by Piper Rayne
We all file out of the room, DuPont slapping me on the back. “Try not to arrest any of your other girlfriends.”
He and Milliken think they’re funny as they walk away laughing and glancing back for my reaction.
“I heard the thirteenth precinct has an opening for a spring wedding,” another guy says.
“Black and white stripes are in,” another coworker adds.
“Glad to see I’m the butt of all jokes.” I’m not surprised though. It’s going to be me until someone else does something stupid.
“Whelan!” Captain Donnelly calls.
Patrice’s eyes widen. She hasn’t made one smart joke herself, which is odd.
“Hey, Cap,” I say.
“I want to talk to you before you leave after your shift, so check in with me.” He never looks up from his papers at the podium.
I hope it has something to do with the detective position and not my ex being arrested. “Yes, sir.”
He grabs his papers and heads to his office, nodding at me like that’s all.
When I reach the car, I realize it’s Patrice’s turn to drive. I place my hands together in prayer and she looks at me with no amusement before she heads to the driver’s side. We both slide in and head out.
“Cap wants to talk to me,” I say.
“You do know that I’m gonna be pissed off at you when you make detective. Who knows who my new partner might be?”
She turns toward the bridges where homeless people often hang out. Most of the homeless are decent people, but there are thieves too. They tend to live by their own rules since no one wants to involve the police in their matters for fear they’ll be taken in.
“Then try for detective too,” I say.
“But then I’d be detective and you’d still be a beat cop.” She grins at me.
I chuckle. “No doubt.”
Patrice doesn’t have as many years of experience as I do, but she’d make a great detective someday and I wouldn’t mind continuing our partnership. She’s the only one I don’t mind giving me hell.
“So tell me, are you thinking of her?”
And she also thinks my love life is up for discussion at all times. She’s like a nagging mother, except that she’s three years younger than me.
“Nah, I told you, I’m over her.”
She turns again, this time returning the way we came but going slower, both of us looking for anything unusual. “Yeah, those bags under your eyes are evidence of that.”
The worst part about having a woman partner is she sees and hears everything. If I have a two-second phone conversation, she can figure out who it was and what they wanted.
“I’m processing, but I don’t want her back if that’s what you want to know.”
“Hey, your business is your business.”
“Uh-huh. Sure,” I say.
As she slows, I squint at a spot under the overpass. “Slow up.”
Patrice eases off the gas and we inch along. “What is it?”
I peek forward, rolling down my window.
“This is mine!” Dell, a homeless woman every cop knows because she panhandles on corners all the time, yells. “Get out of my spot.”
“I don’t see your name on it,” someone else says.
The only reason I can make out Dell is her signature neon yellow hat. The other person I don’t know. Then a suitcase tumbles down the cement incline, opening up and spilling someone’s belongings.
“Hold up,” I say, and Patrice presses on the brakes and flicks the lights. “We don’t need lights.”
“You’re not Spiderman, Knox. You’re not protecting Cliffton Heights in a mask. There are protocols.”
Patrice is right, but as I suspected would happen, the homeless population scatters, except for the veterans like Dell. And whoever she’s yelling at.
I shine my flashlight up there. “Dell, come on down.”
She blows out a breath. “She’s in my spot. This is my spot on Wednesdays and Fridays.”
“There’s no name on the spot,” a woman’s voice says.
Dell shakes her head and moves a foot to the right, allowing me to see the woman she’s talking to. My stomach sinks when I see her face. A million questions flicker to mind.
“You.” I leave the flashlight on her. “Come down here.”
Her shoulders fall and she grabs another bag before walking down the incline, picking up her discarded items on the way. She doesn’t come to me right away, but instead she goes to her suitcase and packs it back up. “I didn’t do anything.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“What does it look like? I was trying to sleep, or at least have shelter from the wind, when Dolly Parton came in, demanding that I move.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t smile. I shift my flashlight up at Dell who is now lying down. “Dell, you’re not clear of this. Come on down.”
She flips me off. I glance at Patrice in the car—who might as well have a bowl of popcorn in her lap, she’s so fascinated by what’s happening. Maybe she should get out of the car. I aim my flashlight back at Leilani’s friend.
She puts up her hand. “Can you please turn that thing off? Did you miss the streetlight?”
She points, and sure enough, now that she’s down here, I don’t need it as much. I click off the flashlight and put it back in my holster.
“I’m going to ask you again, why are you here?”
“And I’m going to answer again with why the hell do you think?”
Damn, she’s got attitude. The problem with attitude on a hot woman is that it turns me the fuck on. Always has. I’ve always dated the girls who don’t teeter on that line but are so far over it, they don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. I’ve broken up more than my fair share of fights between chicks. In fact, my first ever girlfriend got more detentions than any other girl in the school. Understandably, I’m trying my hardest not to be attracted to this woman.
“You just bailed out Leilani, so I know you aren’t broke.”
She crawls around the cement, snagging her clothing, until she’s right at my feet. Unbeknownst to me, a piece of skimpy lingerie lies on top of my boots. It’s pink with lace and looks like I could tear it apart with my pinkies.
Damn it. I’m officially turned on thinking about her wearing it and me ripping it to shreds while pulling it off her body.
“It’s a long story, okay?”
“Where is she?” I ask because it’s clear this girl isn’t normally calling an overpass home. She’s the kind who works her ass off for what’s hers.
“Oh, your one true love?” she sneers.
I rear back, thinking I might hear jealousy in her tone. “Leilani.”
“Same thing, isn’t it?” She zips up her suitcase and stands with it on its wheels. “See you later, Whelan.” She walks down the street.
I follow, and Patrice inches the squad car along with us. I hold my hand to tell Patrice to lay off, but she doesn’t listen. She never fucking listens. Who needs a wife when I have my partner?
“Stop following me, otherwise I’ll call the…” The girl stops speaking.
I chuckle. “The cops?”
She whirls around, and those sweet chocolate eyes that lured me to her that night we first met are practically flaming with anger. “Don’t think I won’t go above your head. I get that you’re the type who likes to save women and all that, but I don’t need saving. I’m fine.” She turns back around and stomps off.
“And that’s why you’re outside in the middle of winter, trying to sleep in a flimsy coat? Let me take you to a shelter at least.”
She flips me off and keeps walking. I shrug at Patrice, who is actually eating another Snickers bar as we move along the dark, vacant street during the early hours of the morning when everyone else is sleeping.
“What do you want from me?” The girl flips around to face me again.
“I just want to get you somewhere safe.”
Her eyes s
can my body. Not in an “I want to bang you” way, but more like she might be a second from cracking and she’s willing herself to stay strong. I’ve seen this type of behavior plenty of times. She’s not the hard-ass she pretends to be. If she was, she would’ve deserted her suitcase or worse, tried to throw a punch at me.
Her eyes steady on me and her shoulders fall like they did moments ago at the top of the overpass. “Leilani skipped out on me. The bail was everything I have. And worse, her friends got me kicked out of my apartment. I’ve tried to call her, and she won’t answer. I was staying with my boss, but he’s got four boys and a wife. After they threw flour all over me in the shower as their fifth prank that day, I left.”
“Boys can be cruel,” I say, ignoring all the shit that Leilani left in her wake.
She nods. “But I don’t need your help, okay? I’ll figure this out.”
“Okay,” I say, stepping forward, my hand on her upper arm.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m dropping you off at my place. You can spend the night there.” She tries to get free of my grip, but I only hold it harder. “I have an extra room. You can stay tonight, and when I get off work, we’ll figure something out.”
“I am not your problem. Will you stop?” She squirms, but I open the car’s back door.
Patrice shoots me a look I know is trying to communicate that I shouldn’t try to be someone else’s savior. But shit, if I didn’t get into policing to help people, why the fuck am I doing this job?
I release the girl’s arm but stand in front of her. “Listen, I’m not trying to fix your problems, but you can’t stay out here. It’s not safe, and my captain wouldn’t be too happy if I just parked the squad car here all night. I’m a cop and I was sworn to uphold the law, and I cannot leave you here like this. You won’t fare well. So just do me the favor and stay at my place. I won’t even be there.”
She takes a moment to think about it and nods without another word. I hold open the back door and she crawls in. I stuff her suitcase in next to her.
Once I’m in, Patrice puts the car in drive. “Where to?”
“My apartment.”
“You know her?” she asks me.
“This is one of Leilani’s friends. I met her once when she was a waitress.”
Her eyebrows scrunch and I know what she’s thinking. I don’t need telepathy to figure it out. She surprises me though and turns around to look in the back seat. “I’m Patrice, and you are?”
“Kamea,” she says.
That’s right, Kamea is her name.
Thank you, Patrice. I guess sometimes her interfering actually helps.
Chapter Five
Kamea
My face still stings hot with embarrassment as we pull up in front of Knox’s apartment building.
“It was nice meeting you,” Patrice says. She was sweet as can be the entire ride, telling stories about the woman, Dell, who was so adamant about me being in her space.
“Thanks.”
Knox takes my bag, and I couldn’t feel more like a damsel in distress right now. I hate owing anyone anything, but I couldn’t stay at Chris’s anymore. Those boys never left me alone, and it was clear his wife wasn’t as cool with me being there as he was. Especially when I heard them fighting and she asked if he was fucking me. It’s not a situation I want to be a part of.
I thought one night outside wouldn’t kill me. Surely, I could handle one night outside until I figured something out. But as I was drifting to sleep, that woman got in my face. If Knox hadn’t shown up, what would I have done? Asked someone for directions to a shelter, I guess.
Knox didn’t seem like the type to give up and let me leave without taking him up on his offer, so I decided I’ll sleep at his place for the rest of the night, then I’ll leave before he even gets off his shift.
“When do you get home?” I ask as he inserts his key into the lock of his apartment door.
The hallway is so quiet, the key going into the hole sounds as loud as a gun going off. He glances at me and opens the door fully. “Don’t try to run, I’ll find you.”
“Thank you for letting me stay,” I say, ignoring his comment and following him into the small apartment.
“You can sleep in here. My one roommate just moved out, and his new girlfriend demanded they buy a new bed, so…” He flicks on the light. It’s a bare room with white walls. There’s a bed, sans headboard, pushed against the wall and an old chair in the corner. “I have another roommate, Jax, but he’s probably asleep right now. Just shut the door when you go to the bathroom or shower.”
A hot shower sounds so nice, but I tell my achy body it’s not getting that pleasure right now.
“Towels are in the hall closet, and we share food. Jax is cool, so he won’t care if you eat anything.” Knox hovers by the door. “I’m off at seven, but I probably won’t be back until eight or so. Just sleep and I’ll bring some coffee with me when I come back.” He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.
“Thanks again, I owe you for this.”
He shakes his head. “No, you don’t. Let’s just say I understand. But I did warn you not to bail her out. You obviously didn’t have the money to spare.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I snip.
His lips purse and he rocks back on his shoes. “See you around eight.”
Then he leaves before I can apologize. I should’ve bitten my tongue before sassing him. He’s letting me stay in his apartment.
After I hear the front door shut and he locks it from the other side, I do what any girl would do—I check out the place. I open the fridge, surprised by how stocked it is. Their pantry is as well—mostly junk food but food, nonetheless. My stomach grumbles, so I shut the cabinet and move into the bathroom. Peeking into the shower, I see it’s filled with men’s products. Every item has some woodsy or ocean scent. Their medicine cabinet holds the typical pain relievers, heartburn medicine, etc.
What kind of bachelors are these guys? I was expecting a fridge full of beer and a medicine cabinet full of condoms.
Then I bend down and open the lower cabinets and see my first sign that bachelors do in fact live in this apartment. They must buy their condoms at Costco.
“Shit, am I dreaming?” a rough-sounding voice says from the open doorway.
My head whips around and my gaze flies to his. Jax, I presume, stands there in white boxer briefs, one hand on his face, the other scratching his chest. He’s hot, covered with tattoos, and not nearly as muscular as Knox, but more lean-muscled. One of his nipples is pierced and he flashes me a wicked smile that says these condoms are probably well-used by him.
“No. Sorry, Knox is letting me stay here, but I’ll head back to my room and you can do your business.”
I slide out of the bathroom and he doesn’t move, which means my breasts run along his bare arm.
“Don’t run off, Little Red Riding Hood. I’m not the Big Bad Wolf.” He chuckles at his own joke and heads into the bathroom.
I wait for the door to shut, but it doesn’t and the sound of him peeing rings through the quiet apartment. Water runs from the faucet afterward. At least he practices good hand hygiene, I guess. I back up toward the bedroom. I should’ve just locked myself inside.
But the guy heads to the kitchen, speaking to me. “I’m Jax.” He opens the fridge and grabs a water, holding it up in offer to me.
“Sure. Thanks.”
He throws it at me, and I barely catch it out of surprise. Most people would just hand it to someone. I’m about to step through the doorway of the bedroom I’m staying in when he clears his throat. I glance over my shoulder and he eyes the couch. What is with this guy?
“Knox doesn’t usually pick up strays except for me and our buddy Dylan. What’s your story?”
I don’t want to judge, but Jax doesn’t look like someone who really cares about someone’s backstory. He looks like the guy who lives his life how he wants, and people who get in his way are just nuisances to b
e dealt with.
“He’s just helping me out for the night.”
“What’s your name?”
I fidget with the water bottle. “Kamea.”
He nods. “Cool. Sit down. I’ve been struggling to sleep lately, and now that I’m up, I’m bored.”
I eye the game console. “Play a game?”
“Are you saying you don’t wanna talk to me?”
My stomach growls, and since there’s no other sound in the apartment, Jax laughs. He heads to the freezer, pulls out a frozen pizza, and pre-heats the oven.
“Oh, I’m not—”
“No. I am.” He never looks at me.
What is with these guys? Knox gives me a room to sleep and this guy is making me pizza in the middle of the night.
“‘Cause I’m not hungry.”
He nods. “So you said. But I am.”
I let it go.
“How about I start this get-to-know-each-other session and if you feel like saying anything, you can.”
“Start what?” I ask.
“I’m a tattoo artist.” His gaze falls over my body. “I’m thinking you don’t have a tattoo.”
Joke’s on this guy. Like everyone else, he thinks I’m a good girl and there’s nothing more to me. I pull up the sleeve of my sweatshirt to show him the three lines around my forearm.
He nods, looking impressed. “Awesome, what are the lines symbolic for?”
“Why would I tell you?”
He holds up his hands. “Yeah, you don’t have to tell me, but next tattoo, you come to me. That fill-in looks like shit.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay.” I lower my sleeve.
“I work at Ink Envy, and I’ve known Knox since he was a virgin. Unfortunately for me, my buddy Dylan lives across the hall with his girl, Rian, and we have two friends who live down the hall who are shacked up too. And another girl who’s with a damn prince.” He holds up his hand before I can say something. “I can’t make this shit up. I was a foster kid who bounced around my whole life. I come here to ground myself for a bit and I end up surrounded by all these people who think love is real and shit.”