Courting the Cop

by Coleen Kwan

  Brody picked up a packet of gum and slipped into the checkout line behind Katherine O’Brien, who was busy paying for her groceries.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. O’Brien,” he called out in a casual tone.

  The elderly lady glanced nervously over her shoulder at him. “Hello, er…”

  “It’s Brody,” he said. “From the yarn store, remember?”

  “Oh, yes, of course I remember.” Her faded blue eyes darted past him, as if she feared someone else was following her. He could have told her not to worry. He’d been tailing her ever since she left her house an hour ago, and he hadn’t spotted anyone after her except himself. More than a week had passed since he’d begun his stakeout, and he had nothing to show for it except a strengthening gut instinct. Today, he’d decided it was time to try something different.

  Katherine fumbled in her purse for the dollar bills to pay the cashier. Her winter coat was threadbare, her shoes were worn thin, and her groceries were all cheap home brands. She’d had a difficult life, and old age was no fun for her. Well, how could it be when the only family she had left was a scumbag son like Michael O’Brien?

  “You help Abigail at her Knit and Natter sessions, don’t you?” Katherine said as she waited for her change. “Shouldn’t you be there now?”

  Yes, he should, since it was Tuesday and ten thirty. But it wasn’t much good being at the Knit and Natter if Katherine wasn’t there. He’d been at his observation post in Abigail’s apartment when he’d spotted Katherine leaving her home an hour ago. As he’d tailed Katherine to the post office, the Goodwill store and the grocery store, he’d texted Abigail to tell her he probably wouldn’t make it that day. He hadn’t got a reply. Maybe she was fed up with him. She’d been sort of cool with him on Sunday when he’d caught her with that neighbor of hers. Carlo. Carlo, with the overdeveloped deltoids and macho grin. Carlo-Shmarlo.

  “I’m having a day off,” he said to Katherine, bringing his mind back to business. He nodded at the bags of groceries waiting for her to pick up. “That’s a big load. Want some help with them?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t…” But her voice wavered, and he noticed how matchstick-thin her legs were.

  “It’s no trouble at all.” Even if he wasn’t tailing her he couldn’t let a frail woman like her carry those heavy bags. He quickly handed money to the cashier for his packet of gum before moving toward Katherine’s groceries. “Abigail would chew my ear off if I let you struggle home with all that.” Without waiting for permission, he hefted up the bags in two arms and blandished her with a guileless smile. “Where do you live?” Lucky he’d thought to ask that; he didn’t want to arouse her suspicion.

  “Just around the corner from Abigail’s store.” She smiled uncertainly at him. “It’s very kind of you.”

  “No problem at all.”

  She wouldn’t be so grateful if she knew he only wanted an excuse to get into her home and have a snoop around for any sign of her no-good son. He tamped down the twinge of guilt. He wasn’t duping her. He was doing his job, trying to get a wanted criminal off the streets. If Katherine were as blameless as she made out to be, she’d want her son in custody too, if only to make her own life easier.

  He walked with her out the store and down several blocks. The weather had turned nasty overnight, and a bitter north wind blew through the streets, sweeping dead leaves and garbage into the gutters. Main Street looked grim and hunkered down, a piece of hoarding from a boarded-up storefront flapping loose in the wind. Brody made a mental note to get the local patrol officers to check out the store. An empty building was a magnet for troublemakers, so the quicker the store was secured, the better.

  Fifteen minutes later, they turned into Hillcrest Road and reached Number Three. Katherine opened the front door and ushered him in. Anticipation quickened in Brody as he wiped his feet and stepped into the house. He found himself in a narrow hallway with a living room opening off one side and a dining room on the other. Further down, he made out a kitchen and other rooms, probably the bedrooms. Katherine’s house was modest and tidy, as he’d expected. The carpet in the living room was thin and faded, the sofas and armchairs worn at the armrests, the wallpaper starting to peel at the corners.

  His attention zeroed in on the display cabinet near the TV where a few photos of people were clustered. Family photos, probably. Was Michael in them? He didn’t have a chance to squint at the photos as Katherine was beckoning him down the hallway.

  He followed her into the rear kitchen and deposited the bags on the table.

  “Thank you so much.” The wind had whipped a trace of color into Katherine’s wrinkled cheeks.

  “It’s no problem. If you need help another time, just stop by the yarn store. I’m around on Tuesdays and Thursdays, or you can leave a message with Abigail.”

  “Thank you.” She eyed him tentatively, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with him. “Would—would you like to stay for a cup of coffee?”

  Ah, here was the break he needed. Seemed him carrying her groceries was enough to overcome her natural caution. “I’d love that.” He beamed disarmingly at her. “Makes a change having someone make coffee for me.”

  She nodded, a little flustered, and poked at the bags lying on the table. “I’ll just put the coffee maker on and clear these groceries away.”

  “Mind if I wash up?” Brody asked. “My hands are a bit grubby.”

  “Of course. The bathroom’s a couple doors down the hallway.”

  Brody loped out the kitchen and moved quietly to the living room. Keeping an ear out for Katherine, he scanned the family photos and quickly recognized an old picture of Michael. The teenager in the photo was thinner, his hair thicker, but the ugly eyes and cocky expression were the same. Those eyes had stared straight at Brody as the bullet whizzed past his ear. Michael had shot at him and Dave Campese that night without a second thought. The only reason he wasn’t a cop killer was because of his lousy aim.

  Grimacing, Brody retreated from the living room and slipped into the bathroom. As he washed his hands, he contemplated what he’d discovered. Katherine kept a photo of her son. That spoke volumes. That said she still had a soft spot for him, that she’d help him, even if it meant getting into trouble herself. She was a misguided fool.

  He marched back into the kitchen, telling himself to stifle his personal feelings. He had a job to do here. Katherine waved him to the small table and set a mug of coffee in front of him.

  “Here, try one of these.” She pushed a plate of cookies toward him as she sat down opposite him.

  “Homemade.” He nodded as he bit into a cookie. “These are great.”

  Katherine blushed and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I enjoy baking.”

  “I’ll bet your grandkids love your cookies.”

  The smile faded from her lips. “I-I don’t have any grandchildren.” Lifting her mug, she hid her face from him for a moment.

  “Sorry. I just assumed you had children.” He kept his eyes trained on her, watching for anything.

  She gulped deeply. “No, I…I don’t.” Her hand lying on the table trembled slightly. “I mean, I have a son, but he and I are…estranged.” The words came out painfully.

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  She lifted tired, beaten eyes to him. “Are you close to your mother, Brody?”

  It took him a moment to get over his surprise before he answered, “Yeah, I am.”

  “That’s good,” she replied absentmindedly, one bony finger pushing a few crumbs together on the table. “I tried my best with my son, but somewhere along the line I must have gone wrong.” She let out a tiny sigh. “However, he is my son, and I can’t abandon him, even if he frightens me sometimes…”

  Brody glanced up. “He frightens you?” She’d spoken in the current tense, as if Michael had recently frightened her. Which meant…

  “Oh, I’m probab
ly exaggerating.” Katherine backpedaled, looking nervous again. “I mean, I’ve given him all the money I have already. He can’t ask for more than that.”

  So Michael had come to his mother demanding money. Probably to help cover the money he’d stolen from Fat Eddie. And she’d been scared into giving him whatever she had. Dammit, what a piece of shit. Why the hell hadn’t she told this to the police? If she had, they might have caught her no-good son by now. But of course, he was forgetting—she was a loyal mother, and she wasn’t going to sell her son to the cops, no matter what.

  “If your son’s been threatening you to give him money, you should go to the police,” Brody said.

  Katherine’s mug clattered as she almost dropped it. “I can’t have the police involved.” Her face was white as tears gathered in her eyes. “I don’t want to get him into trouble. He’s not a bad person.”

  Yeah, right. How could she be so blind? But Katherine’s misguided loyalty might work in his favor. If Michael had been such a scumbag to her, and she was still willing to shield him, then maybe he’d come back to her when he’d run out of options. If Brody just hung around long enough, he was confident he’d finally catch his man.

  “I’m sure he’s not, Mrs. O’Brien,” he lied through his teeth. “He’s lucky to have you for a mother.” He drained his mug and got to his feet. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be on my way now.”

  Katherine saw him to the door, her expression subdued and worried. He stepped out of Number Three and went directly to the yarn store. As he entered, the doorbell jingled through the empty shop.

  “Abigail?” he called out as he moved toward the back room.

  The macramé curtain parted as Abigail stepped into the main store. As soon as she saw him, she stopped, the welcoming smile disappearing from her face.

  “Oh. It’s you.” Her nose went up in the air. That was because he hadn’t shown up. Was she pissed off because she’d missed him? He tucked that bit of information to the back of his brain for later.

  “Sorry I couldn’t make it to the Knit and Natter, but something came up.” He moved toward her, satisfaction bubbling up as he relived the past hour. “I carried Mrs. O’Brien’s groceries home for her and she invited me in for coffee.”

  The frown disappeared from Abigail’s forehead. “Oh? What did you find out?”

  “A lot. Michael’s already been in touch with her. He did a shakedown on her, the dirtbag.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened. “A shakedown? Was she hurt?”

  “No, he wasn’t physically violent with her, though she’s nervous of him now. The thing is, she’s still loyal to him, won’t go to the police about him. He needs a lot of money to get out of trouble, more money than she has.”

  “So, if he’s already taken all the money she has, there’s no reason for him to return, is there?” Her mouth drooped a little. “That means you don’t need to continue with this stakeout.”

  Was it his imagination or did she seem disappointed at the prospect of not having him around on a regular basis? Or was that just wishful thinking on his part?

  “No, it means that Michael knows he can count on her, and when he runs out of options he’ll have to go back to her. I’m certain he’ll come back, if I’m patient enough.”

  “Right.”

  He closed the distance between them in two strides and wrapped his arm around her waist. “You didn’t think you’re getting rid of me that quickly, did you?”

  Her body was taut in his arm, quivering like a drawn bow. “Well, I need a more dependable barista, you know.”

  The feel of her supple waist set his imagination on fire. “I’ll admit I’m not the most dependable barista around. How can I make it up to you?” He lowered his gaze to her mouth, making it clear how he wanted to make it up to her.

  Her tongue darted out and swept over her lower lip, leaving it moist and more enticing than ever. Dammit, she knew exactly how to punish him. His arm was snug around her waist, and she seemed in no hurry to get it off her. He liked holding her this way, liked how her sleek body molded to his like a glove. She was wearing the deep-blue sweater that went so well with her eyes, the soft fabric all that stood between his fingers and the smooth skin of her waist.

  “I should make you clean up some graffiti in the back alley,” she murmured, her voice not quite steady.

  He narrowed his eyes at her as he recalled last Sunday. “So what’s the deal with you and that muscleman?”

  “You mean Carlo?”

  “You two seemed pretty pally together. Is he an old boyfriend of yours?”

  Abigail spluttered with laughter. “If you mean exchanging a few sloppy kisses in junior high, then yes, I suppose he was, but that was just a phase. We’ve been friends for ages.” She slanted a cryptic look at him from beneath her eyelashes. “I’m friends with Gina too, you know.”

  “Yeah, I noticed she shares your fifties fetish.”

  “You two seemed to get on like a house on fire.”

  At the pouty note in her voice, he clinched his arm more firmly around her. “She’s not the one setting my house on fire.” He moved his fingers in small circles at her waist, sliding the woolen fabric about as he leaned in closer.

  The overhead light caught the flash of gratification in her eyes. “But she looked amazing in that wiggle skirt of hers.” Her voice hitched, and he knew she was attuned to the movement of his fingers.

  “Wiggle skirt? Is that what you call it?”

  “It’s a kind of obvious name, don’t you think? Once you see someone walk in one.”

  Lowering his head, he brushed his lips tantalizingly over her cheek. The buttery smoothness of her skin sent tingles rushing through his bloodstream.

  “Would you wear one for me?” Need hoarsened his voice as he whispered in her ear. “Would you wiggle around for me, Abigail?”

  He couldn’t stop himself any longer, not with her body arched into his and her scent crowding out his brain. Dipping down, he caught her mouth with his, groaning with satisfaction as he finally got to kiss her. He heard her stifled gasp, and her arms came around his neck as she pulled him in and returned his kiss, her lips eager and sweet. His hand tightened on her waist while the other moved over her shoulder, tugging at the sweater so he could angle his head into the delicious curve at the base of her throat. God, he was crazy over the tender little nooks of her body, the mysterious secrets hiding in her dips and curves. He wanted so badly to strip her clothes off and explore each and every one of them, and he was sure even if he had all the time in the world he’d never grow tired of them.

  Lust roiled in him as he walked her backward until they hit the store counter. He swept aside a few balls of yarn before hitching her up onto the wooden surface. Her legs parted automatically as he stepped up to her, her arms tightening around his neck. Oh yeah, he liked this position a lot. Their faces were almost level as he proceeded to rain kisses over her mouth and cheeks, his hands busy with her sweater.

  Lifting the hem, he slipped his hands underneath, and his body hummed as he encountered the tight smoothness of her torso. Her fingers roved through his hair, pushing up the strands as she kissed him back, her tongue flitting with hers, teasing and moist. Excitement thrummed through him as he glided his hands up her ribcage and met the lower edges of her bra. Lace beneath his fingers, and soft, warm mounds, smooth cleavage, and a frantic heartbeat, making him slightly dizzy. He slipped his fingers slowly over her bra-covered breasts, relishing them and the little puffs of excitement she gasped into his mouth. Nipples hardened…along with his cock… This was getting out of control, and he never wanted it to stop.

  The doorbell jingled, and it was like a bomb going off, exploding in the quiet store. Abigail squeaked and shoved him away. He staggered back, arms spinning like a whirligig, senses scattering. Abigail leaped off the counter like she’d been sitting on a furnace. Her cheeks we
re flushed, her lips were wet, and her eyes were shining. Jeez, she looked so hot… For a moment he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

  “Sophia!” Abigail piped, tugging furiously at her blue sweater. “What—what a surprise.”

  “Heh-heh. Yes, I’m sure,” the old lady chuckled, her gaze zigzagging between Abigail and Brody. Today she wore a pink headband to go with her neon-purple running shoes. “I just came back to pick up the knitting bag I forgot earlier.”

  Brody shuffled behind the counter, keen to hide the state of his groin from Sophia’s all-seeing eyes. He must look as mussed up as Abigail, he thought.

  Abigail dashed across the store and snatched up a tapestry bag from the table. “Here you are,” she puffed as she handed it to Sophia.

  “Thanks, darlin’.” She nodded at Abigail and then Brody. “Sorry I interrupted your little conversation. Carry on as you were.” She ambled out the store, her running shoes squeaking.

  Brody shoved his fingers through his already messy hair. “Christ, she winked at me as she left.”

  Abigail twisted her fingers through her own tangled hair. She was standing much too far away. His heart revved as he closed the distance.

  “Right, where were we?”

  He reached for her, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Uh, we should stop. Sophia is still outside spying on us.”

  Brody glanced at the window where a small, round figure peered in, her wiry red hair unmistakable. Damn that secret ninja granny.

  “We can pick up where we left off tonight,” he said. “See you at your place around seven?”

  “You’re pretty cocky, aren’t you?”

  He grinned. “I prefer large, but he doesn’t mind being called pretty.”