Close Encounters of the Sexy Kind: In the Stars Romance

by Abbie Zanders

  “Crazy, right?” Pam said, following her in. “You would think it was a full moon or something.”

  “Any idea who he is or what he was babbling about?”

  “Sure. So do you. That’s Jose.”

  Yeah, Ryan knew Jose. He was a small-time drug dealer, dealing mostly in weed. He usually skulked around the docks. They had picked him up a few times for possession; nothing major.

  “It looks like he pissed off one of the bigger fishes.”

  Pam chuckled. “No doubt. Talk about getting a case of the crabs.”

  Ryan shivered. “Ugh, don’t. That’s going to give me nightmares for weeks.”

  “Creative, though. And convenient for them to deliver Jose right to our doorstep. Hey, do you think those are stone crabs or stoned crabs?”

  Ryan groaned and sank back down into her chair. “Stop. Just stop.”

  “You love my punny jokes.”

  “I hate your punny jokes. They are the bane of my existence.”

  Pam laughed. “All right, Miss Hater, I’ll let you get back to your geriatric porn report.”

  “That’s Detective Hater to you, Officer Punny Pants. Go make the world a safer place, will you? And pick me up a bottle of eye bleach while you’re at it.”

  Ryan smiled when Pam gave her a mock salute then a perfectly executed about-face. They weren’t exactly friends, but as the only two women on the Golden Beach Police Force, they had formed a sisterhood of sorts. Ryan had been afraid that might have changed once she made detective, but it hadn’t. For that, she was thankful.

  It was late when she finally hit send and shut down her computer. She stood, taking a moment to stretch out the kinks.

  “Looking good, Winslet,” Jerry Kowalski said from the far corner.

  She looked over to find him smirking, openly focused on her ample bosom. Not even the hundred-dollar minimizer bra she’d bought could hide those, but at least it helped. Clearly, not enough.

  “Wish I could say the same, Kowalski.”

  He placed his hand over his heart as if her words wounded him. She knew better. Beneath the designer suit and power tie, Jeremy Kowalski was an arrogant, conceited caveman who believed women had no place on the force ... unless they were delivering coffee or cleaning up after the men.

  After gathering her jacket and purse, she went out the back, her eyes focused on the lot in case one of the crabs from earlier had somehow made its way around the building and was still scuttling about. Thankfully, she made it to her car and back to her apartment unscathed.

  Ryan had no sooner kicked off her shoes when her cell phone chimed with an incoming message. She checked the screen, finding a text from Betty.

  We’re still on for Tuesday, right?

  Ryan groaned. She had forgotten all about her promise.

  Tuesday was Betty’s birthday, and rather than the quiet birthday dinner Ryan had suggested, Betty wanted to celebrate at the hot new club, Bait, that had opened near her. In a moment of BF birthday guilt and puppy-dog-eye-induced weakness, Ryan had agreed.

  It’s a work night. Are you sure you don’t want to go for a nice dinner instead?

  Hell yes, you’re buying me dinner, and then afterward, we’re going to shake our booties like there’s no tomorrow. It’s my birthday wish, so you can’t say no. Besides, I already bought the perfect dress.

  Ryan exhaled. The things she did in the name of friendship.

  All right.

  Squee! And wear something sexy!

  Sexy. Right. Ryan didn’t do sexy. Despite her abundant feminine assets, she was, and always had been, more of a tomboy than a girly-girl. Her closet consisted of work-appropriate business and business casual, all of which said I am a professional police detective, with a healthy sprinkling of off-the-clock comfortable. Anything else was an impractical waste of her hard-earned money.

  Popping a frozen entrée in the microwave, she made herself some herbal tea and changed into loose pajama pants and an oversized police academy tee. Then she plopped down on her sofa and flipped right to the channel to watch while she ate her dinner. There was nothing like a good alien crime drama to relax and unwind.

  Chapter Two

  Quintus nodded at the bouncer as he strode into Bait as if he owned the place, which, in fact, he did. Partially, anyway. He and Tiberius had purchased the abandoned three-story fish cannery and turned it into the hottest nightclub around. Even midweek, the place was packed.

  He acknowledged a few patrons with smiles and nods and responded to several invitations with a wink and a promise to return shortly. He had pressing business to take care of first.

  He made his way through the crowd, looking for one woman in particular. He found her at the bar, loading up her tray with an assortment of colorful cocktails.

  Her eyes widened when she saw him, her questioning expression one of hope.

  Quintus leaned close enough to be heard over the pulsating music. “It is taken care of. Jose will not be attempting to sell controlled substances to children again.”

  Janelle blinked, then slid her tray onto the bar and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  He hugged her back. “My pleasure. Tell your son, if he ever sees Jose or anyone else skulking around the school again, to let us know immediately.”

  When she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes. “I will. Thank you.” She nodded upward. “Tiberius is waiting for you upstairs.”

  Quintus walked toward the back, feeling both particularly buoyant and somewhat irritated. He was glad to be of service, but where were those who were supposed to be protecting these people? Protecting these children?

  Sugar, Spice, and a host of others had imparted quite a few truths over the last year, many of them troubling. Among them: that some citizens were considered worthier than others, and that much of that worthiness was not based on the persons themselves, but on the amount of currency they possessed. Money, as they called it, was a major factor in determining everything from where one lived to what level of education was available to them. Those without sufficient funds went without food, shelter, and medical care, and were often forced to desperate measures.

  The tales had resounded with both men, but they had especially hit close to home with Quintus.

  Tiberius, being the wise prince that he was, negotiated a deal. If the locals imparted their knowledge and helped them find their place in this new world, all would share in the resulting bounty.

  It had been a risk, exposing themselves as they had to those select few, but in the end, it had worked in everyone’s favor. Sugar, Spice, and Jay were fiercely loyal and had been invaluable in helping them assimilate. They knew the rules, knew the players. With their help, more like the odious Marcel had met their demise over the subsequent weeks and months. The spoils of those vanquished were confiscated and converted into funds, which in turn were reinvested in their quickly growing community of supporters.

  Bait became not only a place of employment, but a home to many of them. While Tiberius and Quintus hadn’t trusted their secret with anyone else, they had promised that anyone who worked for them would be well cared for.

  Quintus considered this “paying forward,” as Jay would say. Years earlier, Tiberius had given him an education, a place to live, and the freedom to choose his own path. Now, together, they were doing the same for others.

  Quintus emerged on the top floor to find Tiberius waiting for him. “Ah, there you are. Everything went smoothly, I presume?”

  “It did,” Quintus confirmed.

  “Excellent. Another problem has been brought to our attention, and this one, I fear, will require a more decisive action.”

  For all intents and purposes, Tiberius appeared just as calm and regal as always, but Quintus knew him too well to be fooled. He could sense the anger radiating from just beneath the surface; see the promise of pain in the prince’s dark eyes. That level of rage was reserved for the worst of the worst. Q
uintus mentally girded himself for what he was about to hear.

  “Tell me.”

  “Spice received word of a man named Ricardo Marzione attempting to abduct females in the area. The man has ties with a known human trafficker based in Miami. The latest attempt occurred last night, only two blocks away. The woman escaped, but not without harm.”

  Quintus scowled. They had both seen their share of heinous crimes, though Quintus had seen far more than Tiberius. He tried to shield his prince from the worst of it, but that wasn’t always possible, especially in this new world. One thing they both agreed on—crimes against women and children were the least tolerated.

  “She is safe?”

  “Yes. Spice has given her a room in the women’s quarters.”

  “Good. Do we know where to find this abhorrent male?”

  “Jay has employed his network of extensive connections. I have no doubt we shall have a location posthaste.”

  Quintus nodded. Jay did, in fact, seem to have eyes and ears all around the Golden Beach area. His connections and his ability to gain access into digital media had proven invaluable time and time again. “You will let me know immediately?”

  “I shall. And Quintus,” Tiberius said, his dark eyes glistening with determination, “this time, I shall join you.”

  Chapter Three

  Deep in the shadows, Ryan looked at her watch and sighed. Leave it to a weasel like Drew to keep her waiting. She should be back in her warm, dry apartment, having a glass of wine and trying to psych herself up for Betty’s birthday tomorrow.

  Clubbing definitely wasn’t her scene. Just thinking about spending the evening listening to loud music, drinking, and fending off guys only interested in hooking up gave her the hives. But she would do it. She would go and pretend to have a good time for Betty’s sake, because Betty was her best friend and that was what friends did.

  Instead of drinking wine and lamenting the rules of best friendship, however, she was standing in the drizzling rain and hoping her informant was keeping to his regular schedule.

  Something had been niggling at the back of her mind since Jose appeared on the precinct steps three days earlier. Namely, his repeated sobs of “I’m sorry!” had been playing on repeat like some annoying song.

  What had he been sorry for? And what, or more importantly who, had he been apologizing to?

  She had pulled the reports and spoken to the officers who were handling the case. According to Jose’s statement, he had smoked a little too much of his own product and then had decided to crash on a small commercial fishing vessel. He vaguely remembered stumbling along the deck and falling into the water, subsequently getting himself entangled in the nets.

  As Pam would say, that story didn’t hold water.

  Jose couldn’t remember the name of the boat, nor exactly how he had come to be on it. Further questioning of local fishermen had failed to determine to whom the netting belonged, and everyone questioned along the docks had denied having seen Jose that night.

  Something was definitely fishy.

  The prevalent theory was that Jose had stepped on the toes of some other dealer, and what happened to him was a message.

  The message part made sense. Dealers were very territorial and didn’t take kindly to someone infringing on theirs.

  What didn’t make sense was that Jose had been delivered to the police station. If a rival dealer was behind Jose’s unfortunate netting, why not leave him out at the docks, swinging in the breeze for someone to find? That would serve as a warning, not just to Jose, but to anyone else who might be entertaining the idea of crossing a few of those boundary lines.

  Putting him on display somewhere else would also be more in line with the typical modus operandi of those guys.

  Drug dealers – even the small fish - had a kind of code. They had their own methods of dealing with things, and those methods usually did not involve drawing the attention of the police.

  So Ryan had dug a little deeper, checking the records of drug-related activities over the past three months. The findings had been intriguing.

  While the crime rate in the Golden Beach area as a whole had remained relatively consistent, drug busts were down and solicitation arrests were practically nonexistent. That inevitably led her to ask: if her department wasn’t cleaning up the streets, then who was? Did they have a possible vigilante on their hands?

  Those were the questions that had her standing in the alleyway, muttering curses under her breath while amplifying her bad hair day. Drew would have answers. He was a weasel, but he was a weasel who knew what was going on.

  Finally, a familiar looking figure appeared around the corner. His face was hidden beneath the overlarge hoodie, but Ryan would have recognized that cocky swagger anywhere. She waited until he walked by then fell into step with him.

  “Hey, Drew.”

  Drew cursed and sidestepped, but Ryan had anticipated the action and snagged his skinny wrist before he could take off.

  “Jesus, Winslet. What gives?”

  “It’s been a while since we’ve had a chat. What’s the matter, Drew? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  The man rolled his eyes and tugged on his wrist. “Not even a little.”

  “Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.”

  He snorted. “What do you want? I’ve got things to do.”

  Ryan tugged him back into the shadows where they wouldn’t be seen. She wasn’t any happier about having to reach out than he was, but Drew had proven pretty reliable in the past. In exchange for information, Ryan pretended she didn’t know about his weed shack out in the boonies, and he pretended that he didn’t have one.

  Ryan released his wrist and crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Drew avoided her gaze as he lit a cigarette. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Drew. You can start with why Jose showed up on the steps of the precinct with crab claws attached to his manly bits.”

  Drew winced and took a drag. “Dumb shit got wasted and went for a swim. What the hell do you care? One more lowlife off the streets, right?”

  “See, that’s the thing,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “The streets around Golden Beach are a lot cleaner than they used to be, and I want to know why.”

  “For Christ’s sake, you five-oh types are never happy. Isn’t there some saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth?”

  “Sure. And here’s another: it if seems too good to be true, it probably is.”

  “You got that stitched on a pillow or something?”

  “Drew. Quit stalling. What are you not telling me?”

  Drew’s bravado flickered. He glanced around nervously as he took another drag off his cigarette. Flicking ashes to the ground, Drew quietly said, “You need to leave this one alone, Winslet.”

  Her instincts flared. Drew had some of the biggest weasel balls around. His uncharacteristic anxiety was confirmation that something was going on. Something big was lurking just beneath the surface and she was more determined than ever to find out what it was.

  With only a few feet between her and Drew, she stepped forward, holding up her cell phone screen so he could see the picture she had pulled up. “Recognize this? That’s you transporting what appears to be an illegal substance into that little shack you like to hole up in. This photo right here is enough probable cause for me to get a search warrant. So, unless you want your inventory to disappear and a lot of disappointed customers knocking on your door, I suggest you start talking.”

  Momentary fear passed over his features, then he relaxed and smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, either. A shiver ran up the length of her spine, though she’d be damned if she would show any weakness in front of her informant.

  “Don’t say you weren’t warned, Winslet.”

  “Consider me warned. Now enough with the ominous crap and just tell me already.”

  The man shrugged then took another drag off his c
igarette. “They call him the Shark.”

  Ryan laughed, certain he was trying to yank her chain. “The Shark? Seriously? Who’s his rival, the Atomic Squid? Come on, Drew. That sounds like something out of a bad B movie.”

  “You want this info or not? Because I’m about five seconds from walking.”

  She waved her hand impatiently. “Keep going.”

  Drew exhaled. “Fine. It’s your funeral.” After tapping the ashes off his cigarette again, he went on. “Like I said, word on the street is, they call him the Shark. Everyone who’s mentioned him says he’s a dangerous bastard, but he’s not your average player. This guy’s super slick.”

  “How is he different?” Ryan asked, pictures of Jose with those crabs crawling all over him coming to mind.

  Drew shrugged and looked around again. When he continued, his voice was lower, quieter. “Take my word for it. He just is. And he’s putting a lot of locals out of business, if you catch my drift.”

  Ryan frowned. Usually, that kind of power shift only occurred with violence and extreme prejudice. Yet, from what she had been able to glean, there had been none of that. Everything had been done quietly and under the radar—crab netting incident notwithstanding—which was probably why no one was complaining. What kind of leverage did a man have to pull off something like that?

  “So, what’s happening to these displaced entrepreneurs? Last I heard, that sort of attrition doesn’t qualify them for the unemployment line. Are they setting up somewhere else?”

  Drew tensed, and the hand holding his cigarette started to tremble. “Look, Winslet, I don’t like you, but I’m telling you to leave this alone. Grab some donuts and look the other way like everyone else.”

  Ryan frowned at his insinuation. “Everyone else? What exactly are you implying, Drew?”

  “I’m saying,” he said clearly and with exaggerated patience, “that you need to wake up, Detective. No one gives a shit about people like me. Another small-time dealer, pimp, or hooker goes missing, that’s one less dreg the fine, upstanding citizens have to worry about.”