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)
Office Andrew Simpson chuckled. “It’s a hot spot,” he said as he pulled a U-turn in the middle of the quiet road.
She held the radio up to her mouth as she depressed the button. “Copy that, dispatch. Unit Six en route. Less than three minutes out.”
“Copy Unit Six,” a bored-sounding voice replied.
“Yeah, but it’s the third time this week. Shouldn’t we work on a more permanent solution? Getting called to the same gas station for the same reason every night is a huge waste of time.”
He shrugged. “What the hell else were we doing tonight? Might as well see a little action.”
Jo snorted. “Action.” The action was what her brothers saw on the force in downtown Montgomery, Alabama. Action was what their brothers and sisters in blue saw only thirty minutes away in Tampa. In the quiet town of Lithia, action consisted of being called to the same gas station multiple times per week because the same group of hoodlums was selling the same drugs.
The problem was by the time they arrived, the dealers were gone, and all they found was a disgruntled gas station employee.
Granted, she hadn’t wanted to live in a big city, especially one near her cop brothers, and she was perfectly happy with the level of ‘action’ in Lithia, but they might as well call a spade a spade.
“Come on, Rambo,” Andrew said as he pulled into the lot. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and you’ll get to cuff someone.” He bobbed his eyebrows.
Once in a while, she got the feeling he was flirting with her, but her instincts sucked when it came to men, so maybe he was merely being friendly to the new kid in school. Even if she believed in mixing business with pleasure, Andrew couldn’t have been further from her type. Looks-wise, he was blond and beanpole thin. But it was his personality she’d never mesh with on a personal level. Andrew was way too pompous for her taste. He thought he was God’s gift to the police force and loved nothing more than correcting her blunders.
So far, he seemed to be a good cop, but his personality drove her nuts ninety percent of the time.
The man was an ass.
“One can only hope.”
“Oh, shit,” Andrew said as he turned off the cruiser. They never left the vehicle running unattended. Way too many cops lost their cars and their jobs that way.
“What’s wrong?”
He pointed toward three motorcycles at the pumps. “How much you wanna bet those belong to the Hell’s Handlers?”
“Hell’s Handlers?” she asked. No one waited by the bikes, which meant whomever these Hell’s Handlers guys were, they were probably inside the market.
“You haven’t been briefed on them yet?”
She shook her head, scanning the dark parking lot. The night shift wasn’t going to be her standard shift, but as the rookie, she had to work a few weeks on each shift to get a taste of everything. Andrew had been nice enough to agree to work with his new partner on all her trial shifts.
“Well, they’re a small outlaw motorcycle club that’s cropped up here in the past year. Bunch of losers with nothing better to do than ride motorcycles and intimidate the locals.”
“Shit,” she said. So many different types of criminals in the world. “Are they involved with the increase in meth distribution the town is seeing?”
“Not sure. Word on the street is that there’s bad blood between the guys in the meth trade and the motorcycle club, but I find it hard to believe they wouldn’t want a piece of that pie.”
She could think of a number of reasons, the first being the long prison sentences associated with meth-dealing convictions. But she didn’t say that. Andrew tended to throw a tantrum when she challenged him. “So what are they into?”
“We aren’t totally sure yet. To be honest, they stay pretty quiet, but sometimes that’s worse. Their president is a guy named Curly. He was part of a different club here more than a decade ago. They were as bad as it gets. Total bunch of assholes.”
“Curly?” She pursed her lips. A biker named Curly. Why does that name sound familiar?
“The guy’s notorious around here. He’s got a real hatred for anyone wearing a blue uniform. About fifteen years or so ago, he was arrested for murdering a twelve-year-old girl. Spent thirteen years behind bars, always claiming his innocence.” Andrew grunted and shook his head.
A lightbulb went off in her brain. “Wait a minute.” She twisted in the seat until she faced her partner. “Wasn’t he framed for the crime?”
“He was,” Andrew said with a grimace. “By a detective in our department who also happened to be the victim’s father. Fucking shame it all came out. The guy deserved life in prison.”
Jo’s mouth dropped open. “Holy shit, that was this department? How the hell did I not know this?”