by Ronica Black
She could use those handcuffs on me anytime. The thought made her shudder.
She glanced back toward the police cruiser. Was it possible that she was worse than a man when it came to noticing women? Maybe she was. Her occupation, her sexuality, and her libido all entered her mind. Yes, she definitely was.
“You’re a man, Hank,” she said, seeking some reassurance. Her reactions were understandable. Surely her brother shared them. “You’re telling me you didn’t notice?”
“Yeah, she’s hot. So what?”
It seemed he couldn’t get past the seriousness of their current situation, and Chan couldn’t get past the tall, gorgeous cop. “So…I don’t know what,” she confessed. “I’m having a hard time just getting past her looks at the moment.”
Her body continued to pump the sweet adrenaline. But this time what fed the raging fire wasn’t speed. She was all worked up again, pulsing with desire. How a woman she had only laid eyes on seconds before could do that to her, she didn’t know.
Hank snickered, seemingly reading her thoughts. “I swear, sometimes I think that’s all you think about.” His eyes were full of contempt. “Sex.” He let that word linger a bit before he chided, “And don’t forget Donna. You thought she was pretty hot too, remember?”
Chan turned on him quickly. Hank knew her better than anyone, and she knew he was right. Nevertheless, the sharpness of his words hit home. Thoughts of Donna flooded her, leaving a bad taste in her mouth. She couldn’t believe he had brought her name up. It had been almost a year since their doomed attempt at something intimate, a strained relationship in which everything had to be Donna’s way. They’d tried to make it work for almost a year—at least, Chan had. Donna had simply expected everything to go her way. When it didn’t, she became harsh, curt, and judgmental.
The experience had been so negative, Chan had opted for casual sex ever since. If there were no strings attached, then she couldn’t be pulled or controlled.
Hating the feelings that surfaced when she thought about Donna, she considered Hank’s other words. Next to speed and the need for that adrenaline rush, sex did top her list. She studied the ground. Yes, sex was something she thought about an awful lot. Hell, she did more than think about it, she embraced it. There was nothing wrong with that, she decided, nothing to be ashamed of. After all, she had turned it to good use.
As she continued trying to convince herself that she was okay, there was movement from the cruiser and the cop walked up to them purposefully and confidently, her khaki uniform moving against her, clinging to her full chest and long legs. Chan could sense the hard muscles, almost feel them beneath her fingers, straining to tear out from under the well-fitted uniform. God, yes. She wanted to feel them, wanted to stroke their harnessed power. She wanted to run light fingers up one long, strong leg and then the other, making the woman shiver with desire. Then she would move up to her arms, caress the firm mound of the bicep all the way up to the shoulder.
The officer came to a halt in front of her and studied the thick metal clipboard in her hands.
Chan’s pulse beat thick and heavy through her veins as she continued her covert visual assault of the woman, examining every last inch. She noticed the dark brown hair, pinned up and away from her face. Her ears were on the smaller side, with two pierced holes in each lobe, leading to her strong jaw. Her cheekbones were high and slightly bronzed, contrasting beautifully with her dark hair and light eyes. Her aquiline nose led to slightly pink lips, which were near perfect in size.
Chan thought about tugging on them with her own, caressing them until they were engorged with darkened blood.
“Ms. Brogan? Ms. Chandler L. Brogan?” the cop questioned in her strong, deep voice.
Chan stood very still, captivated in the way her mouth moved when she spoke. Captivated by everything about her. Regardless of the officer’s demeanor, Chan’s mind flew with possibilities. Serious blue eyes rose to look into hers. The stare was fierce and piercing. A light yellow ring surrounded each pupil, almost like a halo. Chan held her breath again, incredibly moved. She searched for a hint of interest or attraction, or at the very least a trace of recognition. But she saw nothing. Only the stoic look of a beautiful, professional cop.
Chan focused on the tiny brass plate on her chest. It read “S. Monroe.” Monroe. Chan began wondering what the S stood for as the woman spoke.
“I’m not going to mince words here.” Officer Monroe returned their licenses. “Both of you should be placed under arrest.”
Chan’s brain pounded, the reality of the words sinking in. Arrest? Who? “What?” she asked, hearing the panic in her voice.
The officer calmly and assertively explained, “You were speeding to an excess of twenty-five miles an hour over the speed limit.” Her eyes held Chan’s, unmoving and seemingly unfeeling. “That alone is grounds for arrest.”
Chan couldn’t fathom what was happening. How could she, this perfect creation of a woman, be saying such things, be thinking such things? It wasn’t supposed to work like this. She was supposed to be swept away by Chan’s presence.
Suddenly angry at herself for not seeing the situation for what it was, and for wallowing in illusions, Chan shook her head. What the hell was wrong with her? This wasn’t the woman of her dreams…this was a cop. A cop who wanted to arrest her.
“No way. That’s not possible.” Chan was suddenly angry. She was a professional, a good citizen who had never been in trouble with the law. Why was this woman picking on her? Wasn’t there a violent offender out there somewhere who needed her attention?
“What she means is—” Hank interjected, wrapping an arm around Chan’s shoulders.
But Officer Monroe had words of her own. “You have two previous tickets, Ms. Brogan.” Her voice was icy, causing Chan to shudder internally. “Both within the last fourteen months. Both on the bike.”
Chan’s face flushed. The woman was right, but she was wrong. One of the tickets was for changing lanes without signaling. The cop had been an ass, determined to meet some sort of twisted ticket quota. Of course, the other had been a little more severe. Chan had been speeding well beyond the limit. She had paid them both and shrugged them off.
Chan’s blood began to boil. “One of those was for failing to signal. Hardly worth—”
“My sister’s had a bad day.” Hank interrupted again. “She—”
“As for you, Mr. Brogan,” Officer Monroe cut in, “you have a previous ticket for reckless driving.”
She studied them in silence, dropping the clipboard to rest against her thigh. “I observed you both weaving through traffic at excess speeds, with little regard to your lives or to those around you.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that,” Chan spat defensively. This cop didn’t know her, didn’t know what regard she had for anything or anyone.
“I know that you were speeding up to ninety miles an hour, weaving through cars on a highway. Doing it all without a helmet or any other form of protective gear. That doesn’t sound like someone who values their life to me.”
“You don’t know me,” Chan grumbled. The officer had hit a very sensitive nerve, and Chan’s body and mind reacted.
“I know what I see,” came the reply.
“So do I.” Chan held Officer Monroe’s eyes.
She could size the cop up in a second. She knew her type, knew it all too well. Women who couldn’t function without absolute control, which most of the time led them to try and control the lives of others around them. They couldn’t stand disorder, spontaneity, or letting go. And she was just about to tell her so when Hank straightened beside her.
“Please excuse her, Officer.” The fear in his voice did not escape Chan.
“No, I don’t think I will.” Officer Monroe’s face hardened and Chan no longer felt a burning in her throat. All that remained was a large, round rock, making it nearly impossible to swallow.
She held her ground, her mouth dry, as the officer turned to walk briskly back t
o her car, where she deposited her clipboard.
“What the fuck are you doing!” Hank exclaimed, grabbing Chan by the shoulders. His eyes were wide with fear, his hands clenched tightly at her behavior. “She’s going to arrest us!”
“I don’t know!” Chan shot back. Her head hurt with all that was spinning around her. “What she said got to me, and I—”
But there was no time to explain.
“Place your hands behind your back, Ms. Brogan,” Officer Monroe said as she stormed back up to them. A pair of cuffs jingled from her hand.
“No, this is a mistake, she didn’t mean anything…” Hank said desperately.
“You have the right to remain silent.” Officer Monroe yanked Chan’s arm up and around her back painfully, causing Chan to turn. “Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”
Her hands were strong on Chan’s wrists, wrapping the cuffs down tight against them. Chan nearly laughed as she realized that, only moments ago, she had been completely turned on at the thought of Officer Monroe handcuffing her.
A hard jerk turned Chan and led her away from her pleading brother, kicking up dirt as she was tugged along to the cruiser.
Holding the back door to the vehicle open, the officer pushed on Chan’s shoulder. “Get in and be still.”
Chan tensed for a moment and then relented, plopping down in the backseat. She remained silent as Officer Monroe closed the door, locking her inside the police car. Her breathing came quick and shallow. She felt like a caged animal. A dangerous caged animal. Tears nipped at her throat but she fought them back, too proud to cry. Her big mouth had gotten her into trouble, real trouble.
She watched as Officer Monroe returned to Hank, and then she let her eyes fall to the floor as the police radio reported on various situations. She knew she didn’t belong here, but she didn’t know how to get herself free. Her mind fought for a way out. She would have to apologize for her behavior. And if that didn’t work, she guessed she would have to spend a few hours in jail. Christ, what would her colleagues say if they ever found out about this? What would her clients say? Hank was right, she was fucked.
She glanced up as Officer Monroe returned and slid in behind the wheel. Her shoulder moved as she scribbled on the clipboard.
Chan shifted a little, ignoring the pain in her arms, working up the nerve to speak.
“Excuse me?” she said in a weak voice. She hated the way it sounded, hated herself for this situation.
Officer Monroe continued writing. “Yeah?”
“I just wanted to apologize. For my behavior.” It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d had to bury her pride in order to get out of trouble.
Officer Monroe was silent for a moment. She stopped writing and looked at her captive in the rearview mirror. “Do you really mean that, or are you just trying to get out of an arrest?”
Again Chan felt anger burn through her, but she bit it back. Why was this woman getting to her so?
“I mean it,” she whispered, sounding defeated. And a part of her was defeated, having to say such things to this stranger.
“You know, you’re lucky you got me,” Officer Monroe said. “Anybody else would’ve hauled you two off right away. But I tried to be nice about it.”
Chan sighed, her shoulders slumping.
“I know,” she admitted, seeing things from the cop’s perspective for the first time. Something she had trouble doing lately. Even with her paying clients.
“You really should lose your motorcycle license for a while before you get yourself killed.”
Chan shook her head, hating the sound of the words, not to mention the idea. And again she felt the sting of the woman’s judgment and the resentment at being told what to do. Chan had a real problem with authority, but she shut her mouth and breathed deep, waiting for the right words to come.
“It’s just that…I need to push the edge, just like…” Chan paused, searching. “Just like you need control.” Immediately, she regretted the words.
Officer Monroe stiffened and looked away, staring out the windshield.
Chan continued, desperate to explain. “You probably go crazy if you don’t have everything in your life under control.” She wasn’t trying to be a jerk; she was being sincere, trying to relate to her in a way that she knew how. Chan knew people. It was her job to know people.
But Officer Monroe remained still, looking straight ahead. When she did move, it was to crawl out and open Chan’s door. Her strong hand wrapped around Chan’s bicep and lifted her up out of the car.
Chan cringed as her fingers dug in.
Officer Monroe then turned Chan around quickly and released the handcuffs. At once Chan brought her hands around to the front to massage her wrists.
Officer Monroe closed the door and rested her hand on the open driver’s door, her face turned away from Chan’s. “You’re free to go,” she said coldly.
Chan froze, studying the side of her beautiful face. “I am?”
“Thank your brother.” As she said the words, she pivoted and looked at Chan with her cool blue eyes.
Chan inwardly gasped as she witnessed the pain in their depths. Had she done that with her words? Was she the cause?
“Look, I really am sorry—” she began.
“No need, Ms. Brogan,” the officer interrupted, sliding into her car. She closed the door and switched off her lights. The cruiser moved away and sped up as it merged back onto the highway, leaving Chan in silence, squinting through the dust.
In a daze, she walked up to Hank, who was sitting on his bike, looking like he had just weathered an awful storm.
“What happened?” she asked.
“She let us go.”
“I know, but why?”
Hank shrugged and pulled on his helmet. “I told her I raced bikes and that I was egging you on.”
“You said it was your fault?”
“Yeah, but she didn’t believe me.”
Chan’s eyes returned to the road, where the car had disappeared from sight. “So why did she let us go?”
“Beats me.” He started his engine and waved the tickets at her. “Maybe she thought you were hot too and decided just to give us the tickets.” He was being an ass, and she knew he would never let her live this down.
She rolled her eyes at him and straddled her bike. As she cranked the engine back to life, she continued to wonder.
Who are you, Officer Monroe, and why did you let me go?
Chapter Three
Several hours later Chan sat alone in her quiet house, staring right through the file in her hand. Frustrated and unable to focus on the words, she tossed it on top of the numerous others that were scattered along the coffee table. She sat back against the sofa and allowed her gaze to drift beyond the beckoning files.
Darkness settled in around her; the sun, as well as Hank and Meg, were long gone. The clock on the mantel chimed, letting her know it was nearing eight o’clock. She knew she should read over the files, but she just didn’t feel like it. Besides, she knew enough and she was confident that she could handle and appropriately analyze anyone or anything. Just like she had done with the tall, stoic cop. Chan smiled, feeling a bit cocky at her no doubt very accurate assessment of the woman who had very nearly arrested her.
Interrupting her thoughts, her wayward gray cat, Mitote, meowed at the back door, wiping the grin from her face. He was ready and driven to go out prowling for the night.
“It was nice seeing you too,” she commented dryly as she rose to open the door for him. Surprisingly, she found the door to be unlocked. “Huh,” she said aloud, fairly certain that Meg and Hank wouldn’t have had reason to unlock it. “Guess I need to be more careful.”
She shrugged and then shook her head as Mitote trotted outside, tail high in the air. She knew he wouldn’t be back for days, a typical tomcat that only came home to eat.
She chuckled to herself as she recalled finding the small feline sit
ting at her front door staring up at her after a particularly emotionally trying week. She had just ended things with Donna, and the experience had left her feeling insecure and unsure of herself—of her feelings, her ways, her desires. She had opened her front door to find the kitten just sitting there, small and gray, with deep green knowing eyes. His presence forced her to take a mental step back and realize that life wasn’t about all that currently ailed her.
He had been just what she needed, an affectionate companion who silently encouraged her to see through the fog. And she had named him accordingly. Mitote meant “fog” in ancient Toltec.
Running a hand through her damp, clean hair, she wished Mitote an adventurous night and headed to the refrigerator. She was freshly scrubbed and comfortable, all ready to settle down and get to work. But she just couldn’t seem to concentrate.
She tugged the fridge door open and thought of the cop again. The blue eyes, full of pain and something else…loneliness.
Chan cracked open a bottle of Killian’s. She knew that look all too well. It was the same look she saw every time she stared into the mirror. She just couldn’t seem to connect with anyone. No one seemed to hold her attention or respect. And Donna served as a constant reminder as to why.
Yeah, she was just fine the way things were. So why was this cop invading her thoughts?
The beer was cold and crisp, and her mind stirred and heated. Despite her best efforts, she knew herself well enough to know that she wasn’t going to be able to sit still and concentrate. She needed to do something to get the cop off her mind.
She took another sip as she thought. At once the idea of speed entered her mind. Hopping on her bike and flying down the darkened road would surely do the trick. But now, with her most recent ticket, it was out of the question. She couldn’t risk getting in trouble again, especially so soon after her run-in with Officer Monroe.