“Being a cop means we’re supposed to be the good guys,” Josh gritted out between clenched teeth. “Eric was out of control. He killed a man. Was I really supposed to turn my back? Pretend it didn’t happen?” He glanced at the others. While Garcia, Goldstein, and several others nodded, Martin and his crew were stone-faced.
When Martin seemed to notice not everyone took his side, his face flushed, and Josh could see his hands clench. Bring it. Josh adjusted his stance, ready for anything. Garcia stepped between them.
“Hey guys, let’s calm down—”
“You were supposed to look out for your partner. Not a fucking criminal,” Martin said over Garcia’s shoulder.
“That changed the moment Eric became one himself.” Josh held Martin’s gaze. He’d done the right thing, even though it had torn him apart. He’d lost everything good in his life. Everything. But Martin was a dick and didn’t need to know just how much.
“Damn, man, you don’t even care that he’s dead, do you?”
“More than you’ll ever know.” Josh shook his head and retreated the way he came.
“Wait up, Olive,” Goldstein called. Several other officers broke off and followed him too, but it didn’t make Josh feel any better.
Martin wasn’t worth this. Nothing could be worth this.
Chapter TWO
“AFTER THAT lunch, I think I need a wheelbarrow to roll me to the next panel.” Drew patted his full belly and sighed. He and Laura trailed behind the others, the steamy Baltimore summer making quick movement impossible. Especially on a full stomach.
They had gorged themselves on a jumbo portion of the shrimper’s net catch at Bubba Gump’s. Between the two of them, they’d pretty much finished it off too. Gotta love the Old Bay Seasoning. He’d have to hit the hotel gym later, even though he’d much rather hop on his mountain bike and ride some trails.
“If you’re in a wheelbarrow, who’s going to push this old lady around?” Laura pretended to limp along, but her cloud of unruly hair couldn’t conceal her huge smile.
“You are not old. And I suspect you have more energy than any three of me.”
“Hardly. You can barely stand still with all that lovely positive energy, hon. Look at you, Drew. You’re practically bouncing in place.”
“Said the lady who’s a couple steps ahead.” They both laughed.
Wow, lunch with Laura had turned out to be a blast. She was so funny he couldn’t stay in his funk. He wasn’t usually a downer to be around, but lately he’d been really off. And her gushing over his book, while embarrassing, was exactly what he’d needed. Well, that and a few bottles of Natty Boh, Baltimore’s beer of choice.
“Thanks for inviting me along,” Drew said. “I was feeling down earlier. Especially with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dismissive’s attitude.”
“Well, he didn’t know what to make of you.” Laura shrugged. “Not sure he’s out of the closet yet, you know? And you’re pretty eye-catching. Probably scared the bejesus out of him.”
Drew laughed. “That guy’s not gay. He wouldn’t even look at me.”
Laura shook her head, her curls bouncing around. “You are so sweet I could eat you up, but I think you need to get your gaydar fixed, hon. That guy was so into you, he couldn’t even stand to look at your light. Poor thing needed sunglasses.”
“I think I know a gay guy when I meet one, Laura.”
“Mm-hmm. I’m sure you do, hon. I’m just suggesting your gaydar’s temporarily on the fritz.”
“Now you’re an expert on gay guys? What other wonders have I yet to learn about you?” Drew gently bumped shoulders with her, a trickle of sweat running down his spine from the unrelenting heat.
“Hey now, you’re looking at a proud PFLAG mama. If my son were still single, I’d give you his number, but I don’t think his husband would appreciate it.” She leaned in. “Alan can be a little jealous about my Edgar. Not that I blame him. He’s a catch.” She winked, her eyes twinkling through her oversized frames. “And did I mention they have a cat named Poe?”
Edgar, Alan, and Poe. Drew rolled his eyes. “You are too much.”
“Better than not enough. That advice is for free, by the way.” She grabbed his wrist, pulling him along. “Come on. Get your overfed butt in gear. The next panels begin in a few minutes. I want to see the new blood spatter panel they’re holding this year. Think they’ll use real blood?”
“I don’t know—” Drew’s phone beeped in his pocket. “Hold on, slow down. I have a text.”
“Haven’t you heard of multitasking?” But Laura stopped and released his arm. He pulled out his phone and scanned his messages.
“Yaasss! I got into the ride along.” He pumped his fist in the air.
“That’s great! Looks like your luck is turning around. Guess you could say I’m your very own good-luck charm.”
“I think you just might be, Laura.”
Drew hooked his arm through hers, and they picked up their pace. He needed to change clothes and research proper ride along etiquette before meeting the officer he’d ride with. Finally things were going his way.
COULD HIS luck get any effing worse? Josh watched as his wet dream strolled toward him. The guy moved like a cat, all sinuous and lean. He’d changed his shirt at least. But the plain blue polo shirt matched his eyes perfectly and made the guy even sexier.
He glanced at his text. His ride along was named Andrew Nolan. Drew. He hadn’t put it together. Some detective he’d turned out to be.
Of all the people at the conference he could be paired with…. But of course it wasn’t likely by accident, was it? Not too hard to figure out that Martin had a hand in the ride along schedule. That dickhead had scheduled him to ride with the one person who’d make him uncomfortable. Only not for the reason he imagined.
He swore a blue streak in Portuguese, making sure to keep his voice low so his little ginger tagalong wouldn’t hear him. He didn’t want to owe the guy another apology. Slipping his phone in his pocket, he braced for the coming hours.
Drew’s step faltered as he neared, his hand gripping a beat-up messenger bag. Yeah, he’d just now realized who he’d been partnered with. His eyes widened and he darted his sweet tongue over the lip ring. Josh’s dick took notice.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
“Hi,” Drew said, sounding slightly breathless. He peeked out from under thick lashes. This close, Josh could see a light sprinkling of freckles on Drew’s nose. Drew was a couple inches shorter than Josh, but nicely built, hinting that he worked out. The tan indicated he was outdoorsy, which was appealing, even though Josh was a city boy through and through.
An auburn dreadlock had fallen out of the elastic; Drew twirled it around his finger. Clearly a nervous habit. One that made Josh want to reach out and wrap his hand in all that ginger and pull Drew close until no space remained between them.
Josh took a deep breath. What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn’t felt the zing of attraction since Eric, and God knew how awful that had turned out.
Thinking of Eric caused his cock to deflate faster than a balloon with a hole in it. Yeah, he had terrible taste in men. He needed to remember that. The fact he found Drew so attractive meant there had to be something wrong with him.
Drew’s brow wrinkled and his delicious lips turned down in a pout. What was that all about? Josh tried to think why he’d look hurt, but the guy had seriously short-circuited his brain.
“Cat got your tongue?” Drew attempted to smile but it looked strained.
“What?”
“Look, I can see you don’t want to ride with me,” Drew said, his smile disappearing, “but I really need this experience for a book. I don’t know what you have against me—”
“Why would I have anything against you?” Josh snapped. Drew’s eyes widened and he took a step back. Great, he was being an ass again. Josh scrubbed a hand across his face. “I mean, I don’t have any problem with you.” He softened his voice, hoping Drew would hear the
apology in it.
“A-are you sure? ’Cuz I feel like we keep getting off on the wrong foot. All I want is to learn about what you do every day.”
Josh grunted. “It’s what I’m here for.” Dammit, he needed a filter. It wasn’t Drew’s fault his life was less than optimal at the moment.
Drew’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m Drew.” He didn’t stick his hand out.
“I heard. Your friend made sure I couldn’t miss it.”
“Uh-huh.” Drew’s lips thinned. “And you are?”
“Det—Officer de Oliveira.” Josh tapped his badge. Guess he was pretty forgettable.
“I meant your first name. What’s the J stand for?” Drew’s hand started toward Josh’s badge.
Josh flinched. He couldn’t have Drew’s hands on him or he’d do something they’d both find embarrassing. “I don’t think—”
“Right, got it.” Drew batted his eyelashes. “Mustn’t catch gay cooties.” He spun on his heel and—swear to God—gave his hips an exaggerated swish as he marched toward the squad cars.
Josh felt a reluctant smile tug at his lips. The little ginger had a temper. Made him want to call him back, but on second thought, if Drew assumed he was a jerk, maybe he’d keep his distance.
So why did he feel a twinge at the idea of Drew disliking him? You’d think with his life the way it was, he’d be used to it.
What was it about this guy?
WHAT WAS it about this cop? Drew paused to check out which car Officer de Oliveira headed toward, then followed. As he continued toward it, he saw something under the car’s windshield wiper. Officer de Oliveira obviously noticed it too, because he began swearing in a language Drew didn’t recognize and hurried over. Intrigued, Drew sped his steps as de Oliveira snatched a stuffed rat from under the wiper and chucked it away. He was breathing heavy, his face a mask of anger.
A rat?
“You’re littering, man,” Drew heard himself say before he could bite the words off.
“Get in the car. Or stay here. I don’t care which.” De Oliveira practically yanked the door off the squad car before dropping into the front seat.
“Nice.” Drew climbed into the passenger seat, keeping as much distance between Officer de Oliveira and himself as possible. If the passenger door’s armrest was rammed painfully in his side, at least he didn’t have to sit any closer than absolutely necessary. He placed his bag on the seat between them like a barrier. Do not cross.
If he wasn’t desperate to get this novel written, he’d have told the cop where to stick his bigotry… and his littering.
To make matters worse, Drew was still outrageously attracted to the guy. What the hell? Yeah, the cop was gorgeous. No way around it. Every fantasy guy he’d ever dreamed up all rolled into one. In his uniform—and Drew had never been a sucker for a guy in uniform before—Drew could definitely tell the guy was cut. Bulky arms, broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist. The cop probably even had six-pack abs. Bastard. It wasn’t fair. Homophobe litterbugs should be ugly as a matter of course.
But something about the guy made Drew want to reach out, try again. Glutton for punishment much? When de Oliveira had scrambled back from Drew’s touch like he was contagious, he’d had his answer. Boy, was Laura wrong.
So why did his body vibrate with awareness every time de Oliveira shifted in his seat? Infuriating.
Officer de Oliveira sighed. Long-suffering. Yeah, that’s how I feel too.
“We’ve been assigned Hampden,” de Oliveira said. “It’s not exactly a happening crime beat, but then again, they don’t want authors in any danger.”
“So what’s the problem?” Disappointment sat heavy in his chest. How was he supposed to get an idea of what cops did if he was on kiddie patrol instead of a real beat?
“You’re not from Baltimore, are you?” He pronounced it “Bawlmer,” the way many Baltimore natives did.
“Greenbelt,” Drew admitted grudgingly. “Why?”
“It’s HonFest this weekend.” The cop said this like he’d tasted something bitter.
Drew perked up. “Wait, is that that festival with the crazy hair and feather boas?”
“Beehives,” de Oliveira muttered.
“Beehives?”
“The hairstyle.” He sighed again. “Four blocks closed off for ladies to dress up like something from that movie, uh, Hairspray.”
“Really?” Drew beamed. He’d heard of HonFest. He’d always wanted to go. “Will we see any of it?”
“We’ll be on the outskirts. You might see people heading to their cars, but we’re on traffic patrol.”
“Oh.” Drew deflated.
TWO HOURS later, they still had hardly spoken a word, the occasional squawking of the police radio seeming unnaturally loud in the silent car. So far the ride along had consisted of the cop telling Drew what he couldn’t touch—basically any of the equipment in the car—what he wasn’t allowed to do—no getting out without permission or doing anything that would be considered interesting or fun—and pretty much making it crystal clear he was an unwanted passenger. At least the air conditioner was blasting, keeping Drew’s shirt from sticking to him.
Drew had pulled his notebook and pen out of his bag, then taken as many notes about the interior of the car as he could. He really needed to ask his questions, but he wasn’t ready to be snapped at again. He was saved the trouble when a car weaved into traffic in front of them, cutting off several cars and almost causing an accident.
De Oliveira and the other drivers slammed on the brakes, and a couple honks followed the car. When the car veered into another lane and almost clipped a silver Acura, de Oliveira grumbled and turned on the siren.
“You’d think in this day and age people would know not to drink and drive.”
“Plus, there’s always Uber,” Drew added. He didn’t like drunks on the road either. A guy he knew from high school had not only killed himself driving drunk, but he’d taken out a couple on a date night. Three little kids left without parents. Both families devastated.
Drew watched as de Oliveira shifted into cop mode, his body tensing, his focus on the car ahead. Maybe they’d end up in a car chase. He flipped open his notebook, added as many details as he could.
He was almost disappointed when the car swerved and pulled off onto the narrow shoulder, coming to a shuddery halt. They hung back, parked a couple car lengths behind.
“Stay here.” De Oliveira unfolded himself from the squad car, the muggy air surging through the door in the few seconds it took him to exit. He approached the vehicle cautiously.
It must be weird to have a job where you never knew how people would react or whether they were dangerous. Drew knew from his research that domestic disputes and traffic stops could turn out to be some of the most hazardous situations cops faced.
It was hard to believe, especially when a woman with a towering pink beehive stuck her head out the window and waved at Officer de Oliveira like they were old friends. Her face was covered in layers of makeup, and she wore large cat-eye glasses that reminded him a bit of Laura, except she was clearly much older. Drew quickly copied down any details about her that might be useful later.
Though most of his attention was on Officer de Oliveira. The way the guy moved reminded him of a hound on the hunt. Alert, muscles straining, ready for anything. Drew watched as he approached the car, took the woman’s license and registration.
They spoke for a few seconds, and the woman laughed. She pulled off her glasses and fumbled around in the front seat. Drew didn’t have the vantage point to see what she was doing, but it made him tense up, especially when de Oliveira seemed so alert.
She came back with another pair of glasses, which she perched on her nose. She shrugged and shook her head. He wished he was allowed out of the car, but he wasn’t about to have this ride along cut short, no matter how unpleasant.
A couple minutes later, de Oliveira returned with her license and registration and ran it through the comput
er after calling dispatch. Drew was dying to ask his questions, but knew he needed to wait. Of course, de Oliveira didn’t offer anything.
After returning the woman’s documents, de Oliveira chatted with her. Even from here, Drew could tell she was beaming at him. He must have said something particularly funny because they both started chuckling and he slapped the roof of her car. Yeah, he was Mr. Gregarious with the ladies all right. Lovely.
When de Oliveira returned with a big smile on his face, he belted in and pulled out into traffic, not uttering a word.
“Care to share what’s so funny?” Drew’s tone might have come off as a little bitchy, but this guy put him out of sorts.
De Oliveira’s smile fell away, and Drew could have kicked himself. This sucked. Was there any point in trying to reach out again?
“She forgot to put on her real glasses after attending the festival. She really wanted to wear those”—he swooped his hand to indicate the shape—“whatever they are. But they aren’t prescription.” He shook his head, but a smile tugged at his mouth.
“Cat-eye,” Drew said.
“Huh?”
“The shape of the glasses.”
“Oh. Well… good.”
Awkward silence fell again.
Jesus, coming out to his parents hadn’t been this agonizing. He grimaced, twining a loose dread around his finger. Defeat sat heavily on his chest. He’d had people react weirdly to him before, but coming from old Greenbelt—the self-proclaimed socialist utopia of Maryland—he wasn’t used to the intensity of the dislike.
Maybe this conference was a bad idea. Maybe his book was a bad idea. Writing proposals for a growing environmental NGO paid good money, after all. And if it made his soul curl up from boredom, well, not everyone could love their job. He could always have his hobbies. So why did it make him feel dead inside?
“Josh.” De Oliveira sighed.
“Excuse me?” Drew turned.
“My name. It’s Josh.”
Ride Along Page 2