Ridge City Recruits: The Full Seven-Book Collection
Page 4
“I know what these are,” she breathes, then looks up at me, eyes shocked and wide. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Tommy.”
“I—it’s not what it looks like.”
She dumps the pills back into the bottle and shoves it hard against my chest. “No? I’ve done enough research since my brother fell into a coma from this shit to know exactly what this is. I can’t believe you, Tommy.”
I grab her hands before she can storm away. “Aggie, it’s not what you think. Please. I need you to trust me.”
“Why should I?”
I cup her face in my hands. “I will tell you everything when this is over. I swear. But I just need you to trust me.”
She shakes her head, but I can already see the fight with herself on her face. “Tommy, this is so fucked. I know better. My gut’s telling me none of this is—”
“Your gut is right. Just not about me.” I lean forward and kiss her, relieved when she lets me. “I have to disappear for a little bit.”
“What?”
“I have to go, Aggie. Can you get a ride home?”
Her brows rush together. “Yes, but—don’t go, Tommy. Wait.” I back away, but she grabs my hand. “Tommy—”
“I have to go,” I tell her softly. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” It kills me to do it, but I drop her hand, turn, and run off into the night.
6
Aggie
Three days.
It’s been three days since I saw Tommy. Since our desperate parting. Since total confusion settled into my head, making me question everything and everyone.
I need you to trust me.
And somehow, even though all the evidence is stacked against him…I do.
He hosted the party where people were using drugs and steroids. The same party where my brother took some bad shit and slipped into the coma he’s still in. He was at the party where I went to try to buy some of those same drugs. And three nights ago, I found him with the drugs in his pocket.
I shouldn’t believe him.
But I do.
Tuesday evening, I get home from the gym and head straight for the shower. My phone rests on the bathroom sink, and I hear it suddenly blow up with alerts and notifications. When I finish my shower, I pick it up. One of the notifications for our local news station catches my eye.
Breaking News
Ridge City plainclothes officers make arrests in a university football doping scandal, including Head Coach Jim Rundle. One detective cites the work of an undercover student as being critical in the arrests and eradication of steroid use from the campus and its athletes and student body. Developing story.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper, my fingertips flying to my lips. I just need you to trust me. “Tommy…”
A text pops up on my phone as if he heard me calling him.
Tommy: Are you home? I’m in the neighborhood.
Me: Yes. Come over.
It takes me a couple of minutes to send the message. I keep writing long messages, then deleting them. Finally, I just go with my gut.
I want to see him. I need to see him.
I quickly blow dry my hair and have just enough time to slip into some leggings and a comfortable, oversized sweater when there’s a knock on my door. I rush to unlatch it.
Tommy stands there, holding a single pink rose and wearing a somewhat sheepish expression on his face, but for some reason, he looks different. Prouder, more serious. A little grave. Strong.
I launch myself into his arms.
“Hey,” he says with a quiet laugh. “I missed you too.”
“It was you,” I whisper into his ear. “It was you. No wonder—it all makes sense.”
He backs me into the apartment and shuts the door with his foot. “It was me,” he says quietly. “But I need you to promise you won’t tell anyone or publish me as the source, since I know you’re going to write something.”
“Of course I am.” I swallow. “Are—are you a cop or something?”
He sighs, looking down. “No, not exactly. Not yet, anyway.”
My brows shoot up. “Not yet?”
He meets my gaze, his deep blue eyes serious. A shiver ripples over my skin. This stoic Tommy makes my toes curl. “It’s kind of a long story.” He tells me what happened after the party at the end of spring semester. He tells me about his hearing. About his cousin, about the deal they worked out. About the program he joined, the training he did.
About this assignment to discover the source of the dope and point the cops toward who to arrest.
“I’ve decided I’m going to switch my major to criminal justice,” he says. “I know that’ll tack on some extra semesters, but…I want to be a cop. That’s what I’m meant to do with my life. I see it now.”
“And…football?”
He smiles. “Quitting the team.” He brushes my hair behind my ears. “Want to go visit Ty tomorrow? Together?”
I nod. “Yes. But for now, I want you to kiss me.”
And he does, and it sets a fire low in my belly.
I pull him into my bedroom. We shed our clothes fast, and he pulls me into his strong, chiseled arms, our naked skin hot as our bodies press together.
“I missed you,” I whisper into his mouth, then gasp as he slides inside me.
“I missed you more.”
Our mouths fuse together as he thrusts into me with hard, slow strokes. In no time at all, I burst around him for the first time, moaning his name as he keeps up the deliciously torturous pace. He reaches down to grasp my hip, his strokes picking up speed as our kisses deepen. I shatter again, and this time he follows me, groaning my name in my ear as he throbs inside me.
We lay holding each other for a long time.
“I trust you, Tommy,” I say. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions before.”
“Don’t apologize for that,” he replies, kissing my temple. “You were smart to question me. I mean, the evidence sort of spoke for itself. But I’m grateful you gave me a chance. Thank you.”
He pulls me against his chest. I push up onto one elbow, draping my upper body over him so I can look down into his face. “The night of that party we were both at—what were you doing there?”
“Same as you,” he says. “I was going to try to buy something.”
I cringe. “So I kind of fucked that up for you.”
“Never.” He strokes a finger down my cheek. “I’m glad nothing happened to you.”
“Who was that guy?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. We’re still working on getting the names of everyone involved…it’s a pretty damn big ring that goes beyond just the campus.”
“We,” I echo with a smile.
He gives me a little smile. “I guess it’s my calling.”
I lean down to kiss him. “It suits you. You’re a hero.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he scoffs, but his smile grows, and his cheeks redden a little.
“Okay. You’re my hero. How about that?”
He teethes his bottom lip. My toes curl again. “Is that a permanent gig?”
My breath catches. “Do you want it to be a permanent gig?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “Yes, I do. Aggie, I’ve wanted you since the second I met you. I—I’m falling in love with you.”
“You are?” I whisper, my heart stuttering.
He nods solemnly.
“Good.” I lean down to kiss him again, and he wraps his arms around me. “Because I already fell for you. Hard.”
“Then let’s keep falling,” he murmurs.
Epilogue
Tommy
Three months later
One week before fall semester began, Tyler Russo opened his eyes. He was surrounded by his family and friends.
The doctors say his recovery will be a long one, but they have every reason to believe it will be complete. I’ve got a lot to unpack with Ty, as does Aggie. Not the least of which is letting him know his twin sister and I are in love.
Aggie wrote a moving piece about witnessing her twin brother’s steroid use and how it changed him. It got published in the Ridge City Times and went viral on several huge media outlets. She mentioned the university scandal only fleetingly, and, of course, didn’t reveal me at all. The response to the piece has been overwhelmingly positive, and I couldn’t be prouder of her.
“Hey.” Rhys snaps his fingers, bringing me out of my thoughts. “Wake up, Tommy.”
I’m sitting in the chief’s office with Rhys and several other detectives involved with the Program. Since the summer, we’ve now brought to justice more than a dozen people involved with the football doping ring, and the chief called a meeting with all involved.
Chief Warren Bradley strides in with a cup of coffee. He’s an imposing man, tall and broad, with medium cocoa skin, a bald head, and a strict no-nonsense attitude.
He takes a seat behind his desk and immediately fixes me with a look. “You’ve done some excellent work, young man. Have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?”
Rhys shoots me a little smile, and I clear my throat. “Yes, sir. Actually, I’m switching my major to criminal justice. With a full course load each semester plus summer sessions, I’ll graduate December of next year.”
“I sincerely hope you’ll come test with us,” Chief Bradley says. “I’m not allowed to make promises, but I can tell you I very, very strongly believe there will be a spot for you in the department should you want it.”
I nod, keeping my face stern like his, but inside, I’m doing backflips.
“Now.” The chief shifts his gaze to Rhys and the other detectives. “This experimental program you’ve proposed here seems to be working. As we all know, this city is full of crime, and it gets harder and harder for our detectives and undercover officers to stamp it out. I’ll approve adding more recruits to the Program. These young people can get into places we don’t always have access to, and the intelligence and evidence they may find can make a significant impact on lowering our crime rates.”
“Know anyone who might be interested, Tommy?” Rhys asks.
I blink, running through my mental catalogue of friends I know who might be looking for something new to do with their lives.
New, and dangerous.
“I have a friend,” I say slowly, “from my part-time construction job. He’s from South Ridge like me. Blue-collar guy from a blue-collar family. He’s solid, though.”
“We’ll have to do a background check on him first,” Rhys says. “What’s his name?”
“Aidan,” I reply. “Aidan Kelly.”
Rhys glances over his shoulder at one of the detectives, who nods. “Got it.”
After the meeting, Rhys and I head out to grab a quick bite to eat. I have to get back to my job—I’m picking up more hours now that I’ve quit football.
“I’ll see Aidan this afternoon,” I tell Rhys. “I’ll feel him out.”
Rhys nods. “Good. Hey, listen, Tommy. I’m really proud of you. You’ve done some amazing work. And you didn’t make me look like an asshole.” He cuffs me on the arm in a big-brother fashion.
I grin. “Well, don’t get too excited. I’ve still got time.”
He laughs and slings an arm around my neck. “Welcome to the force.”
2 | AIDAN
1
Aidan Kelly
I lower the last beam onto the pile for tomorrow and straighten, the ache in my back easing as I stretch. The lowering summer sun kicked my ass today, but now it sinks into the horizon, promising nice, quiet evenings of backyard grilling, kids riding bikes, and cold beers on the front porch.
If you have a normal life, that is.
I mop off my face with the bottom of my T-shirt as I wave goodbye to the crew and head for my car. I’ll have just enough time to get home and take a quick shower before the rest of my day starts—my twice-weekly, three-hour comp class at Ridge City Community College and then, a meeting for the Program.
Earlier this summer my pal Tommy O’Brien told me in very vague words about some job he had going with Ridge City PD and told me to come to “a meeting” with him to check it out. Initially, I balked. I got arrested after a fight eight years ago when I was eighteen. I did a couple months in county jail, not a long time, but the case and those months have haunted me ever since. No one wants to hire an ex-con, especially for a violent crime—even though it was truly self-defense. The guy I got into it with was some bastard in a parking garage, who hit my mom’s car, then started harassing and threatening her when she demanded his info. He swung first when I went to confront him, but being that he was an established, well-off adult and I was a poor kid on food stamps, it wasn’t hard for his lawyers to turn everything around on me.
Since then, I, like most ex-cons, avoid the cops like the plague. Until Tommy talked me into going to the meeting. I’ve known him since we were kids, and he knows about my past. He told me I had nothing to worry about.
That was hilarious—a bitter ex-con turned construction worker, just trying to get enough credits to maybe transfer to the university and maybe get a degree, with nothing to worry about walking into a roomful of cops.
They ended up making me an offer I couldn’t refuse: join their “program” as a recruit and help them infiltrate the many seedy crime rings in the city and get my record…expunged.
My past would cease to exist…allowing me to have a fresh start.
I said yes without a second thought.
That was two months ago. I’ve trained with them most days out of the week since then, but I haven’t actually done any real work yet. But tonight, I have a meeting with one of the seasoned undercover patrol guys—some dude named Gunner Hansen.
Apparently, he has something for me.
Finally.
Anticipating the assignment has me totally distracted as I sit in class tonight. All I have is a meeting location and time, and nothing else. I’m usually sort of into my composition class, for a couple of reasons. First, I’ve discovered I actually enjoy writing, and I look forward to the start of each class, which is thirty minutes of uninterrupted journaling or free-writing time before we start the lesson.
The second reason?
My teacher is amazingly beautiful.
Stella Smythe can’t be older than twenty-five and has been a teacher here for not quite two years. She’s got a couple of degrees including an MFA from a big-name, out-of-state university, and I’m not sure why she’s slumming it here when she could be a professor at Ridge City University. Still, her gorgeous, heart-shaped face, flowing, glossy black hair, and stunning green eyes make the long class twice a week totally worth it.
And, oh yeah, the credits.
I glance up from my laptop now, my gaze traveling over to where Stella sits at a table at the front of the room, reading glasses propped on her nose as she types away on her own laptop. I can’t know for certain what she’s writing, but I like to think she uses the time to journal too.
I’m already distracted and looking at her distracts me even more.
Tonight she’s wearing tight jeans, a white tank top, and some kind of floral-printed kimono-like thing on top of it. It’s shapeless but flowy, allowing me glimpses of her narrow waist, rounded hips, and generous butt.
Am I “hot for teacher”? Yeah. I definitely am.
I’ve talked to her a few times over the course of the semester. She’s always friendly, but she’s always friendly to everyone. Sometimes I catch her studying me in a way that makes me think she might find me attractive too but crossing the teacher-student line seems like a questionable idea.
Still, it wouldn’t be the first time I thought about it. Fantasized about it. About her. And I can’t deny
how much I want her.
Jesus. I don’t sound like a stalker at all… Focus on your work, man.
With difficulty, I return my gaze to my keyboard with a sigh.
At the end of class, I toss my notebook and laptop into my backpack. My mind is already focused on what’s coming next—meeting with Gunner Hansen and finding out what they want me to do. I’m so caught up in double-checking the location of where he told me to meet him, I don’t notice a small shape approaching me until I smell a whiff of her perfume.
“Aidan?”
Her voice is sweet and a little raspy. I slowly lift my eyes to find Stella a couple feet away, smiling tentatively at me.
“Hey, Ms. Smythe,” I say, clearing my throat and feeling eternally grateful I had time to shower before class.
She tilts her head at that, full, pink lips curving up on one side. She’s told the class—and me—several times it’s okay to call her Stella, and even though I suspect we’re around the same age or she might even be younger, I can’t bring myself to call her Stella yet. She’s still my teacher.
She doesn’t remark on it, though. Instead she says, “I wondered if you had a couple of minutes to discuss your essay assignment from last week.”
Shit. I glance at my watch. I have twelve minutes to make a ten-minute drive to meet with Hansen. “Um, would you mind emailing me? I’ll make whatever corrections you need—”
“I thought it was fantastic,” she says. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I think you’ve got something publication-worthy, actually.”
I blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Wait…what?”
The essay assignment from last week was a five-page paper about a single event that changed the course of our life. Naturally, I wrote about my conviction—the events preceding it, the events of the trial, and the aftermath and how it’s extended into my adult life. I ended up writing eight pages.