by Emily Bishop
I press forward a few boats closer to the shore before I crest the surface and inhale. I look back and watch as the yacht speeds out of the bay, disappearing into the night. The danger has passed. Shit, I lucked out big time.
I’m panting as I swim to the dock and hoist myself over the ledge. My hands rest on my heaving chest, and I wait for my breathing to calm. My camera is still around my neck—totally ruined.
Bummer.
I shiver in the night air and rub my hands along my arms, not quite ready to move after what happened.
“Lovely night for grand theft, wouldn’t you say?”
A deep, masculine voice echoes across the dock, and I tilt my head.
A well-muscled, tattooed man stares down at me. His arms are crossed, showcasing his physique. His eyes are a deep shade of blue, his hair chestnut brown with a matching, evenly shaved beard coating his angular chin. He’s wearing well-fitted jeans and a blue T-shirt, and he looks perfectly casual. I’m instantly attracted to him, which means I shouldn’t be. I gave up on this type of guy ages ago.
Then his words register in my befuddled mind.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
I’m not giving this guy any slack. I almost got killed. The last thing I want is to be hit on by some asshole. I should have listened to Emily’s advice. I should be home, cooking something, instead of shivering in the cold, avoiding meatheads and gunshots.
What was I thinking?
The man walks over to me, and his gaze shimmers like the water around us, but his eyes are hard as stone.
Is he pissed?
What does he think I did?
“Get up.” His tone brooks no argument, and I cross my arms over my chest, which might be a little exposed, given the water that’s pasted my dress to my body.
“I think I’d rather relax here, thanks. Have a good night.”
“It wasn’t a question. Get up, or I’ll have to restrain you.”
“For what reason?”
“Because, ma’am, a yacht was stolen off this dock, and you were on it. You’re under arrest for theft of private property. Now, as I said. Get. The. Fuck. Up.” The guy whips a badge out of his pocket and flashes it at me.
I swallow hard. Well, shit. If I don’t do what he says, I’m in deep shit.
2
Ben
The woman lies on the dock, staring at me with wide doe eyes.
I’ve seen this act before. If she thinks she can pull the “But look how pretty I am, I’m innocent” thing on me, she has no idea who she’s dealing with.
This woman is in a world of trouble.
I let my words sink in as I wait for her to comply. I’m going to give her another five seconds until I’m ready to exert the full strength of the law on her. I don’t care how beautiful she is. No crime goes unpunished in my town, and one way or another, this woman has answers that I need.
She considers my words then moves to rise. She’s shivering. I want to lend her my jacket, but I don’t. As far as I know, this woman could be a criminal. Let her shiver, then. She stands, and I can see every goose bump on her pale skin, but beyond that, I can see a hell of a lot more.
Her dress is white. Water has plastered it to her body, leaving almost nothing to the imagination, and her nipples are poking through the thin fabric. There’s a thin, white thong at her waist, barely covering her bottom half from my view.
She’s basically naked before me, her body lean and strong and perfect. I have an image of myself plowing into her, slapping her ass as she cries out in a fit of passion, and I swallow.
Now is seriously not the time.
“Let’s go,” I grumble. I remind myself I’m pissed. I’ve had a good record in this town since I started as the sheriff, and she’s part of the problem that’s ruining it. The usual small town stuff happens, someone’s dog is stolen or Uncle Jimmy gets a little too enthusiastic after the Super Bowl and fires off a couple rounds into his ceiling, but nothing like this. Not Grand Theft.
And this woman has something to do with that.
“Don’t you have to read me my Miranda rights? I’m pretty sure you have to read me those before you can take me anywhere.”
Before I can answer, she dodges past me in an attempt to escape, and I turn fast, my reflexes kicking into gear.
I grasp her wrist in a viselike grip and twist her arm, pressing her against me.
She’s cold, her skin clammy. She lets out a laugh, and there’s no humor in it.
“Guess that looks a little suspicious, huh? I don’t like being treated like a criminal. Last I checked, the rule was innocent until proven guilty. You must be one corrupt cop.”
Her last words sting.
I tighten my grip and hold her a little closer. She’s breathing fast. I can feel her fear. I could change my demeanor. I could console her. Fuck it, she just tried to flee a crime scene.
I want answers.
“Must be. Now let’s get you to the station so we can see what kind of corruption you’ve been into.”
I maintain my chicken-arm hold on her, pressing her forward ahead of me. My cruiser is parked in a lot off the dock, and I head in that direction as she walks on in silence. Her boots slosh with water with each step she takes.
“You don’t look like much of a cop. How am I supposed to trust that you aren’t kidnapping me?”
She’s got spirit, that’s for sure. I hate that in a woman. Particularly the ones I have to detain.
“You don’t read the town paper? It’s a pretty small town. You should know who I am. And I did show you my badge.”
She snorts. “If it’s that small, how come you don’t know who I am? I’ve been here for a few months now.”
I don’t have an answer for that. “It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been here. It matters what you’ve done.”
“You make a lot of assumptions. That’s pretty bad form for a detective.”
“Who says I’m a detective?” I ask. We approach the car, and I unlock it and open the back.
“You’re not wearing a uniform. Either you’re an off-duty cop, a detective, or my first guess is correct and you’re some asshole playing pretend so you can kidnap an innocent woman. Are you in collusion with that man on the yacht? I swear, I didn’t see his face. You have to know he was wearing a mask. I have no idea who he is or who you are. I’m innocent in this.”
She sounds perfectly rational, like she’s having a lively discussion over a family dinner. I store her words away for later questioning. I don’t want to do this here. I want to have her at the station, where we can be recorded. Where we’ll both be safe.
I flip out my sheriff badge and flash it in her face. “You think I stole this?”
She shrugs. “You could have.”
“You’re delusional.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You think it’s a good idea to antagonize an officer? I’m choosing not to cuff you. Would you like me to change my mind?”
I don’t wait for her answer. Instead, I pull open the front door and reach for the radio. I click the button on its side and radio our dispatcher, Tilda, for clearance on my suspect. When I have it, I wrench open the back door and lower her head to place her inside. I slam the door behind her for good measure, and, damn, it feels good.
I slide into the driver’s seat and turn on the engine. We ride in silence as I wind my way through dark curving roads through the center of town. The gleaming lights of the sheriff’s department beckon ahead, and I pull the car into my spot in front.
The woman is still silent when I get out and open the back door, waiting for her to get out on her own. When she doesn’t, I lean down and peer at her. She glares back up at me, her dark eyes obsidian in the twilight.
Mesmerizing. Dangerous. I get mad at myself for even thinking she’s attractive, and I let that anger pour freely.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Do you have a preference?” I gesture toward the station behind me. “You can see tha
t your first hypothesis is wrong. Now, that you know you’re in trouble with the actual law, are you going to comply, or should I keep adding to the list of charges? A nice, hard jail cell bed might fix your attitude.”
I wait for a beat, and she steps out with a huff, her nipples still painfully visible. My cock tingles at the sight, and I look away to compose my wayward lust. I don’t have time for this shit. I don’t get involved with criminals.
What the fuck is my dick thinking?
She stands still by the car. She’s choosing a medium way, somewhere between easy and hard. When she doesn’t move, I wrap her arm behind her again, and she winces. I haven’t hurt her. It’s an act, and that stokes my initial anger right back up.
Good. I do better when I’m pissed.
I press her forward and open the door. She looks around, and I let out a dry laugh.
“Worried about your reputation? Do the people of this town know what kind of person you are?”
“Do they know what kind of person you really are? Maybe they’d like to vote in a new official.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, cop.”
The way she says that last word, like it’s a slur, tells me that she’s got some kind of background with the cops. It certainly doesn’t improve her situation.
We step inside the station, and one of the lieutenants, James, rises as he takes in my suspect. I notice that his eyes dart straight to her chest, and I reconsider my reluctance to provide her with a jacket.
Not that she would have accepted it, anyway.
“Ben. What happened? Are you all right, Miss?”
His eyes are loaded with sympathy, and I want to growl at him. He’s making assumptions when he doesn’t have all the facts.
“Please get the blue files ready for the suspect in custody, Officer Long,” I say, and I load my voice with authority.
His demeanor changes, and his eyes narrow at me. He nods and turns away. I lead the woman to an interrogation room. James will sit behind the glass and listen in for good measure. The blue files don’t exist. They’re code for backup, just in case.
I guide her toward the metal seat across from me, and she jerks her hand away before sitting. I sit across from her, crossing my arms as I lean back.
“Well, here we are. Now that we’re cozy, mind telling me what you were doing on that yacht?”
She crosses her arms over her breasts, and the camera hanging from the strap rests against them. They’re plumped together, delicious.
I clear my throat and wait, focusing on her face, because if I look anywhere south of that, I might feel an urge to fuck this woman right on the metal table.
“I can explain.” She sighs. “Okay, look, it’s not what it looks like. I didn’t steal that boat. Look, I just – I hopped on to take a few pictures, and then the engine turned on. A man in a black mask pointed a gun at me, so I jumped off and swam to shore.”
“So, trespassing on private property isn’t wrong?”
She glares at me, and her full lips press together in frustration. She knows she’s been caught, at least in something, and after watching her this entire time, I can tell she’ll ‘fess up to that much. If she does, I’m more inclined to believe she’s not a liar… for now.
“OK, fine. I was trespassing. But I wasn’t going to steal anything. I just wanted a picture!”
“And I just want to color in the Declaration of Independence. Is it cool if I pry open the glass and scribble? I don’t mean any harm.”
“Stop mocking me. Either lock me up or let me go. I’ve told you everything I know. It was that fast, and I don’t know the guy.”
“How do you know it was a guy?”
Her expression goes blank. “I guess I don’t. I suppose it could have been a very tall, masculine woman, but I doubt it. Either way, he or she didn’t have time to say anything before I jumped.”
“There is a very expensive boat missing from our harbor, Miss…”
I wait for her to provide a name. I’ll discover it one way or another, and I can tell she knows that.
“Naomi Greeves.”
“Miss Greeves. This is a serious crime, and you are the only suspect.”
“And yet you have no proof to go on, and my story checks out. You have nothing on me.”
She’s right. I glance at the reflective glass and can almost see James nodding in agreement.
“Fair enough. I suppose you’re right. You can go.”
She blinks at me, then her eyebrows narrow. “That’s it? You couldn’t have done that line of questioning at the docks instead of dragging me here in the back of a cop cruiser?”
I shrug. “You didn’t believe me, and you weren’t cooperating. This was your choice, Miss Greeves, not mine. It did save me a commute back, though, so thanks for that.”
She says nothing.
She stands and walks to the door, reaching for the knob. I can tell she thinks it’s locked, because she pulls it a little too hard, swinging it inward and almost stumbling backward. I stifle a chuckle as the door slams behind her.
I remember how cold she is and how she’ll now be walking home in the dark. A pang of pity shoots through me. There’s another part of my job that I take seriously, and that’s keeping vulnerable women safe. I can’t let her walk off alone.
I stand and exit, heading out the door without speaking to James. She’s barely made it to the edge of the parking lot when I catch her.
“Hey. Let me give you a ride home.”
She turns and looks up at me, and I fight an urge to warm her with my body.
Her teeth are chattering now, and her voice wobbles as she speaks. “I can t-t-take care of myself. Leave me alone.”
She starts walking off again, and I pull off my jacket and sling it around her shoulders. Her hands wrap around the warmth, and she looks back up at me, conflict in her eyes.
“Come on. I insist. You’re freezing, and it’s a cold night. The car is still warm. Let me take you home.”
She looks down the road, then back at my cruiser, trying to decide. She wraps my jacket a little tighter around her shoulders, and nods. “Fine. But if you pull any stunts, I’ll have your badge.”
She sounds so tough, and I want to laugh again at her tenacity. She may talk the talk, but she has no idea what she’s talking about.
I walk her back to the cruiser, and this time I open the passenger side door for her. She slides in, brushing against me as she does.
Fuck, I desperately want this woman.
I have to do my best to keep my thoughts in check, because if I don’t, I could be in a world of trouble.
3
Naomi
The cop’s jacket envelops me in his warmth. It smells like clean soap and a subtle, masculine deodorant, and the scent has me irrationally hot. For such a thin coat, it warms me straight through, even though my legs are still bare and exposed. My feet feel like sponges in my ruined boots, and I wonder how much he values his car. Maybe I can kick them off and dry them. As though reading my thoughts, he glances down at my feet.
“It can’t be good for you to have those wet boots on like that.”
“Do you mind?” I ask, reaching down to remove them.
He shakes his head. “Go for it.”
I’m grateful for that comment.
I slide my waterlogged boots off and air out my wrinkled-prune toes. I wiggle them to dry them out faster, and I turn to look at my driver.
I don’t even know his name. Ben, was it? I need to be more involved with this town. When I came in and started looking for a place to plant some roots, looking into the local law enforcement wasn’t exactly on the docket.
“I don’t know your full name,” I say. No use in beating around the bush about it.
His perfectly curved lips turns up at the corner in a sexy smirk, and my panties go wetter than my damp dress.
Shit.
He is a perfect male specimen. He’s rocking an
Edelman haircut, with a long center section of hair combed off to the side, buzzed on either side like a classier Mohawk. It’s a cut that got popular after a famous football player wore it, so it’s a little contrived, but damn, it suits him.
I couldn’t help but notice that even under the florescent lights of the sheriff’s department, he has a perfect complexion. His eyes are like sapphires, especially when he gives that hard glare.
Good God, I want him.
I’m surprised by this.
My last relationship ended… Well, it ended. A lot of things.
I have no need for another bad boy asshole in my life. I don’t care if he’s a cop. In my mind, that’s worse. A bad boy cop combines the two things I should absolutely not be lusting after—my kryptonite.
He continues smiling at me, and my pussy doesn’t care about my complaints one bit.
“Ben Warburton. Sheriff. At your service.”
He gives a sarcastic little bow, twirling his hand in the air. The gesture brings attention to the tattoos on his arms, which are more visible without his jacket on.
“I’ve never known a sheriff to be as inked as that,” I say, gesturing to his arms.
He glances down and shrugs, his eyes focusing back on the road. “How many sheriffs have you known?” he counters, and I frown.
Is he foraging for information, under the guise of chivalry? He’s clearly already tried the bad cop act. Is he switching tactics and going good cop now, trying to get info out of me by being nice?
There’s nothing to get out of me. He’ll have a hard time if he thinks that’s going to happen.
I stare out of the window, purposefully not answering his question. I’ve made a mistake by accepting his offer of a ride home. Men like this are my fatal flaw. I always fall for the hot, tatted dudes, and they always let me down.
Or destroy my entire life.
The alternative is walking home alone, in the dark, after having had a gun pointed at my face. I couldn’t stomach it. It was the only reason I agreed. I don’t want to be alone right now. Not after that.
