Protect and Serve: Soldiers, SEALs and Cops: Contemporary Heroes from NY Times and USA Today and other bestselling authors

by J. M. Madden

  She moaned and closed her eyes, letting him know she was looking forward to having his hands on her body. Now all he had to do was figure out how to protect her from something she wouldn’t admit was dangerous.

  FOUR

  For the sixth morning in a row, Roark woke up twisted up in Demi’s legs and sheets. This was the longest stretch of time he’d ever spent with one woman. Back when he was a beat cop he took double shifts to try to make a name for himself and move up in rank. Then as a homicide detective he was chained to his ever-ringing phone. Women didn’t tend to tolerate that type of distraction and interruption. Since he’d quit his last job and Demi worked second shift now that the clinical trial she was on was over they had a lot of uninterrupted time to just hang out. That was something Roark had sworn he’d never enjoy, but with Demi he did.

  Even with her clothes on she was interesting. That was saying something for a guy like Roark. Her sense of humor was wry and frequently crossed the line, which he appreciated. He didn’t have all those pesky feelings most people had, so no joke was off limits.

  The other good news was that nothing else had happened to Demi’s car since he’d started hanging around. She was still holding steadfast to the new identity she’d created and gave no hint that she was really Alexandria. He gave her credit for her willpower in that department.

  “It’s your turn to make breakfast,” Demi yawned as she rolled out of bed and shuffled toward the bathroom in her silky boy short pajama bottoms and no top.

  “Last time I tried the only thing I managed was to set off the smoke detectors. You sure you want me trying that again?”

  “Damn,” Demi replied as she stared down at her phone and scrolled through a message. “I’ve got to cover a shift for someone this morning. They’re short handed in the emergency room again.”

  “Do you have to pull a double?” Roark asked as he stood and slipped back into his jeans. He was spending a lot of time at Demi’s house but when she left he always did too. He wouldn’t be that guy who just bummed around a girl’s house while she toiled away at work.

  “I’m not sure yet. I hope they’ve moved the schedule around enough where someone will cover for me, but who the hell knows. We’re way understaffed. No one wants to work in an underfunded hospital in the middle of Detroit. I can’t really blame them. Unless you like becoming an expert in triaging gun shot wounds there are better opportunities out there.” She dropped her phone onto the bed and spun her hair up into a messy bun.

  “So why not go back to Maine?” Roark asked, knowing full well she’d probably never set foot in Maine before. He continued testing her cover story here and there but not enough for her to get suspicious.

  “Working in a hospital, in the mountains of Maine, isn’t much better for experience. You spend more days putting Band-Aids on people than seeing any real action. I guess the grass is always greener.” She shrugged her way into her clothes and flipped on the coffee pot. Her place was small, a glorified studio on the third floor of a brick mill that had been converted. It was better than his place but almost equally as stark. She wasn’t much for knick-knacks or sentimental trophies of days gone by. There were no photographs on her walls and he wondered if that was part of her putting the past behind her.

  “If I don’t end up working a double, you want to do dinner?” Demi asked as she slipped her shoes on and poured coffee into a couple of travel mugs.

  “This isn’t too much for you?” Roark knew full well he was sounding like a chick. “I’ve been around a lot. I’m having a good time; don’t get me wrong, I just don’t usually run the risk of wearing out my welcome. We don’t have to hang out tonight.”

  “I’m using you solely for sex and protection,” Demi shot back with a coquettish smile that screamed she was lying. His life had been bumpy over the last…well, his entire life, and this was coming easily. Demi didn’t require much in the way of putting on a show and, unlike most women he’d known, she didn’t seem to seek out drama.

  “Then I will be back tonight when you call. I don’t have many skills but you’ve tapped into two of my best. And now I’d hate to deprive you of either,” Roark groaned as he pulled her against him and nibbled at her neck until she cried out, half tickled, half enticed.

  “Don’t even start. I have to go. I’ll send you a text when I know about the double shift. You don’t have to rush out of here you know. You’re welcome to stay.” She wiggled out of his grip and pulled the door open.

  “I’ve got a job interview this morning anyway,” he lied, not wanting to sound like an unemployed dead beat without any prospects. It wouldn’t be hard for him to get another employer in the private security field, especially with his experience. He’d just been distracted enough by Demi to not go looking.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs and opened the large metal door to step outside, Demi turned and faced him. “Thanks for hanging out here so much. I promise I wasn’t slitting my own tires just to get you to hang around. But your presence seems to have scared off whoever was doing it, so I am grateful for that. I just wanted you to know.”

  “It’s my pleasure. I almost wish you were my next client. At least I’d know you weren’t a pain in the ass like the rest of them, and we could certainly find ways to pass the time.” He leaned in again and kissed his way up her neck.

  “You won’t be that good of a bodyguard considering you’re only ever paying attention to kissing me. That leaves us pretty vulnerable,” she said, punctuating her words with a breathy moan.

  “Trust me, I’m never vulnerable. I’m always in control.”

  FIVE

  DEMI

  Lots of sex, not enough sleep, and a morning shift she wasn’t expecting were enough to have Demi running on fumes. She had loaded herself with enough caffeine and vending machine food to fuel her to the end of her shift, but she was happy she’d been let off the hook for the double.

  All her normal crew was coming in as she was leaving, so she’d be sure to catch them in the locker room for any gossip before changing and heading home.

  “What’s this?” Tori, her ‘work mother’, asked. She was holding up a piece of notebook paper as if it were a bomb. Tori had been a nurse for twenty-three years and had three grown children. Her empty nest made her anxious to nurture anyone and everyone who needed it. That’s what made Demi’s connection with her so strong. She frequently needed the maternal love Tori offered.

  Demi looked on, completely confused as Tori clutched the paper tighter and raised a threatening brow in her direction. She was a short, stout woman but the kind you knew could take your ass down if she had to. She’d spanked enough butts and chased away enough dirt bag boyfriends dating her daughters to be considered a force to be reckoned with. Her short, ‘mom’ hair and crucifix necklace were always very comforting to Demi, but this look she was getting was not.

  “I’ll need a little more to go on than that,” Demi shot back, reaching for the piece of paper and reading it.

  You were warned to leave and not come back. You came back.

  “Who put that in your locker?” Tori asked, propping her hands on her hips. “And what does that mean? It sounds very threatening.”

  “What were you doing in my locker?” Demi asked, already knowing the answer but buying some time by stalling.

  “You know I use your lotion. I can’t afford any of that good stuff. Bill won’t let me shop there,” Tori admitted as her cheeks flushed.

  “I asked you the other day and you said you weren’t using it,” Demi smiled, knowing she was putting the screws to her friend.

  “I lied. You knew I was using it. Who cares? Now tell me who put that in your locker. I’m serious.” Tori’s look got stern as she waited for an answer.

  “At this point, with your checkered history of petty crime and lying, I’m going to assume you put this in my locker,” Demi teased, but the smile slid off her face as she realized how serious Tori still looked.

  “Last chance, Demi
, tell me what’s going on. I can see it in your eyes. You’re hiding something and I’m not letting you go until you tell me what. Who is that letter from?” Tori shifted to block Demi’s exit route and she knew her only option was the truth.

  “I really don’t know who would put that in my locker. Someone’s been messing with me and I think it’s just a prank or something. Don’t worry.” Demi, barely convinced of that herself, couldn’t look Tori in the eye.

  “What does that mean, someone’s messing with you. What else have they done?”

  “My tires got slashed outside a club one night. Then, it happened again a few days later at my house. There’s been nothing for over a week now and then this note. But I’m sure it’s just someone screwing around.” Demi shrugged it off and turned to toss the note in the trash.

  Tori lunged forward and snatched the note away. “No one pulls a prank by slashing someone’s tires. That’s vandalism and this note is a threat. What did the police say about your car?”

  And there it was. The question any mom would ask, and Demi reacted like any guilty child who didn’t have a good answer by staring down at her shoes. “I didn’t call the cops. It’s complicated. I’m dating this guy and he said I didn’t need to.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tori said, flapping her arms around wildly. “When did you start dating someone? I haven’t heard a thing about him yet. I don’t like this.”

  “It’s only been a little over a week and,”

  Tori cut her off again. “Isn’t that when all of this started? So, what, you’re dating this guy, someone starts screwing with you, and he tells you not to call the cops? You don’t see any red flags there?”

  “Well I-um, he is the cops. He used to be anyway. I mean, he was a cop and then a detective. He works private security now and, trust me, his clients wouldn’t hire some lunatic stalker. Plus he didn’t tell me not to go to the police, he just said it would be all dramatic and it probably wouldn’t get us anywhere. He’s been at my place every night so I haven’t been worried at all.”

  “I. Can’t. Even.” Tori threw up her arms and then let them fall hard to her side as though she were giving up. But Demi knew damn well she wasn’t. “Let’s go,” Tori insisted as she latched on to Demi’s arm and pulled her out of the locker room.

  “Go where?” Demi asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  “We’re going to the police station and you’re reporting all of this. I’m not accusing this new mysterious boyfriend of yours but he doesn’t get a vote in what you do.”

  “I’m still in my scrubs and you’re about to start a shift,” Demi argued, but Tori didn’t slow her pace or even look as though she could hear her.

  Tori coughed loudly twice and faked a sneeze. “I’m sick. I’m taking a sick day. I don’t want to hear another argument. If this is nothing it’ll still be nothing after you talk to the police. If it’s something then they’ll handle it.”

  Demi braced herself for hours of waiting at a bustling police precinct in what would likely end up being a waste of time. But she forgot who she was with. Tori elbowed her way past every verbal roadblock and within a half hour they were sitting down with a detective in a private room.

  “I feel like I’m wasting your time,” Demi apologized to the middle-aged detective who spent more time observing her ass than considering any crime that might be going on. His gut hung so low it seemed to consume his belt, only his holstered gun sticking out at his hip. Combed over wispy hair and a beard in need of some grooming made him hard to look at.

  “Let me be the judge of that,” he said, sinking down into his chair with a grunt. “I’m Detective Olivera. I’m actually homicide but the crime unit is short handed and your friend here was pretty insistent so they told me to take your statement and start a file.”

  “Thank you for taking the time to do that,” Demi said with a grateful smile but, she honestly felt she’d rather be anywhere but here. Was the note unsettling? Sure. But she believed Roark when he said this process would be a hassle. She’d wanted to call him and tell him about the note and get his opinion, but Tori had insisted she not. “On the sixteenth I was at the Oyster’s Crystal and when I came outside my front driver’s side tire was slashed. I didn’t think too much of it so I just had it repaired. Then a couple days later outside my house all four of my tires were slashed. Today I found this note in my locker at work.” Demi handed over the paper, shrugging like it was no big deal.

  Olivera unfolded the note and, after reading it, looked up at her skeptically. “What does this mean?” he asked flatly.

  “I don’t know what it means and I don’t know who put it there. I know you’re going to ask me all sorts of questions about ex-boyfriends or enemies, but I can assure you there is no one in my life that has any kind of vendetta against me. No one has ever told me to leave. That note makes no more sense to me than it does to you,” Demi blurted out.

  “You seem to have a good handle on how this works. Tell me, why didn’t you call the police when your car was vandalized the second time? That obviously ruled out coincidence and let you know whoever was doing it knew where you lived.” Olivera bit the back of his pen as he eyed her carefully.

  Demi opened her mouth to explain but Tori cut in. “Her boyfriend told her not to.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. I just met him,” Demi defended, but that didn’t make it sound any better. “He used to be a detective and he told me he’d look into it and not to worry. He’s not the one doing this.”

  “A detective?” Olivera asked, sitting up straighter in his chair.

  Tori chimed in again before Demi could give more details that would certainly clear this up. “He showed up at the exact time all of this started happening. This is the guy you should be looking at if you ask me.”

  “Thank you,” Olivera grunted, flaring his nostrils in aggravation. “We should probably start with his name then.”

  “Roark Miller,” Demi acquiesced, feeling like her gut was about to explode from anxiety. This was all spiraling away from her.

  Olivera lost his poker face for a moment as shock overtook him. “You’ll need to excuse me for a minute.” He grabbed his still blank notebook and stepped outside of the small conference room.

  “That can’t be good,” Tori whispered, leaning in close to Demi who didn’t need her commentary to realize it was true.

  A couple minutes later Olivera and a second man stepped back into the room. This detective was in much better shape than the first. His thick hair was slicked back and his button down shirt looked like it had been tailor made to hug his muscular shoulders. His jawline was boxy and his stern looking face was betrayed by the softness around his eyes.

  “This is Detective Charger. He was Roark’s partner for five years. I thought it would be wise to bring him in on this. I’ve filled him in on what you’ve told me.” Olivera flopped back down into the seat he’d left but Charger didn’t look like he could relax long enough to sit down.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on here. This is the precinct that Roark worked out of? That’s good, right? So you guys know him and we can rule him out,” Demi suggested, feeling like there might be a glimmer of hope in this murky fog she’d stepped into.

  “Our knowing him doesn’t help his case at all. There’s a reason he doesn’t work here anymore. As a matter of fact, there are hundreds of reasons,” Olivera snickered in a cocky voice as he stretched back and put his hands behind his head.

  “Cut the shit,” Charger shot across the room, and Tori jumped at the edge in his voice. “I’m sorry, ma’am, please excuse my language. It’s just that Detective Olivera and I disagree on Detective Roark and his history here.”

  “Will someone please tell me what’s going on here?” Demi asked, running her hand through her hair and fighting the urge to either scream or cry.

  “Roark lost his damn marbles and got fired. And everything you’re describing sounds a lot like his way of doing things. I bet he’s trying to scare
you right into his arms,” Olivera reported as he now feverishly took notes on the situation.

  “How is this anything like what he used to do?” Charger countered, folding his arms across his chest, deflecting the idea.

  “Let’s see, he used to plant evidence, orchestrate and set up crimes, and when he didn’t get the verdict he wanted he’d go beat the pulp out of a guy to scare him out of town. He thought he was some kind of super hero when he was just a dirty cop. He’s clearly trying to pull the strings here and create this damsel in distress situation so he can manipulate you right into his bed.”

  Demi’s mouth hung open as she tried to process this information. Her brain cycled through every argument against it. “He works private security now. These people would never hire him if he had all that on his record. This can’t be.”

  “That’s the biggest crime of all, it never hit his record,” Olivera grunted. “The brass here didn’t want a big media circus so they buried it all. They discharged him for some bogus medical issue and covered everything up.”

  “He was a damn good cop. He closed more cases than anyone in this department and saved a hell of a lot of lives. Yours included,” Charger corrected. “That’s why they didn’t want to burn him completely. He was unconventional but his motivation was good.”

  Detective Olivera’s face twisted with indignation. “He didn’t save my life. And even if he did, he came closer to getting me and a lot of other officers killed when all the criminals he pissed off came back looking for vengeance. Let’s try to stay on task here. We’ve got a woman making a complaint against him and I intend to take that seriously.” Olivera leaned forward and tried to draw all of Demi’s attention but she was latching on to the only lifeline in the room.