Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Come on, Jolene…”
“Good night, Curtis. Kiss Sandra and the kiddos for me.”
She hung up to yet another protest about how dangerous police work could be as though she hadn’t heard it a million times before from her brothers, father, and mother.
“Jerks,” she muttered without meaning it. What bothered her most was how they weren’t against all women on the force, just her. As though she was some delicate flower who couldn’t handle the harsh realities of life. Like she somehow deserved to be coddled and protected more than all the other women in the world. Women she’d trained with, women she’d surpassed at the academy, and women who worked the same damn job she did.
Frustrating as they were, her family loved her, and she knew it. She loved them right back. She just couldn’t live in their town if she wanted to pursue her own path. And keep her sanity.
With a sigh, she climbed out of the car, six-pack in hand.
One positive of her brother’s call was a solid ten minutes without thinking about Tracker.
And there she went, right back to it.
What ate at her with deep bites, what she would never admit even under threat of torture, was how a small part of her now wondered if her family was right. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for police work. All it’d taken was one sexy-as-hell man giving her attention, and she’d fallen for the con like a hungry dog who’d do anything for a treat. Hell, she hadn’t even made him work for it.
And the most humiliating part? Even after learning how he’d played her, her body reacted to him.
Wanted him.
“You’re such a fucking cliché,” she muttered as she unlocked her front door. She let her purse drop to the floor, kicked off her shoes, and headed through her small den toward the kitchen.
The freezer, specifically.
Time to drown her sorro—
“Holy shit!”
On instinct, she reached for the service weapon, typically holstered at her hip.
But it wasn’t there now.
She always locked it up before leaving the station.
Fear hit swift and strong as muscle memory had her ready to fight the man who’d broken into her house.
Until she realized that man was Tracker.
The fear dissipated.
And anger took over.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“JESUS, TRACKER! WHAT the fuck?” she shouted, echoing the thought that’d run through his head a hundred times since he’d popped the lock on her back door and let himself into her home twenty minutes ago.
That reminded him… “Your locks are shit.”
A harsh bark of laughter escaped her. “Seriously? That’s the issue right now?”
He shrugged. “You live alone. And you’re a cop, which makes you a target.”
She stood there, hands on her shapely hips, bare legs calling to him, and tits rising and falling with the force of her breathing.
Goddamn, the woman was a sight. Blood rushed straight to his cock.
Until she spoke again.
Teeth clenched and eyes shooting daggers, she practically growled. “I’m not talking to you about my locks. I’m not talking to you about anything. Get the fuck out of my house!”
“I get that you’re pissed, and that’s part of the reason I’m here. But I have something else to talk to you about.”
“Something else? You mean something besides the fact that you fucked me, hoping I’d find your cock so magical that I’d be willing to tell you everything the department has on your club?”
Oof. That made him sound like a world-class asshole. “Yes. Something different than that.”
She cocked her head. “You’re not going to deny it?”
He held her furious gaze. “Would you rather I do?” What was the point? She knew why he’d singled her out. Pretending otherwise served no purpose.
“Un-fucking-believable,” she muttered. “You know what, Tracker, whatever you need to say to me will have to die in your head because I’m not interested in hearing it. I’m also not interested in hearing a fake apology, so how about you let yourself out before I arrest you?”
“I wasn’t planning on apologizing.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, eyes bugging.
“Why the fuck would I apologize? I don’t regret it. Only a fool would regret the best sex of their life.” And that was the damn truth. Every second inside her was better, hotter, sweeter than with any other woman. He’d die before apologizing for that.
She flinched at his words but recovered in an instant. “And we both know who the fool is in this room, don’t we? See yourself the fuck out,” she said before shoving past him and into her kitchen.
Because he was a glutton for punishment, or maybe because the sight of her ass in those denim cutoffs short-circuited his brain, he followed. She stood at the open refrigerator with her back to him, popping the top off a beer. He couldn’t help but chuckle as she tipped the liquid back and drained the bottle in five large swallows.
“Is there a reason you’re still here?” she asked.