Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 71090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
I’d been in the top ten percent of our class when we’d graduated, so I wasn’t really sure if he was just that oblivious to my abilities, or if he thought his superior cop skills kept me from seeing what was going on right in front of me.
Needless to say, I finally caught on, two years after denying it, and confronted him.
One of the days he was supposed to be at work, I followed him. Right into the arms of his ‘beat wife.’
A beat wife is someone you have while you’re on patrol.
Berri Aleo was that woman.
David had met her while he was on his patrol, and he visited her nearly every day while he was on duty, and on his ‘overtime,’ for two years before I finally called him on it.
He’d been so surprised when I’d moved out of the house, emptied the bank account, and filed for divorce, all in one day, that he’d been in tears.
Apparently, he didn’t love the other woman and it was all a huge mistake.
Whatever the fuck it was, I wasn’t going to be a part of it. I’d lost all respect for him.
We’d been separated for a year and a half, and ‘officially’ divorced for six months.
Luckily, my uncle was able to get me a job at the PD as a dispatcher. Something I was supposed to start tomorrow morning.
I expected to be getting a call from him any moment, though, telling me I’d lost the job before I ever even truly had it.
It’s not like I wanted to deal with listening to David on the police scanner all day long, but I’d do it if it got me money. Something I was in desperate need of, thanks to him.
“Well, on that note, I’ve got to go. You need to talk to grandpa about his knife problem, though. He lied to me, the old coot. I still can’t believe he did that,” I snapped, eyes on my grandfather working merrily through the window to the garage.
“Your grandfather was a cop for fifty years. He can lie to the best of them still. And he’s always carried that knife around with him. There’s no talking him out of it. It’s supposedly something really special,” my mother said, placing her pie dough into a pie plate and pressing it into the sides.
“Hmmm,” I wondered. “If it was special, I didn’t know. I gave it to the cop that gave him that ticket. He said it was illegal.”
“It is,” my father said, coming into the kitchen. “He should know that.”
He followed up that comment by hanging his gun belt up by the back door, and hanging his hat beside it.
My father was a state trooper for the State of Texas. At fifty nine, he still looked pretty badass and intimidating in his uniform.
“On that note, I’ll see y’all later before Uncle Darren gets here…oh shit.” Uncle Darren pulled up in his police issued vehicle, and I darted for the backdoor.
Running around the house, I came up to the side and waited until Uncle Darren climbed the front steps before I hightailed it to my car.
Luckily, Uncle Darren didn’t block me in. Something he should’ve done if he’d wanted to talk to me.
However, there was no reason for him to be here unless he was wanting to talk to me.
Something I most definitely didn’t want to do with him right at this moment.
“Bye, honey!” My grandpa called from the garage.
I waved at him and blew him a kiss before I dropped into my car, slamming the door behind me.
I backed out of the driveway and cringed when I saw my uncle on the porch watching me leave. His hands were at his hips, and I prayed he wouldn’t follow me.
I already felt stupid enough.
I’d intended to go in to this afternoon with a lot more tact.
Then that man with his incredible smile and beautiful brown eyes had looked at me like I was the stupid blonde that everyone thought I was, and I lost it.
I just hoped I didn’t have to see him anytime soon.
I’d be lying, though, if I really believed that.
Chapter 3
I like big…batons…and I cannot lie.
-Blake’s secret thoughts.
Foster
“Unit 4. Possible 223 at 555 Wimberly Lane,” the dispatcher said through my mic.
Even the shitty radio couldn’t stop my cock from hardening as I heard that voice through my speakers.
Fuck.
I hadn’t known she was a dispatcher.
Motherfucker. Was she new?
“10-4. Unit 4 responding,” I said, pulling into traffic and heading to the opposite side of town.
Normally, this would’ve been Luke’s, my boss and head of the SWAT team, beat. Today, though, he was tied up in an officer involved stabbing.
Although we’d all responded, Luke had been the first on scene, and had been the one to witness the act.
Chief Rhodes had sent him home for a day of R&R, which meant the rest of the cops on duty had to pick up the slack. Not that it was hard or bothersome. It wasn’t. It’d just take me longer to get there than usual.
“Motherfuc-,” I heard through the mic before the sound was abruptly cut off.
I smiled, knowing that the dispatcher knew exactly who it was that she’d just dispatched.
I arrived on scene with little fanfare, pulling up to the house in question, and stepping out of my car.
Yet again, my leg took a few seconds to work properly, but I was doing pretty good, considering.
I heard the fighting between the couple that lived there immediately after stepping out of my car.
My eyes scanned the area, taking in the two men under their front porch’s awning two doors down from the house I was responding to. As well as the older couple at the windows of their own house directly behind me.
I suspected they were the ones that had called the cops.
Old people were busybodies like that.
Most of the crime watchers, I’d found, were old. They were the ones that were home the most. Sure, there were a few young ones interspersed throughout, but by far the most prevalent was the elderly.