by R. T. Wolfe
She knew all this, but it sounded surreal hearing it aloud nonetheless. She had just come to a point of closure in her past. In her present. She paid her debt to the girls she left behind. To the girls who took her place. She was ready to start new.
And did she want to have to get used to the annoying way they looked at each other like they were at that moment?
"Are you offering me a job?"
"If it were up to us, we would. But, no. The reason we're here is to tell you that your title has been reinstated and that we'd like to count on you from time to time when we need expertise in related investigations. If you choose to agree, you'll have to take mandatory psych time. You did kill a man."
"Hold on a minute." She lifted from her chair and walked to the door, then opened it wide. Duncan was still standing there fuming. She squinted her eyes and smiled at him. The expression of confusion on his face was priceless, but his words were the three that had meaning to only them. "There you are."
She winked and said loudly, "Come in here, if you would, Duncan." She didn't wait to see him in and, instead, turned and walked back to her desk. She left her chair open for him on purpose and leaned a hip on the corner of the bare desktop. "Sit down, please." She gestured to her desk chair. She was making a point.
Her blood flew through her veins, but she knew exactly what she was doing. "This is Duncan Reed."
"Your boyfriend." Hurst said it like he could choke.
"Yep." She popped the P. "He has been given status as a civilian consultant on a handful of my cases." His gorgeous, confused eyes darted between the three of them. She hadn't even introduced them yet. "He was the one who noticed the telltale scarring on the girl's back in the casino that was in my jurisdiction ten months ago. He was the one who discovered the bracelet found in the abandoned house in Nevada as the one belonging to Thurmond Moody. And he was the one who was able to transfer Moody's long list of extensive files, recording—who was it?—several politicians and CEOs as they paid to have sex with minors. If I agree to this, I want to know that I can use him when I need to."
They leaned back. She didn't care if they said yes or no. She was ready to start her life over. Now, as they did their creepy look-at-each-other thing, she was second-guessing her confidence.
"We can't guarantee him access to—"
"Just your word that I'll be able to use him... when possible," she added as a disclaimer.
Hurst stood first, followed by Goodrich. Hurst held out a hand. "Mr. Reed, I'm Special Agent Hurst. This is Special Agent Goodrich. Welcome aboard. I imagine you and the detective have much to discuss. We'll be in touch."
And they left. They shut the door and left. She waited stoically until she was sure they were gone. Then, she spun her butt on her desk, her glorious, tattered, splintered desk and faced Duncan. He was wide-eyed and staring at her with his head turned slightly away, his brows dug deep.
"What just happened?"
"We just got ourselves into a load of shit," she said with her biggest smile. Breaking her own hands-off-at-the-station rule, she slid onto his lap and brought her lips to his.
The End
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Want more from R.T. Wolfe?
Here's an excerpt from
SAVAGE RENDEZVOUS
The Nickie Savage Series
Book Two
~
Stuck at a dead end, Nickie pushed her laptop away. "Police work should be more like television," she whined. "Every case solved with fast action, loads of obvious clues, and all in a half hour." Before her eyes crossed from staring at her screen another moment, she closed them and rested her head on her desk.
Even sealed, her eyes betrayed her. She saw the leads that still needed to be followed and reports yet to be completed.
Strong hands slithered over her back, kneading the knots as they traveled up her neck. The reaction from her body wasn't what she assumed Duncan was aiming for. He laced his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, making every muscle in her body a puddle of mush.
There was only so much a woman could take.
She lifted her head and swiveled her chair 180 degrees. Straddling his legs, she locked the tops of her boots behind him and pulled him closer.
"You're not sleepy anymore?" he crooned low and sexy.
She didn't answer with words but slipped her fingers in his waist band. He tucked his hands under her backside and lifted, wrapping her legs the rest of the way around him. Heat found heat.
"You promised me a painting," he said as his teeth grazed her neck.
How could she possibly argue when he did that? Regardless, her nerves lifted. Glancing down, she noticed she'd chosen her raspberry pink blouse that morning. It still held creases from wearing her gun holster all day. Her pants were too tight, her boots too tall. She liked it that way, but for a Duncan Reed painting? It made the differences between the two of them much too real. He was Duncan Reed. His paintings hung in the homes of politicians, the dripping rich and people so famous even she knew who they were. She, on the other hand, was just... Nickie.
"Now?" she asked. "Wearing this?"
His head lifted quickly, looking at her through squinted eyes nearly as dark as his chocolate brown hair. A smile, evil and glorious, slowly spread across his face.
Her phone buzzed on her hip. It was the ring tone for forwarded calls from the police station. Giving him the most apologetic look she could muster, she pulled it from her pocket and answered. "Savage."
"Savage," the voice on the other end repeated.
She didn't recognize it or understand why the nerves at the back of her neck came alive and pricked her.
"Nickie Savage. You changed your name. How appropriate."
No. Her eyes darted from one side of Duncan to the other. Her legs dropped from around him and hit the floor with a thud.
"You were never a Nicole Monticello. Nickie Savage suits you."
Now, she remembered. Sixteen years couldn't erase the memory of the voice. She couldn't speak, couldn't move.
"I see you recognize my voice." He laughed. It was the same laugh that haunted her dreams for years. The laugh he once used as he put the scars on her back.
~
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Savage Rendezvous
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R.T. Wolfe enjoys creating diverse characters, twining them together in the midst of an intelligent mystery and a heart encompassing romance. It's not uncommon to find dark chocolate squares in R.T.'s candy dish, her rescued Saint Bernard at her feet and a few caterpillars spinning their cocoons in their terrariums on her counters. R.T. loves her family, gardening, eagle-watching and can occasionally be found in a third world country helping others help themselves.
R.T. enjoys hearing from readers. You can contact R.T. through her website: www.rtwolfe.com
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