BADGE BUNNIES: The Full 5-Book Box Set

by Mazzy King

  Tonight, there’s a container of what looks like beef stew in the fridge along with a note written in a child’s hand that says “Enjoy.”

  I heat some up in a mug and eat it outside while Cookie frolics, watching the steam curl up into the cold, early December night sky. I think about the file Sarge sent home with me.

  I think about Hazel Summers, and that she agreed to do the bravest thing in the world by going face-to-face with the man who tried to end her life…as long as I’m there.

  My cup of stew eaten and Cookie relieved, we head inside. I lock up tight, double check the security alarm, and then head to bed. Cookie curls up at the foot of the bed. Eventually she’ll make her way to my side. In a matter of minutes, she’s snoring contentedly.

  I stare up at the ceiling.

  Every time I close my eyes, I see that determined look in Hazel’s eyes the night two months ago I found her huddled in a dark closet. I feel her arms around my neck as I carried her out to safety.

  I hear her soft voice whispering, “Angel.”

  That was the night I fell in love.

  In the morning, after Cookie and I go for a jog, after I’ve made coffee and eggs and bacon, after I’ve done the dishes, I stare at the case file.

  Hazel Summers’s phone number stares up at me.

  I shouldn’t do it. It’s unprofessional, and I shouldn’t fraternize with a witness set to testify in an ongoing murder trial.

  But I do it anyway, because…I have to hear her voice. I have to know she’s doing all right, and why she asked for me specifically to be there when she testifies.

  I dial the number, and when I hear a tentative, “Hello?” on the other end, my heart stops for several seconds.

  “Ms. Summers?” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t tremble. “This is Officer Jaxson Rivers.”

  Chapter 2

  Hazel Summers

  I stare at the phone, blinking in disbelief.

  There I was, sitting at my small kitchen table, enjoying the cool, wintry, sunny morning with my coffee and a croissant, thinking of him—fantasizing, fine—and then…he manifested in the form of a phone call.

  “Hello?” he says again. “Ms. Summers? Are you there?”

  My black shorthair cat, Lieutenant Dan, who’s perched on one corner of the table waiting for croissant crumbs, blinks his yellow-green eyes at me as if to say, Wake up, dummy. It’s the man of your dreams—literally.

  Shit! I hastily bring the phone to my ear, raking a hand through my unruly brown curls. “Um. Yes. This is Haz—I mean, I’m here. Hello, Officer Rivers. How are you?”

  “I’m doing well. I was calling to see how you’re doing. I was informed that as of Wednesday, you’ll be testifying at Mr. Barber’s trial.”

  Officer Rivers’s voice is low and velvety, and it sounds exactly the way it did the night he found me a couple months ago. I’ve never forgotten it. In fact, it’s the only thing that helps me sleep at night, calling up the memory of when he opened that rotting wooden door in that rotting, dank basement where I was for a week. My hands were bound behind me, and I accepted the fact that my life would end at twenty-six. I was not going to have the future I’d wanted of building a successful career at the pharmaceutical company I worked at. I was not going to get to go to Europe. I was not going to find out the sex of the baby my older sister and her husband are having. I would never be an aunt, never get to tell my niece or nephew how much I loved them and how I would always be there for them.

  And then…he was there.

  I hadn’t seen light for a few days or so, so when the door opened and the flashlight shined in my eyes, it was like fire searing my corneas. I couldn’t see. But then, a soft, deep voice said, “You’re safe now.”

  You’re safe now.

  I was still sitting on that dirty, damp floor. I was still starved and beaten and tied up and terrorized. Nothing about where I was had changed, and yet, I believed the voice’s promise. I knew the owner of that voice would keep his word.

  I had no reason to trust him. No reason to believe he was there to save me. But something deep in my gut told me…I was safe now.

  When he pulled me into his arms and carried me out of that room, I saw him. I saw the square, chiseled jaw, clenched tight with stress. I saw the purse of his full lips. I saw the straight slope of his nose.

  I saw his eyes.

  I’m named for that shade of eye color.

  They fixed on me, and they were so full of strength and light and everything good that I knew, down to my very marrow, that I was safe.

  I blacked out then, but before darkness slipped over me to claim me, I whispered, “Angel.”

  I don’t remember seeing him again, but I do remember what I think was a dream I had in the hospital. I was lying in bed, trying to wake up because I needed to get away, get out of the bonds holding me, go get help. Then I dreamed a cool, strong hand rested on my cheek, calloused fingers stroking my face, and that deep voice that promised me I was safe saying, It’s all right, love. Just relax. Just rest. You’re safe. You’re safe here with me.

  Then I dreamed soft lips pressed against my forehead, skimmed down my nose…and then landed on mine.

  Sometime later, when I woke up, I was alone in the hospital room.

  But every night since then, I think of that voice.

  And now that voice is on the phone…with me.

  “Yes,” I say. “I agreed to testify. I want to make sure he never has the chance to do what he did to me—what he did to those other girls—again.”

  “That’s incredibly brave of you.” There’s a long pause. “My sergeant mentioned you would only testify if…if I was there. In the courtroom.”

  My cheeks heat. If this was a month ago—hell, if this was two weeks ago—I would have shriveled up into a little, desiccated, humiliated ball. But I’ve been working really, really hard in therapy because I fucking refuse to let this event define or shape me. It was my choice to testify. My therapist didn’t recommend it, but she supports me.

  But there’s only way I’ll be able to actually go through with it.

  “That’s right,” I say softly. “You—you saved my life, Officer Rivers. You found me and you rescued me, and you promised me I’d be safe. I’ve held onto that—those words. They give me strength. And I know if you’re there in the courtroom, I can be in the same room with Howard Barber. I can look him in his evil fucking face and I can tell everyone what he did to me. I can be a voice for the women he destroyed. I can get justice for us—for them.” My voice has taken on such vehemence I’m practically growling. My cheeks flame hotter.

  There’s another pause. “You,” he says quietly, “are the single bravest person I’ve ever met. And believe me when I say I meet a lot of people on this job. Of course I’ll be there for you. I promise I will. I just wanted to call and confirm I—I heard that correctly. And to check on you.”

  And to feed my fantasies. It’s hard being in love with memory. But now this memory is on the phone, speaking to me, and I feel like it’s the universe’s way of smiling down on me.

  An idea, a little whisper of a suggestion, pricks the back of my brain. At first it terrifies me. Then I consider what my therapist and I have been working on—overcoming challenges as they present themselves, whether they’re from the world or ones of my own making borne out of fear.

  This little idea that’s steadily growing louder is definitely a challenge of my own fear.

  I might never get this chance again.

  You’re safe with me…

  “Actually…” I clear my throat. “I’m beyond thrilled that you’ve called.”

  “You…are?”

  “Yes.” I chew my lip and clench one hand into a fist. I envision the fear as a little red rubber ball, the kind that bounces. In my mind, I bounce it once.

  Then I throw that bitch as hard and as far as I can.

  “Officer Rivers, are you married?”

  “Uh, no,” he says, clearly confused.

/>   “Are you in any kind of a serious relationship?”

  “No,” he repeats slowly.

  Halle-fucking-lujah! “In that case, would you like to get together and have dinner with me?”

  Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

  I have, as the kids say, done did it now.

  “Uh,” he says, sounding surprised. “Ah. Dinner?”

  “I’ve wanted to thank you,” I say in a rush, clenching and unclenching my fist. “For everything. I mean, you were the first face I saw after…after everything. You got me out of there. You made sure I was taken care of. And now you’re coming to hear me testify. I wanted to take you to dinner as a thank-you for all of that.”

  “You don’t need to thank me, Ms. Summers,” he says. “I’m doing my job.”

  Okay, yeah, I get it. He probably isn’t supposed to hang out with people he’s saved in a casual setting. Besides, he’s a cop. He rescues people and saves lives because he took an oath to do that. But there was something more there that night. It wasn’t just cold, hard math. He…cared.

  He cared.

  “Please,” I say, and I hate how faint and forlorn my voice suddenly sounds, even to my own ears. “It would mean a lot to me. More than you could know. More than I can explain.”

  “Well…” His tone is the kind that usually means a “no” is coming.

  I’m surprised at how crestfallen I feel. It’s not quite like being punched in the chest. More like… Picture someone poking you really fucking hard, right in your sternum. That’s what it feels like.

  I hate how it hurts. I hate I have the urge to cry.

  “Yes,” he says finally. “Yes. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  My heart soars into the stratosphere. “Really?”

  I can hear a smile in his voice. “Yes. Really. Where would you like to go?”

  I don’t care! I want to scream at him. All I want is to sit close to him, to look at him, to see if he’s really the savior angel I’ve created in my mind these past couple months.

  “How about Napoli’s?” I suggest. “If you like Italian food.”

  “I love that place,” he agrees. “I work tonight, but I’m off tomorrow. Would that be all right with you?”

  Tomorrow is Saturday. As much as I want to see him now, maybe giving myself a day to chill would be a good idea.

  “That’s great,” I say. “I’ll meet you there at seven. How’s that sound?”

  As much as I’m smitten with this man, I’m rational enough to understand I don’t know him. Having dinner with him in a public place is one thing, but having him—a veritable stranger, even if I get nothing but good vibes from him—come to my house is not a smart idea.

  “That sounds fine,” he says, and I get the idea he knows exactly where I’m coming from.

  “Great,” I say. “I’ll see you then, Officer Rivers.”

  “See you then, Ms. Summers,” he says. “And—thank you for asking me.”

  “Thank you for calling to check on me.”

  We end the call. I wander over to my couch and tumble onto my back. The lieutenant leaps off the table and trots over to me, tail straight up and curled as if he’s excited about this turn of events too. Then he eyes me skeptically, sleek tail swishing.

  “It’s just a crush,” I tell Dan. “I just want to say thank you.”

  In the past two months, I’ve undergone intensive therapy. I went back to work two weeks ago, though my boss insists I only do half days from home for a while. She’s an incredible, caring woman, and she visited me every day she could while I was in the hospital. She dropped off homecooked meals and groceries for me after my sister had to reluctantly leave to go back to work after staying with me for five weeks. We lost our mom to cancer five years ago, so my boss’s motherliness toward me is particularly touching.

  I’ve worked hard to get my life back on track. Things aren’t easy by any means, but I’m committed to making sure my near-death experience doesn’t ruin my life, because I’m more than this one event that happened to me. The one thing that’s missing—that’s been missing—is love.

  I want love, and I want it with the man who saved my life.

  I want it with my hero.

  Chapter 3

  Jaxson

  On Saturday evening, I study myself in the mirror.

  I look all right—I’ve gone for a thin, gray, crew-neck sweater, nice dark-wash jeans, black leather boots. I touched up my already-close shave, ran a handful of product my buddy Gunner’s fiancée Isla told me to use through my hair, and splashed on a new cologne that’s a mixture of spice and orange and woodsy vanilla.

  It’s inside where I feel like I’m a mess.

  For the forty-thousandth time, I ask myself what the hell I’m doing. What was I thinking, agreeing to meeting Hazel for dinner? This has got to be against some regulation, somewhere.

  And still, I can’t help being thrilled. She wants to see me…to thank me.

  It’s so mind-blowingly insane, I need to call my brother.

  I’ve already mentioned this to Saint yesterday, but I could use a bit of a pep talk at the moment. Or, someone to talk me out of what I suspect is a bad idea.

  But, as I dial his number, it doesn’t feel bad. Not at a fundamental level.

  “Big bro,” Saint says after the call connects. “I thought you had a big date tonight.”

  “I just…” I shake my head. I’m supposed to be the wiser of the two of us, even though I’m only older by a year. But Saint’s more experienced, and I’ve always trusted his judgement. Besides, he’s all settled and engaged. I guess when it comes to love, he’s the one who knows better. “I think I need to be talked off the ledge, man.”

  “What’s up, Jax?” Saint’s voice takes on a more serious note. “You think she’s not who she says she is?”

  “I believe she’s exactly who she says she is. It’s just—isn’t this fraternization? And don’t bullshit me, Saint. I know I need to cancel this.”

  It’s the last thing I want.

  Saint sighs. “It could raise some eyebrows. Sure. You’re the officer who was first on the scene. You physically removed her from that basement. You’ve already given testimony from that night. But you’re not an investigator on this. Hell, this is a federal case now, since the asshole committed murder in other states. She’s a witness in their investigation, not Ridge City’s. So, yeah. Maybe it doesn’t look great. Maybe you should cancel…but you’re not breaking any technical rules here. And besides—you want to go. Bad.”

  “I do,” I murmur.

  “Listen, it’s just dinner,” Saint says. “That’s all. It’s just a meal you’re sharing. Don’t overthink it.”

  “But isn’t it kind of fucked up that I was just pulling her out of a dungeon, and now she wants to have dinner?” I shake my head. “She should be, I don’t know, resting. With her family or her friends right now.”

  “Isn’t that for her to decide?” my brother says gently. “Yeah, she went through hell. But she decides what she wants to do. Even though you’re just looking out of her, you don’t get to make those choices for her. You have a responsibility to take care of her when you’re with her, but you don’t get to decide what she wants to do.” He pauses. “I know you know that, Jax. You’re the smartest guy I know.”

  He’s absolutely right—I do know that. It’s not up to me. It’s up to Hazel, and I need to stop talking myself out of this date, worrying about right and wrong.

  This job is so hard sometimes. So damn hard. It’s cost me relationships, friendships and romantic ones alike. Like every police officer does, I’ve sacrificed a lot in order to uphold my oath I took the day I was sworn in.

  For once, I just want to be a regular guy, having dinner with the woman I can’t stop thinking about.

  Is that too much to ask?

  “Get out of your head, Jax,” Saint says in a lighter tone. “Go have fun. God knows you need it. You do know what fun means, right? I’m not sure you’ve ever
had it.”

  “Fuck off,” I say good-naturedly. “One of us needs to take things seriously.”

  “Well, I’m working tonight,” Saint says, “so let me handle that. This time, it’s your turn to enjoy yourself. Good luck, bro. I love you.”

  “Love you too, shithead,” I grouse, then hang up. Talking to my brother was a good idea. Granted, I still have some unease. I guess that’s just ingrained in me. I can’t totally escape the cop I’ve been for almost eight years. Which is a good thing, since it’s kept me alive.

  Just be a normal guy! I yell at my reflection.

  I glance at my watch. Napoli’s is about a ten-minute drive from my place in the ’burbs. Being early is the best way to ensure you’re on time, and I don’t want Hazel to spend one second wondering where I am. I want to be there early.

  Cookie’s sprawled across my bed, pouting. We usually spend my nights off watching movies on the couch, or I’ll take her with me to Saint and Lyra’s place. Tonight she’ll be on her own for a few hours, and her disapproval is evident in every line of her. She rests her muzzle on her crossed front paws and refuses to look at me.

  “Oh, come on, now,” I say, leaning over and peppering the top of her skull with kisses. “Is that anyway to say goodbye to Daddy?”

  She snorts a little, then whines.

  “C’mon, Cooks. I need some good luck, here.” I scratch behind her left ear.

  Finally Cookie lifts her head, jams her muzzle to cheek for a fraction of a second, then goes back to pouting. I swipe the wetness off my cheek and chuckle.