Cop Tales an Anthology for a Cause

by T. R. Cupak

  Key is by your purse. Lock up when you leave,

  and I’ll stop by Judy’s tonight to get it.

  -E

  I did not snore. Okay, I did, but only when I was really tired. It all made sense why I couldn’t remember falling asleep in Ethan’s bed. I must have fallen asleep during the movie and didn’t wake when he carried me to bed. Did he carry me to bed? He had to have. Working on my feet wore me out and then we were up later than I was used to. Usually after work, I’d go home, take a shower, and be in bed by one, not reminiscing with my high school boyfriend until whatever hour it was that I finally fell asleep.

  But I didn’t regret staying.

  Ethan’s bed was fucking comfortable.

  Every time the front door of Judy’s opened, I looked for Ethan. I really wanted to see him again. He was currently my only friend in Chicago, and honestly, I was okay with that.

  The night before had been nice. He didn’t grill me about why I’d broken up with him all those years ago, and I didn’t pry and ask how long he’d been divorced. I wanted it to be a long time so that I wasn’t his rebound—if anything happened. It was as if we were starting over in a sense, putting our childhood in the past and moving forward as adults.

  And that excited me.

  The door opened again, and I glanced up. Two women entered, and I turned my attention back to the beer I was pouring from the tap. The door opened once more, but again it wasn’t who I wanted to see walk through them.

  “Waiting for someone?”

  I looked over to see Derrick standing next to me, refilling the limes and lemons. We were the only ones on the floor because Frank was on break and the other barback had left for the night.

  “Yeah, my friend’s stopping by to grab something I have.”

  “The guy from last night?”

  I wrinkled my eyebrows, confused, but then remembered he must have noticed I left with Ethan. “Yeah, him.” I slid the beer in front of the customer and grabbed his money to ring him up.

  “Thought you didn’t have a boyfriend?” Derrick asked, moving to stack empty glasses under the bar top.

  I huffed. “I don’t.”

  “But you left with him last night.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Why do you care who I left with?”

  “Just making small talk.”

  I stopped pressing the buttons on the POS system and turned to face him. “We just met last night,” I waved my hand between him and me, “and I get that we’re going to work together, but I don’t need you questioning my personal life.”

  He held up his hands. “Whoa, I’m just trying to make conversation and get to know you.”

  “Getting to know me is asking me what my favorite color is. Or my favorite flower. Not grilling me about a guy I left with last night.” I wasn’t sure why I was so put off by his questioning, but I was a forty-one-year-old woman, and if I wanted to go home with a man, that was my decision.

  Derrick leaned a hip on the cabinets that held extra bottles of alcohol behind the bar and faced me. “Okay, what’s your favorite color?”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Purple.”

  “And your favorite flower?”

  I paused. Not because I didn’t know, but because I remembered the note Ethan had left me this morning and it gave me hope that we’d become a ‘we’ again.

  “Buttercups.”

  Derrick balked as though he wasn’t expecting that answer. “Buttercups? That’s a thing?”

  I laughed and returned to the POS system, finishing the transaction and grabbing the customer’s change. “Yes, and specifically the Parisian ones.”

  He lifted off the counter and turned to grab the overflowing garbage bag. “I’m going to have to Google that and see what they look like.”

  “You do that.”

  I hadn’t had time to check my phone after my dinner break for any missed calls from Ethan because it was Friday night and we’d been slammed. Walking to my locker for my purse so I could call it a night, I fished my phone from my back pocket and hoped he had sent a text. He had:

  Caught a case. I’ll try to stop by before you get off at 12, but if not, keep the key.

  I texted him back as I leaned on the lockers:

  Just getting off now. Should I wait?

  I removed my purse from my locker as I waited for his reply.

  Ethan: Sorry, Buttercup. I’m at the station. Meet for lunch?

  As I walked out the back door toward my parked car, I replied:

  Sure. Just tell me the place and I’ll meet you there.

  “Have a good night, Reagan.”

  I started slightly and turned to see Derrick leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. “Thanks, you too.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, exactly, and I wasn’t going to ask and fuel whatever game he was playing. I got the vibe that he had a crush on me or something, and if anything, I wanted to be with a man like Ethan and not a boy like Derrick. Though, I didn’t exactly know his age.

  Chapter Seven

  Ethan

  “Vic is female. Appears to be in her twenties and has multiple stab wounds,” Officer Moore, the responding officer, stated as we walked up to the house.

  My partner, Shawn, and I nodded. After putting shoe protectors on, we entered the home. In all my years on the force, I’d never seen a stabbing like this one, and I’d seen some fucked up shit.

  The flashing red and blue lights came in through the front windows as we looked down at the naked body on the couch. Her brown hair was dark with blood, her brown eyes stuck open and lifeless, and I was certain the couch cushions were soaked with more of the crimson fluid. I looked around the small living room that was already cordoned off as evidence was gathered, pictures taken, and prints dusted for.

  “Did you find the weapon?” I asked.

  Officer Moore shook his head. “Haven’t found it yet.”

  I stepped closer to the victim, crouching down to be eye level with her body, and noticed her skin was already turning gray. “Who called it in?”

  “Neighbor. The roommate ran next door after finding the body when she got home tonight. Said she had been gone for the week, wanting to take a final trip before the summer ends.”

  There was no way to know how long the woman had been dead until we talked to the medical examiner. I wasn’t sure if she was gray because of how long she’d been dead or because she was lying in a pool of what appeared to be all of her blood.

  “Where’s the roommate now?” Shawn asked.

  “The bus took her to med. She was hyperventilating after finding the body,” Moore stated, referring to an ambulance.

  I nodded as I shared a look with my partner. We weren’t ruling the roommate out yet. Shawn and I walked around the house, looking for anything and everything while we waited for the medical examiner to arrive to give us an estimated time of death. There were no signs of a struggle, and nothing appeared to be missing or stolen—the victim’s purse was on the dining room table. I took out her wallet and got her name: Amy Kenny. I noted everything about the poor woman. She seemed happy and had a promising future. The pictures on the wall showed how much fun she had in her life. There were pictures of her and her friends at clubs, bars, and concerts, and she even had one of those heart-shaped wood plaques, likely from a fair, with her name carved in it.

  At least this woman had lived a good life before she was brutally murdered in her own home.

  I yawned, leaning back in my desk chair. Catching a new case was what I lived for, but the first forty-eight hours were brutal.

  We’d just gotten an update from the ME that the victim had been stabbed sixty-eight times. I’d never seen such hatred in all my life, and that was saying something considering I lived in Chicago where there were, on average, around seven hundred murders a year.

  This murder screamed hate, passion, and rage.

  I wanted to solve the case as soon as possible, but I also
wanted to see Reagan again. There was no way I’d be able to meet her before midnight, so I texted her to meet for lunch at a restaurant near my place. I would have said breakfast, but I also knew that she needed sleep—and so did I.

  Fuck, what I would do to have her in my bed again.

  The night before, I’d heard her quiet snores over the movie. After making sure she was in a deep sleep, I carried her to my bed. If we were an us, I wouldn’t have hesitated to crawl in beside her, pull her close, and sleep until I had to go into work. Instead, I took a quick shower and slept on my couch. I left before she woke, hoping I could put in my ten hours and then meet her at Judy’s. Instead, some asshole had brutally murdered a young woman.

  The ME had told us the estimated the time of death was around three the previous morning. Since it was now after midnight, we were coming up on the twenty-four-hour mark since the time of death, and we had no leads except the roommate, who we hadn’t interviewed yet because she was at the hospital. The neighbor had heard nothing unusual.

  “I’m going to head home. Want to talk to the roommate first thing?” I asked Shawn. We’d gotten word that the roommate would be released from the hospital after a few hours, and that victim services would put her up in a motel for the night because her house was a crime scene.

  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  We both left, and I went directly home. I crawled into my bed, which still smelled like Reagan, like marshmallows by a campfire, and I quickly fell asleep, dreaming about her instead of the case.

  As planned, the next morning I met Shawn at the motel where the roommate had stayed the night. Usually, I’d meet him at the station and we’d drive over together, but because I had a lunch date, we had to take two cars.

  We walked to the room we were told by victim services the roommate would be in and I knocked on the door. After a moment, it opened. Shawn and I held up our badges. “I’m Detective Valor, and this is Detective Jones. Are you Heather?”

  She nodded. Her blue eyes were bloodshot, probably from lack of sleep or crying all night, and her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail.

  “Mind if we ask you a few questions about last night?” I asked. We already knew some of the answers to our questions because Officer Moore had briefed us the night before, but we’d ask her the same questions again to make sure her story stayed the same.

  “Sure.” Heather opened the door wider and motioned for us to come inside. She sat on the end of the bed, and Shawn and I sat in the chairs near the window with a table between them.

  “How long were you and Amy roommates?” I asked.

  Heather took a deep breath, tears starting to form in her swollen eyes. “Six months. I moved here from Nebraska.”

  “You didn’t know her prior to moving in with her?”

  She shook her head. “No. She had an ad on Craigslist, and I answered it.”

  “Did she have a boyfriend?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Amy didn’t date?” Shawn asked.

  “She did, but I don’t think she had a serious boyfriend.”

  “When was the last time you saw her alive?” I asked.

  Heather sniffed. “About a week ago before I left for Miami.”

  “Did you notice anything missing?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, but I wasn’t in there long. I walked in and saw …” She took a deep breath, tears streaming down her face. “I saw her lying on the couch covered in blood, and then I ran next door. I was scared to death.”

  We asked Heather more questions about her alibi and how close she was to Amy, but nothing gave us any indication that she had killed Amy or who might have done it.

  After we finished, I drove to meet Reagan at Big Jones, a rustic restaurant that served southern food. I needed something that was going to keep me full longer than a measly sandwich would so I could focus on the case. Plus, their fried chicken was award-winning.

  When I rounded the corner toward the front door of the restaurant, I saw Reagan waiting outside. She was in jeans, knee-high boots, and a blouse that showed off her assets. Fuck, I wanted her. I wanted her so bad that I was salivating.

  Our gazes met as I walked closer, and she smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit.”

  I chuckled and leaned in, kissing her cheek. “You’ve seen me in a tux at prom.”

  Her grin widened. “True, but not grown up Ethan.”

  “No, and a lot has changed since I wore that tux to prom.” I winked. I was referring to her body as well, but I didn’t elaborate. Instead, I opened the door of the restaurant and guided her inside.

  Chapter Eight

  Reagan

  Seeing Ethan in a suit was doing things to my belly and between my legs. He was gorgeous with the scruff around his face from not shaving for a few days, his piercing blue eyes that reminded me of the sea, and those muscles that I wanted to feel wrapped around me as our bodies slid skin on skin.

  “Have you been here before?” Ethan asked after we were seated.

  I shook my head. “No. I’ve only been back a few months and haven’t had a chance to explore it all.”

  “I can show you sometime,” he offered.

  I grinned. “I’d like that.”

  Ethan paused, reading the menu briefly. “I’m getting the chicken,” he said, setting the menu down. “That and the shrimp and grits are amazing.”

  I bobbed my head, still scanning the menu. In the end, I decided to take him up on his suggestion of fried chicken. It had been a long time since I’d had good southern fried chicken. I set the menu down and sipped the water on the table.

  “Did you solve the case?”

  He let out a long, deep breath. “No, far from it.”

  “What’s it about?”

  He leaned closer. “Can’t tell you that, Buttercup. It’s confidential.”

  “Really?”

  Ethan smirked. “Really. But when we go on the ride-along, you’ll sign an NDA, and then you can know all about whatever we come across.”

  “I’m excited.”

  “If it’s anything like what I saw last night, then we’ll know for sure if you can be CSI.”

  “It was bad?”

  Ethan leaned back. “Yeah. Worst murder I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well, I’m excited to start classes Monday. It will be good for me.”

  “Want me to come over when I get off work, and we can study?”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “I mean it. I can answer questions if you have them.”

  The waitress came and took our order. After she left, I said, “I’d rather study like we used to study.”

  He choked on a sip of water. “Really?”

  I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong. You brought me home, let me sleep in your bed, gave me a key to your place, are taking me to lunch, and are offering to see me again on Monday when you’re working on what I assume is a big case because you said it was the worst murder you’ve ever seen.”

  Ethan grinned slowly. “Reagan Hunter, are you telling me that you want to study?” He put air quotes around “study,” causing me to bite my lip.

  “Yeah, Ethan Valor. I want to study. All. Night. Long.”

  “Check, please!”

  When I decided to take back my life—to do me as they say—I didn’t realize it would mean I was taking back my sex life too.

  “What time do you need to be back at the station?” I asked. Ethan was dragging me down the street, our hands laced together.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll work all night if I have to—if this really happens.”

  “It’s not going to happen?”

  He stopped pulling my hand. “Yeah, it’s going to happen. When do you need to be at work?”

  “Four.”

  Ethan’s gaze roamed up and down my body. “Can you wear that to work?”

  “Technically I could, but I also have a spare T-shirt in my ca
r.”

  He smirked. “School’s about to start early, Buttercup.”

  He tugged on the hand he was still holding and walked another block until we were at his building. Just like the other night, he nodded to the door guy and then we walked to the elevator. It was waiting for us, so we entered, and he stabbed at the button for his floor repeatedly until the doors closed.

  He turned, gave me one look, and then without further hesitation, his lips crashed into mine. Ethan’s soft lips felt new and familiar at the same time as he pushed me back against the wall of the lift and devoured my mouth. His hips pinned me against the back railing, and I felt how much he wanted me, something I hadn’t felt for over half of my life. I’d missed it. I’d missed him, and I didn’t realize how much until the sparks we’d once had lit inside of me again.

  The elevator dinged, indicating we were on his floor, and he growled into my mouth before pulling away. Without a word, he laced our fingers again and then we were walking toward his door.

  “You know,” he started to say as he worked the lock to open his door, “I haven’t had a nooner since—well, since we were in high school.”

  The times when we’d ditch school to study flashed through my head briefly. “I’m surprised you graduated.” He was a year older than me, so after he graduated we only hung out after school and on weekends.

  “We didn’t miss that many days. Plus, I had a good study partner.” Ethan winked as he slammed the door behind us.

  “Right, studying.”

  His lips found mine again, and we raced to discard our clothes, only breaking the kiss when we needed to. Once we were both naked, we stared at each other briefly, and I admired how the boy I once knew was definitely a man now. Hard, strong, and big.

  “Are you as sweet as I remember?” he asked.