Her father rushes towards her, right arm outstretched. “Hollie, it’s too early, don’t overexert yourself.”
“I’m okay, Dad. I’ll take care. Promise.”
Frank Jardine returns to his wife’s side and they hug and watch their girl stand and face Alex. That Hollie can stand at all is spectacular, but her recovery is nothing short of miraculous. Frank pulls up the collar on his jacket as the sun kisses the horizon and the temperature dips. Emma leans against him for warmth and support.
Hollie takes two steps towards Alex and reaches out a hand. “Jag är så ledsen, Alex. I’m so sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”
Alex smiles, but sadness dims her eyes as she stares at the church where she and Julie would have been married, three months ago to the day.
THE END
Check out the next exciting Casebook, Cryer’s View
#1 International Best-seller with Lucky Shores: Finding Home, Kerry J Donovan was born in Dublin. A citizen of the world, he now lives in a cottage in the heart of rural Brittany with his wife of forty years, Jan. They have three children and four grandchildren (so far), all of whom live in England. An absentee granddad, Kerry is hugely thankful for the advent of video calling.
The cottage is a pet free zone (apart from the field mice, moles, and red squirrels).
Kerry earned a first class honours degree in Human Biology, and has a PhD in Sport and Exercise Sciences. A former scientific advisor to The Office of the Deputy Prime Minister, he helped UK emergency first-responders prepare for chemical attacks in the wake of 9/11. This background adds a scientific edge to his writing. He is also a former furniture designer/maker.
Read more for Kerry J Donovan:
Website: http://kerryjdonovan.com/
Quinn Glasneck: If You See Kay Run
If You See Kay Run
By Tina Glasneck written under Quinn Glasneck
Author’s Rating:
Language: ** Sexuality: ** Violence: **
For your convenience each book in this collection has been rated by the author for language, sexuality and violence, so that you as a reader can make an informed choice.
Our collection includes books that span the intensity range.
Language Intensity:
* - No or mild profanity, if any
** - Stronger profanity, with up to 5 uses of the f-word
*** - Strong language
Sexuality Intensity:
* - Sexual reference or no sexuality
** - Sexual reference which might include some details.
*** - Intense, descriptive sexual scenes
Violence Intensity
* - Violence, but no gory details.
** - Mild violence, fairly detailed with some blood
*** - Detailed violence
Copyright © 2017 by Quinn Glasneck
All rights reserved.
If You See Kay …Run is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Blurb
"Snarky, Inappropriate, and Irreverent!"
Two USA Today bestselling authors bring you a mystery collection to make you snort at the ridiculous situations BJ the badge bunny gets into with her best friend Kay.
What's A Badge Bunny, You Ask?
It’s a person who finds cop uniforms a big turn on and has no problem acting on the temptations.So, ladies, do you need a good giggle-snort?
This light, sexy read will have you chuckling for sure. Filled with double-entendre, tongue-in-cheek, and adult humor, BJ's living her truth.
It All Started With A Mannequin
In If You See Kay, Run, Bobbi Jax, AKA BJ, reaches out to flick the cheek hiding in the bushes. Plastic! But oh so real looking, and creepy enough to interrupt her romp in nature with hot cop, Peter Harris. Creepy enough that BJ and her best friend, Kay decide to retrieve the discarded mannequin from the park that night, tie it to the roof of their car, and drive it back to the bar she manages. Creepy enough that it lights up social media like a beacon calling in the crazies.
Who Knew Curiosity Could Put Her In So Much Danger?
1
Men just don’t listen when you explain things the first time.
"Why don't you answer the phone when I call?" Officer Peter Harris spun the wheel on his police cruiser and pulled into the park entrance, sliding up into the shade of a tulip tree and turning off his engine. Peter had a dash of old-fashioned convention when it came to our relationship. “Relationship” should probably be in quotes. It implied the idea of an emotional commitment, and while I liked Peter just fine, at twenty-two with my life just getting started, being in a relationship was pretty far down my to-do list. Either Peter needed to get on the same page that I was reading, or I needed to pick another book from my shelf.
My name is Roberta Jaqueline Reid. My oldest and best friends call me Bobbi Jax, but now I prefer to shorten it down to BJ. In my social life, I have a man code. Everyone who seeks to visit my temple had better be single. I don’t do married men, engaged men, or men with girlfriends. Divorced men came with baggage that I didn’t want to carry. Nope. My guys needed to be decidedly single and out for a good time. Like I was. They also needed to be fit and fine. But most of all, they needed to wear a navy-blue uniform and flash their badge at me.
Officer Pete here, with his chatter about getting together for dinner and answering last-calls-of-the-night, was starting to ruin things.
"Peter, I like you a lot, but right now, what I’d really like to do is to put a crease or two into that sharp uniform of yours.” I stretched out my bare legs in the passenger side of his police cruiser, let my knees fall just a little bit apart, and slid the full skirt of my flowered dress up my thighs, showing off a swirl of white netting that I knew would move Peter’s blood from one head to the other. “I know there are better things you can do with that mouth of yours." I sent him a cupid bow’s smile and a flutter of lashes.
Wearing his blue uniform, Peter appeared almost dashing. His black hair neatly trimmed, his youthful square-shaped face with intelligent eyes, and his large hands were all to my liking. Most important, though, was that his left ring finger was bare.
His eyes darkened as he shifted around to make room in his trousers for the standing ovation he was giving me for the show I’d just put on.
“Why don’t you tell communications that you’re going to investigate what’s happening behind those bushes over there?” I tilted my head toward the screen of white azaleas.
Peter reached his hand over, sliding his fingers down my thigh, down my calf to my ankle, then lifted my foot into his lap. Pulling off my high-heeled sandal, he stroked his hands over my arch and played with my toes in their newly-pedicured orchid pink.
He licked his lips as he lifted the radio handset. And with a smile that was sure to be heard by the communications officer, he pressed the button and said he was at Marble Hill Park, and he was getting out to do foot patrol.
See? Badges were my thing. Feet were Peter’s. Personally, I didn’t get the allure, but who was I to judge?
In the warm Virginia spring day, I pulled myself free from Peter’s grasp, tugged off my other shoe, and popped open the door. As I got out, I looked over my shoulder. “Don’t forget your hat.”
Peter nodded and reached to the hook on the back of the passenger’s seat. Pulling it into place, he sent me a raised brow to see if he’d done what I wanted. I smiled and ran barefooted toward the tangle of branches. Pushing the flowers aside, I was pleased to find a lovely little cove that surrounded us like a protective donut. It wa
s a perfect space that seemed to be constructed for just such an afternoon romp. In the middle of the space that was surrounded—I thought rather romantically—by the full blooms, I bent to wriggle my lace panties off as my friend Peter fumbled with his belt buckle.
“I’ve been polishing my big gun thinking of you,” he said in all seriousness.
Why guys named their private parts, I don’t think I’ll ever understand. But they do. Every single guy I know: the General, Russel the Muscle, the Rock, and of course, Peter’s Big Gun.
When I stood, I slid my undies into my skirt pocket and looked down at Peter’s big gun, thinking how much fun it was going to be to polish it myself. I stretched my arm around Peter’s neck, pressing myself flat against him. I liked that I needed to stand on my toes to reach him for a kiss. I liked how his biceps bulged against his blue shirt. But mostly, I loved the shiny glow of his badge, pinned there on the left side of his broad chest. “Badge Bunny” is the term used to describe girls like me who get turned on by boys in blue. Yup. Something about that uniform… Woof!
As his lips nipped my neck, I giggled and squirmed with my chin on his shoulder. I held his head in place with my hand.
I opened my eyes and stalled with a gasp.
“I must be doing something right,” Peter whispered, and continued tracing kisses down my neck.
"Wait," I said, lowering myself until I was flat-footed and holding onto Peter’s arms, then peeked around him to focus on the branches. Sure enough, I saw a woman’s eye staring back at me. Some peeping Tom-ess was spying on us. What the heck was wrong with people? Peter tried to move, but since he was waving his flag at full staff, I pinned him in place. I stared the woman down, hoping she’d catch a clue and move on. But no. She just gawked back, unblinking. This was weird.
“What are you doing, baby?”
“I’m nobody’s baby,” I said reflexively as I pushed around Peter and slunk toward the bush. The woman didn’t move. Just gazed back, but now I could see she was smiling.
Alright. I have another line I draw in the sand: To each his own, but it has to be consensual, and I never said this chick could get her jollies watching me get mine. This was perv territory. I moved forward and waved my arms wildly as if to frighten away an animal. Nope. Nada. Not even a blink.
Peter seemed to have figured things out. He was in line to become a detective, so it was good that his mind was working to assess situations and act accordingly. I could sense him shoving his “big gun” back in his holster and zipping himself into place. I was on my knees, pulling the branches apart. If she said anything, I was going to jump out of my skin. This chick was already giving me the shivers.
I put my hand into the foliage, opened a window, and looked in to find another little donut of protection all set up for someone else’s tryst. But this one included a mannequin having a picnic. At least, I thought it was a mannequin. I reached through the hole and flicked the decidedly feminine cheek. Yep. Mannequin.
“What are you doing?” Peter hunkered over me, his hands balancing on my shoulders. “Huh,” he said, which I thought summed up the situation pretty well. And given the fact that he didn’t have a lot of blood available for brain function, it was probably the best he could do.
I pulled my panties from my pocket and stepped back into them.
“What are you doing? You’re not going to let this stop us, are you?”
I shot him a look of incredulity.
“When you said you liked boys in blue,” he gestured toward his crotch, “I didn’t think you meant my balls, too.”
I stopped to smile—that was actually a pretty good joke, though Peter looked darned serious. I pushed the branches apart and moved into the second little circle of privacy. There was the mannequin, looking as life-like as all get out, with jointed legs that let her sit on a blanket against a tree trunk with her knees pushed up to her chest. Her face turned bashfully to the side as if someone didn’t want to be watched while they did the dirty. And dirty they certainly did. The evidence was there on her panties, still a little moist. So, recently.
“Huh,” Peter said again. He was turning into the strong silent type, which to be honest is what I preferred.
“Do you need to call backup?” I asked.
“It’s a doll,” he said.
“This doesn’t look odd to you?”
“BJ, in the long list of odd that I see every day, this doesn’t even reach my top ten.” He ran his hands over my hips and pulled me flush to his big gun.
I was growing annoyed. “Children play in this park.”
“We’re here to do exactly the same thing this guy did.”
He sounded so rational that my irritation grew. Yeah, if he kept this up, he definitely wasn’t getting any today. “I’m not plastic, and this is very weird. I think you need to do something about this.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, there’s bound to be DNA in that goop there.” I gestured toward the periwinkle panties.
He gave me a sexy leer. “I’ll give you a DNA sample you can test.”
He still hadn’t figured out that chapter was done; I’d turned the page. I turned around to face him, crossed my arms over my chest, and tapped my toes on the ground.
His eyes followed down my body, down my leg, all the way to my pretty pink toenails. His face grew red, and he swallowed hard.
I cocked my head to the side, a challenge of some kind. Follow through or we’re through. Something like that. I don’t know how he read it, but he seemed to get some kind of message.
“What would you have me do? I’m not calling a detective in for a mannequin in the bushes. I care about my career.”
I’d read my fair share of police novels—okay, probably more than my fair share. Point being, I’d learned a thing or two about how things worked. That and my best friend Kay was a paralegal, so I got to hear all the behind-the-scenes scuttlebutt.
“How about you write up an incident report, snap some pictures, and take the panties to the evidence room?”
“But why?” He was whining now, which was never a sexy look.
I suddenly got the heebie-jeebies and grabbed at Peter’s arm. I lowered my voice until I was barely audible. "What if the perv is still here, watching us? Oh my god, get the mannequin and let's go."
"What do you want me to do with it?” He looked horrified at what I was suggesting.
Okay, here it is. Something about the life-like quality of this mannequin was weirding me out. That it had joints weirded me out even more. If this was a run-of-the-mill department store mannequin that would be one thing. If this was even someone’s blow up doll, meh. But this looked so real. It seemed important. I wasn’t going to let this go. So, I manipulated the guy.
“Peter,” I cooed, rubbing my hands over my breasts. “Do you know what makes me hot?”
He froze. Yeah, I had his attention.
I swung my hips, making my skirt sway, and licked my bottom lip. “I like to see cops in action. I want to see you pull on a pair of gloves and gather evidence.” I squeezed my elbows close together to make the girls pop up over the edge of my pretty little sundress.
Peter was sweating.
I blinked at him.
He ran toward his car. “I’ll be right back. I just need to get an evidence kit. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
2
Peter wasn’t happy with me, and I really didn’t like that. I’m not a tease. I didn’t like it when girls revved a guy’s engines up for no reason. But these were special circumstances. It wasn’t every day that I came across anything like the mannequin situation. Also, it took Peter some time getting things done properly at the scene. He’d called park maintenance and gave them the GPS coordinates for our azalea getaway. They said they’d send a crew over in the morning to clean it all up. That meant dump everything in the trash bins, and that felt wrong. She was so human-looking. So friend-of-a-friend. She felt familiar. She. Ha! I
was referring to the mannequin as if it were human. And you don’t throw people away.
By the time Peter got that all straightened out, it was time for me to head in to work. Hooch had asked me to come in early to the bar for a meeting.
All the way through town, as I headed toward Hooch’s, something about that mannequin scraped at me. I was sure this went beyond a “perv takes a doll on a date” thing. But what, I had no clue.
I was trying out different scenarios in my head when I pushed my way into Hooch’s bar. Hooch was my dad’s best friend and fishing buddy, and had been like a second dad to me since I was born. He treated me like the son he’d never had. My dad did, too, for that matter. There were no princesses in my house growing up. Mom took off with a used car salesman or something equally slimy when I was around three years old, and Dad and Hooch had raised me the only way they knew how. That’s why I knew my way around an engine and could spit a loogie better than most of the men in my dad’s fire department, and it’s probably why I had what most would consider a male moral code when it came to sex.
Hooch wasn’t just family, and he wasn’t just my boss, he was my saving grace. When I graduated from college last year with a business degree, I landed an entry level job at a Fortune 500 company, I was on my way! Out the door. Nope. I couldn’t do it. I could not claw my way up a corporate ladder. And the idea of wearing pantyhose for the next thirty years made me almost suicidal.
I was there in Hooch’s drowning my sorrows in my beer one night when Hooch told me he had his own problems. A bar around the corner was now pulling the cop crowd, and he was losing business, big time. Hooch’s bar was literally one block east of the police department, and everyone knew that cops drank like fish. Hmm, fish probably didn’t need to drink. Well, cops drank a lot. A lot. His property should be gold.
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