by Janette Rallison, Heather B. Moore, Luisa Perkins, Sarah M. Eden, Annette Lyon, Lisa Mangum
“Lydia?” Harrison asked, jerking her back to the present. His voice was deep and rich. Concerned. He leaned closer to her window. “It is you, isn’t it?”
She wanted to run, to sink into the sidewalk. She wanted to blurt out that she was an undercover officer. But she couldn’t break her cover even for the sake of an old acquaintance. That would be showing preferential treatment.
A panicked solution bubbled inside her. Maybe Harrison wasn’t certain it was her. He hadn’t seen her for six years, and she was wearing hooker makeup and poofed hair. It was a thin hope, but she grabbed hold of it.
“The name’s Trixie,” she said in a low, seductive voice. “But I could be Lydia if the price is right.”
Harrison dipped his chin. “I recognize you, Lyd. What are you doing on this street corner?”
“What are you doing on this street corner?” She never thought Harrison would be the street-corner sort. He’d been so proper and upstanding in high school. He didn’t even cheat on tests, let alone break the law. And heaven knew a guy with his looks had more than enough attention from women. Underneath his jacket, she could make out his still-fit physique. Football-star physique. Stealing-kisses-under-the-bleachers physique.
Still, Harrison’s good looks didn’t make him immune to the seedy side of life. Men didn’t hire hookers because they couldn’t get a date. They did it for the thrill. They did it so they could have a woman whose only requirement was a few twenties.
If Harrison wanted to break the law, Lydia would be more than happy to bust him along with everybody else who pulled up tonight. Maybe even happier. Her eyes flicked to his left hand. No wedding ring. At least Lydia wouldn’t have to deal with his distraught wife later at the station.
Lydia laid her arms against the open window and leaned toward Harrison, a move that usually made men gulp in anticipation. “So, what’ll it be, sugar?”
Harrison kept staring at her. At her face, not at the cleavage her halter top revealed. “What happened to you, Lyd?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess after you dumped me, I gave up on love. Street corners were all that was left to me.”
“I’m serious. You need help.”
She winked at him. “My help costs sixty dollars for a half an hour. Are you interested or not?” It would feel so good to see him dragged out of his shiny black BMW and cuffed. Go ahead and look down on me, she thought. I’m not the one who’ll be spending time in jail.
“Do you need money?” His blue eyes were serious, intent. “Get in the car. I’ll help you out.”
Getting in the car wasn’t part of the normal routine. She was supposed to work out the deal, give the code words, Let’s party, then stand back while the van down the street pulled up. Four guys in uniforms would pour out and swarm the car.
Lydia pushed a strand of hair behind her ear in her best starlet fashion. “Before I get in the car, tell me what you want.”
It was either time to prove he wasn’t a slime ball so she could calmly explain the situation and redeem her reputation, or time he showed his true colors so she could introduce him to four of her colleagues.
He pulled his wallet from his pocket. Supple black leather. New. She’d gotten good at judging men by their wallets. The beat-up ones belonged to guys whose lives were much the same. The bulging ones were owned by men who carried bits of disorganization around with them. The cheap wallets were Father’s Day presents. Harrison’s wallet said money, orderliness, and style. He casually opened it, and his gaze returned to her.
“When Rochelle said she saw you here, I didn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it, and I’m looking at you.”
Lydia blinked. “Wait, Rochelle? Rochelle Ingleside?”
Rochelle had been the school’s head cheerleader. The sort of girl who smiled at you while retrieving the proverbial back-stabbing knife from her pompoms.
Harrison flipped through some bills and pulled out three, each a twenty. “Yeah. She texted your profession to our entire class.”
“What?” Lydia hadn’t given a second thought to chasing down an armed robber two weeks ago. She hadn’t flinched while tracking down a notorious gang leader. But now her voice spiraled upward in alarm. “Rochelle texted people that I’m a hooker?”
“Sent a picture, too.”
Lydia ran her hand through her hair in aggravation. Her aggravation grew when her hand got stuck in a tangle of hair-sprayed, teased, poofed hair. “Great. That’s going to make our ten-year reunion fun.”
“Get in the car,” Harrison said gently. He held the money toward her. “We’ll go somewhere and talk.”
Lydia put her hand to the bridge of her nose. “My mom is going to kill me.” It wouldn’t take long for her old schoolmates to spread the news to their parents— her mother’s friends.
“Your mother loves you,” Harrison’s voice was soothing. “I’m sure that will never change.”
In her earpiece, Lydia heard Officer Thompson’s voice. “Look, I hate to break up your stroll down memory lane, but you’ve either got to close this deal or have lover boy move out so you can concentrate on paying customers.”
Harrison put the car in park and reached toward her. He took one of Lydia’s hands and put three twenties into it. His fingers curled around hers. They felt warm, strong. She couldn’t help but remember the other times he’d held her hand, how it had felt so natural to slip her fingers into his hand.
“You want me to pay for your time?” he said. “Here’s sixty.” He cracked open the passenger-side door. “I’ll give you more after you get in the car.”
She did what she always did with the money, tucked it into the pocket of her mini skirt. It was evidence.
Harrison took two fifties from his wallet, held them out for her to see, and opened the door further so she could get in.
She cocked her head. “Why do I suddenly feel like a stray cat you’re luring inside with a can of tuna?”
He took out another twenty. “Here kitty, kitty.”
Did he always carry around this much cash, or had he stopped at an ATM for lure-the-hooker-into-the-car money?
Harrison held up the bills to her, gesturing with them for her to come closer. She wasn’t supposed to get into a john’s car. It could be dangerous. On the other hand, Harrison would get suspicious if she refused to climb in his car. Besides, she didn’t have to worry about Harrison hurting her.
“I’m paying your price,” Harrison reminded her. “That means you owe me an hour and a half.”
He hadn’t suggested doing anything illegal for the money. She couldn’t arrest him, but she couldn’t send him on his way either. If she let him off the hook before it was absolutely clear that he wasn’t soliciting, the team would think she was cutting Harrison a break due to high-school nepotism.
Lydia sighed. “Fine. I’ll get in, but you can’t drive anywhere.” She slipped into the car. The seats were soft with luxury.
“Why can’t I drive anywhere?” he asked.
Her skirt had ridden up when she sat down. She tugged it so it covered more of her legs. She was suddenly self-conscious of all the skin she was showing. “I have a place I can take you. My, um, boss doesn’t like me to go too far out of his sight.”
“Your boss? Your pimp, you mean.” Harrison’s jaw tightened. “Lydia, you’re better than this.”
She held out her hand, palm up. “In that case, it’s one hundred dollars for a half an hour.”
A muscle pulsed in Harrison’s jaw. His gaze went to the road in front of them, and he put the car in gear. “We’re leaving.”
Before Lydia could protest, he gunned the BMW down the road, weaving around the car in front of him in a way that would have made New York City cabbies proud. Lydia automatically turned in her seat, looking for the police van. “I told you I couldn’t go anywhere. You can’t just drive away.”
“I’m paying for your time. That’s all that matters, isn’t it? Don’t you want to go someplace better than her
e?”
Lydia inwardly groaned. The other officers weren’t going to be happy about this. She would undoubtedly be in for a long lecture about following procedure. “Harrison, you need to stop the car and let me out.”
He didn’t respond to that, didn’t even act like he’d heard her. Outside, an assortment of rundown buildings flashed by.
“Listen,” Lydia said for the team’s benefit. “I know you, Harrison. I know you’re the type of guy who would never hurt anyone...” She glanced out the back window. The van had peeled out of the parking lot and was speeding down the street in an attempt to catch them. “You would especially never hurt me, so there’s no reason for anyone to do anything drastic like try to shoot out your tires.”
“What are you talking about?” Harrison cut her a glance. “You’re strung out, aren’t you?”
“I don’t use drugs.” She couldn’t hide the indignation in her voice. “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” She turned back around and folded her arms. “That was always your problem.”
“We’re talking about my problems now?”
“Yeah. Speaking of which, I didn’t do anything with Brett, but would you believe me? No.”
Harrison rolled his eyes, and kept driving too fast. “Sorry for jumping to the conclusion that you’re taking drugs. I just can’t see a lot of other reasons you would sell your body to strangers.”
“And that’s another thing. Rochelle Ingleside said I’m a hooker, and you immediately believed her.”
“No, I believed you were a hooker after you came to my car window and told me your prices.”
Lydia couldn’t argue with that. She tapped her foot against the car floor. It was spotless, but then, Harrison had always been the clean type. His locker was more organized than an office-supply store. She ached to tell him that she was really an undercover police officer. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but technically Harrison hadn’t made it clear that he didn’t expect services for his money. For all the guys in the van knew, he was just taking her to a location he deemed more suitable.
“Where are we going?” she asked. They zoomed around the corner. He was going fast. Racecar-driver fast.
Harrison’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “I haven’t decided. As far away from your boss as I can get you. Is that him in the blue van?”
She couldn’t concentrate on his question. Officer Thompson was talking in the earpiece, calling for backup to intercept the BMW. “I’m fine,” she told the team. “This is probably just a misunderstanding that we’ll all laugh about one day.” Some of the guys would undoubtedly laugh more than others.
Harrison let a scoff. “I’m not laughing yet.”
“So you only want to talk to me, right?” she asked him. “Nothing else?”
“Oh, there’s a lot else.”
She straightened. Maybe this case wasn’t closed. “A lot else meaning what?”
Harrison weaved around the car in front of them, going up on the curb to get ahead of it. “Really Lydia, I don’t know whether to lecture you or to strangle you. Right now I’m leaning toward strangling.”
“That’s a hyperbole,” Lydia clarified for the listening team. “No need to shoot anyone.”
“How could you do this to yourself?” Harrison asked.
This had gone on long enough. She opened her mouth to tell him the truth. But the words “Why do you care what I’ve done to myself?” came out instead. “You didn’t care what happened to me when you broke up with me and moved to Harvard. You never cared enough about me to call or visit when you came home for vacation. Why all the concern about me now?”
He remained silent for a moment, hands tense. “I don’t deserve that.”
The light ahead was red. Instead of waiting behind two other cars, he cut through the gas station parking lot on the corner to make a sharp right onto that street. “Just because I broke up with you doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to you.”
“Yes, it does.” She held onto the armrest, swaying with the turn. “That’s exactly what not calling and not visiting mean. That’s pretty much the definition of not caring.”
“I was angry about Brett. Can you blame me?”
“Yes, because Brett and I were never together. He told you that. I told you that. And you called me a liar.” She folded her arms, staring at a rundown pawn shop they passed. “And by the way, I’m an undercover police officer, so you really need to pull over and let me out.”
He shook his head, eyes on the road. “You’ve got chutzpah. I’ll give you that. You tell me your prices then deny being a hooker, just like you were all over Brett and then told me nothing happened.”
“Nothing did happen.”
“I saw him with his arms wrapped around you and your head on his chest.”
“That’s called a hug, not an affair. It happens. Brett explained everything to you.”
Harrison raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief.
“He told me that he explained everything to you,” Lydia repeated.
Harrison rolled his eyes. Apparently whatever had gone on between him and Brett hadn’t been pleasant.
The light ahead of them turned from yellow to red. He revved the car through the intersection anyway.
She watched the oncoming traffic, wincing. “That is so illegal. I can’t believe you did that after I just told you I’m a police officer. Do you have any idea what a ticket runs these days?”
He checked his rearview mirror. “I think I lost your boss.”
She reached into her pocket, took out her badge, and held it out to him as proof. “Before you put us in mortal danger again, look at this.”
He gave her a quick unimpressed glance. “Nice. Do you have a set of handcuffs too? I bet your customers love that.”
She slapped the badge down on the seat between them. “This is exactly what I was talking about. You’re too suspicious and judgmental.”
“Right, Trixie.”
She thought about pulling out her earpiece and the wire tap and showing those to Harrison too. But if he hadn’t believed the badge, why would he believe her when she showed him a couple of electronics?
Harrison pulled his cell phone from his breast pocket, glancing at a message. “I asked my secretary to check out some treatment facilities for you. There’s some nice rehab places around. Think of it as an all-paid vacation.”
Lydia lifted her hands then let them fall back at her side. “You are impossible. And by the way, checking your phone while driving is also illegal.”
Harrison slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I blame myself for the thing with Brett. He used to brag about how he could take any girl away from any guy in the school. I should have warned you what he was like, but I never thought you’d be taken in by him.”
It was then that the police cars came into view, blue and red lights pulsing, sirens shrieking. Three of them screeched to a stop, blocking the road ahead.
Lydia put her badge back into her pocket. “Do yourself a favor and listen to me for once. Stop the car, get out slowly, and keep your hands where they can be seen. I’ll tell the officers you were trying to save me from a life of crime.”
Harrison stared at the lights with shocked realization. As he braked, he turned to Lydia, really seeing her now. “Those are for us?”
“And the badge is legit too.” Into her earpiece she said, “Everything is fine, guys.”
Unfortunately, she had no way of communicating with the officers in the patrol cars in front of them. And they apparently didn’t think everything was fine. When a guy abducted an officer and sped off, it tended to make other officers edgy.
As soon as Harrison cut the engine, officers poured from their cars, guns drawn.
Harrison watched them and swore.
Lydia cleared her throat. “This would be a good time to put your hands up.”
If you had told Lydia at high school graduation that one day she would see Harrison slammed up against his car by angry polic
e officers— and that it would bring her no pleasure— she wouldn’t have believed it. In fact, she wouldn’t have believed it half an hour ago. But seeing Harrison treated like a criminal didn’t make her happy.
Okay, so he’d been a jerk in high school, and granted, he’d been a little too willing to believe she was a crack ho, but he’d cared about her enough to have his secretary look up treatment facilities. He’d gone over a sidewalk and through a red light to free her from the clutches of her supposed pimp. When was the last time a guy did anything like that for her? Usually they just brought flowers.
So Lydia did her best to explain the situation to the arresting officers. She didn’t know any of them— different precinct— and while she spoke, they barked out things about reckless driving and attempted kidnapping.
“I didn’t kidnap her,” Harrison said. Or at least that’s what Lydia thought he said. His face was being pushed into the side of his car while the officers cuffed him, so it was hard to tell.
“It was all a misunderstanding,” Lydia emphasized. “I was never in any danger.” Except possibly when Harrison ran the red light. But she didn’t bring that up.
The officer nodded to let her know he’d heard her, but didn’t uncuff Harrison. “Sir, I’m going to ask you to sit in the back of my car while I run a few checks on you.”
Lydia couldn’t argue with that. She didn’t know whether Harrison had any outstanding warrants and doing that kind of check was protocol.
As the officer led Harrison across the street, she called out to him, “Hey, it was good to see you again! Say hi to your mom for me!”
In her earpiece, Officer Thompson muttered, “That is just cold, Trixie.”
“I meant it,” Lydia said, watching Harrison walk stiffly to the squad car. “His mom always liked me.”
“Yeah, well, the next time you want to reconnect with an old flame, make it easy on the rest of us and use Facebook.”
A few moments later, the unmarked van rounded a corner and pulled up to Lydia. Officer Thompson rolled down his window and grinned. “You can run, but you can’t get out of work that easy. You’re only halfway done with your shift.”
