Amy handed her several different options, all of which screamed, “Take me. I’m yours.”
Jane re-hung the clothes. “I can pick out my own outfit if you don’t mind,” she told Amy, taking another hanger from her and shoving her out of the closet.
“Sometimes, the way you dress, I can’t believe you actually own your own cosmetics business,” Amy shouted from her spot on the bed just as Jane stepped out of the closet, tugging down a sweater dress.
“For five years,” she shouted from then stepped back into the bedroom. “Better?” She stood there in a knee-length, oatmeal-heather cashmere sweater dress.
Amy looked her up and down. “Shoes. Shoes would be good.”
Jane realized she had bare feet. She spun around and headed back into the closet where she slipped on a pair of knee-high chestnut leather boots then hobbled out, zipping them up as she went. At least the shoes gave her toes wiggling room.
“Now?” she asked with her arms spread at her sides doing a little runway spin.
“Clothing is done. Now go do something about that hair and put your face on.”
Jane reached up and found her hair sticking out at odd angles at the back of her head. “Shoot.” She spun on three-inch heels and marched into the bathroom. One glance in the mirror told her she needed a little work before she went out. She wet her hair then blew it out. Hair done, she added a little green eyeliner to accent her eyes then topped off her lips with her signature organic lipstick. After giving herself the once over one more time, she pronounced herself ready to go.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Jane announced, exiting the bathroom.
“Ooo! Baby!” Amy slapped the bed. “I’d do you if I went that way.” Amy laughed and got to her feet. “Let’s go get you laid.”
“Not funny,” Jane whined but followed Amy, grabbing her chestnut suede purse and jacket as she went.
THREE
“Hurry the hell up, Cooper.” Jack pounded on his office door. “There is a cold beer and any number of women waiting at Billy’s.
“I’m hurrying,” he grumbled back.
Thank goodness, the heat in his office worked and worked well. After standing in arch-killing heels and a short skirt for three hours, freezing his nuts off, the last thing Cooper wanted to do was strip down to his skivvies in a cold room. He was just as ready for that beer, a game of pool, and some relaxation as Jack. Maybe more so.
Behind the closed door, Cooper stepped out of the killer shoes and sighed. “Ahh.” Leaning against his desk, he rubbed at the center of his feet with his thumbs, and willed his arches to return to a normal state. “No wonder women have such bad feet.” A woman would have to be a glutton for punishment to wear such high, stiletto heels, especially in this weather.
After removing the wig and hanging it from a hook on the coat rack in the corner of his office, he slipped out of the fuzzy sweater, and slid the gel falsies from the cups of the bra. He may not have any tits, but damn, the contraption was like wearing a slingshot pulled tight across his chest. One touch and the thing would go flying across the room. Another sigh escaped his lips the minute the last hook released and he removed the offending garment from around his torso. He rubbed at the area directly under his pecs in an attempt to return the circulation to normal.
Two hard raps sounded at his door. “Leave me the hell alone,” Cooper bellowed as he struggled to get the pantyhose beyond his thick thighs.
“Domestic disturbance call, and we’re it,” Jack shouted. “Old Mr. Callahan is drunk again and threatening his wife with a shotgun. We gotta roll.”
“Shit!” No longer giving a damn whether he ripped the stockings or not, Cooper tore the hose off, grabbed the jeans off a chair and tugged them on. It wasn’t until he reached his hips that he realized he still had on the skirt. “Damn!”
Jack hammered his door again.
Cooper hooked the pants then shimmied the leather mini over and down the denim. Slamming his feet into his shoes without socks, he snatched his keys and wallet from his desktop and headed for the door. He lifted his jacket, flannel shirt and weapon holster from the doorknob, slid one arm through a sleeve and the harness, and tugged the door open.
Jack jerked the keys that he had clasped between his teeth and kept on moving at a fast clip toward the back of the station. Cooper shoved his other arm into the sleeve of his shirt and darted after Jack, buttoning his shirt enough to hook his holster in place as he ran. As Jack started the car, Cooper hopped into the passenger seat. Jack took off.
“Who is Mr. Callahan?” He finished buttoning his shirt and managed to tuck it into his jeans as Jack swerved out of the parking lot. Not having a death wish, Cooper pulled the seat belt across his body and snapped it into place with a sharp, metallic click.
“Old Mr. Callahan is a retired police lieutenant who tends to go off the deep end every once and a while, usually when he’s had too much to drink.”
“He’s brandishing a shotgun at his wife? Is that also a regular occurrence?”
“On occasion.”
Cooper gaped at his best friend’s profile. “Why the hell has no one taken the weapon away from him?”
Jack took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot his partner a pointed look then turned his attention back to his driving. O-okay. Apparently, he had asked a stupid question. “So I don’t get it.”
“You don’t take a weapon away from a retired officer. He has never fired the shotgun at a person. The lieutenant just sometimes wields it around while in a bit of a funk and drunken stupor.”
Yeah, that made a lot of sense in la-la land maybe, but not in a world where your job was to protect and serve.
“Look, I realize this whole people thing is new to you, but we do not disrespect a retired officer unless absolutely necessary. Besides, Mrs. Callahan has never, and will never press charges. She is more nervous that he may hurt himself than her.”
Cooper nodded not completely understanding the situation but deciding to let his partner take the lead with Mr. Callahan. After all, Jack was right. He had little experience with the people aspect of law and order. Most of his experience had been behind a computer screen, catching the lawbreakers without encountering the victim or criminal until trial.
Jack turned into the driveway of a house with a farmer’s porch that ran the length of the white house and cut the engine. Cooper reached for the door handle when Jack grabbed his forearm. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Let me handle the lieutenant, okay. You’re new and he may not take to you right away.”
“You take the lead, but I really would like to get the gun from him.”
Jack gave a short bark of laughter then went solemn faced. “It won’t do any good. Too many people love the old coot.” He smiled and twisted back to open his own door. Cooper followed suit letting his friend and partner lead the way up the steps to the front door where Jack gave the wide mahogany door a couple of sharp raps. “Stand to the side of the door so he doesn’t see you,” Jack directed him. “You’ll spook him.”
Cooper did as Jack suggested. As he moved to stand between door and front window, he released the security strap of his holster just in case he needed access to his Glock.
“Who is it?” a deep voice bellowed from the bowels of the house.
“It’s Jack Creed, Lieutenant. Have you got a minute?”
The curtain in the glass of the door moved before Cooper heard the snick of a dead bolt. An older man with a minimal amount of gray hair atop his head, and yes, a Smith and Wesson Model Elite 20-gauge shotgun tucked under his arm, the muzzle in one hand, opened the door in slow motion.
“Jack,” the older man drawled in a nasal accent native only to Boston. “What brings you out here? Need some help on a case?”
“Can I speak with you outside, Lieutenant?”
Cooper understood why he wanted the crazy old coot outside, so he was away from the man’s wife and so they could disarm him without fear of any injured bystanders.
Except them, of course.
“Mr. Callahan, please step outside.”
From his vantage point, Cooper saw the old man’s jaw clench in reaction to Jack’s stern instruction. He seemed to contemplate his decision then straightened. Mr. Callahan took three steps forward on unsteady feet and crossed the threshold to the porch, the shotgun still held firmly in his beefy hand.
Cooper flexed his fingers near the butt of his Glock. The next thing he knew, his heart was in his throat as he stared down the double barrel of a shotgun. Fuck! Apparently, old Mr. Callahan was not so old. Cooper surmised the old coot had noticed his movement from his peripheral vision. There was certainly nothing wrong with his eyesight, Cooper thought as he lifted his hands in the air, palms out. “Whoa.”
With the weapon trained between his eyes, Mr. Callahan cocked the shotgun. Careful not to piss himself, Cooper swallowed the knot of fear that threatened to choke him and spoke.
“Jack,” he murmured without moving his lips.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cooper saw his partner and friend cover the smirk on his face. He cleared his throat. “Lieutenant, meet the new chief.”
The lieutenant’s gray eyebrows shot up then settled back above two pale green eyes narrowed and staring straight at him. His gun never wavered as he spoke. “This candy ass is the new chief?”
Candy ass? Who the hell was he calling candy ass?
Jack cleared his throat again. “Lieutenant, this candy ass is a friend of mine from Minnesota. Cooper Chance, meet Lieutenant Callahan.”
His hands still in the air, he watched Jack give him the nod. What the fuck? Did Jack really expect him to extend his hand for a shake? Cooper raised one sardonic brow. Jack grinned from ear-to-ear. Sure enough, that is exactly what Jack expected. Oh! His friend was going to get his before the night was over. That was for damn sure, the jackass!
In slow motion, Cooper lowered his right hand, leaving his left hanging in the air as a show of good faith. He extended his right hand. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant,” he said, hoping his voice did not shake. Cooper’s eyes widened in disbelief as the old man lowered the shotgun, switched it to his other side. He clasped his old hand to Cooper’s much younger one and shook.
“So you’re the new sucker, eh?” Callahan asked as he released his hand and took a step back. “Come on inside and you boys can warm up. It’s colder than a witch’s titty out here.” The old man turned on stocking feet to go back inside.
“Uh, would you mind leaving the Smith and Wesson outside, Lieutenant?”
Mr. Callahan paused and glanced over his shoulder, his pale green eyes staring straight into Cooper’s own blue ones. “Maybe you’re not so much of a candy ass after all,” he said with a grin and set the shotgun on the porch next to the door. “You off duty?” he asked as he stepped into the house.
Jack followed, asking, “You have some of that blueberry wine on hand?”
“Of course,” the lieutenant answered in what seemed to be a long-standing, regular occurrence.
Before Cooper followed in their wake, he took a minute and opened the Smith and Wesson to remove the shells. “Empty.” Well, I’ll be damned.
Small towns, Cooper reminded himself with a shake of his head as he shut the door and the chilly air behind him. He went in pursuit of a glass of blueberry wine and to learn all he could about retired police lieutenant Callahan.
* * * *
“I arrested a twenty-year old kid a few years back on charges of burglary and trespassing.”
“What’s so funny about that?” Cooper asked Jack as Callahan snorted into his second glass of homemade blueberry wine.
“I caught him stealing bras and underwear.” Grinning, Jack saluted him, and tipped his paper cup.
“Damn. That’s just wrong on so many levels.”
“Tell me about it. Try telling his parents who had to bail him out that their son was a panty raider.”
“Worse than that,” Callahan chimed in. “The kid had to come out of the cross dressing closet.” Callahan belched then said, “I can top that.”
Since they’d rushed over to the retired lieutenant’s house for no good reason, the lieutenant, Jack, and he, sat in Lieutenant Callahan’s well-worn study drinking blueberry wine, that Cooper found out Callahan made himself from his own blueberry bushes, and played ‘I can top that’, a cop’s version of ‘My dick is bigger’. It was interesting to see an old dog with a mind still as sharp as a tack and as long as forever. And his stories were a hoot.
Cooper swallowed a mouthful of the sweet wine. “Let’s hear it.”
Callahan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and lowered his voice. “I saw this truck driver swerve and suspected he was driving under the influence so I followed him for a few miles.” He took a drink and continued. “The next thing I knew the idiot took a nosedive into a ditch.”
“What the hell was he on? Alcohol or drugs?”
Jack chuckled. “Not even close.”
“I rushed out of my car, ran down the hill, and yanked the driver’s door open only to see the numb-nuts—”
“Numb-nuts!” Jack barked in a fit of laughter.
“Yeah. I yanked the door open only to be greeted by Rosie palm and her five sisters wrapped around his not-so-concealed weapon.”
Cooper clamped a hand over his mouth so not to spit out the blue wine all over the beige carpeting. He swallowed. “What?”
“The guy was jerking himself off inside the cab of his truck.” Callahan shook his head. “I ain’t never seen another guy whack off before or since that incident, and I hope I never do again.”
“You have to be making that up.” Cooper laughed. “No way can that be real.”
“It’s for real,” Jack chimed in.
“What did you do?”
“I did what any decent man would have done. I shut the cab door and gave the man a little privacy until he finished choking his chicken. Then I arrested the fool for reckless endangerment.”
They laughed until tears came into their eyes and Cooper stood. “Well, I hate to drink and run, but it’s getting late. Thanks for the wine. It was…interesting.”
Callahan threw his balding head back and laughed. “That’s polite words for I’d rather have a beer.”
Cooper grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I like beer. It’s simple and unpretentious.”
The retired lieutenant hefted himself up off the floral sofa, walked toward him, and stuck out a hand. “I like you, Chance. Simple and straightforward, that’ll go a long way around here.”
Cooper took his hand and shook. “It’s worked for me before.”
“Just don’t let Jack corrupt you.” Callahan turned and gave Jack’s shoulder a good whack as he started out into the hall. “Take him someplace for a beer before you head home. The man deserves at least that.”
“We’re heading over to Billy’s.”
“That’s fine. I hope to see you again, Cooper.”
“You will, but maybe under less, uh…tenuous circumstances next time,” Cooper suggested with a smirk.
Callahan chuckled behind one beefy fist as he opened the front door for them and a rush of cold wind burst into the small foyer. “Sorry ’bout that. That was just my way of sayin’ howdy and gettin’ to know you better.”
“See ya, Lou.” Jack gave a two-finger salute and stepped outside into the frigid air. He shuddered once then hustled down the front steps to the car.
Cooper looked straight into the pale green eyes of Callahan, cocked one eyebrow and rubbed his chin. “Well, I’ll be damned.” It had been a test. “Did I pass?”
The retired lieutenant gave a wide grin and shrugged. “Like I said, you’ll do.”
“High praise,” Cooper muttered as he walked out onto the porch and shivered. On the first step, he paused and turned back. He gave the retired lieutenant a one-finger salute.
FOUR
“Brr.” Jane stomped her feet, rubbed her palms over her arms as she
stepped into the sports bar behind Amy. The smell of alcohol smacked her in the face as the wooden door slammed shut behind her. When they entered Billy’s Sports Bar & Grill, loud talking faded to a dull roar, and heads turned toward them. Jane’s shoulders tensed as eyes gravitated in their direction and fell upon them in a leering survey of their bodies from head to toe.
Amy turned and spoke over her shoulder, a wide grin plastered on her face. “See. I told you this would be fun.” Amy winked, spun, and strolled with the confidence of royalty, gliding past tables packed with men whose mouths hung open or whose spoons dangled in mid-air.
Jane felt the tug at the corner of her lips as she shook her head and followed in her friend’s wake. Only Amy could draw a room full of men’s attention away from a Patriot’s football game. Then again, if she were a guy, and she saw a beautiful redhead with olive-colored skin, and long legs dressed in a short denim skirt, a tight, midriff sweater that matches her emerald eyes striding across the bar, she might be inclined to drop her jaw in awe.
Leaving Amy to talk with some man who had grabbed her wrist as she walked by, Jane continued to the bar. She squeezed in between two patrons and when they cleared out with their drinks, the bartender, a large man dressed in a Patriot’s football jersey slapped a napkin down in front of her.
“What’ll you have?”
“Two frozen margaritas with Cabo Wabo and salt, please.”
The bartender took a step in retreat and eyed her with dark, piercing eyes. “You a two-fisted drinker?”
“Huh?”
“Are you buying for someone else?”
“Oh, yes.” Jane spun on the barstool and aimed a finger in Amy’s direction. “My friend,” she answered over her shoulder, and paused when the double doors to the bar swung open. Her pulse jumped and her stomach took a tumble when she saw the man walk into the bar. He glanced around as if in search of something or someone. Then a taller man by about an inch and leaner walked in behind him.
The second man scanned the room just as his friend had. His search took in the entire bar in one sweeping motion without his head moving. When he glanced back at the bar, his gaze landed on Jane and held. The ice blue eyes held Jane motionless. Her breath froze in her chest and her heart fluttered diving into the pit of her stomach and back up again as his lips turned up at the corner.
Phish NET Stalkings Page 3
