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)
She frowned. Well, shit. “Who is your uncle?” she asked in a less antagonistic tone.
“He worked in this department for twenty-five years until fucking Curly had him arrested.”
“Curly? Well, was your uncle involved in framing him?”
“So the club asshole claims. It’s bullshit, though. I don’t want to talk about it. What the fuck was that with you and Tracker?”
A shiver ran down her spine. God, just his name invoked a visceral reaction from her. And now a mental one too, but not nearly as pleasant. The lying asshole. “What are you talking about?”
Andrew looked at her as though she’d sprouted a second nose. “He held your hand for like a full minute. And he stared at you the whole time we spoke to them.”
“How the hell would I know what that was about? I’ve never met the man.”
But I have met Fin. His non-biker alter ego. Met him and had my mouth on every inch of his hot body.
Fuck.
“We’ll have to keep tabs on him. He was eyeing you funny. Guard your six when they’re around.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re overreacting, partner. Seriously, this has gotta stop. It’s quite clear those guys hate cops. I bet they’d love nothing more than a reason to go after us for harassment, and you’re giving them the ammunition they need.”
Andrew just grunted.
This day couldn’t end fast enough.
Unfortunately, it crawled slower than most.
By the time she parked her car in front of her condo, she wanted nothing more than to down the six-pack she’d picked up after leaving Andrew at the station. The beer would go perfectly with the pint of ice cream in her freezer.
Maybe if she consumed both, she’d fall into a drunken food coma and forget the abject humiliation of being used by an outlaw biker.
But as usual, the universe saw fit to fuck with her. Her phone rang as she killed the engine.
Curtis. Her oldest brother, though he might as well have been a second father with the way he hovered over her. He had fifteen years on her and was recently promoted to captain of the same police force their father retired from after a thirty-year career. She loved him, but could never work under him or any of her siblings, hence the move from the town her entire family resided.
“Hey, Curt, what’s up?”
“Hi, Jolene. Just checking in. How’s Florida?”
“Hot and humid.” Speaking of, two minutes in the quiet car without air-conditioning and sweat ran down the back of her neck. She opened the driver’s side door even though the air outside rivaled the stifling heat in her car.
Curt chuckled. “Yeah, heard that about the place. Though, it ain’t much different here in Bama. How’s life on the force?”
“Going well,” she lied. “Really well.” She’d die before complaining about Andrew or her lieutenant. As far as her family knew, she’d found her place in the world and couldn’t enjoy her job more. “Living my best life.”
He grunted. Having been raised with the Baker men, she knew it as a grunt of disapproval.
“You’ll let me know if I need to give your superiors a call for any reason, right, sis?”
With a snort, she shook her head. “Uh, no, Curt, I’ll do no such thing. You make that same offer to Huck or Jackson when they started working? How about Sawyer?” she asked of the brother closest in age to her but also the biggest and burliest.
Laughing, Curt said, “No? Why would I? Busting their balls on the job is half my fun. Those jokers can fend for themselves.”
Thankfully, he wasn’t around to see her staring at the ceiling of her car and counting to ten. He’d probably pat her head like he did his eight-year-old daughter. “So why would you treat me any different?”
“Uh, because you’re a pageant queen, Jolene. You don’t belong on the streets with a gun in your hand, risking your life. Shoulda left that shit to us.”
“To us? To the men, you mean?” she asked as her hackles rose. “Golly gee, you know what, Curtis?” she asked in an overexaggerated, sweet southern accent. “Maybe you’re right. Can you please call my captain to make sure he’s being nice to little ole me?”
“It’s not like that, Jo…”
“It’s exactly like that,” she said, swiping her hand through the air as though he could see her cutting him off in actions as well as words. “And it’s getting old as fuck, Curt.”
“Language, Jolene.”
“Are you serious right now? Save the parenting for your kids. I have to go. I had a long day at work as a police officer, just like you probably did, and I want to kick back and relax with a beer.”
Or six.
“Because I’m over twenty-one and have been for years. That means I’m an adult who can manage my own life without my big brother calling my boss to make sure no one is mean to me.”