As they drove, he’d say little gems like, “You need to be proactive. You need to think.” Or, “You need to be squared away. But in this community you have to be approachable. Everyone will know you and you’ll know them. If you fuck up, everyone will know it within the hour.” Leah would just nod her head enough times to let him know she was listening.
Then on their way back to station, Marc murmured, “Well, well, well. Look who showed his face in town.”
The corporal pulled behind an old Chevy Caprice that was two-toned rust and black primer. The vehicle had no rear license plate, which was required in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. It gave them probable cause to pull the vehicle over and cite the driver.
“This will be your first traffic citation. Let’s see what they taught you in the academy and how to handle drivers like this.”
He hit his lights as the old vehicle turned a corner, no turn signal used. Leah mentally added that plus a broken taillight to her list of violations.
At first the driver appeared unwilling to pull over, but halfway down the block, jerked the car to the curb and, if the quick flash of the reverse lights were any indication, finally put it in park.
Drivers like this. The corporal knew something about this particular driver and wasn’t going to enlighten her. Okay. He was testing her. She was going to make sure she passed with flying colors.
She observed the driver for a few moments to see if he made any suspicious moves or reached for anything, but he didn’t. She reached into the back seat and dug her metal pinch pad, which was stuffed with a new pack of citations still wrapped in cellophane, out of her patrol bag. As she straightened back into the seat, she noticed a glimmer in Marc’s eyes.
“You won’t be needing that just yet. Leave it in here.”
And that gave her all the confidence in the world. She expected him to get out and back her up. But he didn’t. When she glanced back at the patrol car, he just gave her a thumbs up and a smile.
Great. What was he getting her into already on her first day?
As she approached the rear of the Caprice, she pressed her thumb against the trunk of the sedan and kept her body close to the vehicle as she approached the driver’s side window. Which happened to still be rolled up tight.
Standing slightly to the rear of the driver, she asked, “Roll down your window, Sir.”
The driver, a white male, in his mid-forties she guessed, remained facing forward, his hands on the steering wheel.
She repeated herself, this time more firmly. “Roll down your window, Sir.”
Nothing. Not even a blink.
Maybe he was deaf? She rapped on the window with her knuckle and he responded with the middle finger, still not looking at her.
Well, all righty then! She peeked into the backseat to make sure it was clear. And there was no one in the passenger seat. But that didn’t mean Mr. Personable didn’t have a weapon. Her shoulders tensed.
Though doubting the man would cooperate, she went through the motions, knowing she was being observed carefully. “License and registration, please.” She widened her stance and unsnapped her holster, placing her right hand on the butt of her Glock when he reached for something on the dashboard. And then he pushed what looked like a laminated business card against the dirty glass.
The type was small, but she could make out a few words like sovereign citizen, rights, and laws. She was clueless on what to do except pull him out of the car to make him comply. She wanted advice from her coach, but she refused to turn and give him a pleading look. That’s what he wanted, her to ask for help.
But she didn’t need to ask. She heard the slam of the black-and-white’s car door and he stepped up to the passenger side of the old Chevy.
He looked over the roof at her. “Nice job with the print. Though on this rust bucket, touching the taillight would have been better.”
The academy had drilled into her head that you always touched the trunk or taillight of a car you were stopping. No matter what. Most drivers never even realized police did it, but it was done for officer safety. Evidence that the cop came in contact with the vehicle. Just in case the stop went bad.
Marc tapped the end of his Maglite on the roof, attempting to get the occupant’s attention. “Bruce, roll down your damn window.”
Bruce turned his head slightly toward Marc, who didn’t feel the need to have his hand on his weapon. Leah breathed a little easier.
“Bruce…” the corporal said low and with clear warning.
The driver finally powered down the passenger window. “Fuck you, pig.”
“Now, Bruce, you know my name isn’t pig. I have a perfectly good name my mother gave me.”
“I don’t give a shit. You have no right to stop me.”
“Well, you seem to be missing your registration plate and your car hasn’t been inspected since 2004. That’s a little problematic.”
“Maybe for all you conformists. But I am a sovereign citizen and I don’t follow the same laws as the rest of you sheep.”
“I thought I was a pig, now I’m a sheep.” Marc shook his head, chuckling. “You got a thing for farm animals, Bruce?”
Bruce zipped his lips shut.
“Bruce, I know we’ve discussed this before. But in PA there’s a thick book called Title 75, which includes all of the vehicle codes. You’re breaking a few of them right now. Now, we could arrest you and tow your vehicle—”
Without acknowledgement, Bruce rolled up the passenger window, cutting Marc off. “But you already know that, don’t you? But how about you head out of town and back up to the mountain and we’ll let you go with—” Bruce put the car in drive and drove away with a squeal of the tires. “A warning.”
Luckily, Leah had stepped back as soon as Bruce put the car in drive. She still had all of her toes.
“I guess we’ll make that a verbal warning. You okay?”
Leah turned from watching the Chevy disappear around the next corner to look at her coach. “Yeah.”
He gave her a wide grin. “We’ve got some of them out in the woods and through the mountainside. They usually keep to themselves. When you’re out in the boonies, you have to expect some militia, white supremacists, meth labs, and just plain loonies.”
He turned and headed back to the patrol car. She followed behind, frowning. She didn’t even get to break the plastic on her new pack of citations.
When she climbed back in the car, he told her, “He’s a self-proclaimed Sovereign citizen. Feels he doesn’t need to follow any laws. No driver’s license, no registration, no insurance. We could pinch him and mail him a copy, but he won’t pay it. He’s never paid the ones we’ve written in the past. I’m sure the district justice has a few bench warrants on him, but no one wants to do anything about it. Without ID, I can’t search in the system for any and I doubt he even has a social security number. It isn’t even worth the time or effort as long as they head back out of town as soon as you make contact with them.”
She climbed into the cruiser and moved the unneeded pinch pad out of her way. As she tucked it back into her patrol bag, she asked, “Why is the department still handwriting pinches? Why haven’t you switched over to the electronic citation system?”
“Is that how they trained you at the academy? If so, it’s changed since I went through. Our department is small, as is our citizen base. We don’t have the budget for an electronic system since we don’t write a lot of traffic tickets.”
“Maybe if everyone writes more, the department could afford the system.”
He shot a surprised look at her. “You want to create the first riot ever in Manning Grove? We’re not going to nit-pick our citizens. Max—the chief—wants to run a community-based department. We want the community to be our partners, not the enemy. Verbal or written warnings work just fine for most incidents.”
Maybe she would talk to the chief about a new system. She’d make sure she did her research first, though. And would definitely wait until after her
field training was over. No doubt.
It wasn’t long before they were pulling into the station’s lot again. Leah had officially survived her first day as a cop. She sighed in relief. Only fifty-nine days to go.
“Go get changed and get a good night’s sleep. Our shift is three to eleven tomorrow. Then a double back. You need to get used to working all three shifts. We have regular midnighters, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get stuck on a series of middies. We all fill in when they’re out for whatever reason, like on vacation.”
Since he had to gas up the car, he dropped her off at the station’s back door.
She thanked him, though the sentiment lacked any obvious enthusiasm. As she approached the building, he stopped her.
“Grant!”
She turned.
His light blue eyes burned into her. “I’m not going to do you any favors by being easy on you.”
She nodded. “Treat me as you would a new male officer.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
Without a doubt. She expected nothing else from him.
Chapter 4
“Field training is an extremely important part of law enforcement training. Why, you ask? Well, it helps you learn the practical facets of policing and community service and it will also help you assimilate into our particular department.”
Holy crap. The corporal had been going on and on about the training program and sounded like he was reading from index cards. He must have spent all day reading the ins and outs of field training so he could vomit all the information back up to her. Maybe he was trying to impress her with his knowledge?
Leah fought back a yawn. It wouldn’t be good on only day two of her training to appear bored by her FTO. But, oh, did he need some Imodium for his diarrhea of the mouth.
“And as your coach, I need to evaluate you on a daily basis. There are twenty categories I’ll be grading you on. Anywhere from your appearance to how you handle yourself at an incident, on your driving technique—”
If he ever allowed her to drive.
“To your range skills and your knowledge of Title 75 and the Crimes Code.”
Their shift had started at three. And—she peeked at her watch—it now was three-thirty. He’d been blah-blahing for almost a half hour. She wanted to poke herself in the eye with a sharp pencil.
“So that being said, I will be monitoring you constantly. Your every move.”
She made sure that she faced him so it seemed she hung on his every word. The astute student. Even though she’d already heard and read about everything he was saying when it came to field training. She couldn’t help but let her gaze drift over his body instead. Unlike hers, his bullet-proof vest fit him well, and just made his broad chest look wider. His tattooed bicep muscles flexed with every little movement he made when he talked...and talked. One of his large hands was propped on the steering wheel. The other had an incident notebook gripped within his long fingers.
She shifted in her seat when she wondered how skilled he could be with those digits.
His speech droned on and on and she couldn’t help but imagine his deep, silky voice in her ear as he was suspended above her, thrusting—
Her body jerked back to reality. What the hell was she thinking? She’s known the guy for one day, and he was her coach. He could make or break her probation period and, if not careful, she could quickly find herself out on her ass. Sans job and a place to live.
But she couldn’t resist watching the corded muscle in his neck move as he lectured and she admired his deeply-tanned skin. He probably spent a lot of time outdoors.
“Are you staring at me?”
Ugh. She was so busted. She lifted her gaze to his. The crystal blue of his eyes always caught her off guard. Heat rose from her throat into her face.
“No, I was enthralled by the hair coming out of your ear. You must be older than I thought.”
He sat back in surprise for a moment before closing his gaped mouth and opening his notebook. He took a pen out of his front shirt pocket and scribbled something.
She wouldn’t be surprised if he had “gigged” her.
And as soon as he spoke, she realized that was exactly what he’d done.
“I’m trying out a new system for your evaluation. Yesterday was a freebie, by the way. But now it officially begins. Every shift you’ll start out with the maximum points and when you mess up”—She noted he didn’t say if—“you will be docked points.”
Great. For every minor infraction she’d be gigged. Like during the academy, but there the infractions were paid with pushups. And lots of them. She had hoped she had never heard the term gig again in her life. But no, riding along with the corporal would be just like an extension of the academy. Though, admittedly, none of the academy instructors had looked quite as good as him. So, there was that.
She raised her hand. “Question, Marc.”
His eye twitched when she said his name. He probably regretted telling her to do so. Leah made a mental note to always call him Marc instead of Corp.
“Yes, Grant?”
“I thought I’d get two different FTOs, one for each thirty days.”
“In a larger department you would, but we’re not big enough to have that luxury. Afraid you’re stuck with me for the next two months?”
And how did she answer that one? She didn’t. It was better to ignore it. The last thing she wanted was for him to lick the tip of his pen before jotting in his notebook. She fought back a chuckle at the image.
“I’m sure you’ll do a few ride-alongs with the chief, and the others. Don’t worry.”
Now what did she have to worry about?
Marc sat across from the rookie in a booth at Dino’s Diner. The evening had been slow, giving them plenty of time to have a meal if the shift remained quiet. He placed the portable radio on the table in between them and turned the volume down so it wouldn’t disturb the other diners. He wanted to remove his duty belt and tuck it on the seat next to him so he’d be more comfortable, but he wanted to be a good mentor, so he’d suffer through eating while he wore it.
But if it had been him and the other guys, they all would have been ditching the heavy, glorified tool belt.
He made sure to put the evaluation notebook on the table next to the radio. Just to remind her he was watching her every move.
Fuck yes, he was. Even with the oversized vest distorting her torso and the bulky duty belt riding her slim, but curvy hips, Leah Grant was graceful and sexy as all get-out. He couldn’t wait to see her out of uniform and in civvies to see how big her breasts were. Naked would work too. And he was dying to take down her hair to see how long the silky strands were.
I’m her supervisor. I’m her supervisor. I’m her supervisor, he reminded himself. And his older brother would be really pissed if anything inappropriate occurred between them.
But damn, he couldn’t help appreciate the natural beauty in front of him. If she wore makeup, he couldn’t tell. Between that perfectly ivory skin, her dark brown hair, and those warm hazel eyes, she fascinated him.
And she had a brain. She was smart. In contrast to him being just a smart ass. But her intelligence was a huge attraction for him.
He broke his gaze to stare at his water. He ran a finger down the sweating glass, catching the cool beads on his index finger. Besides ordering, they’d hardly said two words to each other since sitting down. Maybe he should go over some technical stuff. Or quiz her on crime codes.
Nah. Fuck it. He really just wanted to stare at her for hours.
The waitress bringing him a cup of Italian Wedding soup and Leah a small side salad broke the silence.
“Thanks, Pam.”
The waitress nodded. “You got it, sweetie. Your meals will be up soon.” she said, before disappearing.
They both reached for the pepper at the same time, their fingers brushing. A shock ran through Marc, but he didn’t pull away. Instead he gripped his fingers around hers before she pulled her hand back.
He held the pepper out to her. “Here, you first.” He wanted to say ladies first, but he should treat her like any other male cop in the department. Though, if he actually did that, he wouldn’t have offered the pepper to her at all. It was everyone for themselves when it came to grubbing down during break.
Still, he couldn’t help notice her long, slender fingers when she took the pepper shaker from his. Her short, but rounded neatly nails weren’t painted. He had a flash of those fingers wrapping tightly around his cock and squeezing. Then he slapped himself mentally. And then once again for good measure.
This was only day two and he needed to cut off any lecherous thoughts he had of her. It was not only unprofessional, but worse, they would drive him mad.
Instead of handing the shaker back to him, she put it on the Formica top and slid it to his side of the table. He peppered his soup generously before taste testing it. Mmm. Just right.
If he was here with the guys, he’d pick up the cup and just drink it down. But he wasn’t. And they weren’t. So he didn’t. He impatiently used the soup spoon so he didn’t look like a cave man. Or a gorilla, as Teddy would say.
As he watched her pick at the limp Iceberg lettuce and push the sliced onions to the side of the plate, he couldn’t stand the silence any longer.
“So…where are you from?”
Her gaze popped up to his and she pushed the hardly-touched salad to the end of the table. She spun the fork on the table absently. “Philly area.”
“You’re an Eagles fan?”
She looked up, surprised. “Definitely. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He pulled out his pen, opened his notebook, and scribbled deliberately. Let her think he’d just docked her a point. “Uh, because they have no rings and maybe never will. Around here if you ain’t a Steelers fan, you ain’t shit.” And as a Pittsburgh fan, he had a mandatory obligation to trash talk their Pennsylvania rivals.
“Hold on. I get a gig for being a Philadelphia fan?”
Brothers in Blue: Marc Page 3
