just like that, I was kissing him?

Despite the storm of thoughts raging in my mind, I still couldn’t stop myself. I kept kissing him—deeper, needier—like someone under a spell.

I couldn't stop. I kept going deeper like I was trying to drown something inside myself.

Paris froze completely—his body stiff like rock.

I bet his mind has completely gone blank, coupled with the fact that I'm far far far his senior and he's sometimes shy to even look at my face and talk.

He didn’t even know where to put his hands while I continued to kiss him. He didn’t even know how to keep his eyes closed.

His eyes were wide open, and his hands slowly lifted halfway up, almost involuntarily, as if unsure whether to touch me or pull away.

He didn’t understand what was happening.

He barely even understood his own breathing.

Then suddenly—

I jerked back like someone who'd just woken up from a bad dream.

I stared at Paris, breathing hard. “I—I’m sorry—” I began to stammer, but I was too disappointed in myself.

I've never felt this stupid before.

I hissed and angrily slammed my hand against the steering wheel.

“Damn it.” I cursed.

Paris was still sitting there, frozen, confused and completely lost.

He slowly touched his lips with shaking fingers then he unbuckled his seatbelt very fast and rushed out of the car without saying a word.

“Blue shirt, wait!” I shouted, but Paris was already running down the street like a scared kid.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and jumped out too but I suddenly stopped when I saw how far he’d gone already.

“Paris!” I called out very loud.

But it was too late already. He'd already scurried away like someone rushing to use the restroom.

I stood there breathing hard, then I turned around and punched my car door hard.

“What is wrong with me?!” I shouted into the empty street. My voice cracked.

I ran both hands over my face.

I wasn’t angry at Paris. I was angry at myself.

I'm seriously disappointed in myself. I'm confused and ashamed.

And for the first time in a long time—I felt completely out of control.