by Taylor Lee
Chapter 9
Viviana’s thigh-high stiletto boots clicked sharply against the tiled hallway. As she marched toward the squad room door, she tossed a smile at Sasha Jones, the desk clerk. Looking up from the game of solitaire she was playing on her computer, the dark-skinned, bright-eyed clerk’s face broke into a wreath of smiles. She shot Viviana a thumbs-up gesture and called out, “Whooee, Sergeant. You go, girl! Knock ’em dead!”
Viviana laughed and returned the gesture. “Has everyone left, Sasha? Is it safe to go in?”
“I think so, Vivi.” She paused and frowned, then said with a grin, “I’m not sure about the new commander.” She added, “Come to think about it, I would have noticed if he’d gone by. I’m tellin’ you, girl, that is one slammin’ jiggy if I’ve ever seen one.”
Viviana’s heart skipped a beat, but she replied as blithely as she could. “And he sure knows it, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am, that he does. But you can’t blame that fine lookin’ man if he’s a little cocky.”
“I’d be more inclined to call it arrogance. But you’re right, Sasha. He’s hard to miss.”
Viviana kept the smile on her face as she paraded through the doorway and added to herself, “And he’s apparently hard to avoid.” Determined to get in and out of the office before she ran into him, Viviana made a beeline for her desk. She was annoyed that she had to return to the office dressed as she was, but she needed to pick up the file she’d forgotten. It included critical information for her meeting with her CI. She wasn’t surprised that the gregarious desk clerk had been impressed with her outfit. After all, thigh-high black patent leather boots, a short, swirly skirt, and a halter top that barely contained her ample breasts didn’t exactly meet the dress code that her haughty commander had imposed on her the day before.
Seeing that the office appeared to be empty, she breathed a relieved sigh. She did not want to meet anyone here tonight, particularly Commander Hughes. Her ten-mile run following the painful conversation with the stern, emerald-eyed man who had broken her heart had helped her gain some equilibrium. At least enough that she’d set up a meeting with “Sly” Flaco, her most important CI. Grabbing the file she needed for the meet-up, she tried to squash the memory of her encounter with the commander. In all the heart-slashing things that he’d said to her, the one that even her seven-and-a-half minute mile pace hadn’t been able to erase was his cutting assertion that Belize “shouldn’t have happened.” That he’d added he “would take it back” if he could, “but can’t” were words that Viviana knew would haunt every dream she had. No matter how determined she was to never again think about the hideous conversation or the arrogant man who had broken her heart, she admitted some things hurt too much to be forgotten.
As if the universe weren’t done tormenting her, she heard his rich voice.
“Ah, good evening, Sergeant. I thought I heard the pitter-patter of little feet.” His lip curled up at the corner as he dragged his eyes over her unusual outfit and added, “Or to be precise, the click-clack of stiletto heels.”
Ignoring his reference to her outrageous boots, Viviana tossed her head and turned toward the exit. “I didn’t know anyone was still here. Sorry I bothered you. I needed to pick up a file.” Irritated that she sounded as if she owed him an explanation, Viviana hurried toward the door. To her dismay, he reached for her arm, not letting her pass.
“You’re not bothering me, Sergeant. In fact, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk with you.”
Viviana frowned, stunned that he actually thought she would listen to any more of his painful assertions. She shook her head fiercely and pulled away from his grasp. He seemed to understand her reaction because he held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture.
“No, Sergeant, don’t worry.” A smile lighting his remarkable emerald eyes, he added, “Or maybe you should. I want to talk with you about the report you handed in.”
Viviana met his gaze and demurred as she backed away. “Sorry, this isn’t a good time. I have an appointment.”
His eyes widened slightly as he perused her outfit. A tinge of humor colored his voice. “Yes, I can see that.” He added firmly, “However, this will only take a few minutes.” Making it clear that he wasn’t going to accept an excuse, he swept his hand toward his office. “Let’s go to my office, Sergeant. We’ll be more comfortable there.”
Knowing that not only would she not be comfortable but she would be hard-pressed to breathe, Viviana gave in to what was clearly a command and strode toward his damnable office. She did her best not to swish her hips from side to side. Her sexy boots were bad enough, but knowing that her short skirt swung when she walked ensured that her commander was getting an eyeful of her tight butt. Horrified at the explosion of sensation streaking across her thighs when he touched her shoulder to guide her into the quiet chamber, Viviana did her best to appear nonchalant. She knew Jax had to have felt her untoward shiver and was thankful he had the decency not to comment. Following her into the office, he closed the door behind them. Her heart in her throat, Viviana fought for a deep breath and was relieved when he walked by her and sat down at his desk. Refusing to sit, she watched him rummage through a stack of papers and pull out what Viviana recognized as her report.
Glancing up, the commander nodded to the chair in front of him. “Please, Sergeant, have a seat.”
Knowing what was coming, Viviana shrugged and sat down, deciding that she should pick her battles. His serious expression confirmed that he’d reacted to her report as she expected he would. In fact, how she hoped he would. She had decided that they might as well get their working relationship straight from the beginning. He needed to know that Viviana might concede on some things, like not wearing her running clothes in the office, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to change her working habits. His crisp opener challenged what she considered her written-in-stone condition.
Holding up the piece of paper, he said coolly, “Do you want to tell me what this is, Sergeant?”
She gave a dismissive shrug. “You asked us to submit a report of what we are working on.” She nodded at the paper. “That’s what I’m working on.”
He pursed his lips as he studied the paper, his eyes narrowing. He said ironically, “Hmm . . . it would appear that you have a busy schedule. If I’m reading this correctly, meeting with four unnamed individuals is the sum total of your activities.”
Knowing that she’d written the numerals one through four on the page, each followed by the cryptic statement “Meeting with CI #1,” etc., she met his hard gaze and said nonchalantly, “You are correct. You asked what I’m working on. That’s it. I’m working with my CIs on various cases.”
He pressed his lips together and said, “I see. Well, Sergeant, when you hand in your full report tomorrow morning, I expect to see the names of your CIs and a detailed explanation of what you are doing with each of them.”
Viviana reared up in her chair and spit out sarcastically, “Given that your usual gambit is chasing bad guys around the world, being the big bad special operative, you may not understand the lingo we lowly cops use. Let me explain. A CI is a confidential informant. Meaning that his or her name is confidential . . . for important reasons.”
The commander held her gaze. His voice was casual but had a distinct edge. “In the event that I may not have heard the term in my more than fifteen years in law enforcement, thank you for elucidating me. To reassure you, I am quite aware of the necessary precautions when working with a confidential informant. Which is why when you detail not only the names of your informants but the specific operations you are working on with each of them, I will keep that information confidential.”
Genuinely angry and knowing that they were facing a Rubicon, Viviana said as firmly as she could, “That’s not an option, Commander Hughes. That’s not the way I work.”
His voice was nearly as cool as she’d tried to make hers. “A correction, Sergeant. That’s the way you used to work. It’s not the
way you will be working now.” He pressed his lips together, then added in a tone that didn’t brook disobedience, “To be crystal clear so that there are no misunderstandings between us, I want a detailed report from you on my desk tomorrow morning. That report will include the proper names of your informants, a short biography of him or her, the issue that you are working on with each of them, and the status of the case.”
When Viviana just stared at him, too angry to respond, he cocked an inquiring brow. “Do you understand, Sergeant?”
Knowing that she would scream if she tried to speak, Viviana merely nodded.
He continued. “Good, I’m glad that you do. I have an early morning meeting but will be here at eight thirty. Plan to meet with me then to go over your revised report.”
Infuriated, Viviana leapt to her feet and made a rush for the door. Before she could open it and slam it behind her, he was at her side. Grasping her arm, he yanked her back and pressed her up against the doorframe.
Startled at his looming presence, her stomach flipped in a dizzying somersault. Staring up at him, she saw that his hard eyes were a stormy sea-green. His commanding words were all the more compelling because they were soft, laden with danger.
“Uh-uh, Sergeant. Another new rule. We don’t slam doors in this squad. Rather, we leave a room like the professional adults that we are.”
Viviana was more shocked than angry at his arrogance. When she tried to free herself from his strong grip, he shook his head. Not allowing her to look away, he said, “Just to confirm that you know how, please close my door, Sergeant.” When she glared up at him in disbelief, he added, “Now, Sergeant. Close the door. Quietly.”
Knowing that her face had to be flaming but seeing the danger in his flashing eyes, Viviana reached out and closed the door.
He nodded. “Good, I’m pleased that you know how.” Twisting her arm against her back, causing a twinge of pain to radiate through her shoulder, he said in an ominous tone, “Don’t ever slam it again.” He paused, then said, “Nod if you understand.”
Struggling to force a breath of air into her constricted chest, Viviana swallowed past the grapefruit-sized lump in her throat and managed to nod.
He pinned her with a narrow-edged gaze, then said, “That’s good, Sergeant, I’m glad that you understand.” Releasing her arm, he added crisply, “You may leave, Sergeant Moreau. I’ll see you at eight thirty tomorrow morning to review your revised report.”
Viviana didn’t know how she made it across the squad room without stumbling, a mix of violent emotions threatening to bring her down. She was shocked when he called out after her, his voice tinged with amusement, “By the way, that is an interesting outfit you are wearing, Sergeant Moreau. May I ask where you are going?”
His amused inquiry shot a ramrod of steel up her back. As she whirled to face him, her retort was sharp. “You can ask anything you wish, Commander Hughes. However, given that my evenings, including what I’m doing or who I am with, are none of your fucking business, I will choose not to answer your inappropriate question.”
His grin widened and his eyes danced with amusement at her infuriated response. He waved a dismissive hand. “Agreed. However, if I didn’t know better, I’d think that outfit looks like something you might wear to meet with a CI.”
Knowing that her face had to be beet-red, Viviana shot back, “Or perhaps a man who doesn’t have a tree trunk up his arrogant ass.”
Sashaying to the door, the furious din in her ears almost drowned out his laughter. Almost.
Chapter 10
Damn, sugar lips. I gotta tell you, if I didn’t know that you were a copper, a filthy pig, I’d be puttin’ you in my front line of skanky streetwalkers.” The outrageously dressed madam laughingly gazed at her, stopping at critical parts, and whistled. “Fuck it, Sarge, that is some get-up. Talk about flashing your wares. Not to get too personal, Sergeant Moo-row, but with those righteous hoo-hoos of yours and that sassy poontang, you can spank my monkey anytime you want, girl.”
Viviana shook her head and sneered at the “madam” in the skin-tight, red satin sheath dress who happened to be her most reliable CI. “Good God, Sly. Do you spend your nights dreaming up ways to insult women?” She couldn’t help smiling at the leering man whom she’d come to like and trust, something she did with few people. “Although I have to admit you have some of the more colorful expressions I’ve ever heard to describe female anatomy.” Ignoring his grin that revealed his pearly white teeth, she glared at him. “All I can say, Sly, is if you don’t have information that warrants me coming to this skag hole dressed like this, I swear I’m going to arrest you.”
Indicating that he was done with his sideshow act, the thin, garishly made-up man shrugged and actually addressed her as a police officer, not as one of his prostitutes. “C’mon, Sergeant, when have I ever done you wrong?” He frowned, telegraphing that his information was important and, Viviana knew from experience, would cost her.
Backing her into the alleyway, Sly Flaco, her long-time CI, leaned up against the grimy wall and motioned for her to so the same. Viviana complied. Their unusual relationship was going on four years. She’d often marveled that the outlandish pimp, whose colorful outfits and exaggerated manners that would put the outrageous tranny RuPaul to shame, was her most trusted ally on the streets. She’d single-handedly saved him from being beaten to death by a pack of ravenous skinheads fueled by hate and prejudice. When she discovered that the woman she thought was an over-the-top petty criminal was actually a man and a “madam” of some repute, she saw an opportunity to create a source. At first, their relationship was tenuous, neither of them trusting the other. In time, ballasted by information that Viviana couldn’t have gotten on her own and helped her break some of her toughest cases, Sly became her go-to snitch who, over time, gave Donnie Brasco a run for his money.
Not that he didn’t make her pay for the information he gave her. They’d devised an elaborate mating dance that included her meeting him in costumes that out-skanked his most outrageous whores. Their subterfuge was critical. Sly, real name Francis Flemings, was the straight-dressing owner of a reasonably respectable bar in his off time. It was located in the city’s toughest neighborhood known as the essj, the East Side of San Jose. His doppelgänger as a cross-dressing madam allowed him to play out his more lascivious needs, while his bar owner role gave him an eagle-eye view of his targeted community while raking in profits from both quarters.
Sly insisted, out of skewed playfulness if nothing else, that Viviana connect with him in both roles. When she was merely Sergeant Moreau quaffing a shot or three of scotch at Flemings, she got the kind of information most any well-placed cop could. But when she needed to meet the street pimp, Sly Flaco, he insisted that she dress the part. Given that Viviana had an almost pathological need to root out prostitution rings, she concurred. She wasn’t rabid about just any kind of prostitution. She looked the other way at the hardened streetwalkers, who she admitted were beyond redemption. Her targets were the underage rings headed by the most unscrupulous and dangerous pimps in the thriving underground economy. By far her best source on the kiddie stroll was Sly.
Viviana inhaled deeply, then blew a careless ring of smoke into the dusky evening. She nodded to her snitch. “Enough foreplay, Sly. I didn’t come down here dressed like this for nothing. You sure as hell better have something for me. I could have been home in my jammies watching reruns of House Hunters, or better yet, Chopped on the Food Network.”
Sly chortled, his tobacco-laden husky tones banked with laughter. “Sweet cheeks, I can actually see you watching either one of those girlie shows, but in your ‘jammies’? Never. If you tell me you wear so much as pasties and a G-string to bed, you’re in danger of dryin’ up my wet dreams of you. Uh-uh, I prefer to imagine those gorgeous sweater stretchers of yours sans sweater and your luscious coochie bared to the world as you loll about on your bed.” Apparently seeing Viviana’s annoyance, Sly dropped his pimp talk and shook his head
. “Okay, Sergeant, hope you are prepared for this.” He hesitated and said with a lopsided grin, “Both ready for the news I’ve got and the bank I’m gonna have to relieve you of before I tell you some of the more interesting tidbits your little ole nosy self has heard.” He matched Viviana’s smoke-filled exhalation with an impressive triple decker smoke ring, then said with a grin, “Info that will require you to dig deep into that bread basket of yours and hunt up a pile of Benjamins.”
Viviana sucked in a lungful of smoke and blew it out thoughtfully. She didn’t want to mess with her relationship with Sly. While it had deepened over the years to an unusual friendship, it was at base a business transaction. To date, neither of them had blurred the lines between their personal friendship and their hard-nosed financial one. The problem for Viviana now was that the departure of Captain Michels had left her vulnerable on yet another front. In the past, she’d paid Sly out of her own money then simply requisitioned for repayment. Long ago, Captain Michels had stopped asking for details. He’d learned early on that if Viviana had actually told him what the money was going towards, he would have had to refuse. The fact that the results she achieved with her questionable official money laundering made it possible for the browbeat captain to turn a blind eye.
For the twentieth time in two days, Viviana came face-to-face with her changing circumstances. God, it was bad enough that the sexiest man in the world had turned out to be the most duplicitous. As he’d reminded her yesterday in as many ways as he could, he was also her superior. She could just imagine the arrogant commander’s response if she blithely informed him that she needed to be repaid a sizable amount of money for information that she hadn’t yet received. Sighing, she decided to appeal to Sly. “Look, man, you know that Captain Michels resigned. What you don’t know is that his replacement is a hard-assed, rule-bound commander. He’s ex-military, ex-special ops, you name it. And as he has made crystal clear, he runs a tight ship.”