Jamie Hill Triple Threat (A Cop In The Family)

by Jamie Hill

  She had a Cindy Crawford-type beauty mark on her cheek, just above her lip. Brady found it sexy, for some reason. Her full, pouty lips—he could easily explain the attraction to them. For just a moment, he wondered how they'd taste pressed against his own, and imagined himself nibbling on them before pushing them open and exploring her mouth with his tongue.

  She remained at the bar, looking out over the crowd, so he continued his scrutiny. Large silver hoops dangled from her ears, adding to her gypsy-like appearance. His gaze lowered to the pastel plaid shirt she wore knotted at the waist over a yellow crop-top. The shirts were filled out nicely. Maybe not as much as Nurse Sam would have filled them out, but Gina's breasts looked very nice and natural. Her jeans were low-rise, and Brady was surprised to see a shiny silver navel ring in the gap between shirt and jeans.

  His surprise grew along with his erection when she turned around and reached above the bar for something. He caught a glimpse of a medium-sized butterfly tattoo across her lower back.

  He'd been in the strip club for close to two hours, but watching Gina had provided his only stimulation of the night. Brady shifted positions for comfort and thought about what exactly had flicked his Bic. He'd seen lots of women with tattoos and body piercings before. There were plenty in his line of work, and a good number of those sightings had been purely for pleasure. But something about this particular woman continued to intrigue him.

  She didn't like cops, an attitude that amused him. He'd dealt with it before, and usually diffused those situations easily. Gina's appealing mix of wholesomeness and sexiness interested him, and her devil-may-care attitude made the effort seem worthwhile.

  Then there was her amazing set of hips. Christ! His erection twitched. There was nothing sexier than a tiny waist over a full, round butt. They used to call it an hourglass figure. Brady called it something he'd like to get his hands on. His dick throbbed pleasantly as he continued to watch Gina work.

  He took another drink and his ice shifted, splashing amber-colored liquid down his shirt and jacket. Swabbing himself with the tiny napkin-slash-coaster on his table, he felt himself blush profusely when he realized Gina was watching him. Her chocolate brown eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement. He tossed the tiny napkin on the table and smiled at her sheepishly.

  She made her way over to him and tossed a stack of bigger napkins on the table. "Get you a bib?"

  "Uh, no, I'm doing fine, thanks." For the second time that night he heard himself stammer. She definitely had him off his stride. "I can't believe you saw me do that."

  "The show's up there." Gina pointed to where a woman in a Catwoman costume took the stage. "But every time I look at you, you're watching me."

  He looked at the stage quickly and then back at Gina. "I don't much like cats."

  "Too bad!" she purred, leaning into him. "I have a beautiful cat. Her name is Pussy."

  Brady coughed and felt his face flush again. "You're, uh, kidding me."

  "Do I look like I'm kidding?" Gina batted her eyes at him. "But seriously, you're creeping me out, Detective. I suggest you watch the stage, or I'll have the bouncer show you the door."

  Brady opened his mouth to protest and offer some sort of explanation when the front door opened and two uniformed officers, followed by Melanie Curtis, entered the club. He sighed and shoved his drink away. "Looks like there's a different show to watch, now."

  * * * *

  Gina studied the woman who marched in with the two uniforms on her heels. Even without her sidekicks, she was obviously a cop. Dark jacket, stiff manner—hell, Gina would bet the farm there was a gun in a shoulder holster under that jacket. She glanced around, but Julie was still recovering from her shock in the back room, so there was no one to bet. Gina knew she was right about the woman. She had a sense for cops, always had.

  Plainclothes division probably made the broad a detective. Gina looked briefly at Brady Marshall, noticing he didn't look surprised or unhappy to see the other detective come in. He was smiling. Well, good for him. Maybe he'd get lucky tonight. He certainly wasn't getting anywhere with her, Gina thought smugly, not that he'd actually put the moves on. But guys in these places were all alike.

  "We're going to start questioning the patrons of this fine establishment," the lady cop said to Brady.

  He tossed back the rest of his drink. "You can't wait until Catwoman is done?" They both looked at the stage, where the female cat had bared everything not covered by her black G-string, and was shimmying around for the pleasure of the crowd.

  "How much do you suppose a boob job like that costs?" the female detective wondered aloud, shaking her head.

  Brady chuckled. "Worth every penny, my dear. Worth every penny."

  "You're so full of shit." She sat at his table and looked up at Gina. "Can I get a diet soda, please? And then I need to ask you a few questions."

  Gina didn't reply, just stared at Brady and nodded toward his drink.

  He shook his head. "No, thanks."

  She ambled to the bar, got a diet soda from Randy, the bartender, and took it back to Cagney—or was it Lacey with the dark hair? Gina didn't think any more of chick cops than she did the masculine version. She set the drink in front of the woman and looked at her expectantly.

  The lady detective had gotten caught up in the show, and when the naked Catwoman finally left the stage, she glanced up at Gina distractedly. "Oh, yeah. I guess I need to find out what time you came to work, and if you noticed anything unusual."

  "Who's asking, please?" Gina put a hand on her hip.

  Brady smiled and sucked a piece of ice from his glass into his mouth. "Gina, this is Detective Melanie Curtis, Homicide Division. Mel, this is Gina—uh…"

  Gina looked slowly from him to Detective Curtis. She finally said "Morris. Gina Morris."

  "Thank you." Curtis jotted her notes into a small book. "So Gina, what time did your shift start tonight?"

  "Nine."

  Detective Curtis nodded. "That's about the time we got here." She looked at Brady. "What time did you get here?"

  He swallowed another bit of ice. "Around seven-thirty. I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."

  The other detective smiled at him. "But then, you weren't watching the back door, were you?"

  "Good point." He shrugged. "I watched the show until Julie went out to dump the trash and got my attention with a bone-chilling scream." He looked at Gina, and she saw his eyes giving her the once-over. "Since I came back in, the dancers haven't held my interest."

  She looked away, hoping Detective Curtis hadn't noticed him ogle her. The woman continued to write in her notebook, apparently unaware of what the other detective was doing. Maybe they weren't an item, after all. Gina knew if Brady Marshall was her man, she'd keep one eye on him at all times.

  She shifted her feet, impatient with the slow-paced questioning. The lady detective seemed in no hurry, but Gina couldn't wait to get away. Marshall made her nervous, and standing this close as he continued to scrutinize her was unnerving. She didn't dig cops.

  "You've never seen the victim here before?" Detective Curtis asked Marshall.

  He shook his head. "Not that I recall. I have a pretty good memory for faces, but his doesn't ring any bells."

  "What about you?" She looked at Gina.

  "I didn't see the body."

  Curtis pulled out a Polaroid picture and held it up. The sandy-haired man could have been asleep, except his face was bleached of color. Gina leaned closer in the dark club to get a better look. She didn't recognize him, and shook her head.

  "Are you sure?" Curtis snapped.

  Gina slapped a hand on her hip and stared at the other woman. "I said I've never seen him. You have reason to doubt me?"

  "I don't know you. I do know everybody lies at one point or another."

  "I have no cause to lie," Gina said coolly, remembering why she disliked cops.

  They gazed at each other until Marshall set his glass on the table with a thud. "We're all a l
ittle on edge tonight. It's never fun discovering a dead body." He flashed Gina a quick smile before turning back to the other detective. "So Mel, some of the neighboring businesses are closed tonight. You'll want to have your uniforms come back tomorrow and continue the canvass."

  Curtis shook off Gina's stare and turned to Marshall. "Yeah," she finally said. "I realize that." The woman kept talking but Gina tuned her out.

  In a casual manner, Brady Marshall had diffused the tension before it got out of hand. He was smooth, and that made her nervous. Police, in general, made her uneasy. She watched him as he spoke with the lady cop.

  She'd be fooling herself if she believed the reason Marshall made her nervous was his job. It had more to do with his piercing blue eyes and silky blonde hair than his badge. He was tall, over six feet, with muscles in all the right places. His arms appeared strong, and for a moment Gina let herself wonder how it'd feel if he wrapped her in them. A shiver ran down her spine and she swooned, grabbing the table for support.

  "Are you all right?" Marshall was on his feet in an instant. He started to reach for her and thought better of it, pulling his hand back. "You're not going to faint, are you?"

  She brought her focus back to reality and shook her head. "Of course not. I just had a chill."

  "Yeah, it's pretty frosty in here." He looked at her and Gina smiled. It was probably ninety degrees in the club. Women danced naked and men sweated profusely. She shook her head, and he added, "This has affected you more than you're letting on. You should take a break."

  Inhaling, Gina said, "I'll be fine, thanks. I need to get back to work. If you're through with me, that is."

  "I'm through," Curtis said into her notebook.

  Marshall looked at her for a long moment before answering, "For now."

  She saw a hint of a smile in his eyes, and hurried to depart his company. Randy at the bar was covering for her best he could, but she could see Warren, the owner, tapping his toe with irritation. She'd just come on shift but it was already a long, bad night.

  * * * *

  Gina rolled over, bumping into the familiar figure that regularly warmed her bed. "Hey there! How's my pretty Pussy today?" Reaching out, she scooped the large, furry cat into her arms and nuzzled. "Such a pretty baby."

  The cat leaned back and accepted the fawning as her due. Gina knew it was expected, considering they woke up most mornings in the same manner. There'd been a few days when she'd run late and missed the exchange, but her new job offered later hours and more sleeping-in time.

  She stroked the soft fur and thought about the Pink Banana Club. It wasn't the perfect job, but compared to some she'd tried, it wasn't bad. At least she got to keep her clothes on. The other employees were friendly, but she'd told the cop the truth. She didn't have many friends there—possibly because she hadn't worked there long, but more likely because of her tendency to keep people at a distance.

  The cop. He was someone she needed to keep at bay, which might be easier said than done. Dogged in his persistence the night before, he'd remained at the club until almost closing time. She'd finally gotten rid of him, but it'd been tough.

  To her surprise, she found him more attractive and witty as the night wore on. He hinted that he'd like to go out with her, but she repeated that she didn't date cops. Unfortunately, it wouldn't take much for a man like that to wear down her resolve. She needed to steer clear of him, and everything would be fine.

  The melodic tune of her cell phone jarred her back to reality. Grabbing it from the nightstand, she flipped it open, read the screen and pressed 'talk'. "Hi, Papa."

  "Cara, como ci?"

  Gina leaned back into her pillow and rubbed a hand through her hair. "Speak English, Papa. You're not in Italy. I'm fine. How are you?"

  "Saputa," he muttered.

  She chuckled. "If I'm a smart ass, I learned it from you. What are you doing, phoning me at this hour to call me names?"

  "This hour? It's almost noon."

  She yawned. "Really? I worked late. We had some excitement. Dead guy in the alley behind the club."

  "Anybody we knew?"

  Snorting, she asked, "How would I know? He was nobody I knew. The cops questioned me until they were sure of that fact."

  "I don't like this, cara. Dead bodies, police—it's too dangerous. You shouldn't work there."

  "I know." A smile crossed her face. They'd had this conversation numerous times. "I should move back home and work for you."

  "It's a good job—"

  "And I'd be safe there under your wing. I know, Papa, I know. I just want something different."

  "It's good enough for your brother."

  She'd heard this countless times, too. "I never said it wasn't good enough. I said I wanted something different. Why do you do this to me? Every time, the same conversation." Her voice rose in irritation and she tried to quell it. Her father's health wasn't the best, and he didn't need the aggravation.

  "Come to dinner."

  "I have to work tonight. Let me check my schedule and I'll call you soon."

  "Always with the 'you'll call me'…are you putting me off?"

  "No, Papa, I'm not. I have to work. I promise to call you soon."

  "Ti amo, cara."

  "I love you, too. Bye, Papa." She pushed the talk button and tossed her phone on the bed. She knew he loved her, and she loved him, no doubt about that. Her mother died when Gina was twelve. With the help of a few different housekeepers, her father had done his best to raise her. His work had kept him busy, so while he'd been over-protective, he hadn't particularly been attentive. Gina got away with more than she should have in those teenage years. So did her brother, who was barely two years older. Danny had always been a golden boy in their father's eyes.

  Gina stood and stripped out of her silky, red nightgown. It was barely dirty—same with her sheets—but it was laundry day and she was a stickler for cleanliness. Nudging Pussy off so she could strip the bedding, Gina sighed. She couldn't remember the last time she washed the sheets out of necessity. There'd been no one but her sleeping on them for months.

  After starting the washing machine, she shoved everything in and added soap. She'd wait a few minutes before hopping in the shower, so she didn't have to compete for water pressure. Hot water was never a problem. Her building was new and well equipped.

  That cop is probably well equipped, too. The thought hit her as she stood naked in front of the kitchen sink, eating a handful of dry cereal. Where had that come from? Gina tossed the crumbs from her hand down the drain and hurried to the bathroom. She needed to get dressed and do something productive, like vacuuming. That'd keep her mind off sex, or her recent lack of it.

  Gina ignored her reflection in the bathroom mirror. In her current mood, if she stopped to check out her high, full breasts and shapely hips, she might wind up back in bed, digging under the mattress for her trusty vibrator.

  Snap out of it she scolded herself, and stepped into the shower.

  * * * *

  Gina spent a restless day puttering around the apartment before heading to work. She wasn't sure why she felt so edgy. The dead body in the alley didn't help matters, or perhaps it was the small army of police who invaded the club after the discovery.

  She'd never done anything that wrong to have such an apprehension of cops. She'd been just naughty enough for them to make her uncomfortable. Now, her inability to get one particular cop off her mind made Gina more uneasy than ever.

  What she needed was a date, or even just a nice roll in the hay. How long has it been? It bothered her that she couldn't remember. That usually wasn't something she forgot. She smiled to herself.

  Her first time was a pleasant memory. She could still picture the boy who'd taken her virginity in the back of his Jeep, parked by the lake one summer night long ago. Theo Russo. She and Theo went steady their senior year of high school, when Gina thought life couldn't be any better. Everything was exciting and fun.

  It all changed during her first ye
ar of college. That's where the memories turned sour.

  She scanned the Pink Banana, empty except for two tables up front by the stage. Neither of those men drank much, and their tips would be small. It was bound to be another long evening.

  "Not very busy tonight," a voice murmured in her ear.

  Gina jumped. She turned and saw Brady Marshall smiling at her. "Don't do that! You scared the crap out of me."

  "Sorry." His tone was mocking. "Wouldn't want to do that."

  "Marshall—" She readied a response vile enough to make a sailor blush. Spotting a twinkle in his bright blue eyes, she softened and decided to drop it. "What are you doing here?"

  "Looking for you."

  "Not more questions, I hope. I told you last night I didn't know the stiff."

  "And I told you last night; the Pink Banana 'stiff' isn't my case. I'm here to see you."

  He stared right through her, and Gina's gruff exterior dissolved. She hoped he wouldn't ask her out, because right now, gazing into his eyes, she'd agree to anything.

  Brady inserted one finger into a dark ringlet of hair on her shoulder and twirled it. He maintained eye contact as he spoke. "I remember what you said about not liking cops. I understand some people feel that way, but I'd like you to give me a chance. I think you'll find that being a detective is only one aspect of my personality, and—"

  "Okay," she interrupted, feeling lightheaded and starry-eyed from gazing at him for so long.

  "Excuse me?" He blinked.

  "Sure." She smiled. "What did you have in mind?"

  "Oh." He looked nonplussed. "I never got that far. Didn't think you'd give in so easy."

  Gina put her hands on her hips, pulling away from him. "Don't count on it happening again, Detective. I only agreed to go out with you, nothing more."

  "Of course. I knew that." He appeared flustered.

  She kept her face stony but grinned like a fool on the inside. It felt good having the upper hand. She sensed that Brady Marshall didn't get shaken up very often. "So?"