Brothers in Blue: Marc

by Jeanne St. James

  “Yes, and you’ll get one every day for just that reason until you come to your senses.”

  Suddenly, she threw her head back and laughed with abandon, apparently not caring that the rest of the diners’ heads were spinning in her direction. Marc blinked, mesmerized by her throaty laugh. He didn’t want her laughter to end, even if it was drawing attention. It stoked something deep inside him.

  She laughed so hard, tears rolled down her cheeks. Finally, with a hiccup, she calmed herself and gave him a big smile. She appeared as if she was going to say something smart to him, but decided otherwise. Her gaze flicked toward the notebook and she took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

  Marc didn’t know what to say, but luckily, Pam the waitress plunked their entrees in front of them. He looked down at his Reuben sandwich. He was still hungry as hell, but not for the food on his plate.

  He was so fucked.

  * * *

  The chicken croquettes she had ordered were godawful and she could only eat half of them before giving up and pushing her plate away. Instead, she watched him from beneath hooded eyes lick at the Thousand Island dressing that dribbled down his fingers. Every time he took a bite of his Reuben and the salad dressing and coleslaw juice dripped down his digits. And out came his tongue to lap it away.

  Heat pooled between her legs and before she could stop herself, she squirmed. Which in turn caused things to tighten in her lower body when she accidentally brushed her leg against his. He jerked away and so did she. But all that drama occurred under the table. From the waist up, no one would suspect a thing. He continued to bite and lick and she continued to melt.

  Why couldn’t she stop staring? Why?

  His gaze lifted as he licked his fingers once again and this time their gazes held. She tightened her jaw to keep from groaning. But her lips parted ever so slightly and her breath quickened. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed. He definitely did. He stared at her lips as his tongue came out even slower. She licked them and closed her mouth, breathing deeply through flared nostrils.

  Pam came over and picked up her half-eaten plate. “Dessert?” she asked Leah.

  “No,” she said absently without looking up. The waitress wandered away, mumbling under her breath.

  But, hell yes, she wanted dessert. However, nothing that was revolving in the diner’s pastry case. She stared at Marc like he was a piece of Death by Chocolate cake.

  And she was a chocoholic.

  Marc slammed his fist on the table, making her jump and break her sticky sweet thoughts.

  “You can’t look at me like that and expect me to remain professional the rest of this shift. Or tomorrow. Or for the next few weeks.” His voice was gruff, but cracked twice like a teenager’s. He wore a pained expression, his hands clenched into fists on the table.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, flattening his hands on the Formica. After releasing a long breath, he opened his eyes. Instead of looking at her when he talked, he kept his gaze on her shoulder instead.

  “Grant, did you hear me?”

  She nodded her head but he wasn’t focused on her, so she roughly whispered, “Okay.”

  “Good. Throw some ones on the table for a tip and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  It took him a few minutes to slide out from the booth and approach the cash register. Leah couldn’t imagine why.

  Once again they sat in the patrol car in strained silence. It seemed to be a theme with the two of them.

  The squawk of the radio made them both sigh with relief.

  “County Dispatch to Manning Grove six.”

  Marc tilted his head toward the radio, expecting her to take it. She picked up the mic and squeezed the trigger. “Manning Grove six, go ahead.”

  “Manning Grove six, there’s a struck deer along Mountain Road that needs dispatched. The striking vehicle has no damage. No injuries. It’s in front of the Miller’s place.”

  Leah looked at Marc, hoping he knew where the Miller’s place was. He gave her a slight nod.

  “Okay, Dispatch. Mark Manning Grove six en route.”

  Shit. Injured animals were her weakness. And as much as she didn’t want to kill the deer, she also didn’t want to see it suffer.

  “I’ll call the game warden to make sure he gets there to pick up the meat for the local food bank.”

  Leah, her heart lodged in her throat, just nodded her head in the darkness of the car. The few bites of her disgusting chicken croquettes now churned in her stomach.

  Oh please, don’t let me puke.

  He drove code two to the scene. Just lights, no sirens. And when they arrived, he pulled the shotgun from the dashboard holder between the two front seats.

  “How are you with the shotgun?” he asked her as they both came around the front of the patrol car.

  “It’s my weapon of choice.” And even though she was shaky as hell because she was about to kill a living being, she didn’t doubt her skill with the shotgun.

  “Have you ever hunted before?”

  “No.” She chewed on her bottom lip.

  “I’ll talk you through it.”

  Good. She didn’t want to mess up and let the poor deer suffer longer than necessary, especially at her own hands.

  They approached the downed animal, the headlights of the vehicle spotlighting the area. He handed her the shotgun and she racked it, looking down in pity at the buck whose back end lay mangled. There was no saving this deer. At least his meat would go to good use.

  And that’s what she kept telling herself as she raised the long gun up and put the butt firmly against her shoulder. Marc had pointed out her target. She slowed her breathing to calm her nerves.

  She was doing this animal a favor, damn it. Squeezing the trigger, the recoil absorbed by her body. It was over quickly, but she remained torn. Though relieved to end the buck’s suffering, she still wanted to cry. After lowering the shotgun, she swiped at her face.

  “There’s no crying in police work,” Marc said softly, taking the gun from her. “Wait until rut, you’ll do this more than you can stand.”

  She had no idea what rut was, and she wasn’t about to ask at this point. But he was right. There was no room for tears or heartbreak. She needed to turn off her emotions as much as possible when working. She needed to be practical and not emotional.

  She went to stand at the back of the patrol car while Marc waited for the game warden to show up. And when he did, Marc introduced her before helping the warden load the deer into the back of the pickup truck. Within minutes, the warden was gone, leaving Marc and her alone.

  “Are you going to have a problem with doing a double tap to center mass if needed?”

  Leah snapped her spine straight. “No.”

  “You sure? Nobody wants back up who can’t pull the trigger.”

  “I’ll have no trouble doing what’s necessary,” she answered him with conviction.

  “Without hesitation.”

  “Without hesitation,” she confirmed, looking him straight in the eye.

  “You’ll just cry a little afterwards.”

  Leah frowned when he snorted. He shook his head and got back into the vehicle.

  * * *

  Marc had mixed emotions about Leah’s tears. Even though he didn’t say so, he understood the compassion when it came to having to kill an animal unexpectedly. He never liked to see anything suffer, human or otherwise.

  But he was a hunter. And a damned good one. There was a difference between a quick, accurate shot with a rifle or a bow, compared to an animal getting struck by a car or stuck in a trap. Unfortunately, he had seen both too many times.

  He was always thankful to the animal providing meat on his table. And he, or his family, ate everything he killed.

  Despite the tears, Marc had been impressed she hadn’t balked or melted down at dispatching the buck. She also impressed him yesterday with the traffic stop as well. He had thrown a curveball at her and she handled it fine. She had even been a good
sport wearing the ill-fitting vest, something Marc wouldn’t have had the patience for.

  All in all, she seemed capable so far. Even if she was a female.

  As they pulled away from the scene of the incident and down the dark country road away from town to do some patrol, something stirred his curiosity. He flicked on the high beams so they wouldn’t have a repeat of the previous scene and as he scanned the roadway and the grass shoulders looking for movement, he asked, “Why would a top cadet come up here to no man’s land instead of somewhere more exciting? Were you afraid of real action?”

  “Were you afraid of real action?”

  Boom. Nice comeback.

  “The males in my family have always been a part of this police department. It’s tradition.”

  “So, if it was tradition to jump off a bridge would you do the same?”

  Marc glanced at her quickly before directing his gaze back to the road. She was giving him the side-eye. He stopped the car and backed into the stone entrance of a very old cemetery at the border of their coverage area. It was his usual turn-around spot. He shoved the shifter into park and unfastened his belt so he could face her. The glow from the dashboard and the computer between them cast enough light on her to emphasize her delicate facial features.

  She followed his lead and unbuckled her seatbelt, shifting to face him directly. She certainly wasn’t shy. Or easily intimidated.

  “Honestly? I don’t think any other department wanted me. I tested for a bunch of local departments and would end up on their hiring list, but somehow they always had an excuse to skip over my name.”

  “Why didn’t you sue their asses?”

  “How do I prove that they were discriminating against me due to my sex? And if I sued, I’d get blackballed. No one would want to hire me.”

  “How unfair,” he murmured.

  About as unfair as Marc’s opinion of women in police work was. He got it. It proved he was a hypocrite on the issue. Doesn’t mean he was going to admit it.

  Leah shrugged. “It happens when you’re a woman in a male-dominated career. The good ol’ boys club. That’s what most departments are. I walked into this career path with my eyes wide open, believe me.”

  He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be discriminated against. “Why not pick another career?”

  “Why should I have to?”

  Good question. And he tried to look beyond his own prejudices. But it was difficult. When he looked at her, he saw a woman, not a cop. She would never be big enough or strong enough to tackle and subdue some crazy asshole high on meth.

  Her body was built to fit perfectly against a man’s. For pleasure. To accept him deep and fully. Those bow-shaped lips were perfect for kissing and sucking. And her straight white teeth for biting and nipping.

  The thought of some asshole attacking her as she went to arrest him, or some anti-police joker ambushing her just because she wore a uniform… It disturbed something deep down inside him. Some kind of protective nature bubbled to the surface.

  Maybe he could protect her when she was with him, but when she was out on her own? Backup could be miles away. He didn’t ever want to see her hurt. The thought made him clench his fists.

  Fuck.

  This was not good. Not. Good. At. All.

  Chapter 5

  Marc looked at the woman across from him. Her stance was wide and low to the ground. Her hands out front in ready position.

  She wore a T-shirt that had her last name emblazoned in block letters written in black permanent marker across the front and back. A leftover from her academy gym classes. She also wore the grey non-descript shorts that had been required during training. However, they rode up her thighs all the way to the crease in her legs as she squatted in a wrestling stance.

  Marc was sweating already and they hadn’t even done many moves yet. Just some basic cuffing techniques. The T-shirt she wore pulled so snug across her chest he could see through the thin white fabric. She wore a black bra and her nipples were like beacons through the two layers of clothing.

  Maybe testing her self-defense tactics hadn’t been such a good idea. Though he had wanted to see her in something other than her uniform and oversized vest, he didn’t think he’d have such a strong reaction. It wasn’t even like a teddy or a bikini. It was a damn boring T-shirt and shorts.

  She was barefoot since she said she hadn’t brought any sneakers with her when she moved up. She probably couldn’t fit them in that infant-sized clown car she drove. She promised she’d go buy some soon.

  But in the meantime, Marc had stripped off his sneakers and socks so he wouldn’t crush her toes. Which, unlike her fingernails, were painted a very feminine pink.

  He faked a move to the left and then rushed her to the right. She responded with surprisingly quick reflexes, putting out a leg to trip him and when he went off balance, she grabbed him, using his momentum to propel him over her arm. He landed flat on his back with a loud thwap to the mat. It took him a moment of staring at the ceiling of the high school’s wrestling room to catch his breath…and his manhood.

  Yeah, his virility was a little scorched. A woman maybe a buck-twenty just threw his six-foot-two, two hundred and ten pound frame to the ground.

  He blinked as she came to stand over him with a big satisfied smile across her lips.

  “Oh, look at all that cockiness now. I was being easy on you. No more Mr. Nice Guy,” he said, trying to disguise the discomfort from his voice. Do. Not. Groan.

  “Uh-huh. Sure you were.”

  He pushed himself up to his elbows and she offered a hand. He didn’t need help, but took it anyway as an excuse to touch her. But he mostly used his core strength to push himself to stand…until she used his forward motion to toss him again to the ground. This time he landed on his stomach splayed out. He was so glad they were doing this before lunch. Otherwise, he might have been tossing his cookies.

  She made a fatal mistake though by never releasing his hand. With a sharp tug, she lost her balance and fell to her knees on the thick pad. Moving quickly, he twisted her hand behind her, pushing it up behind her back to in between her shoulder blades.

  With a shove, she fell forward and within seconds he had both hands contained and her knees bent and ankles crossed as he leaned all his weight against her, pushing her heels toward her ass. The perfect position to keep someone from resisting when trying to cuff them. Her shins were pushed into his thighs, one hand gripped hers tightly, keeping the debilitating twist on her arms. There was no way to get out of this position without the subject dislocating a shoulder.

  With one cheek pinned to the mat, strands of her hair, which had escaped her bun, billowed slightly over her mouth as she breathed in short bursts.

  “Mercy?”

  “There's no room for softness...not in Sparta. No place for weakness. Only the hard and strong may call themselves Spartans. Only the hard, only the strong.”

  Huh?

  Then it hit him. She was quoting a movie. He replied, “Tonight, we dine in Hell!” He released her and collapsed next to her on the mat. “One of my favorite movies.”

  With her hands now free, she drew one across her face, sweeping the hair away. “Mine too.”

  He turned his head to stare directly into her eyes. They were barely inches apart. “You just like ogling Gerard Butler’s body.”

  “That too.”

  Her hair fell back across her face and he beat her to it this time. Without thinking, he swept it off her face with his knuckle. Then he realized what he’d done when her eyebrows drew together in confusion.

  Yeah, he knew the feeling.

  Instead of drawing his hand away like he knew he should, he traced her jaw from her ear to her chin. Her breath hitched, her eyes hooded. But she didn’t pull away. And he couldn’t either.

  He rolled her onto her back and straddled her waist. Snagging both of her wrists in his hand, he stretched her arms above her head. Her breath released in a ragged sigh.

 
He was hard as a fucking rock. And it was impossible to hide since he wore cotton running shorts. His dick was an unmistakable compass pointing north. He leaned forward until he could feel her breasts rise and fall against his chest. He brought his lips a breadth away from hers, her breath puffing in quick pants.

  Her T-shirt had come free of her shorts leaving her skin exposed to just above her belly button. He placed his free hand over the smooth expanse; the heat of her burned him. He slid his palm over her ribs and with a groan smashed his lips to hers. She opened her mouth to welcome him, her tongue sparring with his. He arched away from her so his hand could explore higher under her T. He found the edge of her bra and he pushed the cup up and away, giving him access to all her ripe flesh.

  He twisted his mouth tighter against hers as he plucked her pebbled nipple. He found the hard peak with his thumb and forefinger and twisted. He captured her whimper between his lips.

  And then somewhere a door slammed.

  He never moved so fast in his life. He was on his feet before the echo even quieted. He was light-headed from a lack of blood in his brain since it just happened to be all pooled in his cock.

  Without a word, he offered her a hand up and when she took it, she jumped to her feet, straightening her clothes. He moved away and with hands on his hips, he started to pace. He cursed himself under his breath until his erection got back under control. Somewhat.

  He couldn’t look at her. She had been dew-eyed, her lips swollen and shiny from their kissing. He had seen it before he’d turned away. He needed to wipe that memory or he was going to shove her up against the wall and take her hard.

  He reminded himself to think of pork products to get his racing mind off his reaction to her. Off her smoking body.

  Ham hock. Pork shoulder. Bacon.

  Fuck.

  Without facing her, he said, “Grant, go change. I’ll meet you at the car.”

  The sound of her bare feet padding against the mats released some of the tension within his body. But not enough.