Love and Law

by K. Webster

  Miguel nearly knocks me over to go after him again, but I spin around and put my hands firmly on his rock-hard chest.

  “Stop. Cool it, Miguel, so we can work on this case. I need your head clear,” I say calmly and look up at him.

  He sadly looks down at my lips and studies them for a moment. Now that we’ve crossed that line between friends and something else, every moment will be like this. Weird.

  I start to pull away to get back to the scene, but he grabs both of my wrists and stares intently down at me.

  “I’ll keep you safe. No matter if you want me or not, I’ll always do my best to keep you safe. You’re my partner. My best friend,” he promises. And I believe him. He’s had my back since day one.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in! If it ain’t Miss Kerry Washington herself,” Paula gushes as I walk into the salon the next morning.

  I roll my eyes at her, hating the comparison. It’s not that I have anything against the actress, but everyone tells me that I look like her. It gets old, and I hate the attention. Once while wearing my uniform in my rookie days, someone asked me what movie I was filming and if they could get my autograph. So fucking annoying.

  “Hey, Paula. You’re rocking the Whoopi Goldberg look this week?” I tease, flicking my gaze up at her newly added braids.

  She flings them over her shoulder and puts a hand on her hip. “Mmmhmmm, and you know I wear it better than that hussy.”

  I laugh at her as I grab a smock and put it on. Thankfully, the salon is half full this morning. Paula has a loud mouth, and I would rather not announce it to the world why I’m getting a new look.

  She stands behind me and pulls my hair back as she watches me in the mirror. Paula is actually very pretty. Her face is slender with very feminine features. Even though both of her parents are African-American, she has a more exotic, almost Latino look to her. I’m half convinced that her father isn’t who her mother says he is.

  “What are we doing today, sweetie?” she asks.

  I scrunch up my nose in disgust. I’d rather just leave my look the same, but if I want to look like a drug dealer, I can’t go in there looking like a conservatively dressed cop.

  “Whatever you want,” I tell her in resignation.

  Her brown eyes sparkle gleefully at the prospect of getting free rein over my hair. I still wonder why I haven’t fixed her up with Miguel yet. That would solve one of my problems at the moment.

  “Oh, honey, don’t tell her that. You’ll come out looking like a drag queen on her wedding day,” the lady under the dryer tells me, looking up from her magazine.

  “Gaylene! You were wrong for that. Besides, if you let Miss Paula do as she pleases, you’ll come out looking like RuPaul on the runway—that’s more like it,” the woman on the other side of me chimes in. They both cackle at their jokes.

  “Jennifer, you better quiet down or I’m going to let our fresh-out-of-beauty-school girl, Nadine, cut your hair,” Paula threatens.

  The women laugh some more but go back to reading their gossip magazines.

  “Okay, hot stuff,” she warns. “I’m about to transform you.”

  My stomach is tight with nerves—not only about a new hairdo, but because of the job ahead of me. I’ve never done undercover work, and I feel like Sommerhaul is just throwing me to the wolves. But I’m a tough girl. I take down assholes all the time. What are a few more?

  Getting into the act worries me. I’m nothing but truthful in every sense of the word. Having to blatantly lie, even if it is to drug dealers, sets my nerves on edge. What happens if I mess up or they can see straight through me?

  After hours of yanking, pulling, and watery eyes, Paula finally announces that I’m finished. She worked on my eyebrows and also applied some makeup. Normally, I am always fresh faced, but she said that I needed an edgier look.

  When she turns the chair to face the mirror, I gasp. I look fucking intimidating. My dark hair is braided against my head in five braids, which are tied at the base of my neck. Each eyebrow is thinner than I’m used to and my eyes are outlined in black. Dark, purple lipstick stains my lips and my cheeks have a slight pink shade to them. When I frown, I’m shocked to see that I look downright scary.

  “Shit, Paula,” I whisper in an almost whiny voice.

  She giggles as she pulls the smock from me. Both Jennifer and Gaylene are watching me with eyebrows nearly up to their hairlines. I can tell that they don’t like what she’s done to me, but they wisely don’t say a word.

  “You got this, girl,” she assures me, walking me to the door. “I know you won’t say what’s going on, because it has something to do with ‘official police business’, but I have faith in you, honey.”

  And in a move uncharacteristic for me, I hug her. She smells good, and it reminds me that I really do need to hook her up with Miguel. They’d be hot together—much hotter than he and I could ever be.

  Once I’ve pulled away from our embrace, I yank some money from my pocket and hand it to her. She smiles at me, but I don’t miss the worried look she tries to mask away. I can’t help but let some more anxiety seep into my bones. This is ridiculous. I’ve never once been scared on the job, and I sure as hell won’t start now. Surely I’m not getting soft these days. Fuck getting soft.

  “Ready?” Miguel asks. He’s leaning up against the wall in the hallway with his arms folded.

  I nod my head and pull on the backpack full of clothes and a few toiletries. I’ve just spent half an hour with Greta at the station picking through street clothes. She had a little too much fun dressing me to play the part. What is it with people treating me like I’m a freaking Barbie doll?

  “Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell him, stopping in front of where he’s standing.

  He frowns and drops his folded arms. “Come here,” he says gruffly.

  I allow myself to be gathered in his embrace and bite my lip to keep from crying. Even though the guys will be watching at all times, I hate the idea of going in alone. Miguel has always been by my side.

  His strong arms keep me locked in their grip, but the hug he gives me isn’t a sexual, needy one—it’s one of comfort. I snake my arms around his waist, relishing in the moment. When he starts rubbing my back, I sigh. Pretty soon, I feel his erection between us and I’m doused with a cold bucket of reality. Miguel and I will never be on the same page. Quickly, I pull myself from his grip and walk toward the parking garage.

  “Maya, wait!” he calls after me. I’m nearly to the door when he grasps my upper arm, stopping me. “I’m sorry. I need my best friend back, so I’ll keep my feelings in check,” he remarks sadly.

  I just nod and pull away from him, making haste to the car we borrowed from the police inventory. He hops in the driver’s seat and I take the passenger’s seat—just like always. We’re out of the garage in minutes, cruising down the street again before either of us speaks.

  “Be careful out there,” he grumbles.

  I absolutely hate the place we’re in right now. Last night was a huge fucking mistake. That’s the last time I let my hormones dictate my actions.

  “I always am,” I clip out.

  We pull up to an alleyway not far from where Jane Doe was found last night.

  “I’ll let you out here. I’m sure when you round that corner their scouts will be looking. Play it cool, Maya. Don’t fly off the handle and go batshit crazy like you have a tendency to do. Remember, we’re trying to get to the head honcho, not these small-time drug pushers. The drugs flowing through this city have always been a huge problem, and that’s because we’ve never been able to successfully locate the main source. I’ll be watching you even when you think I’m not,” he says.

  I look over at him one last time with my hand on the door handle. Miguel really is sexy as hell, but it would just be physical. I don’t feel the butterflies in my stomach like I should.

  “I’ll be careful. You know I will play my part well. Being a tough bitch is sort of my trademark. I will r
eport back when I can,” I assure him. We locked up my badge, gun, and ID at the station. It’s just me and the clothes on my back.

  I climb out of the car and begin walking down the alleyway when he calls after me.

  “Let’s get these fuckers!”

  With a wink and a smug grin, I remind him, “We always do.”

  “HEY, LADIES. YOU SELLING?” CJ flirtatiously asks the two teenagers standing at the corner.

  I told him before we reached them that they didn’t seem like good prospects, but he didn’t fucking listen. The girls’ eyes widen at first because CJ isn’t a bad-looking guy. I think they’re stunned that he’s actually talking to them. He stands well over six foot and has a pretty face. Women usually fall all over themselves for him.

  “What? No!” one of them shrieks.

  I roll my eyes and keep strolling past them. CJ chats for a couple more minutes, probably getting their fucking numbers, before catching back up to me.

  “Dead end,” he huffs after his short jog.

  No shit, Sherlock. I don’t reward him with a response as we keep walking.

  Some guys are hanging out on a porch a few houses ahead and get quiet as we approach. I know they’re probably going to try and intimidate us, but once they see who I am, they’ll back the fuck down.

  “You assholes lost?” one of the losers calls out to us.

  CJ flips him off as we approach.

  “Motherfucker wants to get his ass kicked,” another one of them growls out.

  Again, I ignore them until I reach the pathway leading to the porch.

  “Oh, looks like these douchebags want to play!” declares a third voice.

  There are at least five of them, but I’m not fucking scared. They should be. Once they figure out who I am, they will be. Yanking off my sunglasses, I glare at each one of them, taking my time before moving on to the next one.

  “Shit! Ah, man, we didn’t realize it was you, Pac. You’re never up on this side of the hood. We didn’t mean anything, sir.” Finally, some fucking respect.

  Deciding to get straight to business, I finally speak to them. “Any potential recruits around here? I’m looking for chicks.”

  One of them laughs. “Some shitheads were snooping around here earlier looking for a job, but we told them we were having an economic furlough.” Furlough isn’t a word these idiots use around here in everyday language. This kid is a college student.

  I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Wayne State?”

  Embarrassment floods his features, and his eyes flicker around nervously. All I get is a half nod.

  “Don’t be fucking ashamed, my man. We need good businessmen. That degree will get you moved up our ranks real quick,” I praise.

  His buddy grins and punches him in the arm. Finally, the embarrassed kid smiles with pride.

  “We saw some chicks down on Mack Avenue working the corner,” another guy provides.

  CJ chimes in for me, “Nah, man. We’re looking for recruits—female recruits, not fucking hookers.”

  They all just shrug their shoulders, so CJ and I keep walking. We’ve gone a few more blocks when a woman pops out of an alleyway. Her demeanor is nervous until she turns and sees us. Almost immediately, she goes from walking like a lady to sauntering like a thug. Interesting. She starts moving our way with a purpose she is trying to keep hidden by looking over at the houses as she strolls along.

  “This one,” I tell CJ lowly.

  He nods as we make our way to her. I can see her fidgeting, but then she visibly calms herself. This chick is definitely new to the neighborhood. I wonder what her story is.

  “Lost, baby girl?” I call out to her when she’s no farther than a house-length away from us.

  Her head whips over to where we are and her innocent features morph into a hard look. “I’m not your baby girl, and I’m not lost,” she snaps and keeps marching along undeterred.

  As we get closer to her, I’m struck by her beauty. Girls from these parts don’t look this good. This woman looks better than good. She looks fucking perfect. Her baggy T-shirt does little to hide the swells of her perky tits, and I feel my cock tighten from the thought of seeing them.

  “Then where are you off to in such a hurry, baby girl?” I growl at her.

  Instead of answering me, she continues to storm past me—that is until I grab ahold of her arm and stop her. She’s not getting off that easy.

  She whirls around to face me, still in the clutches of my grasp, and I’m taken aback by the fire in her light-brown eyes. She looks as if she’s holding back from going off on me by a very thin thread. It almost seems like she’s ready to kick my ass, and dammit if that doesn’t fucking turn me on as well.

  “Let me go, asshole,” she spits out at me.

  My eyes drop from her fiery eyes down to her plump, pouty lips. They’re painted an ugly fucking color, and I want to suck on them until they are their natural pink hue.

  “I’ll let you go when you tell me where you’re going,” I laugh. I don’t know what the fuck’s come over me, but I don’t want her out of my sight.

  She glares at me furiously. “None of your business,” she seethes.

  I drop the smile and narrow my gaze at her. Everything in this town is my fucking business. Including her.

  “See, doll, that’s where you’re mistaken. This is my territory, and you’re traipsing through it like you’re fucking Princess of the Ghetto. Now I will ask one more time. Where. The. Fuck. Are. You. Going?” I’m starting to get pissed. If this is one of Blaze’s bitches, I’ll find out.

  Panic crosses her features, but she quickly swallows it down. “I’m looking for a job. My parents kicked me out. Now if you’ll leave me the fuck alone, I can get on my way.”

  “Ah, shit,” CJ mumbles from beside me. I can’t decide whether he’s admiring her balls or fearing for her safety at this point. Lucky for the both of them, I find her fucking cute.

  Tightening my grip on her arm, I pull her close to me, and her breath hitches. Momentarily, I wonder if she finds me attractive. The thought is ludicrous. All bitches think I’m hot as fuck. I’m a Tupac lookalike—hence the nickname Pac. I even had “Thug Life” tattooed across my abdomen just like him. Dipping my head down to her ear, I hear her whimper. I’m not sure if it’s in fear or something else. Either way, my cock twitches delightfully.

  “The name’s Pac. I’ll give you a job,” I breathe into her ear. Our chests are nearly touching, and every time she breathes, I can feel her tits graze my chest.

  “What kind of job? I’m no whore,” she says matter-of-factly.

  I relax my grip on her arm and gently rub her bicep with my thumb. “Nobody’s asking for sex, baby girl. Well, at least not yet,” I whisper, blowing hot breath into her ear.

  My words must be getting to her at this point, because she sways and her hand automatically grabs my waist to steady herself. The action causes my dick to go rock hard. Her small hand is surprisingly strong, and I want it gripping my length, not my fucking hip. Shit, I need this girl on my dick like yesterday.

  Using the line Oculus taught me long ago, I tell her, “We’re looking for salesmen. Or in your case, saleswomen. The pay is good. The company is better.”

  Her hand is still on my hip, which makes me smile. She clears her throat and starts to pull away, but I tighten my grip to keep her from going anywhere. Since she can’t escape me, she turns her head so that her nose drags across mine. Now I have a full-on, raging hard-on that gets impossibly harder when her tongue darts out to lick her lips.

  “What do you sell?” she asks innocently, but the light in her eyes tells me that she knows what I’m going to say before it comes out of my mouth. Her breath smells like cinnamon gum, and I want to taste her.

  “Are you a cop?”

  Her brown eyes widen in shock. “What? No…I, uh…” she stammers. Her lips poke out in a sexy little pout, and it takes everything in me not to pull her to me and kiss the hell out of her.

  “I
’m kidding. Come with me. I’ll personally show you the ropes. You’ll make good money, and if you need a place to stay, we can hook you up with that as well.”

  Apparently at a loss for words, she just nods. Reluctantly, I pull away from her, and she briefly closes her eyes at the loss. I’m glad to know that she’s just as fucking affected as I am.

  It’s now that I am at a distance from her that I can fully appreciate her body. She’s wearing a nice pair of jeans—probably Lucky or Abercrombie from the looks of them. Something about her outfit screams ‘not from around here.’

  Not ready to part from her, I grab ahold of her hand, causing her to gasp out in surprise.

  “This way,” I grumble. I’m going to figure out her story and soon. “Why’d they kick you out? Your parents,” I clarify.

  Her hand goes clammy in mine, and I can tell that she doesn’t want to answer me as we walk down the sidewalk, CJ wisely following quietly behind. This is why CJ is a good sidekick. He usually knows when to behave.

  “Drugs. I was doing drugs and they hated it. Just kicked me out,” she tells me none too convincingly. Clearly there is another reason that she doesn’t want to tell me about.

  “I know you’re lying to me, but I’ll let it slide this time. Don’t lie, baby girl,” I admonish.

  “Okay.”

  She tries to appear unaffected but she looks nervous as fuck.

  We walk on a few more blocks in silence before she speaks up again.

  “Pac?”

  In this moment, I want to tell her my name. My real name. The name none of these other motherfuckers even know—not even Oculus. He just called me “son” until I came into the nickname of Pac. Instead of doing something so stupid with someone I’ve only met moments ago, I refrain.

  “Yes?”

  “Where are we going?”

  I chuckle and squeeze her hand. “Boot camp, baby girl. I’m about to teach you things. Lots of things. You’ll be all mine during training. When I finish with you, you’ll be exactly what I want—what I need.”

  She’s quiet, but I hope she caught the double entendre because I’ve already claimed this woman whether she likes it or not.