That and a sore-spot for reporters who sometimes made criminals seem like victims and the real victims seem like mere eye-witnesses to the accounts.
“Oh, that thing.” Phil rolled his brown eyed gaze in sarcasm. “The Wild Animal thing.”
“What do you think, Samantha?” Neal addressed me and, yes, I heard a distinct country accent in his words.
I felt his breath on my cheek, but I didn’t turn my head to look at him.
I merely gazed across the table at Phil, who was watching us intently.
“About what?”
“The Wild Animal Killer, is it really something on the loose here in the city, or is it really a she, a woman some people have claimed to have seen, with dreadlocks, in head-to-toe leather?”
Dawson added to the proposition, “A woman who, on occasion, calls up the police with information that’s helped them close so many cold files, they’ve probably lost count?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen the police files regarding those cases,” I replied, glad to be talking with Neal and his partner, but also feeling a bit perturbed, hoping that I wouldn’t end up sounding like a fool. “I’d rather not run into the Wild Animal, whether it’s a creature or a woman. People who run into the Wild Animal seem to end up dead or traumatized.”
“Well, you need not worry about bumping into her,” said Dawson, picking his teeth with a toothpick. “The only people she seems interested in are all criminals and their victims. Some of the thugs she’s attacked had rap sheets as long as your arm. I think it, she, whatever – is doing us a favor, cleaning the streets of human garbage.”
“Seriously, Dawson?” Phil seemed irked.
“Shit.” The Sergeant laughed. “Whatever makes our job easier.”
“I don’t know. A killer who kills killers?” Phil spoke in a sing-song voice. “Sounds like just another brand of serial killer to me.”
“Maybe it’s a group of vigilantes—more than just one person.” Neal offered, as a theory. “More than one woman. Maybe some leather enthusiasts taking the whole S & M thing a bit too far?”
I found myself staring at his hands, wondering if they were as strong and as warm as they looked…
“If that’s the case, then they’re a group of serial killers,” said Phil, clearly drawing his conclusion and stating his convictions.
I understood Phil’s angle and respected his opinion, but I still couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed in my partner. I’d had him pegged as someone who would probably be supportive of the Wild Animal Killer.
I was wrong.
He thought that I was a serial killer.
Which really was not far from the truth of the matter, but still, it left me feeling mildly upset.
“I’m just glad that she’s on our side,” said Neal.
The warmth of his body—and his voice—was as much a comfort to me as his support of the Wild Animal Killer.
“On our side?” Phil was incredulous. “Let me spell it out for you guys, M-U-R-D-E-R-E-R. Murderer! Vigilante or no, the Wild Animal is a murderer. As law enforcement officers, we are expected to put murderers in prison, where they belong with the rest of the murderers. Sheesh!”
Phil was getting irritated with the subject, so I decided to change it.
“Looks like our meal is ready.”
“It is ready.” Janine was coming out of the kitchen with two heaping plates in her hands.
She set mine before me and I didn’t want to complain, but I thought she should be aware of her mistake. “Uhm, I didn’t order fries.”
She smiled at me. “Oh, honey…you didn’t know. We always give you guys free fries with your sandwiches. Our way of giving a little bit back to you boys and girls in blue.”
I didn’t really care for fries, but I decided to try to take them graciously. “Well, thank you.”
“No problem.” She put the other plate before Phil. “More Coke, hon?”
“Yes, please,” he replied, a smile on his face now that the food had arrived. Something about the swell of his belly told me that he was a fan of food in general, but an even bigger fan of his usual here at Bernie’s. “Chow down kid – you never know – you might not get another chance to eat today.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” said Dawson, getting his winter coat back on. “Well, it’s about time that me and the kid hit the road. We’ve been here for nearly half an hour now – we don’t want John Q. Public getting upset with us. He pays our salary, after all.”
“You’ll have to excuse me,” said Neal, getting his jacket on.
“Oh, of course.”
I felt foolish and slid out of the booth, so that he could pass by me.
“Nice meeting you, Officer Bennet.” Dawson smiled at me. “And welcome to the Force.”
“Yes, nice meeting you,” Neal remarked, as he brushed past me.
That brief contact, his back next to my chest, sent a shiver of excitement coursing through my body.
He was so warm and taller than I by about six inches, I figured.
Not a bad height for kissing…
Not a bad height for bending me over and-
“Likewise,” I mumbled and sat back down into the booth, on legs that felt odd, almost weak.
“I’m sure we’ll be bumping into each other again soon enough,” Neal replied and followed the Sergeant out the front door, back to their squad car.
“So what was that remark about John Q. Public paying our salary?” I asked Phil, who would likely have understood the reference.
He took a moment between bites to speak with his mouth full. “As a cop, what you’re gonna hear a lot from your adoring public are things like why don't you leave me alone and go get the drug dealer standing on the corner? You’ll hear things like there are people out there doing worse things than me – go get the real criminals. And there’s the infamous John Q. Public remark I pay taxes and my taxes pay your salary!”
Phil laughed. “Whether it's for running a stop sign or red light, for speeding, or driving under the influence, if I had a dime for every time I heard a civilian say my taxes pay your salary, I’d be rich. To that remark, all I can say is, just doing my job, boss.”
“A thankless job indeed.” I laughed and picked up my sandwich.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Rookie.” He popped a French fry into his mouth. “So hey, what did you think of Schroeder?”
What did I think?
I thought he was by far the most attractive man I had ever met.
Maybe not super-model attractive by society’s standards, but he had certain qualities that had really brought out the woman in me.
Like his full, masculine lips, for instance…
And that scent of his…
That heady male musk…
“I didn’t have enough time to get much of an impression,” I lied.
“Bullshit.”
“Pardon?”
“From the way the two of you were gawking at each other, you’d think you’d had a history or something.” He ate another French fry.
“He seems…nice,” I said, simply, minding my own meal.
“Well, did you at least find him attractive?” He probed, trying to elicit some sort of response from me.
I found my cheeks heating.
Here I was, blushing again.
My partner was damned good at pushing my buttons.
There was no point in lying to Phil.
He was nosy, not stupid.
“Sure, I mean, I guess so.”
“He’s a good-looking kid…” He smiled at me. “…and so are you. The two of you could have beautiful children together.”
I felt like smacking the grin off his face. “No need to tease, Sergeant.”
“But you blush so easily.” He chuckled at me. “So does he.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Liar. It was so sweet, the two of you sitting there, cheeks stained with embarrassment at your obvious interest in each other-“
“-oh, come on!”
“I bet you just can’t wait to see him again.”
I decided to ignore his comment and take a bite of my sandwich. I found that it was just as good as he and Dawson—and, for that matter, Neal—had said it was going to be. The savory bacon and tangy tomatoes complimented each other well, with just the right amount of mayo to mellow it out, between the crunchy-chewy textures of the rye bread.
“Now this is what I call a sandwich,” I said, as impressed now with Bernie’s as they were.
“See, I told you,” Phil grinned at me, after which we finished our meal in silence.
A minor traffic accident, two break and enter calls and an assault causing bodily harm call later, our shift was pretty much over. Since I had been riding shotgun as the passenger all day, while Phil drove, I had been the one filing reports using the squad car’s computer.
But now, at the end of the day, it was time to file our end-of-shift reports.
At my desk, I sat before the computer screen, typing in the last of my information when I felt someone watching me.
I glanced across the bullpen and saw noon hour sex God Neal Schroeder sitting at a desk there, shuffling papers around.
There were many desks and filing cabinets between us, yet I felt as though he was as near to me now as he had been at Bernie’s.
I felt my body reacting to him, felt myself warming at the thought of what it would be like to be near him again.
He looked up from his work and smiled at me.
That smile nearly floored me.
He was very handsome and, despite the long work day, looked every bit as energetic as he had in the morning. He had the vitality of youth about him and a sex appeal that I could not deny. His very presence in the room roused in me a feminine stirring, an arousal that I found intoxicating, a very pleasant distraction indeed.
He lifted a hand to wave at me briefly and I found myself responding, raising my own hand to wave back.
I felt like a schoolgirl responding awkwardly to her first crush.
I’ve got to pull myself together, I told myself, yanking my hand out of the air to return it to the menial task of typing.
I tried to return my focus to the dull, repetitive, clear, concise reporting, straight out of my notebook and into police record.
Paperwork.
Nothing would kill my sex drive quicker.
I stared back at the computer screen and for the next half hour continued typing out my notes in the computer application’s required areas, going over my log book one, twice, three times to make sure that I had spelled everything correctly in the occurrence reports. The Motor Vehicle Accident we had responded to required the most documentation, since a copy of the occurrence report had to be forwarded to the Department of Motor Vehicles, for their records.
It was amazing how much paperwork was necessary for even the smallest of criminal offences or even for a simple breaking and entering occurrence.
I felt sympathetic toward the officers involved in investigating the Wild Animal Killer cases. How much paperwork, how many reports had been filed because of my actions, how many countless hours of manpower had gone into documenting every Wild Animal or even suspected Wild Animal occurrence?
I didn’t know.
But I imagined it was a lot, I had lost count of my victims, over the years, but somewhere out there, I was certain that the police and now even a special task force from the FBI, were keeping tally.
It wasn’t long after I had resolved to stay focused on my work that I saw movement in front of me, over the top of my computer screen.
It was Neal, walking in my direction, his gaze fixed intently on me.
I felt a thrill go through me, a moment of excitement so intense, it was hard to tell whether it was in joy, or panic.
What could he possibly want?
I felt trapped at my desk.
Even though there were other people in the bullpen with us, it suddenly felt as though we were the only two people in the world, part of our own private little drama.
There would be no running from him, from whatever this visit entailed.
A pleasant smile spread over his face, as he stopped right in front of my desk, his eyes not once leaving mine.
He had me fixed, by stare alone, to my very seat.
Damn, he looked as good in uniform as he did out of it.
The dark blue sweater he was wearing fit snugly over his broad shoulders and clung to a broad chest that tapered down to denim jeans that could not disguise his lean waist and strong legs.
His clothing left a lot to the imagination… and my imagination was running wild.
“You know,” he began, in his pleasant country drawl, “I’d ask you how your first day went, but I’d rather do it leaning over a nice meal than leaning over your computer.”
I looked at him stunned, not sure what to say.
What was he talking about?
Was he asking me out?
Like on a date?
That was kind of unprofessional…
Or was it just like, a coworker thing?
“You see,” he continued, “I was sitting over there, all by myself, for the better part o’half an hour trying to come up with a way o’asking you if you like sushi or not, when finally, it hit me—there’s only one way to find out.” His grin spread. “So do you? Like sushi, that is?”
I was speechless and in my reverie, I simply stared at him, uncertain of what to say.
He was asking me out.
For sushi, no less – my favorite meal!
“Sure, I like sushi.” I relented finally, wondering what I had done to be so lucky.
He leaned toward me and the flat-screened computer between us didn’t seem to leave me enough room to breathe.
“Well, then, Samantha, would you like to accompany me for some late night sushi? I know a great place, just down the street, a short walk from here. They’ll be open ‘til midnight and it’s only eight o’clock now.”
“I don’t know…” My voice trailed off as I considered it.
Neal was making it so easy to say yes.
He was so charming…but I wasn’t thinking straight around him.
Didn’t he know how his very presence in the same room with me was having an effect that made my knees weak, made my very core ache for something more of him? Could he tell the effect that he was having on me?
He put himself out on a limb and, with no fear of rejection, tried another approach.
“If you don’t like me, you can dine and dash on out o’there. If you find me irresistible, stick around ‘til midnight, see if I turn into a pumpkin…what d’ya say?”
I decided to take him up on the offer, excited by the prospect of getting to know him better.
“I just have to finish filing this last report and then I can go.” I wondered why my voice was coming out a note higher than usual.
Could he tell that I was nervous, excited?
“Well, how much more d’you think you have left?” He asked, sounding a little concerned.
“About fifteen minutes.” I wondered if he could feel the warmth of my body the way that I could feel his, even with the two feet of desk space between us.
“Perfect. That gives me time to reply to some email before we go.”
I looked down at my uniform and felt like a fool. “Oh and I’ll have to change first, too, if that’s okay?”
“No problem.”
“Where should I meet you?”
“I’ll be at my desk. Just drop on by an’ let me know when you’re done.”
With that, he walked back to his corner of the bullpen. With his back turned, I knew he wouldn’t see me checking out his firm behind.
From head to toe, he was quite the package.
I was certain he had a better ass than I did.
If my bartending tips were anything to go by, I had a very nice ass.
If my sexual conquests were anything to go by, I had an amazing ass.
Reluctantly, I took my gaze off of his shapely rear and stared back at the computer screen, to finish the report I had started. I found myself typing with renewed vigor, anticipation making me eager to finish my work and call it a day.
At long last, I printed up copies of the report for the hard copy of our filing system and filed them in the appropriate cabinet. I looked at Neal, who was still busy at his computer. I tried not to look as rushed as I felt as I went to the women’s locker room to get out of my uniform and into my street clothes.
On the way back, I grabbed my winter coat and walked across the large room to his desk, my stomach seeming tumultuous with anticipation.
The closer I got to Neal, the more nervous my stomach felt.
Were these the butterflies that people always talked about, now fluttering in my belly?
“Hey,” he looked up at me with a boyish smile. “Just have to fire this off to Internet Land and we can go.” He dictated, aloud, the last few words of his email. “…and Mom, be sure to thank Aunt Susan for the strawberry jam she shipped out to me on the bus. All my love, Neal.”
He logged out of his computer and rose to his feet. “Just have to put my jacket on,” he said, almost apologetically. He gestured for me to walk ahead of him. “This way. We take the Young Street entrance.”
“Okay,” I started toward the entrance.
“Wrong way, Samantha.” As I looked at him over my shoulder, he grinned at me. He gestured at the hallway to my right. “Young Street is that way.”
“Right.” The nervousness I felt seemed to be distracting me. “I knew that.”
“Sure you did.” His hearty chuckle made me flush with embarrassment.
“Cut me some slack,” I groaned. “It’s my first day on the job.”
“If it’s any consolation to you, I ended up in the women’s change room my first day.”
“Intentionally?”
“Nope. They were painting the door that day, so the sign had been taken off. I had a feeling I was in the wrong area, but was in a hurry. Long story short, the ladies in blue were none too thrilled about me appearing in their midst in nothing but a towel.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, I don’t think you can.”
Oh, but I could.
The image of him in a towel was already burned into my imagination.
Reaper III: Rookies Page 4