Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys

by Annabel Joseph

  I didn’t know the officers at my local cop shop, but my radio station had hosted a public service event with the local precinct and when the community affairs officer who organized it realized I lived nearby, he input the precinct desk number into my phone and said, “If you ever need anything, call.”

  He may have just been flirting, but a possibly broken foot seemed like a valid need. I pressed the number.

  The cop that answered sounded friendly—and so sexy. There was something about his warm and soothing voice that immediately put me at ease. His manner was so calming that I didn’t even catch his name.

  “I know this is odd,” I said, taking in a deep breath. “But I live in the neighborhood, and I think I broke my toe.”

  “Have you called nine-one-one or a medical facility, ma’am?” He sounded polite.

  “No, I didn’t want to bother anyone because—”

  “Do you need an ambulance?” He paused. “I can call one if you like.”

  “For a toe?” It would be mortifying to have EMS workers come with the stretcher. “Can you just tell me how to know if it’s broken and what to do?”

  He laughed. The sound traveled through the phone, into my body. Suddenly, I had a big grin on my face.

  “Are you alone?” Was he going to ask me what I was wearing next? I refrained from making a joke.

  “Yes.” My humor suddenly surfaced. “Are you thinking of rescuing me?”

  He laughed. “I only ask because I was going to suggest you have someone try to pull the toe outward, to see if it’s out of the socket. That will help if it’s a dislocation.”

  “Out of the socket?” My voice rose a few octaves. “It’s just me and I, well, I’m not good at these things.”

  “It’s okay, you can do it.” His tone was reassuring. “I’ll stay on the phone and guide you.”

  Damn, why did my stupid foot have to keep hurting like this? I looked down. My injured toe was starting to turn colors, from pink to shades of purple and green. A wave of dizziness swept over me.

  “I know it seems silly, but I am starting to feel woozy.” A film of sweat covered my entire body and made the backs of my legs stick to the couch. I wasn’t sure if it was the trauma or the nice officer’s strong steady voice.

  “Your body has had a shock,” he soothed. “You’re going to be okay. But why don’t you give me your address, so I can send an ambulance if you faint on me.”

  “I never faint!” I took a deep breath, determined to man-up. I lived in a city filled with ambulance sirens and worked on a show that used them for sound effects. I was not getting into an ambulance. “Let’s do this.”

  “Okay then. Are you sitting securely, somewhere you won’t fall?”

  “Couch.” My body tensed up. It was hard to think straight. I sunk down deeper into the comfort of the soft leather for support, as he gave me instructions.

  “Hold your foot by the heel, grip the injured toe and quickly tug.” His confident tone instilled me with trust that he knew what he was doing.

  I maneuvered my foot over the opposite knee and tugged on my pinky toe as he suggested and screamed. Loudly. “Holy fuck,” I yelled into his ear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “Okay, sounds like you may have a break there,” he said calmly, his voice laced with sympathy. “Go ahead and let go of some of the pain through cursing or crying.”

  His kind yet commanding tone reminded me why I liked cops. The way they always know what to do was like an aphrodisiac.

  “It hurts like bloody hell.” I used my best fake English accent. “It’s very nice of you to let me curse in your ear.”

  “Believe me, I’ve heard worse.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Lots worse, from people far less polite than you.”

  This guy probably took down bad dudes, had held his own in catastrophes, and helped people in distress. He could probably be doing any number of more important things, but here he was, trying to make me laugh.

  “You win. I’m sure you have.”

  I started giggling, and then laughing out loud. He joined me. Perhaps the early morning pain was making me giddy and he was humoring me, but it seemed we’d forged a bond in our short time on the phone.

  “Feeling a little better?” I heard a creaky chair in the background as if he’d been standing the whole time and had just taken a seat. I have an ear for distinct sounds and the tone in a person’s voice. He sounded relieved.

  “Yes. Thank you, kind sir.” My foot hurt like the devil but he’d reduced my anxiety significantly. “I better get to work now.”

  My new job was high pressure enough without adding lateness to the mix. I lifted off the couch, carefully, to get ready.

  “Hold up a minute.” He’d switched to authoritative cop mode. “You need to go to the hospital to get your foot x-rayed.”

  His command was like a playful smack on the ass but I tried to ignore it and kept walking toward my bedroom to get dressed. “I can’t. I have to get to work.”

  “I am sure you do.” He was insistent. “But you also need to make sure it’s only a broken toe. There could be other fractures in your foot.”

  “I’ll head straight there after work.” I opened my closet and found a mid-length forest green dress that looked like a sensible thing to wear with a foot injury. “I appreciate your concern but I can’t risk getting stuck there all morning.”

  I searched for my running shoes since there was no way I could get into heels.

  He took a deep breath and paused, as if determined to come up with a solution. “I’ll tell you what… all the cops use New York Hospital. I know the charge nurse on duty, Angela. I’ll call ahead and tell her you’re a friend and ask her to expedite things.”

  He gave me the hospital address.

  He was so helpful, sympathetic and awake at four forty-five a.m. I wondered if he recognized my voice. Was he helping because he knew I was on the radio?

  “You’re very kind, Officer… what’s your name, anyway?”

  “Andrews.”

  “Thank you, Officer Andrews.”

  “It’s actually Detective Andrews.”

  “Oh.” Detectives are even sexier. There’s something so hot about men with gun holsters tucked under their jackets and badges on their belts. “Thanks for taking the time from fighting crime to help me, detective.”

  He stopped me as I was getting ready to hang up. “One more thing.” He used that commanding tone, again. “I get off duty at eight a.m. Why don’t you call and let me know how it goes in the ER. I’d like to know if my diagnosis is correct, and how things go for you. Here’s my cell number, in case you get out after eight.”

  “You bring new meaning to the phrase civil servant!” I jotted down the number, thinking I’d never call. As much as I appreciated being rescued this morning, I had to get back to my life.

  “It’s a pleasure to serve you, Miss—”

  “Harper… Lizzy.”

  “Okay, Harper Lizzy.” We both laughed politely. Finally, I hung up.

  As I got dressed it struck me how odd it was that a detective was answering the precinct phone—it’s usually a desk sergeant’s role. But I didn’t have time to ponder it. Lacing up my sneakers, I winced in pain. I grabbed my phone and scrolled for my producer, Mike Greene. He would not be happy I was on the injured list. But I really ought to follow the detective’s advice. Or rather, the detective’s directives—even if it meant pissing off my boss.

  Chapter 2

  I dialed Mike’s number and tucked the phone under my ear so I could talk and walk.

  “Morning, Mike.” I tried to sound chipper.

  “Hey, Lizzy, what’s up?” He was already wide awake and from the mic test in the background I could tell he was in the studio.

  “I think I broke my toe.” I knew both Mike and Sam from college. When I was laid off from my magazine job, Mike made me a lucrative offer to come on board. I desperately needed this job and worried about rocking the boat. “I have to go to the
ER. This is so stupid but it hurts like bloody hell. I’ll get to the studio soon as I can.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” He gave me a moment of friendly sympathy and then went into producer mode. “How did it happen? Rough, all-night sex? Tell us all about it on the show.”

  “Nope, not a sex injury.” I laughed but always found it disconcerting that Mike and Sam hoped weird things would happen to me because “it made for good live radio.” “I stumbled into a box.” I looked at the offending item as I walked through the kitchen to the hallway. I think it was wine I’d ordered.

  “Poor Lizzy,” he said. “Get fixed up and get your ass into your chair soon as you can. I’ll read the love gossip of the day until you’re in.”

  There was an unwritten rule in radio: If you’re not bleeding or on fire, you come to work. We were on-air until ten a.m. so I was hopeful I’d still make it.

  “Thanks buddy.” I was relieved he wasn’t freaked out. “See you once I’m done at the hospital.”

  “Maybe some crazy shit will go down while you’re there,” he said, gleefully. “Better take a notebook so you can jot down all the juicy details.” He was so obsessed with ratings.

  “Absolutely. I’ll report back.”

  I hobbled out of my door and down to the lobby. The overnight doorman, Sean, was still on duty. He was handsome in a nerdy way, mid-twenties, and always very sweet. It had become a morning ritual for him to hail me a cab on the still-quiet streets of New York. He usually had a cup of coffee waiting for me. It was my second cup of the day, but I’d pretend it was my first since it seemed to make him feel good. But no morning java today.

  “What happened to your foot, Ms. Harper?” He eyed it as I hobbled off the elevator. “Are you okay?”

  “I slammed my toe into something in the kitchen,” I said, moving toward the door. “I’m heading to the ER.”

  He seemed stunned, like I’d said someone died.

  “Sorry I have no coffee for you today.” He ran his hand through his hair and had a deer in the headlights look. “Something came up, but do you want me to run and get one? It seems you could really use it.”

  “Just a cab would be great.”

  He went to the middle of the street and blew his doorman’s whistle. A cab appeared.

  “I hope you’ll be okay, Miss Harper.” He helped me in and closed the door. The concern etched on his brow was unexpected.

  “Don’t worry, Sean. It’s only a toe.”

  But my whole foot was now throbbing. I couldn’t have gotten into work like this, even if I wanted to.

  Detective Andrews’ nurse friend, Angela, was indeed expecting me in the ER.

  She appeared to be in her early forties with blond hair clipped a little haphazardly in the back, long strands hanging down on either side. She was cordial, but seemed super busy and like she’d already had a full night. She sat me in a wheelchair to await x-rays. I pumped her about the helpful cop as she perused my chart, in part for the distraction and in part because inquiring minds want to know: Who is this guy?

  “So, how do you know the detective?” I asked.

  Her face came to life as if someone had just injected her with caffeine.

  “Oh, Herc,” she said, with a girly smile. Her hand went to a strand of loose hair.

  “I thought his name was Andrews.”

  “It is. Hercules Andrews.” Her smile broadened as she evoked his full name. “We call him Herc, for short, because he’s, well, he’s big and has a superhero body. All the nurses adore him.”

  It sounded like she was among his adoring fans.

  “Hercules?” I looked up at her, like a wide-eyed kid in a candy store. I’d hit radio chat show gold. “Is he Roman or Greek?”

  “More like a Greek god,” she said, fondling the stethoscope that was slung over her shoulders. “He says his mother loved the name. But I thought you knew him.”

  Awkward. Should I pretend “Herc” and I were besties so she doesn’t revoke my VIP privileges and keep me in the ER all day?

  “He said to take special care of you because you’re a good friend.” She squinted, as if questioning my place in his life.

  “He’s so sweet.” I won’t reveal I’d met him this morning. “I guess we’re new friends.”

  She smiled, in a slightly mischievous way, as if she knew something I did not. Maybe he sends his “new friends” to the ER on a regular basis.

  I still wondered if he was just being super nice because he was a Sam fan. It was surprising to learn he had his own fans. This made the helpful detective a bit more mysterious. My curiosity was piqued, but I had to put my focus on work.

  As I sat in the waiting room with notebook in hand, I looked for funny scenes to talk about, but supposed my new hero, Herc, could be my number one topic. Celebrity love disasters provided only five minutes of radio content every hour and I had to deliver at least five minutes of my personal stories in between Sam’s shenanigans, interviews, callers and music. Thus, my life was an open book and everything in it was fodder for the show. I prayed no horrible tragedy rolled into the ER.

  I didn’t always feel good about the goofing around we did on the show but I’d come to accept it. Even though my building was rent controlled, I still had to pay rent.

  A doctor came to see me and said my small toe was definitely broken but that x-rays showed no other fractures. Who knew a small busted toe could hurt so much? They can’t cast a toe, so the doctor buddy-taped my pinky toe to my second to last toe. Then he wrapped my foot in an ACE bandage to protect it and prevent swelling. Nurse Angela came back and I thanked her profusely. Anxious to get to work, I only half-listened to the follow-up care instructions—something about icing it and a pain medication prescription sent electronically to my pharmacy.

  I was released from the hospital just after eight a.m.—a New York miracle—and I hobbled out on hospital issued crutches and hailed a cab.

  I was one of the last New Yorkers without Uber, and was not able to navigate the subway, but a yellow cab got me to the studio. I awkwardly maneuvered the crutches in and out of the cab and made it for the last hour and a half of the show.

  “She lives,” joked Sam, as I hobbled into the studio. “Thanks for finally showing up to work today, Lizzy!” He pressed our applause sound effect as I settled into my chair and slipped on my headphones.

  “Thank God, you’re here to do the news,” chimed in Mike. “It is making me depressed reading this stuff about celebrity break ups! Besides, you make the news sound prettier.”

  That was Mike’s standard on-air phrase, but it made me cringe every time. A show like ours was like radio porn and sexist remarks were to be expected. I had to adapt in order to keep my job.

  “Thank you for the warm welcome, guys.” I laughed. “And sorry we didn’t get to slug our coffee together. Funny thing about that: I tried to make some coffee at home and bam… banged my toe really hard.”

  “So, are you broken, darlin’?” Sam’s voice was laced with quasi-concern, but on this show, anything could easily veer into a joke so I braced myself. I was still getting used to the zany format and talking so openly about my own life. But I’d accepted that it came with the territory.

  “A little part of me is, and I will be on these big boys for a couple of days.” I clicked my crutches together.

  Most days, I dove right in with whatever weird things happened to me that morning or night before, but today I was reserved. I ragged on myself for breaking my toe in the dark, went on about the emergency room episode, talked about the lovely nurse who helped me, and revealed that I called the cops for help. But I stopped there and opted not to mention my hero detective specifically.

  The more I talked about it, the more excited I was to call him after the show. I figured he might be listening in, anyway.

  Cops and firemen were huge Sam fans.

  Chapter 3

  After the show, I limped into the station’s staff kitchen. I didn’t have to forage for food because there
was a sesame bagel on a plate with my name on it. It must have been one of the assistants who was so thoughtful.

  While the bagel was toasting, I poured my coffee, sat down with it at a small table and stared at my phone. I noticed a new text that read, So sorry about your injury.

  I’d input the sexy-voiced detective’s cell number in my phone earlier so I tapped his call icon. The text was definitely not from him. I didn’t recognize the caller at all so I ignored it.

  A few months in radio had made me super cautious. There were a lot of weirdos out there, but Detective Hercules did not seem like one of them. More than anything, I wanted to hear his voice again.

  When I rang at ten thirty a.m., he picked up immediately.

  “So, is it broken?” His voice, warm and familiar, made me smile from ear to ear.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Maybe he was too busy or too tired to tune in to the show.

  “Hear what?” Sam had an almost cult following but perhaps the detective was not among them.

  “Never mind. You nailed it,” I looked down at my foot. “I’ve got one smashed little tootsie.”

  “How do you feel?” He was the first one to ask me that all day.

  “Weary.” I took a sip of coffee and eyed the toaster. My plan was to eat and go home to sleep. “And still in pain.”

  “Oh no! Sorry to hear that.” Authentic sympathy never sounded so sexy. “Believe me, I understand. I wonder if this is something a glass or two of wine would cure.”

  “At ten thirty in the morning?” I still had my coffee in hand.

  “No, at seven p.m.,” he said smoothly. “I’m off tonight. How about I bring over a bottle and we can exchange war stories?”

  “War stories? Don’t tell me you have a broken toe too?”

  “No, it’s my thumb.”

  “Seriously?” I was stunned but his interest in my toe suddenly made sense. “How weird is it that I would call the station and get a cop who has a broken thumb?”