My mom thought this fetish was because my dad was a cop. He took off when I was seven—just literally disappeared—so I didn't really remember much about him, but she insisted that I'd always been fascinated with his uniform. Said I told him many times that I was going to marry him when I grew up. She thought that was the core of my obsession. I never cared much for the reasons, I just wanted to meet some quality uniforms. So, I joined the Marines, thought I'd go through the motions, marry me a pretty boy in uniform, and live the high life. Instead, I found myself in the middle of Japan, fighting the bad PR the American military got there, and then shipping home to turn around and ship off to Afghanistan. I served two tours there, too focused on the mission to get in too much trouble. And by too much, I mean half the number of flirtation sessions I might have engaged in otherwise.
In Seattle, I tried my hand at being a cop, but it was frowned on, the whole fraternization within the department thing. When I heard Gray Wolf Security was hiring, it seemed perfect. I wouldn't be around guys in uniform, just guys who used to be in uniform. I could control myself with that, right?
Apparently not. There were a lot of cops hanging around this place since I arrived.
I nearly got myself caught last week. I was at a local motel one of the other operatives ran with his wife, watching over Becky, the woman who ran the stables here at the ranch. I liked Becky, so I felt bad that I was in the alley making out with the sheriff's deputy on duty when her ex slipped into her room. He didn't hurt her—unless you call emotional blackmail hurt. He straddled her and committed suicide. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than the alternative.
Lance and Grainger, the other operatives who were there at the time, knew and didn't say anything. I supposed I owed them one for that. I wasn't a slut. I didn't sleep with these fools. I just liked the flirtation, liked making out with them. It never went further than that. My mom didn't think that made much difference, but it made a lot of difference in my mind. And there were three, maybe four, prime possibilities among these gorgeous men.
There was another guy, this older guy in plain clothes. He was kind of cute, I supposed. He was tall and slender, had brown hair and intensely green eyes. His shoulders were wide and his waist narrow, the kind of fit that looked healthy, not too thin. And muscles... his t-shirt was tight enough that I could see the definition of his pecs and perfect abs – but every time our eyes met, he scowled and made a point of looking away.
Don't like you, either, buddy!
"Who is that?" I asked when Lance came to drop something on my desk.
He glanced across the room and shrugged. "Which one?"
"The one in the white t-shirt."
"Clint Barrow. He's one of Casper PD's detectives."
I nodded, a little impressed that he wasn't just a beat cop. And a detective to boot. That was cool. And he probably looked hot in a dress uniform...
Lance walked off and I found myself locking stares with Barrow again. There was something about the way he looked at me, something almost intense. But then he'd scowl and look away again.
Jerk.
I got up and made my way over to the coffee pot, pouring myself a cup. A cop in uniform, a blond I'd noticed earlier, came up behind me.
"You're one of Gray Wolf's?"
I glanced back at him, forced to look up. But, again, I had to look up at everyone. At barely five foot, I was almost always the smallest person in the room, even at family reunions even though my sister—who was four inches taller than me—had two girls who were nine and twelve.
"I am. And I'm guessing you work for Casper PD?"
He smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "I do."
"Now that we know who we both work for..."
I could feel dark emotion floating my way. I around my new friend and caught that detective staring at me, beams of anger and disapproval flowing from his eyes.
"You going on this raid this weekend?"
The uniform nodded. "I'll be with the first wave, going in behind the FBI."
"Impressive."
"I'm Chuck, by the way."
I just smiled. I don't really care about names. They're all uniforms to me.
I held out my hand. "Why don't we go outside and talk about this raid?"
Uniform smiled and followed me out the French doors at the back of the building. I glanced back over my shoulder and caught sight of the detective speaking quietly to Hank. He seemed really interested in whatever it was Hank had to tell him. Hank, in my opinion, was boring. He was the assistant foreman there on the ranch, a cowboy like all the cowboys I left behind in Oklahoma. He knew more about cows than he did about the art of small talk. I'd exchanged a dozen words with him, none of them about anything other than Gray Wolf business.
Boring. Life was too fucking short for boring.
I stopped just out of sight of the mass of humanity inside Gray Wolf's off ices and leaned back against the wall. Uniform looked at me with a leer that spoke volumes, but it was a story I'd read a million times before.
"You are one of the prettiest girls I've met in a while."
I bit my bottom lip, trying not to say something unkind. I hated being called a girl in any circumstance, but in this one it just seemed that much more insulting.
"I wanted to do this from the moment I walked into that building."
Then get on with it!
Of course, I didn't say it. I bit my lip again. Uniform was cute, but the chatter was starting to get on my nerves.
"You have a room upstairs?"
I reached up and slipped my hand around the back of his neck, jerking him down to me. We kissed for a long moment, his lips a little too wet, his tongue a little too eager. I bit his bottom lip this time rather than my own, biting a little harder than necessary to cutoff the movement of that slobbery tongue. Some guys knew how to kiss. Some guys were brilliant kissers. And some guys couldn't get it right to save their lives.
Unfortunately, this guy was one of the latter.
How do you get yourself out of a bad make out session with a guy who thought you were ready to welcome him into your private abode? I slipped my fingers through the space between the buttons on his shirt, tugging him closer. He made this little mewling sound that made it obvious he was thinking that meant something. It didn't. I waited until he pressed his hand to the wall over my shoulder, then I ducked, slipping away before he even knew that he was kissing nothing but cold air.
"Hey!"
He chased after me—a very determined little man—reaching for my arm just before I stepped in front of the glass wall that exposed a good half of the Gray Wolf offices. He grabbed my upper arm and I spun on him, knocking his legs out from under him with one, quick, sweep of my foot. He was on his ass before he could catch his breath.
I did not like being grabbed.
"What the fuck?" he muttered.
I left him there, slipping back into the office as everyone began to gather close to the front of the room where three huge white boards had been set up.
"Just in time for the briefing," Hank muttered as I passed him.
"I'm nothing if not good with my timing."
"Okay, folks," Sutherland called from the front of the room, waving a hand holding a dark dry erase pen to get everyone's attention. "We need to do this. Some of you need to head back to Casper before it gets much later."
The room slowly fell to silence as I made my way to the very front. One drawback of being short was the requirement of always sitting in the front row of every class to see the chalkboard. But it also made it easy to play little flirtation games with the teachers—the male ones, anyway.
I barged my way between two tall fellows, one of which turned out to be the judgmental detective. He glanced down at me, made an unpleasant face, then turned his rapt attention back on Sutherland.
Asshole.
"We'll be going in in waves," Sutherland began, touching her pen to the center of one board that showed a crude drawing of the city block where the targe
t building stood. "Our target is in a poorer section of the city. We expect there will be a number of vagrants or other pedestrians in the area when we arrive. We will do our best to move them out of the way before the operation begins, but we don't want to tip off the Mahoneys in any way. We do know that they have security cameras on the outside of the building so everything we do before we enter the building will be under surveillance."
Sutherland touched the board again. "The FBI will be beginning here." She pointed to a street that ran perpendicular to the building. "They will enter the building through side doors here and here." She stabbed the sides of the building. "At the same instance, the Casper PD will enter the building through the front and back entrances. Our information shows that the Mahoneys have set up business in the basement of the building. The upper floors are occupied by legitimate businesses—one is a real estate office, the other an accounting firm. The Casper PD will secure the people on the upper floors while the FBI takes the basement."
Sutherland paused, her eyes moving over everyone in the crowd in front of her. Her eyes rested on me, then Grainger who stood a few feet to my right, and Lance who stood off to the side of the white boards. I could see the concern in her eyes, knew she was worried about this operation. She was showing weakness.
It was hard to respect a leader who showed weakness.
"Gray Wolf operatives will be stationed all around the building." Once again, she stabbed her pen against the white board, touching corners and spaces on the open street where we'd be, each about a dozen yards apart. "We will be in close communication with everyone inside the building. Should anyone in the building require backup, Gray Wolf operatives will enter the building two at a time. No one is to approach the building on their own."
Sutherland gestured to Ash. He took up her position, offering a brief, respectful nod to her. I studied him, studied the Army physique that he hadn't allowed to whither in his time out of the service. I'd heard stories about Ash Grayson's service. He worked with the CIA while over in Afghanistan. That was impressive. I'd heard stories of others who'd done the same and some didn't walk away from it as safely as he obviously did. To survive that, and then begin a security firm that had spread from a small, local business to a business that had three offices and serviced over seven states was impressive. I supposed it helped that the man was the son of much beloved politician and was filthy rich before he started the business.
"Most of you are aware that the Mahoneys managed to escape another planned raid in Cheyenne less than two weeks ago. I'm sure most of you are also aware that the Mahoneys have snitches in all forms of law enforcement all over the United States that have allowed them to escape arrest and prosecution for years. We have no reason to believe there might be a snitch here who might blow our plans, but we can never be too careful. Therefore, each and every one of you should go into this operation with the understanding that it could go terribly wrong. We don't anticipate problems, but the Mahoneys are highly intelligent, highly experience criminals who have gotten out of some very tight spots over the years."
Ash looked around the room. "Each of you is here because you were handpicked to be a part of this team. I have been working this case for many years, since the police in Santa Monica uncovered a connection between the Mahoneys and a Russian cartel that came after my people, my wife. I want to see these people go down more than anyone else here, but I know it takes a team. I know it takes precaution. And I have faith that this group is the best chance we have."
He was quiet once again, his eyes moving around the room, touching on familiar faces the same way Sutherland's had done. Ash's brother, David, was standing off to one side, his arms crossed over his chest, an expression of determination not unlike his brothers’ on his face.
I'd heard the stories. I knew the Bazarov Cartel had been after one of Gray Wolf's clients years ago and nearly took out one of Ash's operatives while she was trying to protect the client's child. And I'd heard that Ash and his people went into a safe house and took out the leaders of the cartel, essentially putting them out of business, but I didn't know that they were connected to the Mahoneys or that this Russian cartel was the reason for all of this.
Interesting.
An FBI agent took Ash's place and began reiterating the legal crap—how this was their operation and that Gray Wolf was only there as backup, etc., etc.… it was all very stupid and very boring. I just wanted to get out there and do my job. All this prep was a waste of time in my mind. The operation was straight forward. We stand in the street with her hands in our pants, waiting for the pros to fuck it up. And they would fuck it up. They always did.
"We're ready now," I muttered under my breath. "Why don't we just go kick some Mahoney ass now?"
"That's how you people create more mess than you clean up," the detective beside me said. "Never following the rules. Always rushing in without a good plan. You're a bunch of cop wannabes."
"And you people do better? If you did, the Mahoneys never would have set up shop in Casper in the first place."
He glared at me, but he clearly didn't have a good comeback.
"Everyone go home, get some rest. We live at five tomorrow morning."
The meeting broke up. I was restless, not really in the mood for bed, not in the mood for company, either. I went up and grabbed my running shoes out of my room and headed out, pausing on the back porch to stretch. He was standing off to the side, leaning against the wall, a cigarette burning between his fingers.
"That's a nasty habit."
He glanced at me, rolling his eyes like he couldn't believe he kept running into me. I lifted my foot, my hand curled around the bottom of my shoe, and raised it up over my shoulder. I could feel his eyes moving over the length of me, could feel them resting on some of the intimate places that were normally covered when my leg wasn't high in the air. I was amused that he would show such obvious interest after glaring at me all day.
"I don't smoke them. I just like to watch them burn."
"Sounds like an excuse an alcoholic working in a bar might make."
"It's the truth. Believe it or don't."
It didn't matter to me. I switched legs, stretching the other. Then I did a couple of deep knee bends, a couple of long stretches.
"You should take up jogging. Releases more endorphins without the cancer-causing fumes."
"How long have you worked here?" he asked as I turned to leave. I turned to glance at him.
"Why?"
He shrugged, like my answer didn't really matter.
"A month or so."
"And you've already kissed half the guys on the sheriff's rooster?"
My eyes narrowed. "To be fair, there's only half a dozen on that rooster."
"True. But I've heard you're making your way through the guys in Casper, too. And a few from Kaycee?"
He laughed as I ran off, the sound grating. I ran faster, eager to get away from him, the pleasure in the run gone.
Chapter 3
At the Ranch
Sutherland curled up on the loveseat in the living room of the big house, a cup of tea in her hands. The house was too quiet since Kirkland and Mabel moved down to the guest house. She missed the extra noise more than she'd though she would. Ash, David, and Kipling had rooms in the bunkhouse despite her offer to put them up here. And Elizabeth was staying the night with Becky and her daughter Cassidy in anticipation of their early departure in the morning.
Sutherland had thought she wanted time alone to absorb what Bodhi's brother had told her about him, but now she would have done just about anything to have something else to keep her mind busy. Despite everything, she was afraid she was falling for Bodhi Archer. She'd fought it, fought his every smile and his every charming word, fought the awareness he'd awoken inside of her, the needs she thought had died with her husband. But then she gave in and it was like she'd opened a floodgate of desires and needs and emotions she'd tried too hard to ignore all these years.
Sutherland never believ
ed she could fall in love. She thought the move from foster home to foster, the abuse—physical, sexual, emotional—had hardened her so much that she would never be capable of a normal life. That was part of the reason she'd chosen the Army. She thought it would provide her family without the need for the emotional connection. It would be an outlet for her frustrations, her anger, but in a safe way.
And then Mitchell walked into her life.
She was injured, recovering in a clerk's office, a job she hated but came to appreciate. Ash and Mitchell walked in there one day, needing some paperwork processed, and the moment she set eyes on Mitchell...it was like a switch had been flipped and she was suddenly a normal, if poorly adjusted, nineteen-year-old girl. She resisted him at first, but not so hard that he couldn't see her interest. He was persistent, and that was reassuring in a strange sort of way.
He was the first man she dated seriously, the first man she kissed, the first man she loved. They dated nearly a year before they married, but he was deployed most of that time. They did manage to get leave at the same time about six months into their relationship. He brought her here for three days, showed her all the places that were special to him. She hated it—she was an urban girl and all this space freaked her out a little—but she loved the love she saw in his eyes when he talked about it, when he talked about the future they'd share here. She could almost imagine it the way he saw it.
They were supposed to do this together. She never imagined running this place alone, trying to keep it going for their daughter. If it hadn't been for Elizabeth, she probably would have sold the place after Mitchell and his father died within two months of each other. But this was his legacy for their daughter.
That was what her life had been these last twelve years. And then Bodhi walked into it.
"I thought you could use a drink."
She looked up, pulled from her thoughts by the sound of Ash's voice. She smiled, gesturing for him to take a seat on the sofa.
"The door was unlocked. I hope you don't mind."
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