Yeah, she lost it. Again. Stupid commercials. Stupid triggers. Stupid her for burdening the poor guy with another meltdown. Connor already had enough guilt over losing his partner almost two years earlier. He would probably do anything—including resentfully taking his partner’s daughter into a confusing relationship—just to ease his mind. She couldn’t do that to him. After this mission was over, she would ask to be transferred to a different precinct—far from what was so completely opposite of her father. Yet she still wanted to call him Daddy. What the frick kind of head nonsense was that? She snuggled into him even further, and listened to the low thump of his steady heartbeat. Okay, this felt nice. Just for the weekend.
A knock sounded at the door, and Connor stood up. “I’ll be right back, sweet girl.”
It was her mac and cheese.
* * *
Alex stood behind the curtain for the pageant finals. It had to be a hoax, and Charlotte was behind it. Her gut said one hundred percent that Charlotte was just trying to get attention, gain support, and scare off the other potential contestants. Alex noticed a similar pattern with each contestant who dropped out. The way Charlotte’s eyes shone with victory, and the way they narrowed at her and Becky and the other two women who were still in.
And what was up with the dude Charlotte had partnered with? Alex would bet a full year’s salary plus vow to not play basketball or any other sports or hit any of the guys on the mats—any of that—if this guy turned out to be a dom. Not like she was that experienced, but she had good instincts. Hadn’t Connor affirmed that this weekend? Charlotte’s Daddy for the weekend was not a dom, he was not a daddy, and the way he kept turning up his nose and holding his breath during every scene that panned out in front of them showed that he wasn’t in the scene at all.
She should have told Connor her hunch, but she had gotten distracted with trying to make it through the contests and different scenes without looking like a fraud, that it hadn’t all hit her until now.
The way Charlotte henpecked and bossed the man around made her look more like the dominant in the situation. Not that dominance or submission should have a look to it. But what about the respect?
There was no way in hell Connor would let her get away with speaking to him that way. And he shouldn’t. Just as he would never speak to her that way. The few times she had given him a bit too much lip—of course, she blamed it on nerves and a far too short tutu and faulty tiara for her talent portion—Connor had just given her that look. Yeah, the look still made her stop in place. That look that said you’re skating on thin ice, little girl. Followed by a verbal quick reminder about mutual respect. He probably should have whacked her butt a few times for that, but hadn’t. She had felt chastised enough just from that moment.
The dynamic between Charlotte and her daddy was anything but loving or respectful. And the way the huge man glowered as if he was a simmering pot of rage about to boil over, whenever Charlotte flounced off… He seemed more like a bodyguard or hired hand. Holy crap, he was her bodyguard, hired to keep her safe during the event. This made so much more sense.
Alex pretended to avert her eyes and focus on tying her shoes when they glanced over at her. Crap. She was wearing ballet flats. Well, it was the best she could do for the moment.
“Twenty minutes until the final event!” someone called from the back of the stage.
The final event was a cakewalk. The four contestants would just explain for the audience what kind of charity they would like to support, for the following year. Alex already knew who she was going to speak about: the Big Brother and Big Sister organizations. Heck, she might be there under cover, but if she could help inner city youth get the mentorship and role models they so badly needed, she’d wear a tutu and dance badly in front of two hundred people.
Charlotte grumbled again at her pretend daddy, called him an idiot with the brains of a flea, and flounced off. The large man lumbered after her, and Alex saw a different kind of quiet rage in his eyes.
She followed quickly behind him, as he stalked after the angry blonde down the back stairs. Shit. What about Connor? Her partner? Hadn’t that been what he had been getting on her for all this past year? Following her instincts but not rushing into things? Partners were supposed to back each other up; be there to cover the other’s weakness.
Fishing her cell phone out of her armband, she shot off a quick text to Connor, before turning it to mute.
Charlotte’s daddy is off. Following them down back stairwell. Meet at bottom. Trust me
His reply: On the way. Do not engage
Good call. She wouldn’t engage—she would just follow them and observe, like they were supposed to do for this entire weekend anyway. But when she got to the second floor and heard Charlotte’s strangled mewls and pleas, she surged forward.
Charlotte’s daddy was gripping her around the neck and cursing at her while backing her into the shadowed corner on the stairs.
Shit. Things were getting ugly. She was about to snag her cell and text Connor, when the man backhanded Charlotte across the face and threatened to kill her.
No time to wait for backup. She was it.
“Let her go, ya prick!” Now, more than ever, Alex wished Connor had agreed to her idea of using a thigh-high holster to hold the small revolver on her leg. It was a good thing she knew how to take down big uglies with her bare hands. But she would have to be careful. Just stall him until Connor worked his way up to the second floor. That’s what she would have done. She strode down the last two stairs and took in the situation fully.
Charlotte had already sobbed about losing a hair bow, breaking a heel, and her makeup smudging right before her talent portion. Why the hell wasn’t she crying now?
“I don’t know what’s going on, asshole. But you need to get your hands off her right now.” Alex focused on the big, burly man in front of her, and the princess brat who almost looked bored now. Planting her feet shoulder width apart, she locked and loaded fists in front of her and prepared for the ape man to run her down. Yeah, he had that look like he was about to steamroll her, and she was ready.
Prepared for the frontal assault—not from the huge arms that locked around her shoulders, pinning them in place. Shit. She hadn’t heard anyone behind her and had been focusing too much on what was in front of her. Fricking rookie mistake. Flexing her arms and relaxing her stance, she prepared to send the idiot over her shoulder. This was cake—she’d done behind the back assaults enough to know the counterbalance needed for the perfect nose to wall throw.
Another pair of hands came out of nowhere and held the smelly handkerchief to her face. Too late not to breathe it in; her surprised body had decided a quick inhalation would be her best mode of defense. And as the little black spots danced in front of her eyes and her body turned into jelly, she saw Charlotte beam.
“You are so predictable. Night night, sweetie.”
“Thyou fthucking bit—” Alex slurred like a drunken prom date.
Everything went dark.
Chapter Twelve
Fucking hell, where were they? Connor paced the room as it crawled with cops. People dusting Charlotte’s room for fingerprints—the place was like a circus. When he had stumbled upon the crushed remains of Alex’s phone and Charlotte’s tiara, all hell had broken loose. Helms had asked everyone to go back to their rooms and hang out while they investigated the scene. But the cops had been a little less tactful. They told everyone that if they even thought about leaving the hotel before being interviewed by the police, they would find their asses in jail for a very long time.
Bradley Jones had swooped in and taken over the whole thing until his counterparts at Rosemont PD arrived. It helped having a former DA, who just happened to be back in town visiting family nearby. The mayoral campaign in the next city kept the RPD captain and lieutenant indisposed, but the sergeant was an old college friend of Brad’s. Small world indeed. Sergeant Quinn told Brad he could stay and give advice, but told Connor he could remain as
a professional courtesy only. He was too close to the situation to react without emotions. Hell, even Captain DiMarco had called and backed the guy, telling Connor to stand back and let the cops do their jobs—without him.
One of the Goth-looking BDSMers turned out to be a tech wizard, and was already using some sort of big brother satellite imagery to pan through cars leaving the hotel during the time period they went missing.
Sheila—she might have been the kitten with the tail sticking out of her ass, prancing the halls and purring every time someone stroked her naked body—was now dressed in an impeccable-looking feminine pantsuit and was calling in reinforcements from the nearby state patrol and SWAT. She was some sort of state politician with a shit load of pull.
But it wasn’t going fast enough for him. Where the fuck had Alex been taken? Was Charlotte hurt too? Damnit, he had thought Charlotte was faking it the entire time, and looking for attention. Damn. If either of them got hurt because he hadn’t done enough…
Memories of Frank’s bloody corpse rose in his mind. He had died immediately after that bastard had pulled a gun and shot him point fucking blank in the head. A ten mile per hour over the speed limit ticket. A motherfucking traffic violation. And Connor should have been with him. Maybe he would have sensed something was off. Maybe he would have seen the gun, and yelled for Frank to watch out. Maybe he would have taken out the asshole before Frank got killed. His partner had died on a lonely stretch of U.S. Hwy 75, alone. All because Connor had gone home sick. He wasn’t sick. He was just sick of doing meaningless, boring traffic duty. Wanted a bit more adventure. Wanted to do more dangerous work—even with his partner/mentor advising him against it. Yeah, that was the biggest reason. He had thought he was invincible, and Frank knew otherwise. And he was sick of Frank always being right. So he had feigned a virus and had gone home to surf the precinct’s database for potential undercover jobs. He should have been there. And his partner was dead because he wasn’t there to protect him.
He growled and punched a wall, startling one of the women making phone calls. “Sorry. I’m going to take a walk. I’ll be right back.”
They all nodded at him, seeming to understand his fear and anger.
If anything happened to Alex, he would…. He would what? He couldn’t die again. He’d already been through that watching Frank’s body rolled from the ambulance—the one without the sirens and flashing lights; taken to the morgue; done the identification of the body for the paperwork; watched Alex as she positively identified her father’s body, her tight fists and body about to snap. Going through the motions at the funeral; the paperwork of being assigned a new partner; shit. You couldn’t die twice, could you?
If bearing the crushing guilt of failing his mentor had been the equivalent of dying, losing Alex would be like… Shit, he didn’t know. An eternity of having his heart slowly cut out of his chest—with a quarter-teaspoon. A plague that poured acid onto each inch of his body, turning it into ash, bit by agonizing bit, only to have it all regenerate and start anew. Yeah, that kind of fucking pain—only worse.
He was damned if he was going to let his partner get hurt. Not this time. Not Alex. Because she wasn’t just his partner. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and tried to stop the angry breaths that threatened to consume his whole body and turn him into an unthinking savage. That little woman, with her perky smile; the way she told the stupidest jokes just to catch you off guard. The way she embodied a lioness with a tender heart; her desire to be loved and appreciated; the way she jumped headfirst into things, not because she was being cocky, but because she cared too damn much.
This woman was going to be the death of him. Because he would die for her before he let a hair be harmed on her head. And it wasn’t because she was his partner. Or that she was the daughter of the mentor and man he loved as much as a father figure. It was because he loved her. She’d shown no signs of feeling the same way. Yeah, she played well and enjoyed their scenes, but had shut down and backed off every time things became too intimate. It would break his heart, but he would let her go when this was all over, if she didn’t feel the same way. But first, he was going to go save her ass.
He had to. For Alex. And for himself.
The former kitten, State Representative Sheila Banks—that was her name—stepped out into the hall and handed him a cup of coffee. Black, strong, hot. She must have read his mind.
“Thanks.” He took a big swig and the bitter taste washed down his throat.
“How are you holding up?”
He figured it was better to not say out loud how close to seriously losing his shit and pulling a Clint Eastwood he was, so he settled with a stiff nod.
“That bad, huh?”
He grunted an affirmation and took another swig.
Her dom came out and handed her some paperwork, and whispered something into her ear. “Thanks, Paul. I need you to share this with our friends in the RPD, cross reference these with the hotel’s information, and get back to me ASAP.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A brisk nod and he disappeared quickly down the hall.
“He works for you?” Connor was sure his mouth had dropped open and reached the floor.
She smiled, took his arm, and led him down the hall to a quiet corner. “He’s my favorite assistant, and the best at what he does. When we discovered a shared kink accidentally, we decided to try it out. It’s not always easy to turn it on and off, but we respect each other, and we make it work.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be offensive.” Shit. This was a state representative. You didn’t piss off one, in his line of work, and keep your job.
“None taken. We roleplay. Just like you and Alex.”
“I don’t know if it’s just like me and Alex. You two seem to have your boundaries pretty well defined. I’m having trouble distinguishing a real line between Alex as my professional partner and the one I want to play with and protect. Then again, we’re undercover. Obviously, everyone knows that now. Shit. I can’t seem to get my head out of my ass to even think straight.”
“You’re worried for your partner. And you’re scared for your partner. Don’t worry about the color or width of our line. Trust your instincts.”
That’s what he was always telling Alex. Trust her instincts, but think before charging into a situation. He already knew what she would look like if the roles were reversed. She would be pacing up and down the long hall, chewing her fingernails, clenching and unclenching her fists, barking out orders with a bit more sarcasm and eye rolling than normal. If she was still wearing that adorably short petti-fluff—whatever the hell she called it—skirt, she would be futzing with the material until it ripped; stomping around barefoot; glaring at anyone who got in her path; fingering that damn necklace he gave her, because she always fiddled with jewelry. Her fingers anxiously twiddling the little figurine on the chain, probably until its head popped off—
“Holy shit!”
All conversation in the hall stopped, and they looked at him.
“The necklace, fuck. How could I have been so stupid?”
Brad and Sheila strode over, concerned looks on their faces.
“I gave the necklace to her as a gift and a joke.” He shook his head and winced. “At least it was supposed to be a joke, but I forgot to give her the punchline. We got busy.”
Their confused gazes and tilted heads said they weren’t following, and they were seriously considering calling a psyche unit for him.
“Damnit, just listen. There’s a GPS chip in the figurine. I was going to tease her a bit after this was over, and show up wherever she was. Stalk her a little bit, but in a hot, ‘I want you’ sort of way.”
“You don’t date much, do you?” Sheila’s eyes narrowed, and Bradley tried unsuccessfully to keep the slow tilt of the corners of his lips from rising.
Brad nodded and motioned for another detective to come over, before focusing on Connor again. “Do you have the tracker, and the information from her chip?”
He s
hook his head. “I left that at home.” He glared at them. “I got a bit distracted trying to figure out how many clothes to pack for a weekend of public sex and spankings. Back off.”
“It’s okay. We can work with this. I’ll let Quinn know about this. Jim, get your tech girl over here. We’re going to need her to do some quick work.” He clasped Connor’s shoulder. “You need to calm down now. I know you’re upset—”
“Fuck off!”
Bradley’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and he propelled Connor through an open door and slammed him up against a wall. As he held his forearm squarely across Connor’s neck, Connor saw controlled anger in his eyes.
“Get a fucking grip on yourself, Sergeant Doyle,” Bradley growled and held him tighter.
Connor could have fought his way out of this. Maybe. The dude was a lot bigger and stronger than he had given him credit for. But he was right. He did need to calm down. “Christ, I’m sorry.” He met Bradley’s eyes and nodded, and the other man released him and took a step back.
“Here’s what is going to happen.” Bradley calmly strode to the window and looked out and down the five floors. “You’re going to give Trina your credit card number, name, where you bought that necklace, model number… anything you can remember. Then you’re going to go take a walk. Go check the perimeter again for something we missed.”
“You’re trying to keep me busy.” Connor scowled.
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