She gave him a look that said ‘bullshit’ better than any verbal response.
“What?”
“You said your family was in Hope City.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t get to the house as often as I should. I made it home about three months ago, but I was called back to work about a half hour after I got there.” He glanced at his watch. “And I have a command performance this Sunday. My old man wants me there because my mom is probably pushing his buttons. Don’t let me forget, yeah?”
She tipped her electronic watch toward her mouth. “Set a reminder.” The watch asked for the specifics. He provided them and she echoed them. “I’d lose my ever-loving mind if I didn’t have this thing. It tells me what to do and when to do it.”
He smiled and found himself staring at Kallie. Tall and athletic, she was strikingly beautiful. Her full lips and high cheekbones were accentuated by her soulful chocolate brown eyes. Top that off with the fact she was a cop who understood what being a cop meant. She was the perfect woman for someone like him. Hell, for any cop. That thought sent a shot of possessiveness through him. He was so screwed.
The cat wandered into the kitchen and meowed, breaking their connection. “Right, well I better go. I’ll be back here at 8:00 a.m.” He scooped up Fester and got him into his crate. He grabbed his jacket and shoved his arms into it. Getting gone before he did something stupid was an absolute priority.
She opened the door for him. “I’ll be ready for you.”
He blinked at her choice of words. A blush bloomed over her cheeks. He nodded and left, heading down her hall. As he reached the end of the hall, he glanced over his shoulder and damned if he didn’t catch her watching him. She waved and popped back into the apartment. He raised the crate and looked at Fester. “You know, dude, this case might not royally suck after all.”
8
Kallie shut the door and dropped her forehead against the thick wood. “Don’t. Just. Don’t. You know better.” Her rueful burst of laughter echoed around her and confirmed that she did know better, but damned if she wasn’t smack dab in the middle of a conundrum. Brock wasn’t her permanent partner. Good thing. Going by the way the man was acting, the attraction between them was mutual. Damn good thing. The case wouldn’t be affected by whatever was building between them. Fucking perfect thing. But… she’d been down this road before. Bad, bad thing. Her piece of shit, murdering ex-husband was released from prison and looking for her, which would put anyone spending time with her in danger. Fucking worst thing. Then again… Brock was a cop and a damn good one. Yep, very good thing.
She straightened away from the door and made quick work of rinsing the dishes and arranging them in the dishwasher. Not a bad first shift. She’d met her temporary partner, submerged elbows deep in a case, and determined her partner was a complex mix of contradictions and sex appeal, aaannnddd the Commissioner’s son, no less. As she turned off the light and checked the locks one more time, she tried to recall what his father looked like. Lord, she hadn’t even thought to connect those dots. Of course, she’d seen pictures of the Commissioner on the Hope City Police Department’s website. She vaguely remembered a page full of shoulder-mounted stars, blue uniforms, and bios that were impressive as hell.
Peeling off her clothes, she folded them and placed them on her dresser before she slipped between her silk sheets. The cool fabric was a splurge and an impulse buy when she left Atlanta. The soft, pale blue material warmed quickly against her skin. She propped her head up with a second pillow and stared at the darkened ceiling. Images of her new partner streamed across her thoughts. The jeans he’d worn hugged his thighs and that incredible tight, muscled ass. His long sleeve Henley had stretched over his shoulders and biceps, but had hung loose over the badge he’d carried on his belt. He’d hiked the hem up behind his service weapon. And those eyes. God, those eyes were intense blue with a darker ring edging the iris. His dark brown hair was long enough to curl at his neck. All in all, he was everything she’d used to look for in a man and then some.
Kallie groaned, flopped over onto her stomach and punched her pillow. Finding someone like Brock should make her giddy, hopeful, excited… except she’d let all those wonderful feelings in once and look how that turned out. Damn you, Rich. Damn him for stripping away her hopes and dreams with a single pull of a trigger. Damn him for letting the scum he lived with while he was undercover change him from the man she married to a cold-blooded killer.
A shiver skimmed over her. Had he changed or had the real Rich emerged? He’d been reprimanded before for his overzealous handing of suspects and… She brushed a tear away. He’d hit her. She’d never reported it because he was so damn sorry. Any report of domestic abuse would have finished his career. He knew it, and so did she. He swore he’d never do it again and that he hadn’t meant to hit her. She’d been so desperate to believe him. So. Damn. Desperate.
She’d been faithful to him while he was undercover. Cheating never entered her mind. The trial had proven he’d cheated, with the woman he killed and others. He’d lived with the woman for ten months. According to one of the men who testified, they were one of three couples who swapped partners routinely. He was impressed by Rich’s ability to make his woman scream. She threw the pillow she was holding across the room.
Frustrated, she drew a deep, cleansing breath and released it slowly. No good could come of dragging up the trash of her past.
She was starting a new chapter in her life. A new location, a new job and a new, albeit temporary, partner who she liked. Liked? She snorted and rolled onto her back. No, not liked. Wanted. She could imagine that big body over hers. The muscles that flexed under his shirt bared to her hands. Would he have hair on his chest? The five o’clock shadow that had started about noon yesterday suggested he might.
She trailed her nails over her breast and teased her nipple. In her imagination, he’d be an aggressive lover, but one who made sure she was satisfied. She pinched her nipple and rolled it between her fingers. He’d make sure he teased her and excited her. Her other hand crept lower and stroked the side of her clit, enough pressure to make her arch into the touch. Brock would make her crazy with desire. She could almost feel his lips and that scratchy scruff against her heated skin. Her fingers stroked faster and applied more pressure. She moved from one breast to the other and rolled the nipple. The muscles in her legs tightened, and she longed for his body to fill the space between them.
Her fingers shuffled faster as need tightened inside her. She gasped, reaching for release. Her hand flew against her skin until she peaked, orgasming against her own touch. She undulated through the release, but the end result was, as always, a desolate consolation. The silence of the room was punctuated by one set of lungs. There were no soft touches. No warmth of a body holding her, or a tender kiss with whispered words of love. The aftermath of solitary pleasure was so damn lonely.
Brock slowly registered the vibration of Fester’s purr on his chest. He opened one eye and pushed his head into the pillow as his eye focused on the tip of the cat’s nose about two inches from his face. “Fuck, man, don’t you have boundaries?”
Fester stretched his paws forward and patted his cheek as his purr ratcheted up to motorboat level. He carefully grabbed the paws and held them so he could turn his sleepy gaze to the clock on his nightstand. Well, son of a bitch. He’d slept six hours. That was a record. He eyed the cat. “It’s not you. Great food and near exhaustion put me in a coma. It has nothing to do with you in my bed.”
The cat meowed and moved his front paws from Brock’s light grasp. The mangy animal stood and strutted regally to the other pillow where he promptly lay down and recommenced the kneading. Brock blinked and yawned. Damn, he needed the rest, but with all the shit rolling through his brain, he was amazed the damn thing turned off long enough for him to latch onto some REM cycles. He grabbed his phone and checked his emails. Miriam Treyson’s attorney sent one last night that he’d read just before he closed his eyes. The board o
f directors were convening an emergency meeting this morning, at nine. He scrolled through the bullshit emails and opened one from a detective in Vice he knew. Samuel Treyson’s Bentley had been found. That left the McLaren as Treyson’s means of transportation to the warehouse. A cursory glance of the ride share apps on Samuel’s phone hadn’t shown him hiring a car in over a week. He thumbed through the emails again and dismissed the rest. Tossing the covers off, he headed into the small bathroom.
He cranked the shower before he took care of business, shaved, and brushed his teeth. By the time he stepped under the showerhead, steam had fogged his small bathroom into a near-sauna-esque state. Just the way he liked it. He got busy with the soap as he ticked off the laundry list of things he and Kallie needed to get through today. God, what they needed was a break in this case. He swiped his hand over his cock and under his balls. The suds and friction jolted him awake more than hot water and coffee ever could and that was saying something. Kallie’s image filled his mind as he stroked his length. Was it wrong? Probably. Did he care? Not really. He’d made a damn fool of himself last night. All that emo crap he’d spewed was sitting there between them, but there was also an attraction. He felt it, and gauging her reactions in the kitchen last night, she did too.
He leaned against the tile and gently tugged at his balls with one hand while the other slid up and twisted over the head of his cock. His gut curled low and tight. The last time he’d found such an immediate attraction with someone had been during his hitch in the Marine Corps. The attraction hadn’t lasted through divergent assignments and far too much time apart.
He stroked harder. Bringing himself off lately had been as exciting as sanding a plank of wood, methodical and bland. Only this morning, instead of his normal slide and glide, he pictured those beautiful fucking lips around his cock. Kallie’s big brown eyes looking up at him. Yes, God her eyes and that mouth. Lightning seared through him, igniting his fantasy with a million joules of sexed-up satisfaction. He groaned, the sound echoing around him in the small shower. His release thundered up his shaft following the strike of fantasy-laced electricity, and he erupted over his fist as he stroked himself through the orgasm.
He dropped his head into the water and closed his eyes. He needed the case to be over. He needed justice for Treyson’s family, to take his old man away from those fucking bullseyes, and the opportunity to explore something more with Kallie. Three damn good reasons to take down whoever killed Treyson. He turned off the water and grabbed his towel. There was no such thing as a perfect murder. There was something connecting Treyson to his killer. They just needed to find it.
A shiver ran through Brock as he huddled in his car and waited for the defroster to gather enough heat to melt the sheet of ice that had formed under the inch of snow on his windshield. When winter decided to show her face, she did it in grand style. He glanced at his watch before he punched his brother Brody’s picture on his phone. The screen went black for a couple seconds before it rolled into the call. Damn, even the cell phone hated the cold. Winter was no longer coming, the fucker was here, no white-walkers required.
“’lo?” The sleepy rumble of his brother Brody’s voice floated over the connection. Obviously, he’d woken his ass up.
“Hey, man. Got a favor to ask you.”
“Fuuuck… dude, do you know what time it is?”
“7:30.”
“In the fucking morning!”
The shock in Brody’s voice was worth the shit he’d get for the call. His brother had been permanently assigned as sergeant to a joint agency drug enforcement task force operating in Hope City and the J-DET crew worked some crazy fucking hours.
“It is the time normal people go to work.”
“No. No, it isn’t. Normal people go to work at 9:00. They are sleeping for another thirty minutes, minimum.”
“Depends on your definition of normal.”
“You are not normal, bro, you’ve never been normal,” Brody grumped into the phone.
“Right, you don’t want me to drag up your past, now do you?”
“Shut up. What do you want? Tell me so I can say no and go back to sleep.”
The playfulness left as Brock drew a deep breath. “I picked up a murder.”
“Yeah, Treyson. Heard about it.”
“Fucking cops are nothing but gossips.” Brock shook his head.
“You know it. This favor has something to do with that?”
“Yeah. I know your crew has feelers on the street. Treyson was in an abandoned warehouse. No vehicle found although everyone said he had a platinum ride. If I text you the make and model, can you make some inquiries? Knowing what happened to that car could give me a vector to shoot an azimuth.”
“Yeah, I can do that. How is the investigation going?”
“Big money equals big problems.” Four lovers and a partridge in a pear tree. Brock flicked the windshield wipers and watched as slush slid away from the bottom of the windshield. At this rate, he had another five minutes before he’d be able to head to Kallie’s. She'd be waiting for him, and that put a smile on his face.
“Pop is taking some huge pressure on this one.” He could hear Brody moving in the background.
His good mood disintegrated. “Yeah, I’ve been apprised.” He fucking hated that his dad had a target on his chest.
"The Governor held a press conference last night. Did you catch that? He had Dad standing up there like a chastised schoolboy as the fucker said he was going to make sure Samuel Treyson's killer was brought to justice. The son of a bitch said he was going to give HCPD one week to solve the murder before he sent in the fucktards from the State to oversee the investigation. One fucking week. The bastard is castrating Dad on a state-wide stage. Hell, he relegated Dad to a fucking back-drop." Brody's anger gained speed as he woke up.
"I didn't see it live, but a couple of the guys at work told me about it. We caught it on the internet before we left last night. I'm working this fucking case as hard as I can."
“I know it. You got any leads?”
“Too fucking many this time. Kallie and I are going to focus on working his last twenty-four. We got a warrant for his phone apps and need to go through that info dump.”
“Text and call log?”
“Tech is running the calls and printing up text messages. We should have who said what to whom by the time we reach the office.”
“Wait… hold on…” Brody yawned into the phone. “Go back.”
“Go back to what?”
“Who the fuck is Kallie? Where’s Jordan?” The sound of a one-cup coffee maker brewing in the background made him smile. He and his brother lived on coffee, unlike Blay, the health nut of the family.
“Jordan got called up by the Bureau to assist in the Grappelli debacle. Kallie Redman is my temporary partner.”
“Fuck, sorry about Jordan, that sounds like a cluster-fuck of epic proportions.” His brother took a sip of coffee and the sigh that came next was predictable.
“Yeah, I figure I’ll be whored out until he gets back, or until Davidson gets tired of the rotating door and assigns me someone permanently.”
“Fuck that would suck.”
“It would. You making an appearance at the homestead on Sunday?”
Brody grunted. “Have to. I’ve been MIA for almost two months and, unfortunately, I don’t have an active case going. We’re standing down while the DA preps us for the Serenity case.”
Brock nodded to himself. The J-DET team had intel about a freighter, The Serenity, stuffed full with cocaine. Brody’s team also ended up hauling in half the dock workers in Hope City as a huge drug smuggling ring unraveled. “Is that finally coming up for trial?” He hit the wiper again and watched another chunk of ice slide to the side and fall off.
“Yeah. The ADA wants to prosecute all the defendants together under the Rico Statute, and the union lawyers have been fighting it, but the judges know the ADA is on solid ground. Our witnesses just need to stay alive long enoug
h to testify.”
“Worried?”
“Always. So, about this Kallie woman. She good people?”
“Seems to be. She’s smart. She worked for Jade before she came here.”
“Jade? As in our cousin, Jade? Wait, that doesn’t compute. How does a personal security officer turn into a homicide detective?”
“She was homicide in Houston. Had a fuck-ton of shit happen. Worked for Jade for a while and then transitioned here.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.”
“She hot?”
“God. You are such a dog.”
“That means yes.” Brody laughed; the rich sound filled the car. “She’s a temporary partner, right?”
“Yes, yes she is.”
“Oh, God… you do like her.”
“Shut up.” Stellar comeback. He rolled his eyes.
“Brock, seriously, if you like this woman, go for it. Life’s too fucking short, you know what I mean?”
He flicked the wipers again and watched as the final piece of ice slid down the windshield and was pushed to the side. Unfortunately, his brother Brody had a shit track record with women, too. He glanced at the rear windshield. The heated coils running through the rear window had cleared it sufficiently to see behind him. He put the car into drive and inched the vehicle from his parking space. “I do know what you mean. Hey, you heard from Blay or the girls?”
“I saw Blay over at the Celtic Cock. The new rooster on the sign is hilarious, the fucker is wearing a kilt. Blay was hanging with the usual crowd of spark-heads. The girls? Brianna fed me yesterday when I stopped into the restaurant. Her new chef is amazing. Justin sent this one her way.”
“How many restaurants does that guy have now?”
“No fucking clue, but I’m happy for him. Jared called about a week ago asking me to put feelers out for anyone looking to go Federal. Guardian is hiring… again.”
A Hope City Duet Page 9