by Katie Meyer
She might as well fill him in. It wasn’t like there were any secrets in a small town like Paradise, less so in the law enforcement community. “My dad wasn’t around much when I was growing up. He loved us, but he didn’t know how to settle down. He was always chasing the next adventure, betting that the next risk was the one that would pay off. But it never did. He lived hard, and he died young, leaving mom to pick up the slack, to shoulder all the responsibility that came with being a real parent.” She shrugged. “She pretty much raised my brother and me on her own, and worries like you’d expect her to. My brother, on the other hand...” She trailed off, trying to find the words. “He’s on a mission to help me find something—anything—else to do with my life.”
Confusion furrowed his brow “But isn’t your brother a deputy himself?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yup. Trust me, we’ve had the ‘pot, meet kettle’ conversation more than a few times.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.”
She put the blinker on, then turned off the main drag and onto the road that led to the public park. “Not really. He’s just a typical, overprotective big brother. He thinks he needs to take care of me—to save me from myself.”
“Ah, I see. And Big Brother thinks his chosen career is too dangerous for his baby sister?”
She couldn’t hide her grimace as she thought back to all the arguments they’d had on the subject. She prided herself on her self-control, but her big brother had a way of getting a rise out of her. “That’s exactly what he thinks.” If Alex had his way, she’d be working in an office somewhere, where the biggest risk was a paper cut. “But he’s backed off recently, mostly because my mom made him. He might be tough, but she’s tougher.”
“So determined women run in your family. Sounds like he’s outnumbered.”
“You could say that.” She drove a slow lap around the park, looking for anything or anyone out of place. A few older teens were shooting baskets, and a young couple had their heads together on a bench, but other than that the place was pretty much deserted. Heading away from downtown she turned onto the beach road that bordered the eastern edge of the island.
Here along the dunes the night was pitch black, her headlights the only illumination. It was like being on the edge of the world, which in some ways, it was. Beyond that cloak of darkness the sea stretched all the way to Africa. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed the ocean while at school.”
“Yeah, Gainesville is a great town, but if you grow up by the sea I don’t think you ever can be happy living away from it.”
“I think you’re right.” She reluctantly steered west and away from the water, heading for the bridge to the mainland. A maze of backroads ran up and down the coast, mostly leading to fishing shacks, bait shops and the occasional home. A quiet area, but also secluded enough to hide the occasional poaching shack or teenage keg party. “What made you go to UF, rather than somewhere down south?”
“Same as you, I bet. Their criminal justice program is one of the best in the nation. I didn’t want to be one of those cops who are just in it for the sirens and the gun, you know? I wanted to really learn the law, to be the best law enforcement officer I could be.” He shrugged, the movement illuminated by the glow of the instrument panel. “I know that sounds corny.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She understood what he meant. It was true, you could technically become a cop with no more than a GED and six months of academy training, but the field was moving past that. “You see it as a profession, a career, not just a job.” And given what he’d said about his family, maybe a way to honor his father as well?
“I do. Maybe it’s not as impressive to many as a law degree, but I want the badge to mean something.”
“Hey, those lawyers wouldn’t have a job if we didn’t enforce the law. There are differences, but at the end of the day you need both, like, two sides of the same coin. I’m surprised your stepfather can’t see that.”
“It’s okay. Honestly, I think he’s still stuck in a different time, when people who became cops didn’t have an education beyond high school. For him, if you can handle academics well enough to go to college, that meant you should do something better.” He smiled wryly. “Or at least something that pays better.”
She winced. “I still say law enforcement is as good a job as any, but the salary part is hard to argue with. Especially considering how expensive college tuition has gotten.”
“That’s why I had to get a scholarship. I couldn’t justify taking on debt when it would take so long to pay it off on a cop’s salary. And even if he’d been willing to help out, I wasn’t going to take his money when I knew he didn’t approve of my career choice.”
“Same here—about the scholarship I mean.” She hadn’t considered that he might have been on a scholarship too. From the start she’d pegged him as a rich kid riding on his parents’ dime. He’d certainly dressed the part, with designer labels from head to toe. But it seemed she’d read him wrong. He might have money, but he came from working-class stock same as her. And he was paying his own way, despite his family’s current wealth. If she was going to be worthy of that shiny new badge on her chest she’d need to stop making assumptions based on appearances.
The crackle of a radio signal ended her thought process, the dispatcher’s words sending a shot of adrenaline into her system.
Drunk and disorderly at Pete’s Crab Shack. Suspect possibly armed.
“Didn’t we just pass that place?” Ryan asked, his voice tight with anticipation.
“Yes.” She swung the car around, her stomach roiling at the sudden motion. She’d been dealing with a nervous stomach all week, anticipating her first day on the job, and the shock of seeing Ryan had made it worse. She’d grab some antacids later. First she had a job to do, and she wasn’t going to let a few butterflies in her stomach interfere with her job.
Chapter Two
As Jessica deftly turned the cruiser around and headed back toward the beach, Ryan tried to keep his mind on the scene they were approaching and not on the woman sitting beside him. He’d worked hard for this moment, but it wasn’t the lights and siren making his heart pound and his palms sweat. No, that had started way before the call came in, courtesy of a certain feisty brunette. One with the smoothest skin he’d ever seen. Or touched, for that matter.
And touching her had been a huge mistake. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed it, but because a one-night stand wasn’t how you told a girl you were genuinely interested in her. And he was definitely interested. At first she’d been a challenge, and he loved a good challenge. She’d avoided his every advance, seemingly oblivious to the passes he or their other classmates made. And plenty of them had been interested in the curvy Latina. But she’d shut everyone out, resulting in mean-spirited rumors that she must be frigid or a man-hater. Though the women had been a bit kinder in their assessments, they’d also considered her standoffish since she was rarely interested in going out to parties or clubs. But he’d recognized that she wasn’t trying to be cold or unfriendly. She was just busy working her butt off—a trait he respected even if he found her lack of interest in him a source of frustration.
And now, after only a short time with her, he was kicking himself for blowing his chances by letting things go too far, too fast. If they’d spent that last night at the academy talking and getting to know each other rather than falling into bed, maybe they’d be in a different place right now. Instead, he was all too aware that even referring to what had happened between them could be taken as sexual harassment. And she’d made it clear she wasn’t comfortable with the topic. Once again, the barriers that she’d put around herself were in place, and he was on the outside looking in.
Karma was funny that way. Normally he was the one putting up a hard wall, making it clear to a woman that once the night was over so were they. Never with malice, and always after explaining th
e situation up front. He didn’t mislead women—they knew before things got intimate that he wasn’t ready for happily-ever-after. But sometimes things got a bit complicated and he’d have to give the speech Jessica had given him just a bit ago, about keeping what happened between them in the past. Now, he was the one wanting more and getting the door slammed politely but firmly in his face.
Not the best feeling in the world. Especially since he was still drawn to her. Physically and on every other level.
But there was nothing to be done about it—not now anyway. He needed to stay focused on their first call. Scanning the info on the built-in computer screen he read the few details available. Seemed a patron who’d had a few too many longnecks got angry about being cut off and started yelling threats, prompting one of the bartenders to call 911.
Hopefully it was just a matter of angry words, but the caller had been right to take it seriously. Nothing was as unpredictable as a person under the influence of drugs or alcohol. A little bit of liquid courage could lower anyone’s inhibitions. Hell, his night with Jessica was proof of that.
Darting a glance at her, he envied her composure. If it wasn’t for the speed she coaxed from the car you would have thought she was out for a Sunday drive, not headed straight into possible mayhem. Meanwhile adrenaline churned through his own body, increasing with each mile they covered.
Any minute now their training and skills would be put to their first true test. He’d need to keep himself, the public and his partner safe against an as-yet-unknown foe. He could only hope he was up to the challenge. Despite their hard work, they were both rookies heading into a dangerous situation.
The odds were in their favor, but lady luck didn’t always play fair. He said a silent prayer asking that she be on their side tonight.
* * *
Jessica pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, parking directly in front of the weathered wooden steps that went up to the dining area. A local institution, Pete’s Crab Shack boasted the freshest seafood, coldest beer and biggest burgers in town, and was a popular nightspot with both residents and tourists alike. Despite the ramshackle look of the building, the place was well run and family friendly. At least, it normally was. Tonight was apparently an exception.
She radioed in that they were on scene, determined to do everything by the book. As the only woman on the force she needed to prove herself—not just as a rookie but as the supposedly weaker sex. The only way to do that was to be even tougher, more professional and more in control than the guys she worked with. Any sign of weakness would and could be used against her—and any other woman in uniform.
That was why the very last thing she needed was even a rumor of a workplace romance. That would be exactly the kind of argument used to lobby against women and men working together. Proof that women would let their hormones take priority over duty—further evidence that women didn’t have the strength or smarts to handle the job.
Through all the “jokes,” and insults and actual sexual harassment she’d experienced on her journey to becoming a cop, she’d learned that to be taken seriously meant being more controlled and professional than the men in her class. It wasn’t easy, but she’d done it, bottling up every last bit of emotion. With her family and friends she could be her normal, opinionated self. But at work, it was all business. There was no other option when both her career and public safety were on the line.
Which was why she refused to acknowledge the tingle of anticipation that coursed through her body as she exited the vehicle and started for the stairs. At least the excitement of her first real call had chased away the butterflies that had been dive-bombing in her belly all day.
Ryan matched her step for step as she scanned their surroundings. Halfway up a waitress met them, her eyes wide with fear. “Oh thank God you’re here. That guy’s out of control!”
“Anna,” Jessica said, reading the woman’s name tag, “I need you to stay calm and tell us what’s going on.”
The waitress nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s Bill. He’s one of the regulars. Usually he’s no trouble but lately he’s been hitting the booze harder than usual. I heard someone say tonight that his wife left him. When Denny—that’s the bartender—cut him off, he started yelling that everyone was out to get him and he wasn’t going to take it anymore. He knocked down the manager when she tried to get him to leave, and now he’s out on the patio screaming nonsense and won’t let anyone get near him.”
“Is he armed?” Ryan asked, his eyes darting to the top of the stairs.
“No, at least I don’t think so. But he’s a big guy—not fat, but big. You know, like a football player. I think he works construction or something.” She glanced back over her shoulder, as if checking to be sure he hadn’t followed her.
“Can you tell me where he is on the patio, exactly?” Jessica asked, as she tried to call up a mental image of the restaurant floor plan.
“To the left of the stairs, between here and the bar.”
Damn. If there had been a way to get the other patrons out and away from the scene, that would have been best. But his position meant any diners would have to walk right past him to get to the stairs, which were the only real exit. In an emergency they could use the fire escape off the back, but it would take three times as long and she didn’t want to risk anyone slipping and getting hurt—or worse, getting trampled in a stampede. Which meant whatever was about to happen, they were going to have an audience full of untrained bystanders.
Ryan nodded at the waitress. “Thanks, Anna. We’ll take it from here.”
Leaving the distraught waitress behind they made their way toward the dining area. Jessica listened, hoping to hear some kind of clue as to what they are walking into, but the reggae music playing over the loudspeakers drowned out everything else. At the top of the stairs they paused, looking for their man.
Jessica spotted him first. “Over there, against the railing.”
“I see him. Let’s go slow, maybe we can talk some sense into him.”
She nodded in agreement. Maybe just seeing the uniforms would shock the guy out of his rant and make him see reason. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, with dark scraggly hair that curled over the ratty collar of his stained T-shirt and the beginnings of a beer gut straining the limits of his cut-off shorts. But the waitress was right, there was plenty of muscle underneath that paunch. Right now he was mumbling something she couldn’t quite make out, pacing beside the railing that surrounded the raised deck that served as the restaurant’s seating area.
“Excuse me, Bill?” Jessica stepped forward and forced a smile, hoping a soft touch might keep things from turning ugly. “Can we talk for a minute?”
At the sound of his name he turned toward her, something glinting in his hand. Shifting to get a better view, she realized it was a bottle. A broken-off beer bottle. As weapons went, it was crude, but more than capable of doing serious damage.
“Careful,” Ryan warned, “He’s got a—”
“I see it.” Jessica kept her eyes glued to the man in front of her. “Bill, can you put down that bottle for me? You don’t want anyone to get hurt, do you?”
His eyes were bloodshot, glazed over with either anger or liquor or both, but for a second she thought he might actually listen. But then, instead of putting the weapon down, he raised it in an obvious threat. “You bitch! You’re just like my wife, thinking you can boss me around. Well, I’ll show you what happens to bossy women who don’t know their place!” And then, in the space of a heartbeat, he lunged straight for her.
* * *
Ryan shouted out a warning, his own voice echoing in his ears as he watched the drunken jerk plow toward Jessica, the jagged edges of the bottle aimed straight for her chest. Ryan reached for his Taser. Gunshots were likely to make the situation worse rather than better, especially in a crowded location. Bullets had a way of finding the worst poss
ible landing place. A Taser was not always effective, but at least it was safe in a crowd.
But even as he jerked the device from his belt he knew he wouldn’t be able to use it in time. The other man was too fast, and too close. The best he could hope for was to immobilize him after the fact. He shouldn’t have let Jessica be the one to draw the man’s wrath. It should have been him, not her.
It all took maybe a second, but felt like a lifetime, everything happening in torturous slow motion—the perp’s angry lunge, his own shouted warning, the diners behind him scrambling for cover.
“Get back!” Jessica yelled, and then, right in front of his eyes, she defied gravity. At least, it looked that way as she somehow sidestepped and ducked, grabbing the perp’s arm and flipping him over her shoulder as if he’d grown wings and a sincere desire to fly.
The landing, however, was less smooth. Ryan barely managed to avoid being squashed by the lumberjack of a man, and Jessica got tripped up in his tree trunk—like legs, going down in a heap, half her body under his.
Not wanting to give the idiot a chance to get up and do more damage, Ryan refastened the Taser to his equipment belt and grabbed his cuffs, using the man’s momentary disorientation to secure his hands behind his back. The fall must have knocked the wind out of him, because other than a pained moan the man was still and quiet, his hefty weight pinning Jessica to the ground. His broken-bottle weapon was nowhere in sight, but at least Ryan could be sure it was no longer in his hands. Quickly Ryan tapped his radio and called for an ambulance. “Possible officer down,” he added, praying he was being overly cautious.
“Oomph. Get him off me.” Her head and upper torso were visible, but her lower body was trapped. Grabbing both her small wrists with one of his hands, he used the other to lift the perp’s body a few inches, sliding her out. She kneeled, panting, and shook her head, her carefully pinned-back hair now flying in the wind. A button had come loose on her shirt, and there was a dark stain on her abdomen.