by C. D. Gorri
We will be too. When we meet our mate.
Nope. Not happening for us. We have our work.
Mournful moo.
He ignored his brazen bovine’s bawling for a mate. The silly bull needed to keep his eye on the target. Which was to catch this rotten crook or crooks before they hurt someone.
“I made a timeline of events.” He handed Tony the document he’d been working on over the past few hours.
“As you can see, the identity thief seems to be working with no real pattern. Each of these victims had strange charges on their accounts as early as months before the big loans hit their credit reports, but none of them seemed to notice until it was too late. Each one taken for hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“And you spoke to all of them?”
“All except two. Spirito is a minor so I only spoke to her legal guardian—her grandmother, Bernadine Spirito. And the other is the missing gopher shifter—all records indicate she and her grandmother should be here.”
Of course, when Sergio said here, it was more like heeyah. That Jersey accent was a killer, but Tony had the same one. Worse even, given the devil’s predilection for Italian American slang as a result of being raised by his adoptive parents. Italian Americans from Philly were hardcore AF.
“Here?” repeated Tony.
“That’s what I said, bruthah.”
“A’ight.”
Snort. Yep. Jersey sure is in da house.
“FUCN’A,” he replied, cocky grin and all.
“You’ve been waiting a while to say that, haven’t you?” Sofia sighed.
“Yep.” Sergio nodded.
And why not? It was a good one too. If he did say so himself.
“All right, well, you two can speak your native tongue while I go have that lie-down.”
“You okay, doll?”
“Of course.” She smiled at Tony. “Oh, and Sergio, feel free to use my car if you like. I will be in the rest of the night.”
“Thanks. I just might do that. See you guys later.”
Sergio was anxious to check out his first lead. Yeah, he should wait, but what for? He was raring to go.
11
Sammi looked at the large clock hanging on the wall of her new office digs. It was her first day on the job, and she felt as if she’d been hit over the head with a baseball bat.
Who knew cadets could be so extra? She turned her waning attention back on the shifter who’d rushed to her desk almost immediately that morning.
It had been hours now, and the poor creature was still going on and on. Sammi was doing her best to follow along. But it wasn’t easy.
“The last counselor I worked with always looked at me when I was talking,” the young cadet complained.
“Uh, sorry.” Sammi redirected her gaze to the female and nodded for her to continue.
“All right then. So, anyway, then I woke up, and everything was gone! All her clothes, books, and her half of the toiletries. Plus, that rat ate all my cheese spray,” Randee, a raccoon shifter who seemed to have an unhealthy affinity for eyeliner and cheese spray, wailed.
It seemed her roommate had bailed on her without so much as a word. If this conversation was anything to go by, she probably would not have been able to get a word in anyway.
“Did you try listening to her before things escalated to this point?”
“Are you saying this is my fault?” Randee screeched, causing many pairs of eyes to gaze harshly at Sammi.
The raccoon shifter’s face scrunched up. A warning sign if ever there was one. Then she proceeded to bawl all over Sammi’s desk.
Dang it.
“No, no, no.” Sammi tried to reason. “I’m sorry, Randee, that was not what I meant at all. How about a tissue?”
“Is my makeup smudged?”
“No, well, maybe a little.” Sammi scrambled for some wipes she saw in the desk drawer and handed them to the female, who admittedly looked more like her animal half with black makeup smeared all over her eyes.
Great job, Sammi. Sniff.
She tried to act like everything was fine. But so far, day one of her new life sucked balls. The big, hairy, sweaty kind.
When Sofia asked her to take over her position as her first official FUC assignment, Sammi had no idea it would be this.
Sniff.
This position was a far cry from an actual FUC field agent gig. Instead of chasing bad guys, she babysat cadets all day long. It was tedious. And awful. Like really awful. And Sammi was bad at it. Would the whining never stop? Or the sniveling excuses?
Nope.
What did these people even have to complain about? They were specially chosen out of thousands of applicants. Cream of the crop. Literally, at the top of their fields, from various subgroups of shifters.
Sammi was proud she’d even made it as far as the front door. Thank goodness for her avid reading habits. Her ability to remember things she’d read was what landed her the spot at FUCN’A.
But back to Miss Messy Eyeliner here. So, her roommate switched rooms. BFD.
Did Randee send Director Cooper’s assistant to the emergency room? Was she asked to take her final tactical exams three separate times to pass?
Nope.
Not as far as Sammi knew.
And last, did she earn the horrible nickname “wedgie hedgie” by the staff and faculty?
Sad sniff. That honor was reserved for Sammi alone. At first, she didn’t even get it. She’d thought perhaps her underwear had peeked through the top of her pants or something. But of course, that wasn’t why she’d been given the moniker.
Apparently, Sammi had been named the “wedgie hedgie” because every time she showed up for class or a tactical lesson, her instructor’s glutes clenched tight in fear wreaking all sorts of havoc with their tighty-whities.
Yep. Humiliations galore was apparently the new theme of her life.
Sammi had the privilege of being the only FUCN’A grad in the history of the Academy who’d achieved every single one of those underwhelming feats she’d named.
Maybe if she’d stop picturing images of her Aunt Suzi climbing the curtains to get away from imaginary feral cats, she could’ve done more at FUCN’A. As it was, she’d not been offered a mentorship, and she was essentially doomed to office work.
Sad sniff.
“Uh, Randee?”
The raccoon was occupying too much space at her desk. Her tiny body was sprawled over half of it, and it was clear she was going through some serious emotional turmoil.
Sammi had no idea how to deal with it. Her hedgie’s sensitive snout was picking up all sorts of crazy from the female.
Sigh. This is my life now.
“Okay, Randee, I am going to get you some more tissues. Then I need you to fill out this paperwork in response to your roommate’s COC forms, so we can all find an amenable solution, okay? One minute.” She excused herself and headed over to Tammy’s desk.
12
The older woman was tall and thin. A squirrel shifter, who Sofia had recommended to her should she need help. It was true too. Tammy was the most helpful person Sammi had ever met.
“What can I do you for, Miss Sammi?” she asked with her usual chipper disposition.
Sammi’s nose twitched in reaction. As if the other shifter’s happiness had set off one of her notorious allergic responses. She closed her eyes, but it was no good. Her hair had already started feathering out. An echo of her beastie’s spines.
Sigh.
“Where can I find the right paperwork for a cadet to fill out in response to a COC form?”
“The complainant’s COC was filed against your cadet?”
“Yes. They were roommates, but the complainant stated irreconcilable differences on her form as the reason for needing to switch rooms.”
Her face must have shown some of her displeasure and weariness over the whole thing. Tammy tsked and patted her hand.
“You okay, hon?”
“I swear I did not know thi
s was what this job entailed.”
“I understand. It can be difficult. Now”—Tammy nodded—“what you need is a harder cock.”
“A what?” Sammi’s mouth hung wide open, and she noted a few snorts in the area.
“I said you need a harder cock,” the skinny squirrel repeated, winking as she pulled papers out of a file from her impeccably tidy desk.
Sammi scented the air casually to get a read on the woman. Was she the butt of some interoffice joke? She looked around, but no one was paying attention anymore.
Sniff.
Tammy was definitely serious about this. But what could she mean by harder cock? Truth was Sammi hadn’t seen any kind of cock, hard or soft, for months, but she was sure that wasn’t common gossip. Or was it?
Sheesh.
Was no aspect of her life sacred?
Pop.
There went another lock of hair. Her spiky tresses were always sticking up whenever her emotions ran high. No doubt that specific lock was already pointing at the ceiling.
It was why she tried to keep it relatively short, though medium length was her usual speed.
“So, a harder cock spelled H-A-R-D-E-R C-O-C, is the response to just like a plain old COC, or Complaints on Campus form, but a little more detailed. HARDER stands for the Habitable Accords & Resolutions Document En Response, which will spell out the terms of the two cadets’ agreed to behavior, so that they may continue their time at FUCN’A, and graduate without interruption.”
“Oh,” Sammi said, closing her mouth.
There were always plenty of laughs on campus. It was all the acronyms at FUCN’A, but she’d never heard of this one.
“Okay, then. Yes, I want a HARDER COC. Please and thank you.”
Just then, a loud rumbling sound started from the front of the office. The noise had everyone’s head turning toward the origin, including Sammi’s own spiky head. The owner of said growling was staring at her with the biggest pair of deep brown eyes she’d ever seen.
Sniff.
Holy cow! Or should she say bull?
Deeper sniff.
Definitely bull.
Yowza.
The hulking male had her inner hedgie chittering like mad. She felt more thick strands of her hair pop up in every direction. The man was hotter than hot. Shoulders so wide he had to turn sideways to get in the door. Pecs so large the buttons on his soft blue flannel seemed ready to pop. Then there were his jeans.
Whoa.
She’d never known a man to fill out a pair of Levi’s quite like that. Made her wonder whether he wore a zipper or button fly.
Better check that out, she thought, and her cheeks flamed. She bit her lip, eyes meeting his intense gaze boldly. She’d never felt such an intense attraction to a stranger before.
But something about him had her hedgie panting and her girly bits throbbing with need. Why had she chosen today to wear her most unflattering pair of cargo pants?
Probably because it went with her equally hideous burnt-orange blazer.
Sigh.
Fashion was so not her friend. Never was. Being the same height as most adolescents did not help when trying to shop for business attire, and since she’d gotten this gig a little late in the summer, Sammi had no choice but to peruse the back-to-school leftovers for appropriate clothing.
It wasn’t a big concern of hers until now. She was there to work. Even if it was boring as hell.
Deciding to ignore the gorgeous stranger, Sammi ambled back to her desk with one hand wrapped around her HARDER COC. She paid no attention to the two counselors she’d inadvertently bumped into while trying to maintain her cool.
The crash that sounded after one of them went flying into his desk was hardly noteworthy. Nor was the scowl the other wore as he muttered and tried to mop up the remnants of his lukewarm coffee across his rather colorful plaid button-down shirt.
Sniff.
She just minded her own business. Chalking up the stranger’s appeal to just one of those things. And she absolutely refused to acknowledge the whispers that the wedgie hedgie had struck again as she retook her seat across from Randee. She would not give in to the mortification that threatened to overwhelm her.
So what if she was a little accident-prone? The deliciously handsome stranger could just shove off, far as she was concerned.
“Okay, Randee, take this HARDER COC and fill it out,” she said after closing her eyes for a moment to collect herself.
Only, once she reopened them, the chair formerly occupying the raccoon shifter was empty. Darn it. Where had that little cadet run off to? Sammi was about to alert the office manager when a curiously pleasant, rough-sounding voice reached her ears.
“Excuse me?”
The unfamiliar tones were rich and distinctive. She turned her head and swallowed her gasp.
“Miss?”
Yep. That voice was perfect for the ruggedly handsome face that voice belonged to. It was him. Her growly bull.
Sniff. Yes. Mine.
“Um, sorry,” she murmured, running her hands over her hair as nonchalantly as possible. “Can I help you?”
“What was it you said you were holding there?”
“Uh, just forms.” She licked her lips nervously, watching as his chocolate-brown eyes followed the movement.
“What kind of forms?”
“HARDER COCs,” she squeaked.
13
“I see,” the bull said, but managed a straight face somehow. “Do you handle all the harder cocks around here?”
“Uh, no.” She shook her head. “We each get our fair share.”
Somehow her voice had gotten stronger, bolder, as she continued the thinly veiled banter. Who was this mystery man? He sounded American. His accent was definitely more New York than Newfoundland, but she could not be sure. All she knew was she liked it.
“I see,” he said. “My name is Sergio Gravino. I was wondering if you could help me, Miss, uh…?”
“Andrews,” she answered, unconsciously leaned forward in her seat, closer to the big, sexy male.
There was just something about all six-and-a-half feet of him that made her inner hedgie sigh and tremble with anticipation. He frowned at her, and even that was charming.
Sammi had never gone for the outdoorsy type, but the stranger standing there in his jeans and flannel button-down called to her like no other. She even liked his construction boots, and that was a definite first.
He smelled like freshly mowed grass, the kind her hedgie loved to roll around in. Like on warm sunny days when all she wanted was to sit around eating ice cream in a kiddie pool in the yard.
She never was much for big outings. It was the simpler things in life that appealed to her hedgie’s heart. Made her wonder if he felt the same.
“Andrews? Samantha Andrews?” he asked.
“Uh-huh, but I like Sammi better,” she said, completely hypnotized by that ridiculously appetizing scent.
It seemed to waft off him in delicious little bursts that had her hedgehog squealing in excitement. The silly creature wanted to take a nibble.
Mm, one small nip to catch his scent and flavor. Maybe even anoint herself with that delicious fragrance.
Yeah, good idea.
She could dribble a little bit of it on her back, coat her spines and tail, use it to tell the whole shifter world that she had dibs on the big, grumbly man.
Sniff. Yum.
Snuffle. Yes.
Mine.
Definitely mine.
“Samantha Andrews?” he repeated, and she had to wonder if he was a bit dim.
So what if he was? That was okay. She could date dim.
Do bulls naturally have big brains? They have other big things, for sure, she thought, giving him the once-over.
As for smarts, who knew? Either way, she found herself nodding excitedly. If his mind proved too dull for conversation, she was certain she could find other talented sections of his anatomy to entertain them both.
Didn’
t bulls like salt licks? Maybe she could set up a round of tequila shots for them at her place. Rub a little lime, sprinkle a little salt in strategic places, and lick away!
Oh, yeah. Mama likey that idea.
The intense brown of his eyes seemed to deepen in the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. Small, brilliant flecks of gold, like the sparkly sugar crystals that dusted the tops of the fudge brownies she adored from the diner in town, shone brightly at her.
Appetizing, for sure. He was positively mouth-watering. Sammi couldn’t believe this was happening to her.
Who’d have thunk it? She’d just met her mate at a job she wasn’t even supposed to have and had decided was absolutely not for her. Maybe love really was fated, and this, her being there, was kismet.
Sigh.
She would have to send Sofia a thank-you basket. Maybe a package of Maude’s meatless meatballs later that week. After all, she needed time to get to know the big, gorgeous bull in front of her.
“Miss Andrews…” He repeated her name, and she leaned in closer, nodding her head.
Sammi could listen to the soothing, rumbling sound of his voice forever. With any luck, she would get to do just that.
First a little dinner then a little dessert. She lowered her lids to half-mast, peeking up at him through her dark lashes.
It was her trademark look. One that had earned Sammi her very first kiss. He was interested. She could tell by the way he stared back. What did he say his name was?
Oh right, Sergio Gravino. Italian. Nice. She watched him inhale a deep breath, holding it in for a beat. The bull grumbled low in his throat. He looked down, as if building his nerve. Sammi tipped her head back, hands hanging off her desk as she leaned forward and closed her eyes.
This is really happening, she thought. He is so going to kiss me.
The feel of cold steel on her wrists and the sounds of cuffs clicking shut alerted her to the fact that something was very wrong in paradise.
And if that didn’t wake her up, his next sentence sure as fuck did.
“Samantha Andrews, you’re under arrest.”
14