Line Of Duty [2] His Risk to Take

by Tessa Bailey

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, grateful to hear she didn’t sound half as pathetic as she felt. “I told you it’s over.”

  “The hell it is.” He responded immediately, his face rife with determination. “We both made mistakes yesterday, but I’ll be damned before I let us walk away from this.” Coming closer, his head shook slowly. “We don’t end here. I know that because I won’t allow it.”

  “You’re the one who walked.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back.

  She didn’t want him to know how much he’d hurt her.

  Didn’t want to hurt this much. If she talked about it, the pain would only worsen. “Look, I don’t have time for this. I have a class.” She started to walk toward the subway entrance, but his words stopped her.

  “I didn’t make it one goddamn block yesterday,

  Ruby.” He swiped an impatient hand through his hair.

  “Look, we’re both stubborn hotheads, and we’re going to fight. Early and often. But I will never make it more than one block before I come back. That is my promise to you. And I don’t break my promises, either.” Hands on hips, he breathed deeply as if attempting to calm himself. “If I let my fear of losing you keep us apart, I get the same damn result. The only way I can fight that fear is if you fight it with me.”

  His raw honestly toppled her defenses. “I don’t have any fight in me right now, Troy,” she murmured before she thought better of it.

  “Yes, you do.” He reached out and cupped her cheeks. “You’ve got more fight than anyone I know. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise for even a second.”

  Ruby pulled away, moving once again in the direction of subway. “I’m sorry, too. But I can’t do this.”

  “I’m going to come back tomorrow,” he called after her. “And the day after that. Every single day, I’ll come for you. As long as it takes, Ruby. I’m not giving you up.”

  …

  True to his word, Troy came back every single morning for a week. Ruby woke up each day and looked out her living room window to find him leaning against his car, arms crossed, waiting for her in the cold. After that first morning, they didn’t speak to each other.

  They didn’t need to. Everything she needed to know communicated itself through Troy’s eyes. With a single glance, he told her he wasn’t going anywhere. He would be back, day after day, to torment her.

  Some mornings, he looked her over impatiently, as though he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back upstairs. Those were the times Ruby found it hardest to keep walking. Her need for him grew stronger by the day, and she sensed he knew it.

  He started calling her on the phone, waking her up in bed. Once, when she finally answered against her better judgment, he’d rasped, “Let me in, baby. Now.”

  She’d been forced to take a cold shower before leaving the apartment for class that day.

  As the week wore on, his presence started to comfort her. She stopped seeing her mistake and the subsequent pain he’d wrought every time she looked at him. Instead, she started looking forward to the mornings, when she could memorize his image and carry it with her all day. She started to believe in what he’d said, that he wouldn’t allow them to end. That he would come back every day until she realized it.

  One thing, she already knew for certain. Her plan to get over him had died in its earliest stages. As long as he kept showing up, looking sexy, sleep deprived, and determined, her feelings for him would only continue to intensify. This was the man who’d tracked her down at school and brought her home. Held her tightly while she slept as though she might vanish. She didn’t want to punish him any longer. His reasons for walking away hadn’t been selfish, but that’s precisely how she was acting. Selfish. Punishing him—and herself in the process.

  Not anymore, Ruby decided as she sprung out of bed that morning, feeling more like herself than she had in days. After throwing on her robe, she padded toward the window with a smile on her face, anxious to get her first look at Troy.

  He wasn’t there.

  Ruby’s stomach dropped to the floor. She pulled up the window and leaned out, looking for his car down the block, but it was nowhere in sight. With shaky hands, she closed the window and stood very still in the dim apartment. The first thought to pop into her head was, Oh, God. I waited too long.

  Her second thought? Screw that.

  She pulled her cell phone out of the charger and dialed Troy’s number while pacing in front of the window. He answered on the first ring. “Hey, I’m—”

  “One week? One week was your limit? You said as long as it takes, so where are you?” She swallowed around the tightness in her throat. “You said I was your pain in the ass. Well, get your ass over here so I can be a pain in it. Maybe you gave up after one week, but I haven’t. I miss you, okay? I miss you, and you’re supposed to be outside.”

  “Ruby,” he broke in. “Look out your window.” She spun around in time to see him pull up at the curb and get out of his car, still holding the phone to his ear. “I just hit a little traffic.”

  “Oh,” she managed lamely. Before she could ponder the intelligence of going outside in freezing weather wearing a thin robe and no shoes, she dropped the phone and flung open her apartment door. She ran down the stairs and out of the building. Troy stood on the other side of the door when she pulled it open, devouring the sight of her before she jumped into his arms.

  “Christ, I missed you, t—”

  Her mouth cut him off. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him, pouring everything she had into it. He returned the kiss with a tortured groan as he backed her into the building hallway and began ascending the stairs with her clinging to his tall frame. They didn’t come up for air until they were inside her apartment and Troy kicked the door shut behind them.

  “Maybe I should have hit traffic sooner,” he mumbled against her mouth, making her laugh.

  Desperate for the feel of his skin, she slipped down his body and immediately began removing his clothes.

  She peeled off his jacket and shirt as their mouths slanted over each other’s greedily. Her anxious fingers worked his belt buckle, a moan passing through her lips when she felt the thick ridge behind his fly. When she paused to brush her palm over it, Troy’s head fell forward against the door above her shoulder.

  “God, please touch it. It hurts so bad,” he growled, freeing himself from his pants. “I’ve been going mad every morning, knowing you were up here all naked and soft. I’ve got to have you now, baby. Let me have you or I’m going to lose my mind. I can’t think. I can’t think.”

  Ruby let her robe drop to the ground, and within seconds, he’d levered her against the door and thrust deep, their groans of relief colliding between them.

  “I thought you gave up,” she said unsteadily, her mouth moving on his bare shoulder.

  Troy went still, forcing her to look him in the eye.

  What she saw there made her heart pound loudly in her chest. He kissed her lips softly, then turned and walked them toward her bedroom. He laid her on the rumpled sheets and came down on top of her, propping himself on his elbows. “I would have stood out there waiting forever. Don’t ever doubt that.” He pushed his hips forward, and Ruby gasped. “You’re going to give me sleepless nights, Ruby, and I’m signing on for it. I’ll have way more sleepless nights without you.” He leaned down and kissed her neck, started to move. “We’ll argue, and then we’ll make up. And every time, we’ll be stronger for it.” His intense expression softened. “It’s simple. You’re for me, Ruby.”

  “I’m for you,” she breathed.

  Troy smiled, took her hands, and held them over her head as his rhythm increased. “Now. We’re going to stay in this bed until I get tired of hearing you say you’re mine. It’s the only thing allowed out of your mouth for the next several hours. Is that clear?”

  Eyes fluttering closed, she nodded. “Yes.”

  He
nipped her bottom lip. “Follow the rules.”

  “I’m yours, Troy. I’m yours. Yours.”

  Do you love sexy, dominant cops?

  Check out the beginning of Protecting What’s His

  the first book in the Line of Duty series

  by Tessa Bailey

  She’s running from the law, and the law wants her bad .

  The opportunity was just too damn delicious for

  Ginger Peet to pass up. The purse full of money she finds—$50,000 to be exact—could give her and her teen sister the new start they need. So she grabs the cash, her gothy sibling, and their life-sized statue of Dolly Parton, and blows outta Nashville in a cloud of dust. Chicago, here we come…

  Turns out, Chicago has some pretty hot cops. Hot, intense, naughty-lookin’ cops like Derek Tyler, who looks like he could eat a girl up and leave her begging for more. And more. Tempting as he is, getting involved with the sexy homicide lieutenant next door poses a teensy problem for a gal who’s on the lam. But one thing is certain—Derek’s onto her, and he wants more than just a taste.

  And as far as he’s concerned, possession is nine-tenths of the law.

  Chapter One

  To steal or not to steal, that was the question.

  Ginger Peet contemplated the bottle blonde sprawled across the yellowing love seat before returning her attention to the gaping purse full of cash in the woman’s hands. Lips pinched, she waited for the proverbial angel/devil tag team to pop up on her shoulders to dole out conflicting advice.

  Nothing happened. And didn’t that just figure?

  Instead, her conscience wiggled out of her chest, moseyed across the room, and perched itself on the giant, unused stereo system circa 1992. It crossed its arms and shrugged as if to say, “Union break. You understand.”

  Ginger cocked an eyebrow. It appeared her imagination was already overcompensating for the absence of her conscience.

  She plopped down on the dingy carpet, pulled her knees up to her chest, and inhaled a shaky breath. Her night shift at Bobby’s Hideaway had been crazy as usual, what with the dueling bachelorette parties and frat guys from Vanderbilt screaming drink orders at her until 4:00 a.m. Typical night in downtown Nashville.

  Most nights, she screamed right along with them. Playing the part. Laughing at jokes she couldn’t even hear above the honky-tonk music. Giving as good as she got. Was it pure coincidence that tonight, when she’d been unable to muster a single smile for her good ol’ boy regulars, she came home to find a pile of cash waiting for her?

  Furthermore, their mother hadn’t darkened their door in months, but had picked tonight of all nights to stop by and catch a nap. The last time Ginger spoke—okay argued—with Valerie, she’d been stripping to make a living. If you called passing through life in a drug- and alcohol-induced haze living. At least she’d managed to pass out with dignity and not wake Ginger’s seventeen-year-old sister, Willa, in the process. Willa tried valiantly to hide her depression over their mother’s habitual absences, but Ginger knew it cut her deeply.

  Ginger didn’t take kindly to anyone hurting her sister. Mother or not.

  She narrowed her gaze once more at the cash-filled purse. No way had Valerie pulled in this much cash twirling around a pole. She sifted through the bulging rolls of hundred-dollar bills held together by rubber bands. What she wouldn’t give to have this much money. The pile of cash in front of her represented freedom. Change. A chance to pursue something other than pouring drinks to support herself and Willa.

  Willa.

  This could be Ginger’s one and only chance to get her sister away from this broken-down heap called a house. Away from the danger of the strange men her mother brought home when she actually came home. Away from the fate of ending up passed out on a thrift-store couch while your twenty-three-year-old daughter debated ripping you off.

  And. Yet. Ginger knew with absolute certainty that if she took this money, just walked out the door with it, it would come back to take a chunk out of her ass. Moreover, it occurred to her that this one poor decision moved her one giant step closer to her biggest fear.

  Becoming her mother.

  Ginger had to believe the pile of skin and bones on the couch had once possessed dreams and ambitions of some sort. Then one misguided choice landed her in a G-string and pasties shaking it for some trucker named Dirk to a played-out eighties anthem.

  If Ginger could just be a good enough person for long enough, she could flip the script for Willa, though. Willa, who’d skipped the sixth grade, swore like a sailor, and took photographs that could make Ginger cry, would have a chance at becoming something. Someone.

  She glanced around at the peeling paint, stained carpet, and twice-pawned television set. Without the responsibility of playing parent to her sister, Ginger would have lit out a long time ago, leaving Nashville in her rearview mirror. The thought of falling asleep in her squeaky twin bed in the room she shared with Willa, only to wake up tomorrow and complete the same bleak routine—riding the bus into town to work a double shift, then still struggle to put dinner on the table and make rent, all the while looking out for her sister—made her feel nauseated.

  I can’t see past tomorrow anymore and that ain’t good.

  As her idol Dolly Parton once said, “If you don’t like the road you’re walking, start paving another one.” Hell, she was going to need a fleet of cement mixers.

  And for that, she’d need some cash.

  Ginger fanned the money in front of her face, inhaling the musty scent. Surely the guilt would appear any moment and she would stuff the purse back into the crook of Valerie’s arm and pretend she’d never seen it in the first place. She could then fall asleep with a clear conscience and the false hope that her mother had turned over a new leaf and would use the money to feed Willa, move her sister into a nicer home.

  Or she could seize the opportunity fate was dropping in her lap and get the heck out of Dodge…

  As Ginger picked up the purse and slung it over her shoulder, she learned something very important about human nature. Oftentimes people make questionable decisions. And even though they already taste the fat regret sandwich headed their way, they do it with a smile.

  She gave her trembling, wide-eyed conscience the finger and went to pack.

  Chapter Two

  From his position above the bathroom sink, Lieutenant Derek Tyler stared into bloodshot eyes. Oh, right. That’s why I don’t drink whiskey on an empty stomach.

  Derek didn’t appreciate the reminder of his own stupidity, nor did he have time to reflect on it. He had under an hour to make it to Saint Luke Cemetery, so he quickly tossed back three extra-strength pain relievers and adjusted the tie of his wrinkle-free uniform.

  Chicago PD would bury one of its own today. One of his own. Hence his drinking binge the prior evening. Derek had never lost a man in the line of duty before, and that he’d lost one in last week’s raid on Chicago’s most dangerous crime syndicate burned in his stomach like battery acid.

  Unlike Derek, the officer had a family. A family with whom Derek would come face-to-face in under an hour.

  As a homicide cop, he knew the likelihood of similar tragedies occurring more than once on his watch was high, especially since he’d only recently turned thirty and had a long career ahead of him. He hoped he never got used to it.

  He’d just left the bathroom to retrieve his uniform hat from the closet when his ears were assaulted by high-pitched laughter from outside the apartment building. Derek frowned. He’d specifically chosen this building, a sprawling brick colonial in Hyde Park, for its distance from the constant activity downtown. He preferred the quiet. Especially today, when he felt like an ice pick was firmly lodged in his skull.

  “Pick up the end! I can’t carry the whole thing, skunk-vag!”

  “Fuck off! You’re only using one hand!”

  “That’s because I’m using the other one to flip you off.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with multitasking.�
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  “You would argue with the pope’s mom.”

  Christ. These girls, whoever they were, could give the rowdy men in his department a run for their money. Too bad he didn’t allow his men to swear while on duty.

  Did he just hear one of them call the other donkey-queef?

  Derek ground his head against the wall to suppress the pounding in his frontal lobe. He would never drink whiskey again. Normally, the Chicago Cubs were his only vice and that usually proved punishment enough.

  With a curse, he strode toward the open window in his sparsely and functionally decorated living room. Thanks to the demands of his job, he spent very little time at home and a couch, television set, and neatly ordered desk completed the space.

  From his vantage point at the window, Derek caught sight of a teenage girl pulling a lava lamp from the bed of a rusty, flatbed pickup truck. Her thick black hair hung down well past her shoulders, obscuring his view of her face. Black knee-high combat boots were laced up over purple fishnet stockings.

  Judging by the furniture and household items lining the sidewalk, these girls who could curse a blue streak were moving in. The one female he could see certainly did not fit the building demographic. Most of the residents worked in town and kept reliable hours. No loud music or parties. He wondered how these two managed to slip through the cracks.

  Unable to connect the second voice to its owner, he started to turn back into the apartment—

  The black-haired menace leaned on the truck’s horn, startling a scream out of the second girl and causing Derek to smack his head against the window frame. The ice pick in his skull twisted and he literally saw stars winking behind his eyelids.

  Before he could stop himself, Derek opened the window and barked in his sternest lieutenant voice, “Hey! Not everyone needs to be in on your moving day adventure!”