Cop a Feel

by Robyn Peterman

  Kevin, Steve’s partner, was every bit as good looking as Steve. Many straight women had shed real tears upon learning the two men were gay and happily committed. Where Steve was intense and brooding, Kevin was light and joyful. They were wonderful parents to Steve’s kids—far better than his religious zealot ex-wife, Helen.

  “Well, these books are ridiculous. Happily-ever-afters don’t exist,” I snorted.

  Steve shook his head sadly. “Ah, you have much to learn, Candy.”

  “Give me a break,” I snorted.

  “Exactly my plan. You’re going on light duty until the doctors and I deem you ready for the field again.” He opened the folder in his hand and skimmed the contents.

  “Light duty? You’re kidding me. Do you want me to file and answer phones?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Nope,” he said with a grin. “I’d like to keep my business. Your social skills leave much to be desired.”

  “Social skills are for civilians and fucktards,” I snapped, unfortunately proving his point.

  Steve cocked his head to the side and waited for me to bury myself deeper. I was a loose cannon, but I wasn’t stupid. I stayed quiet. Difficult, but possible.

  “God help the man who tries to tame you.” He laughed and removed several sheets from the folder.

  “No man will ever tame me,” I told him confidently. “Romance is for sissies.”

  “How exactly should I take that? As a slur on my manhood or on my sexual preference?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

  “No, I . . . shit. Um, I meant that it’s, you know . . .” I mumbled and felt the heat crawl up my neck.

  “Candy, you’re missing out on a few things in life. Like a life mainly. I want you to take this light duty time to ease up and live a little. Have some fun, for God’s sake.”

  I had no freakin’ clue what he was talking about. A life? I had a life. I saved lives. And I had fun. I, um enjoyed tons of things, like . . . Whatever. This was ridiculous.

  “Just give me my pansy-ass light duty assignment and let me get back to work.”

  Steve observed me critically for a moment, then went from father mode back to boss mode. “Fine. A dear friend of mine has received some threats on her life. I’m fairly sure they’re innocuous, but Kevin is freaked out and wants protection for her.”

  “You want me find and eliminate the threats?” I asked, my expression hopeful. Maybe light duty wouldn’t suck as much as I thought.

  “Not exactly,” he said, folding the papers in his hands and placing them inside the romance novel I’d just made fun of. “I want you on her and watching for trouble.”

  “You want me to be a bodyguard?” I gasped, unable to hide my shock and dismay. I was an undercover agent, for shit’s sake. Not a rent-a-cop babysitter.

  “Yep,” Steve said, ignoring my stinky attitude. “Sue is a professor and an author. She’s scheduled to headline an author’s convention in a week and I want you on her. Innocuous or not, a threat is a threat.” He handed me the book with a smile.

  “Wait, I have to guard a woman named Sue who writes trashy romance novels, because someone may or may not want a piece of her?”

  “That sounds about right,” he said. “Oh, and she goes by Shoshanna. Shoshanna LeHump.”

  I waited for the punch line, but it didn’t come. Who in the hell would go by the name Shoshanna LeHump? She sounded like a stripper.

  “You’re serious,” I said, pinching my thighs to keep from laughing just in case he was.

  “As a heart attack. Shoshanna married Kevin after her husband died so he could get his green card. They divorced when we met. Shoshanna actually officiated at our wedding ceremony. You remember, the one you were invited to but couldn’t come because you were recovering from being shot in the ass.”

  That was a low blow. I hadn’t been shot in the ass by anyone. It was actually quite big of Steve to state it that way. I had shot myself in the ass. I’d been testing a new firearm. The gun had been faulty. Hence, when I put it in my back pocket, it went off and I shot myself in the ass.

  “I’m a little confused,” I said, ignoring his comment about my ass debacle.

  “In a round-about way, Kevin and I met because of Shoshanna. We owe her.”

  “She introduced you guys while she was married to Kevin?”

  “No, no.” Steve laughed. “But that does sound like something she would do. She’s our angel because if she hadn’t married Kevin, he would have been deported and we never would have met. She’s the reason my life is full.”

  I was so tempted to roll my eyes, but I adored Kevin. And I loved Steve. And they loved each other. Hell, Steve sounded just like my pussy-whipped brother Mitch. He’d fallen in love with his fiancée Kristy when we were all on a bizarro drug bust that involved Bigfoot. Kristy had nothing to do with the crimes. She was with a crew of loonies searching for Bigfoot, a project that was unknowingly the cover for a nasty drug cartel. At first I didn’t like her, but she proved herself in the end. Of course, it also helped that she didn’t really believe in Bigfoot.

  “So what’s with the trashy novel?” I asked as he handed it over.

  “Shoshanna wrote it. I would suggest you read it so you get a feel for her. Inside, I’ve put a list of potential suspects. You can question them this week before you leave for Wisconsin.”

  I looked the list over. Several professors at the U where this Shoshanna gal worked seemed to have rather large issues with either her success as an author or her subject matter. And there was some old woman named Evangeline O’Hara, who had been blackmailing Shoshanna for stories for what looked like twenty years.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered. “Here’s your threat. This O’Hara woman has a motive like I’ve never seen.”

  “I’d tend to agree if she wasn’t still in jail,” Steve said. “Her calls and mail are monitored.”

  “I’ll interview her.”

  “Absolutely and the professors at the U. Sue’s one of the foremost profs of Women’s Studies and these jack-offs are trying to get her tenure removed.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “Possibly. More likely closed-minded bigotry toward her subject matter.”

  “Women’s Studies?” I asked, surprised. “What are they? Dinosaurs?”

  “Not what she teaches, what she writes,” he corrected my mis-assumption.

  “What in the hell does she write? Porno?” I laughed.

  “Some might refer to it as porno, but it’s technically classified as erotic romance,” Steve said logically.

  Again I waited for the punch line. Again it didn’t come.

  “So, um . . . is there anything in the university’s by-laws that make her, um . . . sex books negate her tenure?” I asked. I’d almost said fuck books. Thank you, God, that that one hadn’t slipped out.

  “It’s somewhat vague, but Shoshanna’s lawyers are convinced she’d win and most of the board is backing her,” he said. “But the controversy is unpleasant and drawing unwanted attention to the university. The longer it goes on, the more precarious her position is.”

  “I don’t get it. She would win in court. What’s the biggie?”

  “The biggie”—Steve smiled at my choice of word—“is that Shoshanna loves the university and would leave before she caused too much trouble and bad press. It would be a sad day for her, the students, and academia if that were to happen.”

  “Why would someone hurt her then? Wouldn’t it be smarter to just draw the situation out till she leaves of her own accord?”

  “Yes and no,” Steve said. “She’s up for several prestigious awards, and two of the suspects in particular are up for the same award. I don’t really get it, but apparently in the world of academia the more papers with stars on them, the more important you seem to be in that strange subculture.”

  “You think someone would kill or hurt her for that?” I asked, memorizing the names for later.

  “Doubtful, but I’ve seen stranger.”

  Steve handed me
a card.

  “Here’s Shoshanna’s address. You’re expected at dinner tomorrow night. Kevin and I will be there, as well as your brother, Kristy, Rena, and Jack.”

  That sounded like hell to me. To be stuck in a room with a porno writer and three sickeningly in-love couples would be enough to make me tear my own head off. My brother and his fiancée, Kristy, were bad enough, but their best friends Rena and Jack were downright nauseating.

  “I don’t think I can make that,” I hedged, racking my brain for a good excuse.

  “You have plans? Cancel them. This is work related, and you need to have a good time occasionally.”

  “I have a date,” I blurted out, my mouth way ahead of my brain.

  “Bring him,” Steve said, waiting for me to cop to lying.

  “Well, um . . . David is a little weird and I’d, you know . . . rather not subject him to my brother before I know if he really, um . . . you know.”

  “What does this David do?” he asked.

  “I think he’s a . . . banker.”

  “I see,” Steve said, seeing entirely too much.

  “Fine,” I huffed, pissed at myself for lying and pissed at Steve for making me. “I’ll come. Is Kevin cooking?”

  “You bet.” He smiled his first real smile of the meeting. “Shoshanna can’t boil water and Kevin still cooks for her a couple of nights a week.”

  “Oh shit,” I muttered. “What about the cartel that wants my ass?”

  “Taken care of. Sent two agents to Mexico and ended it.”

  Fuck. I hated that. I hated that two people had to risk their lives to cover my fuck-up. Maybe Steve was right. I needed to get my head on straight.

  “Are they okay?” I asked.

  “Yep. Got back today. Hell of a ride. Been down there three months.”

  Three months? “Can I thank them?”

  “Nope. These guys are deep cover. They don’t exist in any database. Not going to screw with that. Just know it’s taken care of.”

  “Right,” I said, more furious than ever with myself. My vendetta against drug dealers had resulted in two of Steve’s hard-core guys having to go to Mexico to clean up my mess. Not gonna happen again. Ever.

  “It’s done, Candy,” Steve said, recognizing my frustration. “They’re back and fine, but it could have gone either way. I wasn’t planning on this, but shit happens. Remember that next time you want to go Rambo on a job.”

  “You have my word,” I promised.

  “Good. Now get out of my office. I have work to do. Oh, and by the way,” he smirked, “blonde’s not your color. Stick with your natural brunette. It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, sir.” I gave him a mock salute and left. His chuckle followed me down the hall as I yanked the itchy blonde wig off my head and tossed it in the trash. I’d been living on luck and a prayer . . . and that stopped today.

  Chapter 2

  The private law enforcement gym was practically empty. It smelled a little musty and the equipment had seen better days, but I loved the place. I’d earned my black belt in karate in this very gym and felt a real sense of peace here that I sometimes had a hard time finding in my daily life. Steve’s implication that I had no life rankled—possibly because it might be true. I just wasn’t sure I was brave enough or cared enough to actually do anything about it.

  Scanning the free weights, I settled on the lighter side. My healing knife wound kept me from a full workout, but I was getting stronger every day. My physical therapist was blown away by my progress. I was just pissed I wasn’t back to full form yet. I dropped my gym bag on the floor and grabbed some five-pounders.

  “What are you? A pussy?” an unfortunately familiar voice demanded.

  Jesus Christ, who in the hell did I fuck over in a former life to keep running into these evil lesbian sisters?

  “Nope, I had a little mishap at work and have to take it easy. What’s your excuse?” I asked, eyeing her appalling choice of workout wear. Both Mrs. C and her sister, Edith, were somewhere in their late sixties and tended to favor sequins. Even at the gym.

  Edith, clad in a shiny gold exercise top, cackled and punched her sister in the arm. “Yeah, what’s your excuse, you old dyke?”

  Mrs. C grunted and walloped her sister back. I idly wondered if they’d get into an all-out brawl. At least they weren’t boring . . .

  “Heard you got stabbed in the gut,” Mrs. C said while she simultaneously smacked her sister in the back of the head. Edith came right back and knocked her sister’s feet out from underneath her.

  How in the fuck did they know that? “Well, that seems to be the rumor,” I muttered, wondering how long I could take dealing with them before I did damage. Although, that would be an unwise choice on my part considering they had been in Vietnam, Special Forces . . . four tours. I was fairly sure only a few high-placed government officials knew of their existence.

  “Yep,” Edith crowed as she helped her sister back to her feet. “But rumor also has it that you put a dick-weed drug dealer six feet under.”

  “How in the hell do you guys hear all this stuff?” I asked. The info was classified and hadn’t hit the media in any way, shape, or form. “You two run a knitting store, for God’s sake.”

  The just stood there and grinned. A smile pulled at my lips because they looked so ridiculous, and they either had no clue or didn’t care. I’d met them on the same drug bust where my brother Mitch had met his fiancée Kristy. They’d been part of the certifiably insane group of nut jobs searching for Bigfoot. Turned out they were far more than poorly dressed lesbian Sasquatch enthusiasts . . . they’d helped save the day by booby-trapping the trees with knitted snap traps.

  “How is it that you lovely ladies are allowed to work out here?” I asked as I switched to twenty-pound weights. I was no pussy. I was a dumbass.

  “Give me those goddamned things,” Edith snapped, yanking the weights from my hands. “You wanna reopen that wound?”

  “No,” I huffed, annoyed that my pride had gotten the better of me.

  “Anyhoo, we work out here because we’re doing some government contract work and the generous city of Minneapolis has no choice but to let us hone our fine machines in their gym,” Mrs. C said, sliding slowly into the splits. Edith, not one to be outdone . . . joined her.

  Had I entered an alternate universe? I was going to be a bodyguard for a smut writer and these two sparkling, limber dingbats were picking off bad guys for the government when they weren’t manning a knitting store?

  As I stared at them on the floor, I idly wondered if I could do the splits. Holy hell, I really did need a life.

  “So,” Edith grunted, “heard you got quite the cushy assignment.”

  “I would truly love to know where you get your info.”

  “Not gonna happen.” She gave me a wink.

  “Figures,” I muttered. I walked over to the treadmill and prayed our conversation was over.

  “You are one lucky chickee,” Mrs. C said, rolling out of the splits. “Edith here would give her left boob, it’s the bigger one, to go to the SCREW-Con.”

  “I’m sorry, what the hell did you just say?” I asked, sure I’d heard her incorrectly.

  “I said Edith’s left boob is bigger than her . . .”

  “Not that part,” I snapped. “The other part.”

  “The SCREW-Con.” She cackled at the look of horror on my face. “Society of Contemporary Romance Erotic Writers. Screw. You get it?”

  “Yeah, I got it. Now quit fucking with me.” I blew out an exasperated sigh and waited for the punch line . . . but it never came.

  “Sweet baby Jesus in assless chaps, you really didn’t know,” Edith yelled, enjoying my discomfort. I certainly wasn’t a prude, but I had no desire to go to a convention called SCREW.

  “Clearly I didn’t.” I put my earbuds in, cranked up the volume on my iPod, and turned on the treadmill. This conversation was done. If there was anything else to know, I didn’t want to know it. Despite the fact t
hat Steve was my boss, I was going to rip him a new one for this. Being taken unaware by two sequin-wearing lesbians with uneven boobs was not on my schedule today . . . and apparently being ignored wasn’t on theirs.

  “You’ll be bodyguarding one of the hottest pieces of ass alive,” Mrs. C informed me while removing my earbuds.

  “Sweet baby Moses in leather and a ball gag, I pray daily for Shoshanna LeHump to switch teams and come over to the dyke side,” Edith shouted in full agreement as to the sexual magnetism of the infamous LeHump.

  Stunned to silence and having no comeback for that one, I stared at them while debating my next move. Taking them down might set me back medically, and running meant I really was a pussy. So I tried the next best thing.

  “You guys wanna go shoot some stuff? I’m about to implode and I need to find something inanimate to kill.”

  “Now you’re talking, sister,” Edith said, yanking me off the treadmill and out of the gym.

  The gun range was empty. After signing in, the old gals announced that the targets were insulting, but they had just what we needed to spice it up. They set up targets that made Mel, the owner, cringe and threaten to ban us for life. Edith had a couple of words in private with Mel, and to my great surprise, he turned a blind eye. Those crazy women set up an old computer, two toasters, a vacuum, and a mini-fridge that they just so happened to have in the back of their car. They drew tiny bull’s eyes on the appliances and started making wagers. Color me impressed. Maybe these gals weren’t so bad.

  “Youth before beauty,” Mrs. C grunted, getting into her zone.

  Laughing, I put on my ear protectors and goggles. Holding my Glock in my hand made me go to my calm happy place. I aimed and I fired—over and over and over.

  “What the fuck?” Mrs. C gasped. “Guns down.”

  We holstered. She walked over to the appliances and whistled.

  “What?” Edith shouted, still wearing her hearing protection.

  “Clean bull’s eye on every one.”

  “Clean a bull’s what?” Edith yelled.

  “Take your goddamned head gear off and get a look at this shit,” Mrs. C said, squatting down to get a better view.