“That’s what I thought,” Marcus stepped even closer to Jenna, then tucked a stray hair behind her ear as a way to cradle her head in his hands.
“What else were you thinking?” Jenna whispered as blood filled her lips and a spicy smell had her breathing Marcus in.
“Meeting two Jennas in a park. What are the chances that one didn’t do a damn thing to me where another has been all I can think about.”
“Twenty-five percent.”
“Jenna, I’d really love to take you to dinner.” Marcus had leaned in so his lips tickled hers when he spoke. His confidence to step into her personal space made the proximity of his presence more than she could handle. The spinning in her head was the least of her problems as she felt a dampness between her weakening legs
“Just dinner?” she breathed, then put more space between them.
“I didn’t get to take you to a proper lunch.”
“I’m going to be stuck here late tonight.”
“There’s a Thai restaurant around here isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
“Can you work and eat at the same time?”
“Why not tomorrow night?”
“Statistically speaking, I fear you’ll forget me.”
“You leave quite an impression.”
“Do I now?”
“Yes.”
“I have to work tomorrow. My last girlfriend complained about my schedule getting in the way.”
“There’s your problem.”
“What’s that?”
“She was a girlfriend,” Jenna said. “A woman would have known you were worth the wait.”
The sly smile that ran across Marcus’ lips had Jenna’s nipples peaking and the usually soft fabric of her bra now burned against delicate skin. She could see why his ex wanted him around every second of everyday. Then again if she ever wanted to make partner in this firm she couldn’t let a hot guy distract her on a daily basis.
“Sunday night it is. Can I get your info or will you be here at seven?”
“A.M. or P.M.?” Jenna sighed.
“Work-a-holic?”
“You have your dreams, I have mine.”
“I like a girl that looks beyond the moment.”
“I’m an architect. I can see for centuries.”
“I want to know more about that on Sunday night.”
Brenda knocked on the glass wall beside her door with an apologetic face.
“Sorry, sorry,” Brenda inched past Marcus and placed another tube on Jenna’s desk. “Ferguson needs you to go over the casino and have a report for him by four-thirty.”
“Just tell me Bennett didn’t touch it,” she said with a sigh as her fingers rocked the three-foot-long tube back and forth on her desk.
“No, only partner candidates.” Brenda turned, scanned Marcus, then left. Thankfully Marcus had his back to Brenda when she bit her hand and made a very inappropriate gesture toward his ass.
Jenna smiled, then wrote her cell number on the back of her business card.
“Partner huh?” he said as he rocked back on his heels a little. Shit, shit, shit, Jenna thought.
“Well, there are some one-liners that only work in the boardroom.” She handed Marcus her card. “You don’t have to wait until Sunday to use that.”
“A man wouldn’t,” Marcus replied as he flicked the card with his finger and began walking backwards out of Jenna’s office.
Jenna collapsed into her chair and let it roll back until it hit her art desk, knocking her back into reality. Casino review in about two hours. The only good news was it would be a quick Q and A and not a full-fledged double spaced report.
“Oh, so you know,” Marcus popped his head back in her door and Jenna’s head shot up. “When you leaned down to write on your desk there…”
“What?” Jenna sucked in her breath, imagining the rest of Marcus coming in to finish what he started. Already his phantom hands were encircling her hips and— .
“You made me look forward to Sunday,” he said with a smirk and winked at her chest as he exited.
“How did you meet Mr. Drop My Panties?” Brenda asked as she practically fell into Jenna’s office.
Jenna had to pause a moment to compose herself. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
Chapter Two
Marcus spent the next two days trying to not focus completely on Jenna Turner, but on Thursday when McMillian came into the briefing, his chance encounter in the park was all he could think of.
“Jenna said you never called her?” Kurt said as he slid into the molded plastic chair next to Marcus.
“Yeah, man, I don’t think it’s going to work out?”
“Why?”
Marcus flashed on Jenna McMillian’s grilling of his last five shifts and overly eager inquiries about his recent suspension. McMillian eyeballed him and Marcus wondered if his cousin mentioned anything about who he was talking to before she showed up. He didn’t need the bullshit McMillian could dish out before he even got a chance to really know Jenna.
“She was too much like Shelly, I think.”
“I thought that was what you liked.”
“Past tense, McMillian. I’m not a really into that type of girl anymore.” He couldn’t help appreciating that Jenna Turner didn’t flip out when it sometimes took him a while to return a call or text message.
“I’ve got a dozen cousins man. They are all sexy. You can’t tell me Jenna wasn’t sexy.”
“There are so many things wrong with that statement I can’t begin to tell you.”
“What?” he asked, actually confused.
Marcus’ phone vibrated and he saw a blushing yellow smiley face emoticon that rolled on its back as little hearts floated out of it. He’d outdone himself this morning replaying his dream to her in text form. Normally when he was on rotation he would just crash and sleep hard for three or four hours, then be up and unable to sleep until the end of his next shift. He never dreamed. It was recharge and go. Not this week. This week he made sure he’d checked in with Jenna.
It made him nervous that she seemed to be in the office until close to midnight most nights. He asked if the security guards would escort her to her car and she said no.
“We’ve seen an increase in vehicle break-ins right after dusk.” Sergeant O’Leary began the briefing. “It’s getting dark earlier and we all know what that means.”
“Teenagers get bold,” Larson blurted.
Marcus stifled his shiver. Having been cleared of a shooting only a few months ago, teens had become his Achilles heel. He hated hunting down vandals and car thieves whose voices hadn’t even dropped yet. The chair on the other side of him screeched as his partner, Les Noonan, finally showed up.
Les was everything a cop should be and had been Marcus’ mentor for most of his career. Sure Les had only been on the force five years before Marcus became his partner, but he had an ease to him that could calm the most irate of suspects. With his traditional high and tight he maintained probably from birth, he made sure Marcus stayed in shape both physically and mentally. Why he never wanted to do anything but be a patrolman was beyond Marcus’ comprehension. He’d give anything to see captain’s bars on Les’ uniform and once the next round of openings in homicide came up, Les would be the only thing he missed if his promotion went through.
“’Bout time,” Marcus chided his gray eyed friend out of the corner of his mouth.
“You were right about that Hmong place last night.” Les placed his hand on his gut. “My cheat day charged me in ways I never saw coming.”
“You got that under control? It is too damn cold to keep the windows down and you know I can only entertain the female clerks at the gas station for so long.”
“Please, they’d love it if you parked your chocolate ass there all night.”
“Fine, but if we spend half the shift 10-7 because you’re dropping loads around the East Side, it’ll be suspect.”
“Noonan. Peterson,” O’Leary barked. “We know you two love
whispering sweet nothings to each other, but save it for when you’re alone in your car together.”
“It’s not the same since you stopped providing the script,” Noonan’s deep baritone voice seemed to echo off the walls. “Your erotic poetry gets Peterson so damn hot it’s all I can do to keep him off me.”
“One day Noonan you’ll be as deep as I am.”
“That’s what he said.”
The room, that had been stifling a laugh since Sarg called them out, erupted in laughter.
“Get all your perverted asses out there and relieve the day shift coffee drinkers.”
“Yes, Sir,” the room said as they all took their leave.
O’Leary came up to Les and Marcus and pulled them aside.
“Noonan, show some respect. Someday you may be stuck up there with a group of assholes not payin’ attention.”
“That’d never happen to me O’Leary.”
“Oh yeah, why’s that?”
“On account of I can read and write so they said I was overqualified to be a Sergeant.”
With that Marcus and Les took off to their car.
“Why are you always giving O’Leary shit?” Marcus asked as they reached the auto pool. Not that Marcus minded. He’d back Noonan in any situation, but O’Leary wasn’t that bad.
“He’s lazy and belongs where he is, behind a desk. The three times a year his potbelly waddles out on the street I fear for the safety of all involved. I don’t know how he got through the academy. I just can’t respect an officer that didn’t perform where it counts. Out there, under fire, with only a jacket covering one third of his body and not the most important part, his damn brain.”
“You can drive today,” Marcus offered and Les raised an eyebrow.
“Since when?”
“I assume you got your license when you were sixteen. You did grow up in the boonies though. Did you get a farm permit instead, Opie?”
“You sick?”
“No.”
“Got shot and I missed it?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Les climbed into the patrol car and pulled his seatbelt on while Marcus powered on their laptop.
“In seven years you’ve never willingly given me the keys.”
“You drive all the time.”
“And you pout in the passenger seat.”
“I never pout.”
“Ha!”
Right then Marcus’ phone vibrated and his instant reaction to reach for it had Les busting out in laughter.
“McMillan’s cousin must have been some piece of ass to have you whipped that bad.”
“For the third day in a row, I’m not dating, sleeping with, or talking to McMillan’s cousin.”
“Then who has you reaching like they have a weapon at the ready.”
“Dispatch to Car 74, are you in service?” dispatch crackled over the radio.
“Car 74 to dispatch, beginning tour,” Marcus replied and pointed to the garage door to which Les ground his teeth in irritation.
When Les turned left Marcus glanced at his phone.
You aren’t the only one looking forward to Sunday, if I had time to dream I know you’d consume them.
“I saw that,” Les said even though his head was turned away from Marcus.
“Good, now watch this.” Marcus held his phone up and took a picture of Les growling at him to text to Jenna.
Makes me miss your beautiful brown eyes more and more.
“That was stupid,” Les said with a smug look.
“Why?”
“Just don’t cry when she begs for my number.”
“I’ll control myself. Just make her scream my name during sex.”
“They all do, Peterson, they all do.”
“What do you think an architect makes in a year?”
“Salary?” Les shook his head. “I don’t know I guess it depends on what they’re building.”
“If they we’re designing say…a casino.”
“For a reservation or Vegas?”
“Jesus, Les, I don’t have a full dossier.”
“Why you so testy?”
“The woman I’ve been texting—”
“The one whose next text will be ‘give me the sexy white guy’s number’.”
“Sure, she’s up for partner. I just thought in the vast cavern that is your brain you’d have an idea what that means.”
“They pay me triple to be your partner,” Les joked. “What does it matter? Are you a cop because it’s in your blood or because we have good bennies?”
“I win the lottery—”
“And you’d still be putting your name in when a detective job is open. You’re a cop. It’s what you love. As long as you have the three Ps you’re happy.”
“What three Ps?” Marcus glared at Les.
“Police work, puzzles, and pussy. If you cared about money you’d be bouncing, providing private security, or one of the other side hustles other guys do. She makes more money than you? Guess what, you’ll never have to do more than what you love to provide for your family.”
“More? Or more, more?”
“You have a phone, look it up. Geez, and you want to be a detective.”
Dispatch contacted them before Marcus could complete his search, and the night got away from him. They handled a few calls, but for the most part it was a quiet night. Although Marcus liked the freedom of texting Jenna while Les investigated bathrooms in multiple gas stations, slow nights tended to be more nerve racking as they waited for the dam to break.
You gonna teach me all your little codes. Jenna texted.
What codes?
You know, 10-4 good buddy.
Ha! They’re not that exciting.
Hey, I might need your assistance someday.
With what?
A cat burglar, peeping Tom, stuck zipper.
10-911…stuck zipper.
LOL, I’ll remember that.
And just let me in and I’ll stop peeping.
I don’t know if I’ll make it until Sunday.
I’m off at 11, I’m always up for a late night snack before bed.
Before or in?
Marcus dropped the phone when Les yanked his door open. Damn, if Jenna delivered on what she’d been promising he might need to take sick leave to recover.
“Dispatch to Car 74,” the radio crackled as if they knew Les was back in the car. “Are you available?”
“Car 74 to dispatch 10-4.”
“Car 74, meet with Car 43 and Car 27 for a civil disturbance beginning on Maria and Maryland.”
“10-4, en-route to location.”
Les flipped on the lights and sirens as they screeched down Minnehaha Ave to Maryland. McMillian in Car 27 was already on scene, but waiting for backup before engaging the fight.
“Car 74 to dispatch,” Marcus called on the radio.
“Car 74, please hold.”
“No can do dispatch, we’re going to need at least three more units, possibly five. Fight in progress multiple assailants.”
“10-4, Car 74, additional units in route.”
“You ready?” Les asked.
“They didn’t run when McMillian showed up.”
“Would you?” Les tried to ease Marcus’ nerves.
“They don’t care that we’re here. I thought we squelched this shit during the summer. Fucking teenagers.”
When McMillian and Kent saw Noonan and Peterson they all nodded in acknowledgement. Although it seemed as if hours had passed since their car had arrived, it had been barely a minute. When Marcus was in a high-risk situation the world slowed for him. It’d always been that way, playing ball, tests in school; it was as if his mind could pull him out as it quickly added up the scenario.
Twenty to thirty people were in the group of kids ranging from what appeared to thirteen to twenty-one-year-olds. Mixture of black, Asian, and white or Hispanic—in the dim glow of the streetlights he couldn’t be sure. His first fear was gang or racial war, bu
t the kids seemed pretty mixed. Male and female with four major altercations occurring. He’d let 27’s crew handle the girl-fight going on at the edge of the crowd. They looked underage and ready to kill—sadly, over nothing, he was sure.
The four of them began dispersing the crowd so they could reach the middle where fists were flying. Marcus spread his long fingers to tighten his black leather gloves. One of the kids flew back from an upper cut and landed on the steps to the porch of a house with music blaring so loud the windows were rattling. It was then Marcus saw the young dark-skinned youth pick up a hammer and lunge back toward the crowd.
Les had his Taser out and Marcus his standard issue Glock. Not again, not again, not again, Marcus prayed.
“Now son,” Les began. “This has gotten way out of control. I’m gonna need you to put down the hammer.”
Marcus wanted to look behind him because he couldn’t hear if back-up had arrived or if the other kids were restrained yet. His gun felt like an anvil at the end of his extended hands.
“You got three options here,” Les continued. “Option one is you put down the hammer and we take you into custody. Option two is I Taser you, you piss your pants and then spend the next few hours at Regions handcuffed to a bed.”
“Fuck you,” the kid who couldn’t have been more than fifteen cried. Thankfully the hammer stayed by his leg and he didn’t raise it an inch. “Did you see what that asshole did? I got the right to defend myself. I ain’t no punk!”
“We’re here to defend you. We got him now, but you need to put that weapon down.”
Sweat trickled down Marcus’ cheek as he tried to take in as much of the area without losing focus on the kid less than three steps from him. If he so much as flinched Marcus would have to unload his gun into this kid’s center mass.
“What’s your name, son?” Les asked, more to let Marcus know he would be approaching from his right.
“Ronny.”
“Okay, Ronny, I didn’t get to option three, but I’m going to tell you the last thing Officer Peterson wants to do is explain to your parents why he had to kill you.”
Ronny dropped the hammer to the ground by his feet.
“That was smart,” Marcus said. “Now kick it away from you and walk toward Officer Noonan.”
Les holstered his Taser and took out his handcuffs. As soon as the first cuff was on Ronny, Marcus blew out a relieved breath and lowered his gun.
Kiss From a Rose Page 2
