Montana Blues [Sins of Silver Creek 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Marie Jermy

  Nick would have preferred to spend his entire time with Jez. The beautiful angel had weaved her delightful personality and sense of humor around his heart, the same as the Silver Creek area had done. In short, he was deeply in love with her. From what Nick had told him over the telephone about Jez, Steve was, too, although he had yet to meet her. However, and despite his dislike of Sanders, he thought it was only fair he spent time on shift with the man.

  Nick was staring at Sanders now, while Connors rapped Nick’s knuckles for not seeking permission for his and Jez’s little undercover assignment in Butte, seeking out addicts who may have information regarding the perp who’d robbed the vets’. Nick couldn’t believe his ears. He’d never had to gain permission from Richards to do his job, so why was Connors any different?

  The addicts in Butte had been a waste of time actually. In fact, when Jez had parked on Mercury Street, which up until the 1980s had been openly tolerated as the red-light district, Nick had honestly been surprised the four youths he’d stopped hadn’t made a citizen’s arrest and frog-marched him to the station! He’d been dressed in casual clothing, and it was only on the account he had shown them his police badge that they’d come down off their righteous horses.

  “So, tell me, Detective North, have you made any progress with the break-in at the vets’?” Connors asked, finally finished with his reprimand, something which Nick thought was completely unnecessary.

  Nick ignored Connors. The same couldn’t be said of Sanders. His keen eyes had spotted a large manila envelope on the desk, the contents of which Sanders was reading. He marched straight around and snatched the papers from Sanders’s hand. Then he picked up the envelope and shoved it under his fat nose.

  “Which part of ‘Temporary Chief Nick North. Private and confidential’ can’t you fucking read?”

  “Detective North, language!”

  Again, Nick ignored Connors. “Well?”

  “It’s only the forensic reports for—” Sanders began.

  “I don’t give a fuck if it’s the latest edition of Playboy,” Nick snarled, interrupting Sanders. “You do not under any circumstances open anything sent to me as P and C. Is that fucking clear?”

  “I will not tell you again, Detective North.”

  Nick threw a dirty look Connors’s way but managed to stop the retort. He exhaled slowly, trying to restore his calm. “When did this arrive, Sir?”

  Connors thought for a moment. “This morning, I think. Yes, definitely this morning. I believe I saw Jez put it in your tray for your attention before she left to go home.”

  The cantankerous son of a bitch had had it all day. But more than that, he’d lifted it from Nick’s tray. “Get out on patrol!” Nick ordered, his attention now back on Sanders.

  Sanders stood, his spine ramrod straight, a nasty gleam blinking in his eyes. “You can’t order me around.”

  “Wanna bet? You’re an officer. I’m a detective. I outrank you.”

  “Chief Connors is my commanding officer,” Sanders pointed out, standing his ground.

  “So? I still outrank you. Now get out before I kick you out.”

  “You’ve been given an order,” Connors murmured to Sanders. Then to Nick, “Why don’t you go home?”

  “Yeah, all the fucking way back to LA.”

  “Officer Sanders! Get out on patrol.”

  Sanders made his way to the door but then he twirled around, his eyes narrowed and nasty. “Hang on a minute. There’s an hour left on the shift. Why doesn’t the big dick finish it and I go home?”

  “Because I outrank you, asshole,” Nick answered, returning the nastiness.

  Connors pinched his nose as if warding off a migraine. “Just go.”

  With a muttered “fuck,” much to Connors’s continued annoyance, Sanders huffed out, slamming the door behind him.

  “Can I really go?”

  “Yes. But I warn you Detective North, I will not tolerate that sort of language in my station. Is that clear?”

  Nick gave a curt nod. “Sir.”

  “Good. Jez is on duty later. If you’re not too tired, maybe you can keep her company.”

  Connors expressed a knowing smile as he wandered back into his office. Nick stared after him. He was going to leave it but then decided to ask something that had been bothering him. He hovered on the threshold. “Sir? Since you’re back, exactly what hours will I be working? You can’t fit three officers into two twelve-hour shifts.”

  “No, you can’t, can you?”

  Connors sat behind his desk and clasped his hands behind his head. Though a thread of gray weaved through his dark blond locks, with a knowing gleam in his baby-blue eyes, Nick could see the cocky, young officer that Jess and Ross had worked with all those years ago.

  “I’ll let you in a little secret, Nick. I’m retiring. And I want you to replace me.”

  Nick expressed shock. “Me?”

  “Why not? You are quite frankly a dedicated and quick-thinking officer. The best in Hollywood according to your Lieutenant Richards. Silver Creek likes you and you like Silver Creek. Enough not to leave, I’d reckon.”

  “You’ve talked to my lieutenant? When?”

  “Just before you arrived. He also told me about Detective Steve South, who if you don’t already know has also asked for a transfer here. Interesting.” Connors understood Nick’s scowl. “Simmer down. I have no problem with your relationship with South. If you have one. That’s your business and nobody else’s. In fact, I wish you well. But South aside, when I retire I want you to replace me as chief.”

  Nick instantly warmed to the idea. Connors was right. He did like Silver Creek enough never to go back to LA. In fact, he had already made enquiries at a Butte real estate agency about an old ranch house that was up for sale about a mile out of town off First Street. The house was set in about ten acres of land, and though relatively small in comparison with other ranches in the area, it was just perfect.

  “Is that a yes?” Connors asked though he probably knew the answer.

  “Definitely. What about Sanders?”

  “What about him? Transfer him to Antarctica for all I care.”

  Nick barked out a short laugh “You really don’t like him, do you, Sir?”

  Connors sat up straighter, his cockiness gone. “I thought I told you to go home?”

  “Yes, Sir. One more thing. Is it okay if I take tomorrow off?”

  “Since you’ve been here practically all the time, yes, that’s fine. I would even go as far to say that you’re really anal when it comes to work. I mean, Christ, I’ve had to send our covering officers back to Butte because you’ve had your ass glued to your chair all the time.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. He’d been out patrolling the town and its surrounding area, getting to know the residents and the ways of life. It was true though that he’d been on duty near enough all the time, day or night. Well, apart from that first night when Jez had tired him out with her hike, and last night. He was even late in that morning. Usually when he’d finish a shift, whether it was eight in the morning or eight at night, he would go home, sleep to about one, then was back at work for two. But yesterday he’d been in danger of falling asleep at his desk. Though now he wished he’d stayed, particularly if it meant stopping Sanders being a sneak thief.

  With an easy grin, Nick grabbed the forensic report for the vets and went outside. Dense clouds blotted out the night sky and the air was still and frosty. Jez had said a week ago that she could smell snow and Nick wouldn’t bet that it would fall tonight. He zipped up his new jacket, pulled the hood up over his head, and inhaled the crystalline air.

  He started to scan the forensic report, but finding there was not enough light to read, Nick jogged back to the Anderson house, or “home” as he had come to know it for now, his breath coming out in vaporous clouds. He ignored the shadow hovering at the corner of the station building. Sanders could go and fuck himself for all cared.

  By the time he got to the front ve
randa, large cotton wool ball-shaped snowflakes had begun to drift down, quickly cloaking the ground in white. He found Anderson at the kitchen table eating a dish of homemade ratatouille. “Where’s Jess?”

  Anderson smiled around a piece of bread, also homemade. “You’re home early. Jess has gone to pick up your Steve from the airport. But I’ll warn you, don’t expect to see him anytime soon. There’s a severe weather warning in place, and like you, his flight might be delayed for several hours. In fact, they might even have to book hotel rooms for the night and come back tomorrow.”

  “Damn.” Nick took a chair opposite, shrugged out of his jacket, and laid the report on the table, forgotten for now. He’d been looking forward to seeing Steve all day. Up until he’d found him snooping, even Sanders couldn’t put a dampener on his good mood. Tonight was the night that he would open his heart to Jez. He just hoped he wasn’t being a mushy schmuck.

  “Hungry? There’s plenty left.”

  Nick helped himself to a hearty plateful. He ate in silence but after a while he sensed Anderson eyeing the report. Unlike Sanders, and although Anderson was a retired police officer by about thirty years, he didn’t have a problem with Anderson reading it. He slid it in his direction and Anderson immediately picked it up and started reading. “Anything interesting?” Nick asked after a couple of minutes.

  “No blood, no fingerprints, either around the point of entry or on the locked cabinets where the ketamine was stored. The lock had been forced with a small, blunt instrument. A screwdriver, maybe. There was, however, the heel of a boot print in the spilled soil from the plants that had been knocked off the sill.” Anderson held up a photograph of the said heel print. “Heavy tread. The heel pattern suggests to me work boots. Construction.” He cocked a bushy brow over the top of the photograph at him. “Or…” Anderson left the word dangling.

  “Or?”

  “Emergency services. Police.”

  Nick took the report from Anderson. He studied the photograph and had to agree with him. The heel print left could have very possibly come from someone of the emergency profession, though not necessarily the police. Yet for some reason Sanders came to mind. He pushed the thought out of his head for now and read the report. “Also found caught on the broken glass of the window was a light brown fiber. From the perp’s pants. Or a coat maybe. Can’t think it’s from anything else. It’s colder than a Popsicle out there. I can’t think the thief, even if he were an addict, would be too stoned to forget to wear a coat in this weather.”

  “Any suspects?”

  Nick shook his head. No, it couldn’t be Sanders. Maybe because there wasn’t much crime in the winter months, Sanders had been taking an interest in the case. Or covering his tracks. He gave himself a mental kick. He was being ridiculous. Yes, he didn’t like or trust the man, but that didn’t give reason to suspect him of anything. “Even the undercover op I took Jez on in Butte was fruitless. Every kid we talked to thought ‘coke’ was a drink. Not one bad word came out of their mouths. Sheesh, I wish the kids of Hollywood were like that. But then again, if they were all goody two-shoes, I’d be out of a job.”

  “Oh, we have some bad ones here, too.”

  He understood the twisted smirk all too well. “You mean Mark Raven. Well, I hate to disappoint you, Ross, but Raven didn’t have anything to do with the break-in. He was in Dillon all night with some girl who backed up his alibi.”

  Anderson sighed as he took their plates and loaded them into the dishwasher. “Raven hasn’t got heavy tread anyway. He slithers. Like a snake.” He turned around, his elderly rugged expression somewhat contrite. “I shouldn’t have said that. Jack—Mark’s father—and I are getting on fine now. The man can’t help he has an ass for a son. Are you seeing Jez tonight?” Anderson then asked, changing tack.

  Nick nodded.

  “Have you told her how you feel yet? That you love her. What about Steve? Does she know about him? And vice versa.”

  Nick felt his mouth go slack, but then he should have known better. Both Ross and Jess had an uncanny knack of reading him like a book. “No, I haven’t told Jez that I’m in love with her. And no, she doesn’t know about Steve. Yet. I’ve told Steve about Jez, but I want him beside me before I say anything. I want to put our case to her together.”

  “Case? You make it sound like work.”

  Nick flashed a grin. “You know what I mean. You and Jess have no problems with me, with Steve, with wanting Jez to join us in a ménage relationship. But others won’t be as unbiased as you two. Springing something this big on Jez may scare her away. And I don’t want that.”

  Anderson smiled at him. “I don’t think you’ll have any problems with Jez. From what I know of her, she’s got a very broad and open mind.” He went over to the back door and pulled it open, sending an icy waft of snow inside. “Jess has taken my truck but it doesn’t look too bad out there just yet. Fancy accompanying me to Rustlers for a drink, Nick?”

  “Sure. I’ll just go and change.”

  It didn’t take Nick too long to change into jeans and a sweater. He kept his thermal underwear on. He couldn’t wait to see Steve’s face at seeing those. Steve was sure to rib him, but Nick knew it wouldn’t be long before Steve shut up and also took to wearing thermals. Maybe tonight though, and if he arrived, it would be nice to warm Steve’s cock by taking it into his mouth and sucking on the meaty length until Steve’s essence slid down his throat and settled in his belly.

  Nick groaned as he zipped his jeans over his hardening cock. The extra thought of going down on Jez and licking the juices from her pussy while Steve watched had thick pre-cum oozing from the tip.

  Nick was still fantasizing about Steve’s cock and Jez’s pussy when he and Anderson entered Rustlers bar some thirty minutes later. John Stanford, seller of beers, spirits and cocktails on occasions, provider of free baskets of pretzels and peanuts, chief all-around cleaner, and listener of other people’s problems—or, in other words, the owner—looked more at home surfing the Malibu waves than standing behind a bar in snowy Montana.

  Considering the weather outside, the bar was surprisingly busy. Stanford flicked at a lock of dirty-blond hair that had fallen over his forehead. “Hello, Nick, Ross, what can I get you?”

  Nick liked Stanford. True, he could pass for a surfer, yet ever clad in jeans, a plaid shirt, and scuffed cowboy boots, Nick had to wonder why Stanford didn’t wear a Stetson. He’d certainly never seen one. Perhaps Stanford kept it under the bar. “Whisky for Ross and a soda for me.”

  Stanford fixed their drinks, and Nick and Anderson sat at the table next to the arch leading into the poolroom. There were three youths present, laughing loudly and swigging Coke from bottles. After a quick glance, he paid them no further notice. Nick’s mind again wandered back to his fantasy. He couldn’t wait to see Steve. He was slightly worried about Jez though. Was she really as broad and open-minded as Anderson had said? He sincerely hoped so. Jez would complete him, complete Steve.

  During his time spent with Jez, he’d been very tactile, something he normally didn’t do, particularly at work. However, he just couldn’t help touching her, whether it was to brush her hair away from her cheek or caress her hand. On one occasion, he’d even pressed the tip of his finger to her mouth. She’d never complained nor told him to stop. She’d never touched him, though he could tell she wanted to. Apart from the reason that they were colleagues and perhaps she didn’t like mixing business with pleasure, he didn’t know why, but knew for sure that Jez was definitely “the one.” He was wishful she thought the same of him and of Steve when finally introduced to him.

  Just then, accompanied by a blast of cold air, the object of his thoughts walked into the bar. Jez immediately went over to Stanford, who nodded in his direction. Nick glanced over his shoulder, noting the three youths were still in the poolroom.

  Jez smiled as she walked past and he watched her as she approached the youth closest to the pool table. He was young, not yet twenty maybe, muscular, wit
h black spiky hair and a navy blue hooded jersey with “Harlem” emblazoned across the front. Because the juke box was playing, Nick couldn’t hear the conversation that ensued, but he gathered it was heated because of the youth’s stance. When he sniggered in response to something Jez had said, she stabbed a finger at the pool table. Then, after another heated exchange, the youth emptied his pockets onto the blue baize.

  What looked like a clear vial caught Nick’s attention, and he got to his feet. “I’m going over.”

  Anderson grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute. Jez can handle the situation.”

  Nick couldn’t argue with that because although the youth was of a much bigger build than her, Jez arrested and handcuffed him with ease. However, it was the guy behind her who gave him cause for concern. Built like an outhouse, he was one extremely mean-looking son of a bitch. He then saw this guy, who was clearly agitated at his friend being arrested, lift up the bottle he was holding and swing it down toward Jez’s head.

  “Jez! Watch out!”

  Whether it was Nick’s warning or whether Jez had a sixth sense, she turned slightly and raised her arm. The bottle smashed, sending glass and its fizzy contents everywhere. That son of a bitch then stepped forward, his meaty fingers going for Jez’s throat.

  Shaking off Anderson’s hand, Nick went to help Jez. However, before he took one step, Jez shoved the youth she had just arrested into the pool table, turned fully, blocked the second man’s hand with her own, then jammed her knee into his groin.

  Nick felt himself wince as the man fell forward, groaning in agony. Oh, that must have hurt. But that was nothing compared to what Jez did next. Not content with nearly castrating the guy, she struck his nose with an eye-watering palm heel strike, then taking hold of his collar, propelled him stomach-first into the pool table next to his friend, spittle from his mouth splattering over the blue baize.