Bend ~ Molly McLain

by McLain, Molly

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, but he’s already gone, storming out of the precinct like his balls are on fire.

  Just as well. I don’t give a shit about his precious reputation, either. In fact, he can shove his friggin’ hand-me-downs up his ass.

  I can make my way up the Metro food chain on my own, fuck you very much.

  My purse and laptop bag in one hand and a week’s worth of mail tucked beneath the other, I struggle to get the key into my apartment door when it suddenly swings open.

  “Dad! What the hell?” I stumble backwards, just about snapping an ankle in these god-forsaken wedges, until he whips out a bulky arm and catches my fall.

  “Is that any way to greet me?” he barks. “You think you’d be a little nicer since we haven’t talked in almost two weeks.”

  “I’ve been busy.” And avoiding his invitation. “How did you even get in?” I push around him and head for the kitchen. Pretty sure I never gave him a key, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t procure one on his own anyway.

  “The manager. I told him I hadn’t heard from you in days. Wanted to be sure you were safe.”

  I roll my eyes. “Daddy, I’m twenty-six years old. You can stop throwing your badge around to check up on me any day now.”

  “What if you were hurt? Or worse—lying on the bathroom floor dead?” he challenges, as I set my things on the table and spin back to him, hands on my hips. I almost collide with his chest, given my place is so dinky and he’s such a big, overbearing beast.

  “What if I was holed up in here with some hippie dude, smoking weed, doing shrooms, and having free-spirited, unprotected sex?”

  He snorts. Actually snorts. “I don’t have to worry about that with you, Kins. Never have.”

  Oh, really? “You never know.”

  He leans against the counter and crosses one ankle over the other, the fabric on the thighs of his black chinos crinkling. “You’re not a wild child, princess. You might want to be, but I’m afraid you don’t have it in you. Never have.” He’s grinning now and I want to wipe it right off his face. He’s always had this goody-two shoes image of me and it’s unnerving as hell. Particularly because of super straight-laced guys he likes to throw at me. Guys like Will Vaccaro and . . . well, Ben. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve never done a drug stronger than ibuprofen in my life—but that doesn’t mean I’m vanilla to the core. Because I’m not. Not even a little.

  But my father doesn’t need to know that. Ever.

  “Now that you can see I’m perfectly fine, is there something else you wanted?” I cringe as soon as the words are out of my mouth. So does he. God, I’m such an awful daughter sometimes. “I’m sorry, Daddy. It’s just been one of those weeks.”

  “Everything all right at work?”

  No. “Of course.”

  He narrows his eyes for a beat, then he quickly clenches them shut while muttering a four-letter word under his breath. “Your mother’s birthday is this week, isn’t it?” He gives his head a regretful shake. “I’m so sorry, Kins. I can’t believe I forgot.”

  “It’s okay.” Not only was I not concerned about him forgetting, I don’t expect him to make a big deal of the day anymore. He’s moved on. He has something really special going with Shelby now.

  “Is it okay?” he asks, tension in his brow. “It’s only been five years.”

  “You know Mom wouldn’t want you to dwell on the past. And she’d love Shelby, I’m sure of it.”

  My dad’s face turns red and he can no longer make eye contact. I’m sure this probably has something to do with sex and being faithful to my mom, and I don’t want to discuss my father’s sex life any more than I want to discuss my own.

  Thankfully, he changes the subject before I have to.

  “Princess, I know the PD ball isn’t your favorite event, but I’d really love for you to come.”

  Okay, maybe not that subject . . . especially because he’s giving me that look. The one that always makes my good girl heart strings flutter.

  “I don’t even have anything to wear, Dad.”

  He smiles gently and pushes away from the counter to wrap me up in a hug. “Honey, you could wear your birthday—Oh, Christ, no. Don’t do that.” His back goes tight beneath my hands, and then relaxes as he kisses the top of my head. “You’re a beautiful woman. You’ll be stunning no matter what you wear.”

  Mmm-hmm. Pretty sure that phrase is on page one of the Father-Daughter Handbook. “Isn’t Shelby going?”

  “Yes, and I want you there, too. You’ve come since you were sixteen, Kins.”

  Ugh. I know, I know. But at some point, it’ll have to stop, right? No one else’s adult children keep up the tradition. Then again, Dad and I aren’t just any father-daughter duo, either. We’ve been through a lot since Mom’s passing.

  “Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll go, but you’re the only man I plan to dance with. In other words, no matchmaking.”

  He presses his lips together in a tight line, but nods. “Deal.”

  Uh huh. “What time should I be ready?”

  “I need to be there early to make sure everything is set. Pick you up at six?”

  “All right. I’ll be ready.” As I can be anyway.

  He angles his head toward the door, and I follow after. “So, you’re sure everything’s good with work?” he asks, and I’m glad he’s walking ahead of me, because a grimace pinches my face before I can catch it.

  “Same old, same old.” I shake off the reaction and the ensuing guilt, because I’m not technically lying, since this nonsense with Tally has been going on for months.

  “Glad to hear it.” He turns with a smile and another pang of shame niggles in my stomach. It’s not that I don’t want him to know about the missing inventory—I just want to figure out this mess myself.

  And maybe I don’t want to give Sergeant Hardass yet another reason to think I’m just a silly, incapable woman. I can follow the rules and the processes, damn it.

  I have no idea what Trent’s issue is with me, but it’s obvious he has one, and running to Daddy will only give him more ammunition to make my life more miserable.

  SATURDAY NIGHTS ARE BEST SPENT sacked out on the couch with a few beers in the fridge and a game on the TV. Or better yet—making a soft, curvy woman pant in my bed. They’re definitely not for wearing hot, uncomfortable suits to highfalutin hotels where the beer is fifteen bucks a fucking bottle.

  That’s my plan for tonight, though, because none of the digging around I did this week brought me closer to figuring out what the captain’s cryptic comment about Investigations meant. Promotions should be given based on results and work ethic, not who puckers up best when the captain bends over.

  But if he’s serious, I want in. If that means I have to waste my Saturday night making pointless chit chat with the Metro’s hierarchy, then I guess that’s what I have to do.

  Tossing some cash at the cabby, I climb out of the car in front of the venue with sweat already beaded across the back of my neck. Who the hell schedules shindigs like this for August anyway? Fuck.

  “Trent?”

  I glance over my shoulder as Vanessa, a receptionist from the PD’s front office, gets out of the car behind me. She’s wearing a snug red dress, cut all the way down to her belly button, and her heels scream a certain two-word phrase I know she’d love to whisper in my ear.

  Too bad I don’t screw chicks from work.

  “Damn, Vanny, that’s some dress.” I take her hand and give it a chivalrous peck. We both know I’m no gentleman, but if I’m going to kiss ass tonight, I might as well do it all around.

  She twists her painted lips into a smirk and tosses her straight blonde hair over her shoulder. “Thanks for noticing.”

  “I always notice, babe.” Hooking her arm around mine, I escort her into the Hilton Resort in Lake Las Vegas. It’s all shiny marble and glass, twinkling chandeliers, and soft, acoustic guitar coming from a live player in the middle of the foyer.
r />   “Really? You never say anything,” Vanessa whines, and I immediately regret the nice guy act. Her pout and puppy dog eyes are, case and point, why she and I will never hook up.

  “Well, now I have.” And I’ll make damn sure I never do again.

  Vanessa sighs as a kid dressed in black pants and a black button down steps forward with an awkward smile. “Good evening, sir. Ma’am. Thank you so much for your service. May I show you back to the ball?”

  Vanessa nods eagerly and, for a second, I expect her bouncing tits to pop out of her dress. So does the pimple-faced dweeb, apparently. He can’t take his beady eyes off of them.

  “Hey . . .” I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Not cool, man.”

  His face turns red as he snaps his mouth shut and nods toward the wide hall that leads straight to the back of the hotel. At the end of the corridor, an elaborate arched doorway leads to a courtyard that’s landscaped with tall green shrubbery and dozens of sparkling water features. Clear mini-lights adorn the shrubbery and more of the cool acoustic music hums through the warm, night air.

  Beside me, Vanessa gasps. Internally, I groan.

  What the hell am I doing here?

  The only thing this gig has going for it is the kicked back music. The rest is just a bunch of high-society bullshit that I’ve never had any use for. Blowing smoke up someone’s ass shouldn’t have to be the way I go about getting what I want. My work on the streets should say everything that needs to be said.

  “There’s the bar.” Vanessa points to the left, where a semi-circle of glossy wood and granite gleams against the twinkling lights overhead. An impressive spread of booze fills the shelves behind the feature, and that’s at least some consolation. “Walk me over?”

  “Sure.” Then I’m parking my ass in the darkest corner and laying low until Captain makes his little speech.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Out of nowhere, Dez pops up in front of Vanessa and me with a cheesy ass grin. “Thought you weren’t coming, Clark?”

  “Fuck off,” I mutter with my jaw clenched. He knows why I’m here, the prick.

  He laughs before he turns his attention to Vanessa’s navel. “You look thirsty, Van. Let me buy you a drink?”

  “Sure,” she purrs, quickly dropping my arm for his. The two of them disappear into the crowd, and I begin to stake out that coveted dark corner.

  Only, my eyes fall on another dark vision instead.

  Kinsey friggin’ Malloy . . . in a sexy-as-hell black dress.

  She stands in profile less than fifteen feet away, and I can’t take my eyes off the full curve of her ass in that hip-hugging lace. Jesus Christ, the girl’s got a hot, little body. High, stacked tits, and legs that are just as tight and toned as every other delicious inch of her. She’s not one of those girls I’d worry about snapping in two when we fuck. She could take my punishment easily. The question is whether or not she’d give back as good as she got.

  A grin tugs at my lips as I let the mental video of her climbing onto my lap play through my mind. She’d bite her lip like a nervous virgin, and I’d feel the heat of her pussy pressed against my cock. Maybe she’d grind a bit, testing the waters, but that’s as far as she’d get because there’s no way in hell the captain’s princess would know how to handle a guy like me.

  She’s all bark and no bite, this one. Her little street-side tirades are nothing more than false bravado because she has her daddy to back her up. However, if I ever got Kinsey alone—on my turf and without the threat of my badge between us—there’d be no scathing glares or smart-mouthed comebacks.

  I’d give her pretty lips something better to do, and then I’d make her watch as I come on those perky tits. A first for her, I’m sure, because women like Kinsey Malloy don’t let assholes like me fuck with their precious virtue.

  But then Miss Innocent turns away, revealing a teardrop of creamy, porcelain skin, spanning from her shoulder blades all the way down to the slope of her sweet ass, and I have to wonder . . .

  Maybe this good girl has a devil on her shoulder, after all.

  Maybe I should find out for sure.

  If I have to laugh at one more corny cop joke, I’m going to throw up on Lieutenant Davies’ polished shoes. Maybe stomp my three-inch Louboutin heel into the top of his foot. Or perhaps tell his wife that he’s been drooling over my cleavage for the last hour without coming up for air.

  Perv.

  Why he’s my father’s best friend, I’ll never understand. Then again, I don’t bother trying to figure out most of what Daddy does these days. Like disappearing with Shelby and leaving me with this god-awful old man.

  Flashing a polite smile at the lieutenant, I scan the room for whomever I can find first—Dad or a waiter with drinks. Fortunately, a handsome Latino man approaches with a full tray of champagne, as soon as I turn.

  “Good evening, madam,” he says with a sultry accent. His grin matches the lieutenant’s, though the gesture is a thousand times less disturbing on him. He’s at least within a decade of my age, probably younger, which could be interesting. And fun.

  “Good evening to you.” I accept a flute of bubbly with a smile of my own. What does it say about me that I’d rather spend the night talking to the waiter than my dad’s friends?

  “Beautiful night for a party,” he says. “Where’s your date?”

  “Oh, I—” I spy a gold band on his left hand, dammit. Married and flirting? This place is just full of pigs tonight, isn’t it? “He’s here somewhere,” I lie, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes. When his grin wilts, I begrudgingly turn back to Lieutenant Davies, who’s in the midst of an animated conversation with another officer.

  But not just any other officer—Sergeant Hardass. Looking mighty fine in those dress blues.

  He cleans up nice, I’ll give him that, but I think I prefer the rough-around-the-edges version of him better. Not that I really like any of the man—there’s just no point in denying that he’s crazy attractive.

  Too bad he’s such a self-absorbed ass.

  “Kinsey, you know Trent Clark, don’t you?” The lieutenant waves a hand toward the man who’s been nothing but a thorn in my side the past couple of weeks.

  “Oh, yes. We’ve met.” About three times too many, not including his work on my vanishing inventory. “It’s nice to see you again, Sergeant.”

  The jerk flashes a bright grin and I know—just know—that he’s laughing his ass off inside. “Likewise.” He dips his chin, which he’s trimmed up instead of fully shaving. As a hot-blooded woman, I appreciate that effort, though it’d be a cold day in hell before I ever admit it out loud. “You look lovely tonight, by the way.”

  Uh huh, and later on tonight, he’ll pull me over and tell me I’m dressed like a hooker. “Thank you,” I reply, biting my tongue. “You haven’t seen my dad around, have you?”

  Trent shakes his head and, for a moment, I’m distracted by the twinkling lights reflecting in his eyes. Good Lord, it doesn’t seem fair that a man with such an ego should also be gifted with such good looks. Those full lips and those high cheekbones . . .

  He’s my walking wet dream. Only I don’t really like him. And I sure as hell would never sleep with him.

  Tearing my eyes away, I lift the champagne to my mouth and sip. It’s not the vodka cranberry I’d prefer, but if it’ll help numb my sudden libido, I’ll make it work.

  “Will was just looking for you,” Trent speaks up, and I damn near spit my drink all over the front of his uniform.

  “Will Vaccaro?”

  “Yup.” He tips his head toward the bar. “Let’s go find him.”

  For a long beat, I do nothing but blink at him. Trent and I aren’t friends. We don’t socialize except through my driver’s side window or from across my desk. Two, I have no interest in Will. Not that he isn’t a perfectly nice guy and, from what I hear, one hell of a cop, but that’s just it—he’s a cop. Like my father. Close the case, burn the file, I will never date a man with a badge. I
f I wanted to be with someone who’s already committed his life to something other than me, I would’ve ignored the waiter’s wedding ring.

  “I could really use a beer.” Trent lifts one dark eyebrow, and I realize he’s still waiting for my response. The fact that Lieutenant Davies is staring at my boobs again makes the decision easy.

  “Only if you buy me a real drink,” I say, and a slow grin stretches across the Sergeant’s perfectly chiseled jaw.

  “Deal.”

  Escorting the captain’s daughter through a crowd of his closest friends works against the low profile I wanted to keep tonight, but it was either take one for the team or take Davies out to the parking lot for an old fashioned ass whooping.

  The dude’s old enough to be Kinsey’s father, yet he was damn near foaming at the mouth, gawking at her. What’s worse, I saw the dick adjustment he made when she turned away for champagne.

  Now, I’m no angel. I like her dress and the way she smells a fuck lot more than I should. I won’t deny that I’ve been semi-hard myself since she flashed all that skin either. But I’m not married with three grown children, nor am I the kind of guy to disrespect a woman by building a spank file without making my intentions known.

  “You really do look nice tonight,” I tell her as we weave through the sea of blue uniforms and shimmering gowns. “The back of that dress . . .” I let out a low whistle and Kinsey shoots me a sidelong glance.

  “Seriously, Trent?”

  “I’m just saying what every man here is thinking right now, Kins—you’re fucking hot.”

  She slows her pace and, because we’re arm in arm, so do I. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”

  “It’s a compliment, not an insult.”

  “Coming from you that’s hard to believe.”

  I lift a shoulder and give her a crooked grin. “You only know the man behind the badge, princess.”