Good Cop, Bad Cop

by Lily Harlem

  What the hell am I going to do next? Swim?

  Fighting the overwhelming urge to collapse into a heap and sob, I looked back toward the shore.

  Nothing. No one.

  But for how much longer? I wasn’t a strong swimmer. The sparkling lights on the other side of the bay looked inviting but I wouldn’t be able to make it that far. No way.

  A clanking and the slop of water to my right caught my attention. There were a handful of deserted looking boats moored on the pontoon.

  A much better choice than the cold, deep water.

  With a swift bound I landed on the starboard end of the nearest one. Stilled briefly to see if the soft thud of my arrival had disturbed anyone, then tried the door.

  Thank the good Lord above. Open.

  I sneaked in. Clicked the latch shut and paused. Allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  I waited, waited some more. There was so little light that I could only make out the merest hint of furniture. But it was a big boat. I reckoned there must be another room somewhere ahead. But that would be the obvious one for my stalker to find me in.

  Stumbling to the right, I fumbled for a minute then found a door handle. Turned it, stepped in and shut it behind myself.

  As I ventured forward, pain suddenly attacked my shins as they hit hard wood. I pitched double, biting my lip so as not to cry out. I felt softness beneath my hands. A bed, covers and a mattress. Empty.

  My eyes filled with tears. A tremble started in the depths of my belly and worked its way outward, shivering along every nerve. I tugged at the cover, climbed onto the bed and curled up beneath the soft cotton sheet. I pulled it over my head and hugged my shoes and purse to my chest. Willed my panting to calm and become steady and silent, which was hard considering the urge to cry was almost as strong as the need to breathe.

  I closed my eyes, felt a tear trickle down to my ear and was aware of my hair sticking to my perspiring forehead. But I just lay there. Still, quiet, the beat of my heart vibrating through my body and my head spinning from my terror and exhaustion.

  Would my attacker follow me up the pier, onto the pontoon, onto this boat? Would he then rape and murder me? I didn’t want to die. I had so much to live for. So many more songs to sing, friends to make, and a lover to meet and completely hand over my heart to in the way my lyrics described.

  I strained to hear through the covers, trying desperately to make out footsteps or the click of a door. Though where I could run if I did hear anything I didn’t know. I was trapped. I’d cornered myself. A wave of nausea rushed through me and I rode through it as best I could, swallowing stiffly and hoping the noise wouldn’t carry.

  I longed for Tommy, to feel his arms around me. Or Meredith, telling me everything would be okay in the easy, take-life-as-it-comes way she had. Even Dmitri—if he wasn’t in on the plot to end my life—would be welcome right now.

  There was nothing to hear except lapping water and distant music. Slowly my breathing and heart rate returned to normal. I stayed curled up in a ball. I was twitchy, scared, but I willed myself to stay still until the morning. Light would be my friend. The day would be my savior.

  If I lived that long.

  *

  I was being rocked to sleep, lulled, cradled in my cocoon. I stretched out my legs and my toes hit a cool, smooth surface. Instantly I winced. A stinging pain in the sole of my foot traveled up my shin. I opened my eyes and saw my shoes and purse still clutched in my hands. I’d got it wrong. I was being rocked awake.

  Fear greeted me with all the grace of a meteor landing on my head.

  Gingerly I tugged the blanket from my face and was hit with stark daylight streaming through a window to my right. I blinked and became aware that I was looking out at a brilliant white-blue sky.

  What time is it?

  Sitting up, I noticed the rocking motion from my dream again, my body gently swaying this way and that.

  Shit. The boat is moving.

  My limbs felt heavy, but I forced them into action and scrabbled onto my hands and knees to look out of the long, oval-shaped window.

  The pontoon had gone, so had the shoreline. All I could see from this angle was an endless, watery horizon.

  There was another window, opposite. I scooted over and peered out. The same view. Nothing but dark blue water and a vivid, sun-soaked sky.

  A sudden bang, coming from above, caused me to gasp.

  Another bang then a voice. Deep and drawling. Rough and masculine.

  Next to the window a big bare foot appeared. Hairy ankle, skin the color of toasted biscuits.

  I snapped away and pulled the sheet over my head again. Slunk down on the bed and wished I would wake up and find myself at home, in my big, soft four-poster bed.

  Who is that man? My attacker? The owner of the boat?

  How the hell had I got myself into this crazy situation?

  “Hey, what the fuck is this, Jose? You cut yourself shaving again?”

  “Fuck you, Dillon.” Another voice, serious, and with the hint of an accent.

  There was a scrape and scuffle, a long pause. Then, “Fuck, I reckon we’ve got company.”

  Chapter Two

  Dillon stared at Jose, mind whirring with why there were a few spots of blood on the deck. They’d been planning this trip for God knew how long, and the last thing he needed was hassle to deal with. Hassle was the name of the game at work—they were cops, for fuck’s sake—but in his free time?

  Shit.

  Jose frowned at him then stared down at the deck. His longish black hair, much the same as Dillon’s own, fell forward, one lock slicing his frown in two, and his face the picture of frustration. He felt the same about hassle as Dillon, then.

  “Could have come from an animal,” Dillon said. It was plausible. Rats came out at night on the dock, and stray cats prowled in the darkness, ready to capture, subdue and kill. Did he believe that? And was it even blood? The spots were nearly black, baked by the morning’s heat. Could have been oil. Who the fuck was he kidding? He’d seen enough blood in his lifetime to know it when he saw it. The way the droplet edges splayed out like sunrays gave it away.

  Jose looked up, staring over Dillon’s shoulder in the direction they’d left, probably sorting through his mind for the memories of what they’d done before lifting anchor. “It’s blood, all right.”

  Dillon nodded. Yeah, it was blood, but it wasn’t all right. Someone had been on the boat last night while they’d been in that little eaterie, scarfing down steaks and fries and discussing the crap they’d get up to over the next few weeks. Something told him that someone was still on board, although why he hadn’t sensed it before he didn’t know. Maybe his internal radar had stopped searching for blips, him letting his guard down because they were on vacation. And because he’d sunk one too many beers and his inhibitions had shifted from alert to relaxed with the light breeze that had soughed over their alfresco table. A breeze laden with the scents of women’s perfume, seafood and brine, making him know for sure he was really on vacation and not on some stakeout. Maybe, because of those beers, their return to the boat had him thinking of nothing but setting their course and flopping to sleep on the loungers instead of going to his bedroom below.

  Jesus.

  He sighed, annoyed with himself and Jose. After all, why should he take all the blame for them not checking the boat before they’d set sail?

  His mind kicked into gear, instinct taking over. He hadn’t expected to be using his know-how in this way until they’d returned from their trip. His gun was in the living quarters, in the drawer of a built-in TV cabinet. If he could get to that without encountering their stowaway, all was good, but if their uninvited guest had malicious intent and had got to it first, they were fucked.

  Dillon quietly clicked his middle finger against his thumb. Jose glanced up, giving an almost imperceptible nod. Dillon jerked his head, and Jose immediately swiveled, heading for the helm to check their precise position and slow the boat.
Briefly, Dillon stared at the blood spots again, then swiped his gaze back and forth. There were no others apart from this small patch, so the injury wasn’t a big one.

  He went to the stern and gripped the knob on a door that led below. Turned it. Pushed the door open. He gave the room a once-over, noting no one and nothing out of place. Going quietly down the steps, he padded to the TV cabinet and slid the drawer open, the sound of the rollers obscenely loud and something he could have done without. He grimaced and held still, waiting to see if the noise brought anyone out of the doors to the right. Several seconds passed, and he moved to the first door, again gripping the doorknob. Adrenaline spiked, scouring his blood, and he swallowed, heartbeat doubling in speed. He hiked in a deep breath to steady himself then twisted the knob, opening the door an inch. He saw nothing but windows to the left and mentally explored the room, reminding himself of where the furniture was. Bed opposite, drawers and small closet space to the right. He tightened his hold on the gun and put his face close to the door so he could peer around the edge. He pushed the door wider.

  What the fuck?

  A blonde woman stood beside the bed, back and hands plastered to the wall, fingers splayed. Her long hair was disheveled—that just-fucked style he liked—hanging in clumps on one side and mussed into fuzzy disarray on the other. Eyes wide and rimmed with streaky kohl, she stared at him, her mouth slightly parted as though she was about to say something.

  He frowned, keeping his hand on the knob. If she had the idea of running at him, scooting past, she’d better think the fuck again.

  “What the hell are you doing on my boat?”

  She brought one hand up to cover her chin with her fingertips, the ends of her long red nails resting just below her bottom lip. Damned if she didn’t look sexy as all get out like that, but he couldn’t let his dick start dictating now. She twitched the fingers of her other hand as if wondering whether to keep them against the wall, and he felt sorry for her but wasn’t about to let her know it.

  “You going to answer me?” He was deliberately gruff.

  Dillon stepped forward, closing the door without breaking eye contact. She shook her head a little—as an answer to his question or a fearful reaction? He’d say he didn’t care, but that innocent, frightened pose of hers burrowed into him, making it almost impossible for him to maintain his scowl. He fought the urge to give her a reassuring smile and narrowed his eyes, knowing he looked nasty—Jose had said once that Dillon’s expressions had scared the shit out of him when they’d first started working together.

  “If you don’t answer me, it’s going to piss me off.”

  She worked her lips, rose-colored and enticing, and took that hand from the wall to place it across her belly. Was she foreign? Didn’t she understand English, was that it? He lifted the gun—doing that had always gained a rapid response in the past—but damned if she just stared at it, widening her eyes some more.

  “Look.” He walked forward until he stood at the foot of the bed, readying himself to flash out a hand if she had it in mind to run. The distinct feel of flesh on flesh entered his thoughts, an unwanted visual of the inside of his arm on her belly, her tits. Christ… He cleared his throat, making it sound menacing. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re not welcome. I’d tell you to get the fuck off, but we’re surrounded by water. I will tell you, though, that unless you explain yourself, when we reach shore you’ll be dropped off at the police station.”

  She didn’t look afraid now. If he was any judge of expressions, he’d say she was relieved as fuck. What the shit was going on?

  “That’s a good thing, yeah?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  So she understands me.

  “Want to answer my first question, or are you going to remain dumb until we dock?”

  “Do you know who I am?” she whispered, tilting her head a bit.

  He huffed out a laugh. “Lady, I don’t give a shit who you are. You’re on my boat. A trespasser. I don’t want you on here. Who you are isn’t important.”

  “But do you?” she persisted.

  “No, I don’t.” He wondered whether she was a woman he’d encountered on a job in the past, but unless this was a massive coincidence, he couldn’t see someone from one of his cases turning up in the exact place he’d chosen for vacation. Yeah, stranger things had happened, especially when he’d stepped on too many toes to mention and people had the intention of getting him back for being a participant in putting their loved ones inside or six feet under, but honestly?

  Nah. I don’t know her.

  She breathed out slowly, then, “Oh. I just thought you would have, that’s all.”

  He’d barely heard her she’d spoken so quietly. Was that disappointment in her tone?

  “Am I meant to?” he asked, racking his brains to place her.

  She was a stranger, he was sure of it. He’d have remembered a woman like her.

  She lowered her hand from her chin and laid it over the other. Lifted one foot to plant it on the wall beside her knee. Now that was one hell of a seductive pose, probably designed to fool him into falling for any bullshit she planned to spin. He’d seen it too often. It hadn’t worked on him then and wouldn’t now, although he’d be hard pressed to remain in control with this one. She had a kind of classic beauty, her cheekbones prominent and covered in skin that would be like silk to the touch.

  As soft as cunt lips.

  He straightened his spine at that. Cleared his throat again. “Lady, if you’ve got something to say, just say it, yeah? If you’re here for a reason, to get to me for your man or brother or your goddamn father, tell me and get it over and done with. Whatever it is, I assure you I don’t give a fuck.”

  She jutted her chin out, a defiant gesture, and half closed her eyes. He couldn’t deny her sultry look appealed to him, but now wasn’t the time to indulge. He wasn’t averse to fucking while on vacation, had looked forward to some mindless stranger sex for a while now, but not with some woman who’d—

  Who’d what? Did it even matter why she was here? He’d be shunting her off to the cops soon enough, then she’d be a distant memory, something to laugh over in the future. D’you remember that chick we found on the boat, Jose? Jesus, she was easy on the eye, wasn’t she, but a fucking crazy bitch all the same…

  “I’m…” She paused for a beat. “I’m not meant to be here.”

  “Damn right you’re not.”

  “I was…running.”

  “What, out for a jog dressed like that? Pull the other one, woman.” He shook his head. Did she think he was stupid? That he’d swallow any old shit she spewed?

  “No. Running from someone.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and closed her eyes. “I’ve got someone after me.”

  That’s all he needed. Someone in need of help. Christ, he’d taken a vacation to get away from crap like this. “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” She opened her eyes and stared out the window. Blinked several times until tears spilled.

  Ah, he’d wondered when the waterworks would be turned on. “So you don’t know. Not a great deal of help. What were they doing, chasing you? What?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “They always are.” He clamped his mouth shut before he said anything else. Studied the way she gazed off into the distance, probably recalling how she’d got here and why. Or making up a scenario that she hoped he’d believe to buy herself some time. “But providing we don’t turn back we’ve got a day or so before we see land, so I’ve got time to listen.”

  He walked the three steps it took to reach her and grasped her wrist, tugging her away from the wall. She snapped her head around to face him, eyes wider than when he’d entered the room.

  “Come with me.”

  He pulled her behind him, leading her into the living area. Purposely rough, to let her know he wasn’t taking any shit, he pushed her so she landed on the sofa. She shuffled into the corner of it, drawing her feet up an
d beneath her ass, knitting her fingers and staring up at him.

  Don’t look at me like that. “What the hell are you staring at?” He was as sharp as he’d intended—sharper, even.

  “You’re scaring me!” She sounded affronted, as though he had no right to make her feel afraid.

  “Am I?”

  “You just wait until my manager reports you to the cops.” She said it with conviction, with a straightening of her shoulders and a twist to her lips.

  “That meant to freak me out?” He stared at her—hard.

  She didn’t respond, instead glancing about the living quarters, eyes darting.

  She can’t maintain eye contact. Good.

  Dillon drew in a breath. Relishing his next words. “I am a fucking cop, so he can report me to me.”

  She whipped her head around, eyeing him as though she didn’t believe him. A harsh laugh pealed out of her, and he winced. It didn’t suit her.

  “Oh, really? In that case, I’ll just relax with you then, let you take care of me.”

  Sarcasm didn’t suit her either.

  “You could do, but you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. I could be anyone. I could be the person you’re running from. Cops can go bad you know.”

  She gasped, a sharp intake of breath that undoubtedly dried her throat.

  “That shut you up, didn’t it,” he said, walking backward to the TV cabinet. He dipped his hand into the drawer and brought out a set of cuffs.

  She hid her hands behind her back. He almost let out a mean laugh to match hers.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, pushing herself into the sofa. “If you put those on me, I’m telling you, my manager will have you by the fucking balls when he finds out.”

  He sighed and bent down, dragging her arms out and snapping the cuffs on in front of her with ease, despite her struggling. “Really? I don’t care who this manager is. Threats don’t frighten me, especially coming from a woman who’d be a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. And, if you prefer to vacate the boat, you can get as wet as you fucking like out there.” He nodded at the window.