by Kathryn Shay
“We couldn’t find them. They hid well, then ambushed us.”
“We did everything we were supposed to,” another agent explained, “and still got taken down.”
“Did you let them win on purpose? To show us how it could happen?” Francesca asked.
“I swear to God not,” Gerard replied.
“The point is,” Nick told them, “we can’t control every situation. So it’s important to keep practicing.”
After the agents talked candidly about what they should have done differently, or in the case of the attackers, what they did right, Nick said, “Now pair up with the officer you came with. You’ll be working with teams from other districts. We’ll be personally supervising you. After lunch, you’ll perform for the whole group.”
He turned away, then back. “I almost forgot. Tomorrow, you’ll compete against each other in driving, school attacks, protecting yourselves, and this tactical village exercise. The two who win get a free dinner at a five-star restaurant in Baltimore.”
Hmm, a nice dinner with Francesca after this was all over? Ty couldn’t ask for better motivation.
* * *
At lunch, Tyrell and Frankie entered the dining room. “You did pretty good this morning, kid,” he said socking her in the arm.
She got in line and picked up a tray. “Kid? How old are you anyway?”
“Thirty-two.”
“We’re contemporaries. But yeah, we did great at all the courses.” They’d beat out everybody in the simulation of school shooting at a structure newly built for this exercise. And, in driving, they came in behind the pair with the major. Frankie believed the loss was her own fault. She needed more practice.
After getting huge, juicy-looking cheeseburgers, potato salad (yay!) and relishes, they found seats.
The major, whose name was Cynthia, sat with them, along with another cop they didn’t know. “Hi, guys. You did well out there.” She elbowed her companion, a man in his forties. “But we’re gonna beat the pants off you tomorrow, right Johnson?”
“Absolutely.”
She held up her water bottle. “May the best woman and man win.”
They touched plastic. Conversation centered on a variety of topics. Frankie was dying to ask Cynthia what she’d said to Metcalf, but she held her tongue because the inquiry would be inappropriate. And the major didn’t volunteer. After lunch, they had a half hour free before the next session.
“I think you should rest,” she told Ty when the others left.
“I guess. I saw some lawn chairs and a hammock out in the back. Want to head there?”
“Yeah, I have my book in my bag. You can take a nap in the hammock.”
Which was exactly what they did. Under the shade of a very leafy tree, Frankie took out a new novel by a CNN reporter, and Ty pulled on a long-sleeved shirt over his jock clothes and climbed in the hammock. He slept for thirty minutes. Both were refreshed as they headed back to the activities.
* * *
Ty tried not to notice how well Francesca filled out the jeans she wore as she bent over to pick up the rifles. She handed one to him. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, partner.”
She gave him a perfunctory smile. She was getting in the zone and best he did, too. They would switch bad guys and good guys, and Francesca and Ty were the villains first. They put on the red shirts, and Frankie struggled to get hers over her boobs. When she got it situated, the fit was tight. “Don’t say a word,” she warned him.
He held up his hands, arrest style. “I wouldn’t dare.” They headed into the house. “I kinda like being the villain,” he said.
“Ha. Me, too. You direct the action now, and I’ll be in charge when we switch.”
They conferenced about their maneuvers.
“Good idea, Tyrell.”
“Thanks.”
They appeared on the second floor window and signaled their readiness. When the major and Johnson entered the building, Ty and Francesca peppered them with paint. No one had used the confrontation-right-away trick.
“No fair,” Johnson said in mock complaint.
“Excellent plan,” the major added.
Ty leaned into Francesca. “Like I said, we make a good team.”
* * *
The next day
The Driving Course
Though rain had poured down since they came outside, Francesca backed up at forty miles an hour. Ty did a J-turn three times in under three minutes. After all the competitors performed, they checked their times. Ty and Francesca won. She went up to him. “I couldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you. Thanks for your help.”
“You got me through the self-protection drills. Let’s see how I do with them today.”
Police Self-Protection
In a marked police car, pretending to be on a stake-out, Ty and Frankie watched the darkened building through the light drizzle. Their task was to see how quickly they spotted the ambush. It wouldn’t necessarily be by car. Or maybe it would. “How did...”
“No talking, Collingsworth. We need to be alert.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror which had fogged up some. “Something on my right. A spot of red.”
“A rifle laser, maybe.”
They both unholstered their weapons and got out of the vehicle.
However, the attack came head-on, in a car with no headlights.
They didn’t win this one.
School Shootings
“This is the exercise I want to succeed in most,” she told Ty as they again sat in a black and white waiting for the call. They were five minutes from the training building. “These kinds of massacres just about level me.”
He waited behind the wheel. “Me, too.”
“Got it straight what we’ll do?”
“Yeah, go right in. Confront and neutralize.”
The call came.
They alerted EMS and got their rifles ready then drove only a short ways to another building designated as the school. Leaping out of the car, they ran inside and stormed the shooter. Armed with better weapons, they won this one.
Active Crime Scene
Another win. Francesca was so excited when they beat every team out in this last competition, thereby winning the grand prize, that she didn’t protest when Ty pulled behind the building. He said, “Now, I want a proper hug.”
Adrenaline spiked by competition, she flung herself at him. He caught her and hiked her up. The clasp of his arms around her waist made every nerve ending, and other things, stand at attention. He cupped her nape and drew her face to his neck. She breathed in the sweaty, citrusy scent of him.
“There you are.” Nick’s voice. “I came looking for the victors.”
They sprang apart.
His gaze narrowed. “Should I, um, come back?” he asked with amusement.
Her legs were wobbly and his voice thick when he said, “Nah, I wanted a proper hug for winning is all.”
Under his breath, Nick murmured, “Nothin’ proper about all that.”
“We’ll be right out.”
“No, I’m coming with you now.” Frankie hurried to Nick.
Ty waited against the wall for a minute until his body quieted.
* * *
The sun had come out, and their final debriefing was held outside in the folding chairs. Ty planned to corral Francesca when they finished, but Gabe stopped him on his way out. “I wanted to see you a minute.”
“Hey, thanks for everything. We learned a lot.”
“You’re welcome. I got some bad news.”
“What?”
“We have security cameras in strategic places. Our maintenance person couldn’t let your accident go.”
“What did he find?”
“Larry Gray and Bruce Metcalf were caught going into the golf-cart garage early that morning. No video inside, but our guy suspects they planted the nail in your wheel. However, we only have circumstantial proof.”
“I’m not surprised. But pissed of
f.”
“I don’t blame you. I tried to find Francesca too, but she wasn’t around.”
“I’ll tell her.”
After thanking Gabe again, he headed straight to his car where he found her waiting. “Where’d you go to? The guys wanted to say goodbye.”
“Anywhere away from you.”
“Excuse me?”
Chin up, hands on hips, she faced him squarely. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Get in the car.”
“Don’t order me around.”
“Get in the car!”
After she slid inside, she slammed the door but remained silent.
He didn’t. “We’re going to have this out now.”
“Absolutely not. I’m leaving as soon as I pack my things.”
“Francesca—”
“If you don’t drive me to the hotel, I’ll get out and call an Uber.”
“Fuck!” Mad, too, he put the car in gear and drove in silence to the hotel.
She hurried inside ahead of him and at the elevator, snuck in a crowded car and let the door close him out.
Fuming, he took the next one. When he went in through his room and the adjoining door they’d left open, he saw her pulling her clothes out of a drawer. “Stop that.”
“No.”
“I won’t drive you home.”
She crossed to the suitcase on a stand. “I’m calling an Uber from here.”
He saw her phone on the desk and scooped it up.
“Not until we discuss what happened after we won. What’s been happening since Wednesday. Maybe what’s been happening since you came to the task force.”
“No, I won’t discuss that.”
“Why?”
She stalked to the closet. “Because that’ll make it real.”
“It felt pretty real to me behind that building.” He calmed his voice. “Please, Frankie.”
The use of her nickname halted her frantic actions. She put her head on the doorjamb, waited, then faced him. “Don’t you see how wrong this is? Our careers could be harmed, or at least altered irrevocably.”
“There are plenty of cops married to each other.”
She looked past him.
He didn’t say anything, but walked toward her.
She backed up. “We can’t, Ty.”
He grasped her arms. “You want to.”
“All right, I want to!” She shouted the words. “But I won’t.”
“I’m going to make one last protest. If you say no, I’ll walk away.”
She nodded.
He drew her to him. He could smell the perfume of her hair. “I want you, Francesca. I know this is complicated. I know this might compromise the team, but I want you anyway.”
Then he stepped away, giving her the room he promised.
She watched him with wide eyes almost the color of onyx. Then she closed the distance he’d put between them.
Chapter 9
He talked. And he went slow. So slow, Frankie thought she might die. Instead of kissing her, he put his face on her neck again and breathed her in. Pressed his lips there. He felt warm and sweaty and wonderful. Then he nipped, making her jump. And go damp. His tongue laved the nick, then his lips tracked her jaw to the other side and repeated the process. She sighed. And squirmed. “It’s not enough, Ty.”
“I’m a Southern guy, babe. I only got one gear—second.”
She smiled but it turned into a moan. She wanted to rush him, but she couldn’t. So she leaned back, cupped his head with her hands. And tried to kiss him. He would only brush his lips across hers, which made her wetter and spiked her hunger. She grasped his neck to pull him closer, to make him mean it; he chuckled. She should get mad, but blind lust ripped through her.
Finally, he eased the top over her head and dispatched her bra surprisingly fast. Then he got rid of his shirt. Now, they’d get somewhere. But he only pressed his chest against hers and held her close. There was something so tender about the moment that her eyes misted.
He began a downward exploration of her body. At her breasts, he suckled first one, then the other, then massaged the nipples, but still so fucking gently she could barely stand the sensation.
Kneeling, he kissed her waist, but didn’t unzip her capris. He nuzzled her groin, her most sensitive spot, and she had to hold her breath so she wouldn’t come.
Slowly, he stood. Gently, he unsnapped her pants and pushed them down with her underwear. Her hands went to his shorts. He batted them away. “I’m not ready yet.”
“Are you kidding me?”
She felt him grin against her cheek.
She had to smile back. He was something else.
* * *
He didn’t know how he tolerated only touching her. It was nirvana, but he was as hard as a rock when he finally let her spring him loose from his briefs. She clasped onto him with strong fingers. She massaged him, none-too-gently. Shards of desire went through him. But he calmed them, met his forehead with hers and moaned. “Hmm. So good.”
She smiled against his cheek. “My turn.”
“I’m all yours, sweetheart.”
Momentarily, she stiffened at the endearment, but his hand went back to her groin. She moved her legs apart. He cupped her, but then he swore. “Condoms.”
“Shit, I forgot.”
“I have some.”
“I do, too.” Briefly, she left him and came back with a handful, sheathed him with one—every inch was murder—then threw the rest on the bed.
She moved to get to the mattress.
“No, not yet.”
“Tyrell Beauregard Collingsworth, I’m not having any more of this pussy-footing around.”
He whispered, “Pussy something, I give you that. No, it’s time. But take down your hair. I want to see that mane again.”
She untwisted her knot and dropped the pins to the floor. Shaking her head so her hair fell down, she stood before him.
Briefly, he closed his eyes. “Could you be any more beautiful?”
Her entire body blushed with the compliment. She took his hand. Kissed his knuckles, then led him to the bed. “How do you like this?” he had the modicum of control to ask.
“Any way you do.”
“On our sides, then.”
They lay on the mattress, facing each other.
A smile crossed those beautiful lips. “Hold my hands.”
“In a minute.” He prodded her entry with his penis. Pushed inside some, more, most of the way. He groaned as did she.
Linking their fingers, he locked their gazes. Their bodies couldn’t be any more joined.
He began to move.
* * *
As soon as he put some oomph behind his thrusts, the spiral started. Her skin prickled unbearably. Small swells of pleasure built to waves, then the tsunami hit. She burst into paroxysms of pleasure, only made better by his shout, “Francesca, oh God, Francesca.”
She thought they were done when he quieted. Then he opened his eyes. “I—” she began but he said, “Shh,” and started to move again. The next climax was harder and longer than the first. They piqued together, then collapsed together, sweaty and sated.
* * *
He awoke to twilight. Francesca slept beside him. The sex had blown his mind, even if being with her was exactly what he expected. For long minutes, he reveled in the memories of those hot, hot encounters: the down-soft feel of her skin, the flowery scent of lotion and shampoo, the tightness within her.
Turning onto his back, he brought her with him so her hair spread out over his chest. This had been a fantasy of his. Sub-consciously, and maybe consciously, he’d wanted her sexually for a while now. But it was more than physical lust.
He felt her stir. Awaken. She hiked up, looked around, then settled back on him. At least she didn’t freak and bound out of bed. When she didn’t say anything, he did. “We need to talk about this.”
“I know.” She lay there another moment, then she sighed, sat up and scooted agai
nst the headboard, bringing the sheet to her chest to cover her breasts. “I wanted this, Ty. But we...us...can’t be together.”
He crooked his arm and rested his head on his hand. “Why?”
“Our careers will suffer. At least mine will. You’d probably get points for cracking the ice lady.”
“It’s not like that for me. With us.”
“Doesn’t matter. Perception does. I can’t do it.”
“Francesca, I was on the committee that developed a fraternization policy for our department.”
“I know the policy. I won’t sign any waiver admitting to a romantic entanglement with another cop.”
“There could be so much more than that between us.”
“I won’t take the risk. Officers who work together can’t get involved.”
“Yes they can, if one isn’t under the direct supervision of the other.”
“No.” Now she started to get out of bed, so he stopped her by sliding an arm in front of her.
“Give me a good reason for that position.”
She stared at him, a tumult in her eyes. She swallowed hard before she said, “Because I can’t do this again.”
It took him a minute to understand. Again. She’d said, again.
Hurt, he drew away and dropped his head back to the pillow. “Wow, you’ve done this before?”
She leaned over him, her hands on his chest. “I’m afraid so. But, please, know that doesn’t diminish what happened between us. I wanted you, Ty. Honestly.”
“Then prove it.”
“How?”
“Give us a chance.”
* * *
Because that wasn’t going to happen, she turned over, slid out of bed and began to dress. So did he. When they were clothed, which made her feel less vulnerable, she sat back on the bed and patted the mattress beside her. He joined her and she took his hand. It was a beautifully male hand that had touched her with a reverence that still made her eyes tear. She battled back the moisture because she had to be clear headed. “I was at my first district for six years when I met him.”