Double Grades

by Kristine Robinson

  This is too much of a coincidence. I decide to take a leap of faith and inform Excelsior about the man called Chavo, intending to leave Andrea's name out of it.

  My boss is sceptical, since a robber wouldn't stick around the scene of a crime long enough to risk being captured. But I insist he's the mastermind. The shadowy puppet behind a robber gang, and it might be worth putting him on the watch list, or trying to find out more about him.

  Humoring my suspicions, the chief calls his researchers to scour the crime database and net for “Chavo,” and also looks for Andrea Jones at my prompting. I want to get to the bottom of the mystery. I want to know as well if Andrea truly is as free and uninvolved as she insists, or whether somewhere, somehow, she's still in tight with this gang. If she's trying to worm into my confidence to turn me into a dirty cop.

  They find nothing, though Excelsior promises to keep note of my suspicions.

  I return home, frustrated, nauseous, and exhausted. I'm meant to be meeting up with Andrea at a designated place later, but for now, I just want to relax, and scour out the memory of those blood strewn corpses on the bank floors. Such needless violence. The kind I want to stop.

  Halfway through my first glass of wine, and an episode of Lie to Me, there's a knock at my apartment door. No buzz – the person has made it inside, suggesting it's a neighbor. Surely not to complain about my sound level?

  I absently strap my gun belt on and head to the door. When I open it, I see Andrea Jones standing there, unannounced. I glare at her. She's just as beautiful as I remember, tall like a Valkyrie in the dim light of the corridor. However, I'm annoyed.

  “This is my rest time. And how do you even fucking know where I live?”

  “That doesn't matter. We need to talk.”

  Without further prompting, she muscles her way past me, and I have to resist the urge to shoot her, instead screeching, “You can't do that. I haven't invited you in!”

  “I don't want to be standing outside in plain view of the window and for any of Chavo's gang to get a good pot shot at me. They have people trying to tail me.”

  This information incenses me.“And you lead them to my apartment?”

  “I shook them off. I just don't want to give them a chance to pick me up again. Okay? Now. Let's talk.” She makes herself at home without further ado, sprawling on the sofa. A vein in my temple twitches. Andrea ends up talking very fast and desperately, always holding up her hands in that pleading manner, as if will somehow mollify my irritation. She looks beautiful of course, which irritates me further, because I'm meant to be mad at her, not drooling over her as she sits there, with those sexy legs and that wonderfully angled face and high cheekbones.

  Fuck sake.

  “You saw what happened with the bank robberies earlier. You saw the kind of violence Chavo condones. He replaced my old boss. The old man was still a criminal, you know, but he at least never murdered anyone during his tenure and command. Chavo, however, is an animal. He has no such limitations. Murder is like bread and wine to him. He likes to cause civil unrest, and he's been the terror of Columbian streets for years.”

  I fold my arms, glaring at her as she races to explain, to persuade. “He wants me dead because I'm an unknown element. I faked my death under him, but he's found out. He knows I'm a threat. And he's right. I have a good idea of where he plans to strike, the type of people he's hired. I still have contacts on the inside. People who I got along with. And I'm pretty sure I can extract the information to stop him. If you're willing to help. We can't have big police involvement, though. Chavo's goonies smell police a mile away. They scamper like rats into the sewers.”

  Her argument, as much as I hate it, appeals to me on a fundamental level. I blame the shows I've watched, the desire to do good. I don't feel like she's lying to me. She shows no deception, only desperation. She obviously wants me to understand. To help. I don't know why she's fixated on me, though. Because we've dated? Because I'm a cop?

  Or, because we like each other, and things would have worked out if she didn't have the shadow of Chavo lingering over her? Or, dare I think – all of the above? I chew my lip, staring into her ocean dark eyes. She's presented me with an explosion of information, the promise of more – along with the implication that I'll likely need to go rogue if the precinct doesn't accept her facts. It's likely. We already have so much to handle, enough crimes on our plates to investigate and deter, without the fragmented names of some obscure organization, without any clue to their base of operations or how to track them, unless I turn in my source.

  And, if I turn in Andrea, it's highly likely she'll be arrested. I wonder how many crimes she's been involved in. I wonder if turning her in will mean a lifetime's imprisonment. Could I do that to her?

  Maybe. But I feel like I should give her a chance. Let her convey everything, explain her past, and not leap to conclusions. And also, because part of me still sees the potential for more in her. A possible relationship. A chance for us to fish for happiness.

  If I'm prepared to deal with this huge ass mess on her plate.

  “No promises. But I'll see what I can do to maybe help you. I can try accessing our database for any names you give me. And I won't drop yours.”

  A smile of utter relief goes over her features. It makes my heart stop for a moment. Jesus Christ, why does she have to be so pretty? “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  She gives me a list of people she knows within the organization, though she states a few of them are part of the old wave, the people who don't condone violence. The rest have connections to Columbia and Chavo's old ring.

  She hesitates as she says Alison Ford's name.

  “She's my ex,” Andrea confesses. “She's still in the circle. I might be able to... extort her for information. Though she seems to think she might have a chance of getting back together with me.”

  “Oh,” I say, less than impressed by this.

  “She's cruel, though. There's something broken inside her. So rest assured that won't be happening again. There's A-Ron – tech guy. Alison tells me my replacement is called Greg Holden. A nervous wreck of a man, nowhere near my caliber. There's Chavo – last name debatable. He doesn't really write it down. There's his favorite muscle, Tonio Morua. Likes his shotguns.”

  I hastily jot down her information, wondering if she's stupid or trusting of me to give this out, and wondering if I'm stupid or trusting to accept it, to listen to her, to be willing to help.

  We promise to meet up again, and the glimmering hope in her eyes makes me pause and think. She really is pinning it on me. She really hopes I can scoop her out of this mess.

  My heart twinges. I still think she's beautiful. I like her smile, her easy manner, her charm. I don't like the darkness she seems to be tugging around with her – a darkness she is now sharing, instead of keeping it to herself. She puts herself into a vulnerable position by letting me know. I'm still too eager to prove myself as well. I haven't taken any major cases, or solved them. I know that will put me on the fast track to promotion. I want a chance to show the precinct what I'm truly capable of. Andrea seems to promise this. We touch hands briefly before we part, and it sends a thrill of delight to my core. I want there to be more contact. More touching. Lots more touching.

  I watch her disappear, and I wonder if I'm making the biggest mistake of my life, or the best decision ever to help her out.

  When I go into work the next day, I take my spare time to research the names on the database, and ask our techie to do the same, bribing them with Starbucks coffee.

  My chief, however, catches wind of my investigations, and asks me to stop, because the names I'm researching are unrelated and irrelevant to what we already have. Plus, a few of the names appear to have squeaky clean records. Suspiciously clean, in my opinion.

  “I don't understand where you're getting these names from. Who is your source?”

  “Someone reliable,” I shoot back, though doubt slithers in me. I hope Andrea is. I want her to
be reliable, but I know that just because I want something, doesn't make it any better than it is. It just makes me hope harder.

  “If it's someone within this organization itself, you're obligated to tell me and to bring them in for questioning.”

  I hesitate. “It isn't,” I eventually say. “Just someone who thinks they have seen Chavo before.”

  “Hmp. Well, stop this for now. You're reaching for something that isn't there. People with no track records at all, a drain of time and resources. Focus on actual work, Jennifer. We've got a huge backlog of requests to wade through without this personal quest of yours as well.”

  “Yes, sir,” I mutter. My face reddens in frustration.

  Two days later, I apply for emergency leave, and it's accepted. I used the classic excuse of my grandmother dying back in Venezuela. Though I know Excelsior is suspicious of my timing, he dismisses it, wishing me his condolences and sympathies, along with my colleagues.

  My grandmother, however, died years ago. It's a lie.

  It's all so I can go rogue. So I can embark on my first great undercover venture, and achieve something, like my heroes in the shows.

  And I'm looking forward to it.

  Chapter Four

  I spend the first day of my emergency leave to meet up with Andrea, and we get a hotel together. Partly to discuss what the hell we're going to do, and partly so I can finally find out about the woman I'm planning to potentially risk my career for.

  Being a social justice warrior sure can be exhausting work. I must be insane, of course, to jeopardize my career by dropping the dead grandma story and plunging into whatever mess Andrea seems to be in, but you know, just fuck it.

  Life's too short to be boring.

  Andrea sits opposite me now, wearing a low cut top that reveals a scandalous amount of cleavage, and we've both been enjoying the hotel's Sauvignon Blanc, all whilst discussing important things, of course.

  The more I talk with her, however, the more attractive she becomes. I mean, seriously, even without those killer curves she's knocking, she's got ocean eyes I could die for, and soft, incredibly touchable hair that I have to physically resist the urge to reach out and stroke, just so I can give her the proper amount of verbal attention.

  I may be wearing some pretty revealing clothes myself, such as a mini-skirt that has no right to even be called a skirt, since it covers basically nothing, and a top that ties into a knot at my belly button. All formerly hidden underneath my favorite raincoat. Andrea's eyes had almost popped out when she saw me revealed for the first time in all my feminine glory, and I couldn't help but hold a smug smile of triumph. I feel like I've gained bonus points with the way her eyes have snapped over to my breasts.

  “You can't be serious,” I say to Andrea, after she confesses that she liked to see herself as a Robin Hood of the criminal world she associated with.

  “I am,” Andrea says, smiling, but without a hint of mockery in her eyes. I'm temporarily mesmerized by her expression, and I lightly sip my wine. The wine, of course, serves to help turn me on further than what Andrea is already achieving by herself. “I wanted to make a big difference in the world. I grew up with a mother and father who did everything they could for me, but they had nothing. My mom would literally starve herself to make sure I had food on the table. My dad broke his back with the long hours in that stupid factory he worked in, for pennies.”

  I listen, mind delving into a world completely and utterly far removed from mine. Where I had riches, and never wanted for anything, Andrea had nothing, and faced that reality every day. I struck out, because I didn't want to just live my life on my parent's money, though I admit I miss some of the things I could afford with said money.

  “I started stealing early, because I wanted my mom and dad to eat too. I lied about where I got things from, and I was caught out, given the sit down about how bad it is to steal. But I kept doing it. And, you know, I made money. I learned a very... specific set of skills and got myself stuck right into the criminal underworld. And you know what I did with every heist? Every time we succeeded on robbing a bank – I dumped ninety percent of my earnings into charities. My favorite one's the local dog shelter my mom fights for. Rest of the cash went to my parents, and enough for me to afford a few pretty things.” Andrea grins, clearly proud of her accomplishments.

  I nod in fascination, surprised and amazed by her confession. It does, however, bring one question to mind. If she was successful, and she gave her earnings away, and never got caught – not that we would have ever met if she still operated in that circle, then why not stay? She didn't have to leave, did she? It makes me wonder. I think, if I were in her shoes, I might have wanted to stay.

  “Why did you have to fake your own death? Why did you want to leave?” I ask. I sit on the sofa next to her now, staring into her dreamy eyes, trying to control my breathing, in the hope it will help transfer the effect to my fast beating heart. I like seeing how animated and passionate she is about giving away her riches – something I did as well, to pursue my career.

  At this, her face droops, placing darkness on her beautiful features. She lifts up a hesitant palm. “Chavo joined my group, and undermined my old boss. He turned us into something violent and nasty. When he killed an innocent civilian on one of our routine bank runs, I didn't want any part in that. I told him I couldn't condone it. He threatened me. And well. There was no other way for me to get out, unless he thought I was dead.” She lets out a sigh. “Apparently I couldn't stay dead for long. Just when I believed I might be able to settle into something normal with you – Alison – the ex I told you about, contacted me saying Chavo knew I was alive. He was hunting me.”

  I scowl momentarily at the mention of Alison, but I'm otherwise hooked. If this is the real Andrea, the woman behind the mask, then I think she's amazing. She's not some heinous criminal that I need to put in cuffs and lock away. She's someone who worked on the other side to do good.

  Which, let me tell you, is fucking hot. I think my attraction meter to her has overloaded. Controlling myself takes a supreme amount of effort. “So you can't go to the police because of your shady past?”

  Andrea nods. Her sinuous body stretches out on the bed, practically inviting me over to it. “That's right. Being killed or ending up locked in jail for the rest of my life – neither are things that particularly appeal to me. But if I can lead you to Chavo, and have you help me get him off my back, well – that's rookie points for your career, and a safer, better life not having to have eyes in the back of my head.”

  “Mm hm,” I say absently, my gaze now drifting to the divide in her top.

  “I want to turn my life around. Now I'm out of that world, I want to stay out of it. Become someone respectable, who can walk around proudly with the money in my pocket, and not someone who fears someone discovering where I really got it.”

  I set my jaw, putting a halt to my mounting arousal to focus on Andrea's heart and mind. The whim and gamble I took on helping her has solidified into something else. I want to help her. I don't want her to die, or be locked up. Not when she clearly desires there to be good in the world. She just grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.

  And, somehow, still ended up with a shining soul.

  I could fall in love with someone like that.

  Confession time as well, those were the sort of characters I adored in my shows. The loveable rogues, the thieves with a heart of gold, the ones who did good in their own way, even if it wasn't always the accepted way.

  “I'd like to help you achieve that aim. I understand why you couldn't be so truthful to me before. Kind of hard to be truthful to a cop that you're a former criminal.”

  She grins. “Slightly. You made me super jumpy when you mentioned about the fact I was looking over my shoulder. Almost as if you knew something I didn't.”

  “Shame,” I murmur, now kneeling on the bed as I scrutinize her stunning body. “Because we wasted a lot of time not getting to know one another. Time I intend
to make up for...” my voice comes out a purr. My fingers brush over her exposed flesh, and I marvel at how soft her skin is.

  Her eyes blacken in lust. She watches me for a moment, like a snake eyeing its prey, before she lashes out, grabs me by the scruff of my neck, and yanks me towards her. I tumble on top. Her hair is a glorious mess about her face, and her eyes are suffused with desire. I shiver at that expression, drown in it. I am arrested by her attention, and she pulls me close enough for our lips to touch. It is primal and raw, feeling her smooth, rubbery flesh brush mine, to taste the salt there and to inhale the fresh clothes scent of her. My feelings churn on overdrive, giving into waves of lust that I hadn't realized I'd been holding back. I mean, I knew I'd been holding something back. Just not quite this much.