by Emily Bishop
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 that 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 t
he 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.
Chapter Three
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.
Ben thinks I’m a suspect, but he’s the only person around, and he was willing to help.
My mind flushes with memory of that moment. It’s already fuzzy. I can’t remember the color of the man’s eyes, his figure. I wish I could. Then I could at least try and help Ben catch that asshole and bring him to justice.
My camera still dangles from my neck, soaked and ruined. I lift it up and a sprinkle of water drips out of the bottom.
Great.
I may have started a business in town, but I’m not exactly raking in the riches yet. I’m already in a position where I’ll have to survive until the next tourist season with a bunch of locals who stick to their own. Until I can bring in some more cash, I’ll have to express my creative energy some other way. I already miss my camera.
“Where do I turn?” Ben asks, bringing me out of my reverie.
I give him directions toward the oceanfront, not far from where I was when he found me. It would have been such a nice, fast walk home.
Ah, well. Apparently, Ben felt the need to flex the muscular arms of justice. The sexy, thick, strong arms of justice. Arms I’d like to have wrapped around me, lifting me against a wall, holding me while he…
I clear my throat.
My feet have dried, and they feel better by the time he pulls onto my street, which winds along the rock-strewn coast. I point him in the direction of my little seaside cottage, and he pulls into the small parking lot along the side.
“This is a restaurant,” he says, staring up at the wooden lobster sign.
“Wow. Not only are you a cop, but your powers of deduction are top-notch. Did you land that job because of how observant you are?”
“Are you always this sassy?”
“Are you always arresting innocent women?”
“No. You would be the first. And there’s no guarantee that you’re innocent.”
“Back to that old chestnut, are we? Well, I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure knowing you, but I don’t want to lie.”
I’m pushing him away on purpose. I don’t want to like him. I don’t want to want him as much as I do. I can’t help myself. My body reacts to his scent, to his face. He is everything I’m attracted to in a man, and I can’t stand that. I need to get away. I need space.
I open the passenger side door, and to my dismay, he opens his door as well.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m walking you to your door.”
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough tonight?” I ask.
“Humor me. It’s my job to keep this town safe.”
“So, are you keeping me safe, or are you keeping the town safe from me by making sure I lock myself in an enclosed space?”
He lets out a low laugh. “We’ll find out, I guess, won’t we? Why do you live in a restaurant?”
“I own the joint.”
He lifts a perfect eyebrow at me, and my heart flutters. We fall in step as we walk up the stone path to the side door that is my apartment, directly next to my little seafood joint.
“I’ve never heard of this place,” he says.
It’s my turn to lift a critical brow. “For the sheriff, you’re pretty ignorant about what goes on in your own town.”
“I’ve only been in this position for a short time. Before that, well. It wasn’t necessarily my job to keep tabs on every little thing that happens here and I didn’t go out much. Or anywhere.”
I shrug and hold back a smile—I love how strong he is, how confident. Ugh, kryptonite! “Whatever. Can you admit you suck at your job?”
“Why don’t you let me taste some of your food, and then I can tell you that you suck at yours.” He shoots a grin right back at me.
“Mm, that’s impossible, because anything I make you’d slurp up and love it.”
We’re at my door now, and I turn to look up at him in the dark.
My body is on fire, being this close to him. I want to hate him. I want to slam the door in his stupid face and never see that dumb handsome expression ever again. Instead, I’m rooted to the spot, barely able to breathe.
This man accused me of being a thief. He shoved me into the back of a cop car and questioned me, even when I told him I was innocent. None of that seems to matter, because standing near him has my whole body tingling with desire.
Fuck.
“Well, it’s been real,” I say, and I reach for my keys, which are attached to my camera. My arm brushes against him. I tilt my head up, and his eyes are hooded and heavy. Is this really happening?
I should stop it. I should walk away.
He dips his head, his fingers gripping my chin as he presses his lips against mine, and all rational thought dissolves.
