“It was nice to meet you,” I said to Ridley.
She smiled over her shoulder. “I’d love to get to know you a little better.”
I nodded. “Maybe we can do lunch sometime.”
She nodded. “I think that’d be great.”
They left, Downy escorting her back down the stairs while I went to my bathroom, stripped off my towel and robe before pulling out my hair dryer.
I had my hair halfway dry by the time Downy got back, and I could tell he wasn’t happy.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Another fucking dog stolen. One of our neighbors this time. The lady downstairs in 2A,” he snarled, yanking down his uniform that he had hanging up on the back of my bathroom door.
I’d gone and picked up his uniform last night when I’d gotten off work since he was busy, with what I now knew, pulling the missing dog files.
I’d hung it on my side because that’d been where I was at the time.
However, three pairs of my pants and just as many shoes now resided on the floor on his side of the bedroom.
“Alright,” I said, sounding much more worried than I’d intended. “Be careful, okay?”
He nodded as he started to tuck his black polo shirt into the black tactical pants.
When he got to the shoes portion of dressing, he left the room, and when I came out five minutes later ready to head to school, he was gone.
I wouldn’t be admitting that I was upset that he’d left without a word, though.
That was just unheard of for Memphis Tennessee Conner.
Chapter 11
I like your boobs. They remind me of pillow pets, only they’re pillow boobs.
-Downy to Memphis
Downy
“The neighbor has a run that she attaches her dog to while she’s doing laundry. When she got done, she went to check on him and he was gone,” I said, handing over a picture to O’Keefe.
He groaned and sat back in his office chair.
“Listen, Downy. I realize that this is big for you, but I’m fuckin’ slammed. Like beyond slammed. I just got handed a child molester case this morning. I have a million other things that have to do with real, live people. You’re doing a good job, man. Keep looking into it,” O’Keefe said, handing over the papers.
“Fuck man, I’m no detective, but I have a feeling about this one. I tried to ignore it, but it’s still sitting right the fuck here,” I said, pointing at my chest where I’d had a funny feeling since I’d shot that dog trying to attack Memphis.
He nodded and stood. “Welcome to the life of a detective.”
With that, he headed out of his office with his phone to his ear.
I sighed and looked down at Mocha, who looked back up at me with a very non-pleased look on her face.
“What?” I asked and started out into the bullpen.
I found myself at the water cooler, filling up my jug of water that I carried with me while on patrol.
I heard the raised voices going on behind me, causing me to look over my shoulder at the commotion.
It was from a few of the prisoners that had yet to be booked.
Three real low lives that had taken to stealing their paychecks from mothers who frequented the local Target.
I turned to find Memphis striding down the middle of the bullpen like she owned the place.
Her hair flowed behind her as she walked quickly towards me, her face set in a thin line.
She was drawing not just the attention of the shit head thieves, but the cops around the room as well.
She stopped, took a long look around the room, and found me.
I raised my brows at her and she started towards me, eyes on fire.
Her heels clicked against the ugly laminate floors, proving just how upset she was.
I pulled my phone out, looking for a missed call from her, but found none.
The only two being from an old girlfriend that I hadn’t spoken with since the night I’d first met Memphis.
She came to a stop in front of me, and she narrowed her eyes.
“What?” I asked, taking in her outfit.
It was a skintight beige skirt that went from just underneath her breasts all the way down to below her knees.
The shirt, a red number, was tucked into it with a wide belt covering up where the two intersected.
Her hair was curled today, and her eyes were ringed with coal black eyeliner.
She looked fucking sexy as hell, and my chest seemed to puff minutely knowing she was mine.
I wasn’t blind.
I could see what was going on around me.
Tills, the little fucker who worked the front desk, hadn’t taken his eyes off her ass since she’d passed.
Prescott was looking, too. Only at her tits that seemed to pop out of her red shirt, rather than her tight ass.
I glared at him, and he looked down, suddenly finding something extremely interesting about the papers on his desk.
Good.
“So, you had a visitor today,” she said, smiling tightly.
I raised my brows. “Yeah?”
She nodded and circled around me until her back was to the wall.
She got up onto her tip toes and wrapped her arms around my back before whispering, “Yeah, some chick. Some naked chick, came into your room…looking for you.”
I blinked in surprise and grabbed her hand, taking her to my office.
We passed through a sea of blue, all so fucking curious it wasn’t even funny.
I passed Luke’s door and gave him a head nod before unlocking my office door and swinging it open wide for her to enter.
She did, and I entered followed her, closing and locking it.
“I haven’t fucked anybody else since we got together,” I said without preamble.
I was a rather blunt person.
I didn’t like beating around the bush.
I knew exactly what she was looking for, and acting like I didn’t would only prolong the nonsense.
She blinked. “I know that. I wouldn’t be with you right now if I thought differently. What I have a problem with is that she was a freakin’ bitch to me. I may dress nice, and I may try to act nice, but I was raised with a bunch of bikers. I don’t do jealousy. And that’s exactly what she tried to do…act like y’all were still together. All I want is for you to talk to her and tell her to back the fuck off, or I’ll be forced to use my charm.”
I blinked. “How’d she get in?”
She shrugged. “Foster or Miller, I’m guessing. Where’s Mocha?”
I moved my chair and pointed to the dog bed underneath my desk. “She refused to stand up. She was tired.”
She laughed, throwing her head back at the hilarity. “The girl’s stubborn, I’ll give her that.”
I smiled. “Kinda like somebody else I know.”
She bared her teeth at me, giving me a fake snarl for good measure.
“Alright, well I just got out of school. I have to go to work in about thirty minutes,” she informed me, leaning on my desk as she said it.
I walked forward until my knees were on either side of her thighs.
“So you weren’t here for something…else?” I asked just to make sure.
She shook her head. “Nope.”
I grinned and ran the knuckles of my right hand down the apple of her cheek.
“I’ve always had this fantasy,” I said, looking into her eyes.
She raised her brow.
“And what would that be?” She asked curiously.
I ran one finger down the bridge of her nose, and her breath started to speed up.
“Something that would require you to get that pretty skirt wrinkled, so I don’t think you’d do it,” I admitted truthfully.
She pursed her lips. “How about you tell me what it is, and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”
I crowded closer until her hands were planted on the desk behind her, holding up her weight as I leaned in over her.
&nbs
p; “You really want to know?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Yes,” she said breathily.
My hand fisted into her hair, pulling back slightly, allowing the column of her throat to be exposed to my seeking lips.
“I want you to get down on your knees and suck my cock until I’m nearly ready to blow. Then I want you to turn around and bend over so I can fuck you on top of my desk,” I said against her neck.
She started panting, eyes glazed with need.
“I…I think I can handle that,” she stammered.
I grinned down at her, running my beard along her cheek and pressing the hard line of my cock against her right thigh.
“Are you sure? It’s bound to get you looking like you’ve been thoroughly fucked. You’d have to walk through a room full of cops who are anything but stupid. They’d know. Every one of them,” I said against her lips. “They couldn’t prove it, but they’d know.”
She shook her head. “I don’t care.”
My hand traveled up the back of her knee, curling under her skirt until I hit the edge of her panties.
Then my fingers dipped slowly inside, running one wide finger against her slit.
She gasped, arching her pussy forward, trying to coax me inside.
Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep.
“Fuck,” I hissed, pulling back abruptly.
She whimpered at the loss of my body, but I went anyway.
Just as I read the readout, there was a pounding on the door, followed by a loud, “Hurry the fuck up,” by Luke.
I clenched my teeth and shoved the pager back into my pocket, walking towards Memphis quickly.
Giving her a kiss on the cheek I said, “See you tonight.”
She nodded. “Yeah, see you then.”
I grinned and winked before whistling for Mocha. “Come on, girl.”
She came, following me outside and back into the world of SWAT.
Chapter 12
Let me check my give a shit meter. Nope, nothing. The fucker must be broken.
-E-card
Memphis
“This place looks pretty good. I thought you said it wasn’t livable,” I said as I scanned the outside of Downy’s house that he’d been fixing up for the past couple of weeks.
He grunted. “The outside was never the problem, it was the inside.”
It was a log cabin.
Actually, a huge log cabin.
Two stories tall, with a wraparound front porch and a red tin roof, it looked beautiful. In fact, it looked brand spanking new.
Large adult pine trees surrounded the house and nearby area, shielding the house from view from the road. There was a covered walkway that led from the two-car garage in the front to a large barn-type structure off to the side. Possibly a shop of some sort.
Red storm gutters sat at the ready on either side of each of the house’s front windows, and the door was half stained glass, half wood.
I walked up closer, climbing the porch steps to come to a stop at the front door, studying the beautiful piece.
“Wow,” I said once I got a closer look.
“My grandfather did it. Looks good, doesn’t it?” He questioned.
“It looks beautiful. I bet that was hard to keep from breaking,” I said, shaking my head.
The design was beautiful.
Reds, greens, blues, oranges, and yellows filled the hundreds of pieces of glass that made up the design of a hot air balloon in flight.
He grunted. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never lived here before. Never even stayed overnight.”
I turned to him in surprise. “You haven’t stayed the night? But why?”
He sighed and pulled his keys out of his pocket.
“I didn’t even know about this place until I was in the army. I got a letter when I was eighteen from the manager of this property explaining what I had, and asking to visit with me about some oil royalties that I never even knew about.” He shook his head. “We lived poor growing up. Really poor. One bedroom apartment. Our lights were turned off every three months or so because of non-payment. Peanut butter and ramen noodle soup were our main food staples.”
He flipped on the light and illuminated the dark interior living room.
It was majorly outdated, and the floors were in the process of being refinished.
They were a pale, dusty brown, and pieces of it were missing in places.
The entire place was one big open floor plan.
The living room, dining room, and kitchen was one big open area, and beyond the kitchen a door led to what I assumed were bedrooms.
Stairs were immediately to my left, leading up to the second floor, and those, too, were being refinished.
I could see now that it was in a great state of repairs, but the integrity of the house was sound.
“I assume the reason we didn’t live here had a lot to do with Ronnie Prescott; but, when I was eighteen, I couldn’t see past the fact that we lived in near poverty. I was so busy whining about wearing the same clothes every day rather than the fact that my mother had a real reason for what she did. So, I was bitter and stayed away from her. Now we have absolutely no relationship to speak of,” he explained softly, closing the door as I started to pick my way through the house. “That’s partially why my mother and I have such a rocky relationship, and why I never got to know her husband. Although, it doesn’t really help that he tries to get me to sell this place back to the Prescott’s on a weekly basis.”
“Hmmm,” I wondered. “What’s the deal with that?”
He flipped the lights on in the kitchen and uncovered the countertops.
“Jackson, my stepfather, works with Ronnie. He’s a lawyer for the city and works closely with Ronnie Prescott, on a daily basis. I’m sure he has to hear it often, which in turn, he feels the need to share with me,” Downy rumbled.
I turned to find him studying the piers and beams above me, his eyes taking in the work they were doing up there, too.
“This place is looking good, Downy. I think I’ll be really sad when you move in here,” I admitted, trying to get off the subject of his father and the land, since it seemed to be a major upset to him.
He tipped his lip up at me, grinning slightly.
“I’ll have to make sure your wall’s fixed before I leave. Can’t have Miller and Foster having access to your place when I’m not there,” he teased.
I turned away, hiding the hurt on my face.
I didn’t want him to go.
If…no, when he went, would that change our relationship?
I was sure it would. How could it not?
“What are you doing to these counter tops?” I asked, running my finger along the counter…or would be counters.
“Concrete. It’s being stained Monday,” he explained, pulling out a square and showing it to me.
“Wow, that’s what it will look like? That doesn’t even look like concrete,” I exclaimed.
He nodded. “Yeah, it looks pretty good. And, that way, the countertops will never break or go out of date.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. Is there any other construction going on besides this main part of the house?”
He shook his head and took my hand, leading me to the back door and the porch beyond it.
“I’m having a well dug right there. Although, I’m fairly positive there’s one already on the property, I haven’t been able to find it. I’ve been looking for months,” he said.
I walked down the porch steps and out into the trees beyond, scanning the area. “How do you know there’s a well?”
He shrugged. “The neighbors. Well, the ones that’ll talk to me, that is.”
I nodded. “Let’s look.”
He grinned and started walking behind me, hands in his pockets. “It won’t look like a normal well. It’ll probably only be a hole in the ground with some sort of grate covering it up.”
“Like something I could fall in and never come back up again? Like Little Timmy, minus the L
assie, to save me?” I teased.
He gave me a droll look.
“You think I wouldn’t save you?” He asked, really making the mock hurt in his voice apparent.
I shrugged. “If you saw me fall down.”
“Huh,” he grunted, not really having much to say to that.
It was true. A harsh truth, but true nonetheless.
“How many acres do you have here?” I asked him a little while later.
Stepping over a large trunk in front of him, he stopped on the other side and offered me his hand.
I took it and stepped up onto the large fallen tree, then launched myself at him.
He caught me with a laugh, twirling me up and around until I was on his back.
I laughed breathlessly in reaction.
“A little over thirty,” he answered my earlier question.
We walked a little while longer, keeping me on his back.
He had his hands curled underneath my knees, and his forearms were braced underneath the lower part of my leg.
I had my head rested on his back when we heard dogs barking.
Dogs that weren’t ours, since we’d left them at our apartment.
“How close are your nearest neighbors?” I questioned.
He shrugged, making my body go up and down with the movement of his shoulder. “No clue, to be honest. Calloway lives about four miles down the road past the entrance to my driveway, and I’d guess we were closest to his property. Yet, I don’t think we’re really that close. We haven’t gotten off my property yet, I have a fence surrounding it, from what I was told.”
I ran my chin along his head and said, “You don’t like it out here, do you?”
He sighed. “Not really, no. It reminds me of what I don’t have. What I lost. The only reason I’m fixing it up now was because I was tired of having Miller and Foster at my place. They’re great guys, and they can stay for as long as they want, I just don’t see why I shouldn’t move out here when I have my own place.”
I leaned my head down until it was resting on his shoulder and letting my hand slip around his muscled throat, curling it to rest under his ear.
“Then sell it,” I countered.
“If I sell it, then Prescott will just buy out the next owner, and I don’t want him to have it. It’s petty, yes, but I feel like I owe it to my dad,” Downy sighed in exasperation.
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