Shot

by Lexi Ostrow

  Shot

  By Lexi Ostrow

  “The right of Lexi Ostrow to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Cover art by:

  LB Designs

  Edited by:

  L & S Editing and MLT Editing Services

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Lexi Ostrow

  All rights reserved.”

  Dedicated to the men and women in blue who protect our cities. To all the lives that have been lost in the line of duty, and all the families left to pick up the pieces.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  She had been shot. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She was going down.

  She could feel herself dropping to the ground, could feel the slide of her blood as it ran down her abdomen and shoulder. She had let her partner down – let the love of her life down. Now, they were very much alone.

  She felt her body sink to the ground. There was nothing left. Nothing, but her pain, failure, and the ground to catch her as she waited for help to come.

  Six months prior

  Trevor clenched his jaw and his fists at the same time. Five hundred and ninety-seven days locked up, and they were now letting him go for good behavior.

  For five hundred and ninety-seven days, he’d rotted in a jail cell after being caught by cops from the various branches of Southern California’s police departments that never should have been working together in the first place.

  Five hundred and ninety-seven days he’d spent on crappy food and dodging knives thrown by jackasses who thought they were better than him and could make him their bitch.

  Five hundred and ninety-seven days stuck in jail, and four hundred of them spent pretending he was something other than what he was. Four hundred of those days acting as like some repenting little snot who felt guilty about being caught in an armed robbery and accidentally shooting a cop. It had been an accident, but no one had believed him.

  It had worked, though. Once every year, he was brought up for parole. Finally, after snitching on at least six other inmates, he’d finally gotten what he wanted.

  Freedom.

  The freedom to take down every single police station that had a hand in his arrest. Had a hand in the five hundred and ninety-seven days he’d spent rotting in jail because his partners had all bailed from the scene of the crime. Well, almost all. He hadn’t been locked up alone, but it hardly mattered to Trevor.

  The bright light of the sun flashed in his eyes as the police officer pushed open the San Diego Police Department’s doors. He flinched at the sudden assault of sun and shivered as the cool November air raced over his skin. It felt good to feel cold. It felt good to feel anything real at all.

  He was going to feel, all right. He and his old friends were about to have a little reunion and play a game. One where the only option was going to be to play on his side, or learn first hand just how much he’d learned from the scum in prison who’d helped him come up with enough strategy to take down officers from the state’s finest precincts before retiring someplace even warmer than sunny Southern California.

  A grin stretched across his lips. Trevor nodded as the officer removed his cuffs for the last time. He let the pretense drop, the light in his eyes went dead as he thought about the police officers he intended to hunt.

  Bridget’s hips swayed seductively back and forth as the beat from the music coursed through her body. Her now short black hair swished across her ears, and she let her hands wave in the air alongside her friend’s. Tonight was her last night partying and drinking like a model. Tomorrow morning, she’d report for her first day as a police recruit at the Los Angeles Police Department.

  She ran her hands down her body as the music slipped into a sinful Rihanna song. Bridget walked off the dance floor to grab a drink. Her head already swam from the amount of shots she’d consumed with the girls from her agency. One of her three inch silver heels stuck to a slosh of drying alcohol. She tipped forward, her hand landing squarely on someone’s back. The girl gave her a dirty look. Bridget waved it off and continued to the bar.

  “One shot of Patron,” she shouted over the music as she finally got to the counter and tapped her hand across the counter to a song she’d never heard before as she waited.

  A shot appeared in front of her. The scantily clad bartender smiled at her.

  “Eight-fifty.”

  Bridget scoffed and fumbled to grab her card from her sparkling clutch. She passed it to the other woman as she tipped her head back and let the vile alcohol slide down her throat just in time to grab her card. She didn’t sign the slip or tip. She’d been drinking all night and they no longer needed her generous tips. Besides, police weren’t paid as well as models.

  She stepped to the side and looked out over the club. It was too crowded for a Sunday night, but it was Los Angeles. Tonight would be the last night she would likely indulge this way. Cops weren’t known for their partying and truth be told, it was the excuse she needed to put this life behind her. It was never the life she’d wanted anyway.

  Her father had been a homicide detective since before she had been born. Every story he had ever told had fascinated her. Dealing with the bad guys, helping those that needed it, and solving crimes had been her bedtime stories. It may have been where her father went wrong, because when she was seventeen, she’d told him she didn’t want to go to college. . She wanted to be a cop instead.

  His refusal to accept it, or even allow it, had been a source of contempt between them, but in the end, she had gone to USC for Criminal Investigation to appease her father because he had been her whole world. Disappointing him would have been akin to killing him. She’d always thought she would be able to convince him she could handle herself as a cop and still walk in his footsteps when college was over.

  She’d been twenty when she’d driven her car into the backend of a talent scout scout’s vehicle. Three weeks and a massive ticket her father couldn’t get waived later, she’d signed a contract with American Model Management and moved to New York. She’d finished school through a series of online classes and had been living the glamorous life ever since. Bridget had never completely gelled with it, however, staying away from the drugs and constant partying.

  She had enjoyed more than her fair share of the riches the lifestyle offered, including her loft on the Upper East Side. Until twelve weeks ago, when her mother had called her. The distress in her mother’s voice had tipped her off before the words had been out of her mother’s mouth. Her father had been murdered. Shot down right outside the bar he and his old cop friends used to hang out in during their retirement.

  The time between then and now was a blur to Bridget. So much had happened so quickly. She’d paid h
er way out of her contract, leaving her with enough for a few months rent. Bridget had then moved back home. She hadn’t wanted to do anything except make sure her father’s killer was caught, arrested and hopefully put in jail with a life sentence for killing an ex-cop hanging over his head. The Los Angeles Police were hiring, and thanks to her father’s twenty-three years on the force, she’d been a quick selection for the academy.

  Which meant tonight, she would say said goodbye to being a carefree thirty-one- year -old, and hello to the life she’d always wanted. It just hurt to know that she was only here because she’d wanted to honor her father; that he would never see her graduate from training or have the late night talks she’d always dreamt of with him. She should have had the guts to walk away from modeling long ago and do something to help people like she’d always wanted.

  “It’s not about you, Bridget. It’s about being someone your dad would’ve been proud of.” She clenched her fists and shook her head. There wasn’t enough alcohol in her system if she was having these thoughts. “And there’s not enough money in your bank account to load up on any more,”

  She sighed and turned back to the bar. One more shot and then she’d lose herself in the oblivion of a night of dancing. At least until two am, when she promised herself she would leave.

  The bartender raised a brow but said nothing. “Need another?”

  Bridget nodded, passed her card, and felt a large hand lay on top of hers.

  “I’ll take care of hers.”

  The most sensuous deep southern accent she’d ever heard drifted down to her. She turned around to give the man a piece of her mind. Her retort was promptly silenced when she whirled about to face him. The man who’d offered to buy her a drink was stunning. She was used to hot men from the shoots she’d done in the past, but this man put them all to shame.

  He towered over her, standing at about six-feet-two inches tall. His whole body was muscled and she swore he was the size of a house. Chiseled cheekbones, a classically straight nose, and a small side smirk sent a rush of desire through her entire body. His hair was perfectly coiffed, a deep chestnut brown that matched the straight slash of brows over his bright blue eyes.

  “Thanks.”

  Her tongue felt thick as she said the words and continued to look him over. She wasn’t one to hop into bed with a stranger, but if this particular one asked her to, she wouldn’t argue. He took his own drink as she picked up hers his smirk changed subtly into a devilish smile as he lifted the small shot glass towards her.

  “Cheers.”

  He tipped his head back. She watched as the chorded muscles in his neck rolled as he swallowed his drink. Slightly mesmerized, she tossed back the shot of Patron and choked a little at the burn she hadn’t prepped for. His laughing response was deep, and sinful thoughts tweaked inside her mind.

  Tonight had been about fun with her high school pals and a few of the girls who’d flown in to see her. Not a night for hooking up with incredibly beautiful men.

  “Plans change,” she muttered to herself and smiled up at him. “So who do I have to thank for that shot?” Coyly, she raised a brow and wondered if she even needed to employ any sort of technique as he’d already randomly purchased a drink for her.

  He pointed upward and spun his index finger around. “Too damned loud in here. Care to join me out on the patio?”

  His voice was more drowned out as they walked away from the bar. Several seconds later, but she froze. Going places with strange men was a part of who she’d been, not who she was going to be, Bridget O’Casey, LAPD. Her pulse pounded as she thought the offer over. Going out onto the equally crowded, but much quieter, patio wasn’t going to get her killed. She did want to get to know him better, and this was a fantastic way to justify her actions if she wound up in his bed come morning.

  She nibbled on her lower lip and shrugged. Bridget’s eyes landed on one of the girl’s who’d come with her. Her friend gave her a thumbs up. Being a cop’s daughter made her cautious about everything but her friend’s approval eased her a little. For this one night, though, she’d give it up for a little fun.

  “That would be great,” she shouted over the uproar as Lady Gaga’s most recent song blasted through the club.

  His large hand wrapped around her slender one, and she shivered from the contact. He was warm, not sweaty warm, just warm. She allowed him to pull her through the crowded room of sparkling and sweaty streaked bodies. Bridget shivered as the cold November air raced across her exposed skin when he pushed open the door.

  The noise level dropped significantly. She was secretly glad that it meant she’d be able to better hear his southern accent. Her eyes dropped to watch his backside as he tugged her rather skillfully over to a small, green wrought iron table and chair set.

  “It’s a shame we can’t get some more drinks out here,” he said with a smile on his lips as she sat down. “Let’s try this again. Jeremy Trellins, nice to meet you.”

  The way the deep timbre of his voice slid over her senses was enough to make her shiver with anticipation of what other things he might say to her. Slowly, she extended her hand and he took it.

  “Bridget O’Casey.”

  She shifted in her chair, noticing how slick with sweat her silver stretch-knit dress was, suddenly wishing she’d worn something that breathed a lot better. Bridget fought back a gasp at the lack of contact when he let go of her hand and leaned back into her chair.

  “So, Jeremy Trellins, how many women have you bought drinks for tonight?”

  Her tone was playful. She winked at him. Deep down, she was curious about how many rungs she would mark on his bedpost if he managed to seduce her. Which, given his voice and looks, wouldn’t take too much convincing, since she was certainly interested.

  He laughed and she watched as two dimples formed on each side of his mouth. His smile deepened and he became that much more handsome than moments before. He raised his arms up in fake surrender and slowed his laughter down.

  “You’ve got me. I’m not the slickest at this.”

  She raised a brow at him. “Oh, really? So, what number, Mr. Trellins?”

  He grinned and she felt her stomach do a little flip and heat raced through her body. A smile like that would get anyone into bed, it didn’t matter what else they did or didn’t know about him.

  “First one of the evening.” He winked this time, and she laughed.

  “Really now? First one tonight? I feel pretty honored.”

  She flashed him a smile and sub consciously told herself to tone it down. She’d never done this particular thing before. If she wasn’t careful, she’d come across like an idiot.

  “I don’t make it a habit of buying pretty ladies drinks. Don’t make it a habit to come to clubs, really.”

  He leaned back in the chair and she watched the muscles in his arms flex as they rested on the arm rests. This man was getting more and more intriguing, and she’d only known him for five minutes.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  She watched as an emotion flickered across his face before as he hesitated to answer.

  “Finished something I was working on. Big time stuff. My buddies wanted to take me out to celebrate. Sooner or later, they’ll think I’ve gone home when they don’t see me inside.”

  Heat curled into a ball inside her stomach and she swallowed, trying to discern any hidden meaning behind his words.

  “Well then, I’ll consider myself very fortunate, Mr. Trellins.”

  He His face flushed with color, and she drooled over him even more. A man who looked like that and was humble, she was beginning to think her father had somehow been looking out for her tonight.

  “Call me Jeremy, please. I have to hear my last name at work all day. It’s a nice change to have someone use my first.”

  She smiled and leaned forward in her chair. Reaching across the small table, she gently pressed her palm to his forearm.

  “Well then, Jeremy. I believe I owe you a thank you.�
�

  She rose out of the seat and placed a soft kiss on his left cheek before sitting back down. Bridget had no idea if the action got his blood pumping as fast as it did hers, but she did see the way his eyes darkened as they stared at one another.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Bridget.”

  The words sounded low and sultry. She couldn’t help but hope they held a promise of more to come.

  ***

  Bridget laughed as Jeremy’s hands fumbled to pull the keys out of the ignition of his 2010 Camaro. She couldn’t help but feel some of the sexual tension in the car rise a notch. She heard the clang as they dropped out of his hands onto the floor, taking and she took off her seatbelt and as she climbed out of the yellow sports car.

  “I swear, I’m not typically clumsy. About anything.”

  His eyes found hers and she shivered with excitement.

  They’d spent the better part of an hour outside on the patio before he’d asked her to dance. One simple question and her body had made up its mind about where they would be going after the club. On the dance floor his hands had trailed a sensual path down the curves of her body, and she’d found herself leaning backward against him. Their bodies had swayed perfectly together, as if they’d danced together a hundred times and not just a few minutes.

  When he’d spun her around, their bodies had brushed against each other’s. She was still reeling from the jolt of desire it had caused as his mouth had captured hers. His lips were firm, slightly covered in Jameson, and she’d lost herself in his kiss. He’d known everything she could have desired in a kiss – where to tangle his hands in her hair, how to subtly continue their dance on the floor, when to nip at her lower lip. She’d been practically panting with desire when he’d finally done it.

  Asked her back to his place.

  An alarm began to beep pulling her out of her still slightly drunk memories. Bridget looked up to see him stepping inside a ranch style home. Her body was still tingling, despite the twenty-minute ride out of Los Angeles to get to his house. She’d run her fingers up and down his arms the entire ride, and now she wanted to trace them along something else entirely different.