3. Dominic
CHAPTER 3
Dominic
HUMBLE-brAGGING ASSHOLE
PRESENT
I don’t know which is worse—the dull ache behind my eyelids, a testament to a shit night’s sleep, or the relentless throb in my cock from tossing and turning all night as my thoughts were consumed solely of Ellie.
Every time I closed my eyes, her piercing gaze would pull me back, a weave of desire and torment so tangled, I’m pretty sure it was her anger that turned me on. I couldn’t get over how damn beautiful she looked—even pissed. Hell, maybe especially pissed, with her cheeks flushed and her voice cutting like a whip.
All these years later, and I’m still just as pathetic for her as I was when we were teenagers. I’m not sure what that says about me.
Rather than question my sanity this early in the morning, I groan and swing my legs out of bed, rubbing the sleep—or lack thereof—out of my face. Before standing, I work out the stiffness in my shoulder. The pain is always worse in the mornings, tender, like the wound is still fresh even though it’s been months.
For a moment, as I sit on the edge of the bed, visions of the incident rotate through my mind. For some fucked up reason, it helps if I get it all out now—get it over with—rather than a memory hitting me when I need to be on my game. Sometimes a memory will hit me regardless, but this helps. Facing it head-on helps.
Breathing deeply, I take in my space, grounding myself. Slowly, the images fade into the distant reaches of my mind. Far enough away to move forward with enough clarity to get through the day.
The faint morning light spills through the makeshift curtains, painting the room in muted shades of gray. My bedroom is the only livable part of the house. Buying a fixer-upper seemed exciting at first—full of possibilities—but that excitement faded fast after my first night here. Growing up, my dad made renovations look easy, and I’m quickly realizing I didn’t inherit his knack for it. Progress has been slower than I expected, the to-do list just keeps getting longer. But, I chose this place for a reason. It has history, and that makes all the hassle worth it.
My uniform hangs neatly on the chair by the window, a silent reminder that the world doesn’t stop for sleepless nights or complicated ex-girlfriends. Nothing about this job gives a shit about what’s going on inside your head. There isn’t suddenly a lack of crime just because I’m distracted.
And yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even after leaving the chaos of Los Angeles for the sleepy calm of Red Mountain, the unpredictable nature of this job still sends a rush of adrenaline through me.
After a groggy, quick shower, I slip into my uniform, tugging my boots on with a groan. Ryker—the sheriff and an old buddy from high school—is going to take one look at me and know I didn’t sleep a lick. Unfortunately for him, he can’t afford to send me home because of it.
I grab my keys off the counter and head out, the crisp morning air nips at my skin, the scent of sour grapes infiltrating my nose. The smell brings on a wave of comforting nostalgia. Some things never change, even when it feels like everything has.
As I slide into my patrol SUV, I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror—dark circles under my eyes, my jaw set tight. I look like shit, feel like shit, and now I have to work a twelve hour shift masking all of it.
This job may not be as high-risk as my last one, but it only takes one misstep for things to take a turn. Still, in all my attempts to remain focus, as I start the engine and pull onto the road, Ellie’s voice echoes in my head, so full of anger and hurt, I nearly broke protocol. I’m never going to forgive you for this.
I have no idea how I’m going to fix the mess I made yesterday. Is there even a way to apologize to someone after arresting them? Nothing I come up with seems good enough—but doing nothing feels just as wrong. I’m not sure I’ve made one right decision since moving back. Starting with the move itself—a choice I made in the aftermath of two life-altering events. Every day since, it’s felt more and more like a lapse in judgment.
I’m not slipping into the job as easily as I thought I would have. Connecting with old friends has been more like a chore than anything else. And then there’s Ellie. She can’t stand me, can barely look at me.
Pulling her over was supposed to be funny—an icebreaker to get past her cold exterior. And in my defense, she really did have a taillight out. Having to fucking arrest her was not part of the plan.
I should’ve just let her go and ignored the bench warrant, but I’m too much of a rule follower to let it slide, even for her. If she didn’t already hate me, she sure as hell does now. Maybe coming back was a mistake, a romanticized idea I let get out of hand.
The scent of burnt coffee greets me as I step into the station, mingling with the hum of conversation and the faint clatter of keyboards. The station is lively, churning like it always is on a weekday morning. Ryker leans against the corner of the front desk, mug in hand, shooting the breeze with the public records clerk, Nicky. He grins when he spots me.
“Morning, Dom. You look like hell.”
“Good morning to you, too,” I reply, dropping my keys onto the communal hook. “Your coffee still taste like black tar?”
He raises his mug with a smirk. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Man’s coffee, puts hair on your chest.”
I glance toward the break room, debating whether to risk a cup or stick with water. Last time I had a cup of his lethal coffee it ripped my stomach to shreds. I have no idea how he drinks that poison.
“Alvarez!” a voice calls out. “You’re late.”
Turning, I see Deputy Morales standing by a cluster of filing cabinets, she’s sorting through a stack of paperwork, her dark ponytail swaying as she moves. She casts me an overly bright smile, her cheeks looking slightly flushed.I’m surprised she’s still here since her shift ended over an hour ago.
She was my FTO when I first started, AKA my babysitter, and I couldn’t stand her. She lacks the concept of personal space, and her eager personality grated at me, especially in the mornings. Somehow, though, she’s started worming her way under my skin and kind of growing on me. Kind of.
“On time isn’t late,” I say, snagging a donut from the box on the front desk. Some stereotypes exist for a reason, donuts included. But I’ll be damned if I let them move my belt notch. I already increased my workouts when I realized how much more sedentary this job is compared to my last one. It might seem action-packed, but the reality is a lot of sitting around—way more than when I worked in L.A..
In a small town like Red Mountain, crime tends to be quieter, and the job moves at a slower pace. Most of what we deal with involves domestics, bar fights, or the occasional property crime. Anything within city limits is technically handled by the Red Mountain Police Department, but since we’re the sheriff’s office for the entire county, there’s plenty of overlap.
“Any later and you’d miss out on the hot new case we just got,” Morales shoots back. Her eyes widen to saucers as if she’s trying to have a silent conversation with me, but I don’t understand.
It’s Clore County, how exciting can the case be?
Ryker steps closer, likely drawn by the tail end of Morales’s words. The station isn’t exactly spacious, and quiet conversations are nearly impossible. His shoulders straighten as his grin fades slightly. “She’s not kidding. We’ve got something weird on our hands this morning. Might be your kind of thing.”
I arch a brow, donut halfway to my mouth. “Define ‘weird.’”
He gestures toward the hallway. “Better if you see for yourself. Team huddle in the training room at six thirty.”
Glancing at the clock, I have just enough time to set my stuff down at my desk before the meeting starts.Normally, our huddles happen in the conference room. But if we’re in the training room instead, it means one thing—all hands on deck. That space is double the size for a reason.
The door creaks open, and the low murmur of voices quiets as I step inside. There are two large TV screens on. One is displaying a map of Clore County, the other displaying an image of a parked vehicle in what looks like Juniper Bluffs. Morales follows close behind me, dropping a thin case file onto the conference table before taking a seat.
Uniformed bodies continue to filter in until it seems the room has reached its capacity.
Ryker clears his throat to get everyone’s attention before nodding at Under Sheriff Doyle to proceed.
Doyle rises and walks to the front, standing at the podium. “We got a call from a camper at 5:00 a.m.,” he begins, gesturing at the image with the vehicle. “Spotted a car abandoned near Juniper Bluffs hiking trail—doors unlocked, no sign of the owner. Looked like it had been there overnight.”
He keeps talking as the case file makes its way around the room. When it reaches me, I scan the photos—a close-up of the weathered sedan parked at an odd angle on a dirt trail, and several shots of a woman running errands, seemingly unaware she was being photographed.
“Deputy Morales,” Doyle calls out. “Can you tell us what was found in the trunk of the abandoned vehicle, since you were first on the scene?”
Morales lifts her chin, loving being the center of attention. “I was initially going to have the vehicle towed, but after doing a 360-degree walkaround, I noticed what appeared to be blood on the rear bumper and initiated a search.The trunk was unlocked. Along with the photographs in the case file, there was also a duffle bag containing duct tape, rope, and zip ties.”
Is it suspicious? Yes. Does it scream foul play? Not necessarily. People have a tendency to see what they want to see— without considering all the angles. So far, I’m intrigued. I’ll admit that much.
Keeping my thoughts to myself, I glance around the room, trying to gauge reactions. Everyone is mostly stoic, hard to read. This could all mean nothing, but a jolt of excitement hits me regardless. I’ll take anything even remotely different than our usual stack of cases.
At my last job, after years of working patrol and climbing the ranks, I had just passed my exam and completed the interview process to become an entry-level detective in the homicide unit. Little did I know, I’d be walking away from my dream job before I ever got a chance to do it.
“Sounds like someone’s prepping for a DIY project,” Deputy Cooke barks out with a laugh. A few of his buddies fist bump him. Idiots.
Morales breathes out an annoyed smile. “Except,” she continues, an edge creeping into her voice, “that doesn’t explain the photographs.”
The disruptive deputies quiet down after Doyle pins them with a look. They wouldn’t have said shit if a man had been speaking, but since Morales is a woman, the disrespect is second-nature to them. It’s one of the reasons, despite how annoying she is, I can’t fully dislike her. She already has it hard enough.
“Tell us more about the photos,” I say, as all heads snap to me.
I’ve been fairly quiet since I started, so they’re probably surprised to hear me speak, let alone speak out during a meeting.
Morales gives me a grateful smile. Using the remote, she starts flipping through the images, the ones from the case file, stopping on one of the same woman, except it’s her photograph from the DMV.
“This is Victoria Delmar. Two months ago, she went missing from Badger Canyon. Her family reported it within 24 hours, and they told BCPD she had a stalker.Prior to her disappearance, she made several attempts to file a report, but there was never enough evidence to proceed. It appears the reports weren’t taken seriously, possibly due to her prior involvement in sex work. She hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”
The room falls silent. It’s too soon to jump to conclusions, but I think we all know what this is starting to look like.
“Any thoughts, lateral?” Doyle asks.
Lateral.
I fucking hate that nickname. It’s super original, considering I’m a lateral transfer. My previous agency would never refer to a fellow uniform that way, but it’s a lot more of a frat-bro environment here than I was expecting. Pretty sure this is their version of hazing.
All eyes land on me, expectant—like I’m supposed to solve the case on the spot. That’s the trouble with joining this station with my background. People assume I’m some kind of big shot. And that comes with a double-edged sword—some of my coworkers admire me; the rest can’t stand me.
I’m not anyone special, but saying that out loud just makes me sound like a humble-bragging asshole. So I keep my mouth shut. Not that it’s doing me much good.
I glance at the screen, where all the photos of Victoria are now displayed for everyone to see —Victoria at the grocery store, walking to her car, sitting at an outdoor café. The images feel invasive, like glimpsing into someone else’s private life. There’s a familiarity about her I can’t wrap my head around. It makes my stomach sink. I’m sure I’ve never met her, yet if she’s from around here, maybe I have. Regardless, something about this whole thing feels…off. I can’t pinpoint it, but whatever it is, it isn’t sitting well.
I look back at Doyle. “The evidence is pointing toward this abandoned vehicle being tied to her disappearance. I’m assuming the plates were ran.”
Ryker joins Doyle at the front. “That’s where it gets trickier. The car’s registered to a fake name, and we’ve got no ID on who actually left it there.”
“So, what’s our next move?” Morales asks to both Ryker and Doyle.
“Red Mountain PD is assisting C-Shift, as they canvass the area near the ridge,” Ryker says. “Seeing if we can turn up any witnesses. Meanwhile, the evidence is headed to forensics. We’re hoping the bag or the car itself gives us something to go on.”
Jesus Christ, the last people who should be canvassing are the deputies on C-Shift. They just worked a 12-hour shift, and now they’re expected to work OT on something this important. They’re probably all exhausted. It’s not my place, but some of the decisions this office makes are mind-boggling.
I shake my head while scrubbing a hand over my face, and continue to stare at the images on the screens. It seems almost too convenient for this to have all been found, with what looks like no attempt to conceal anything.
“What is it?” Ryker asks, noticing the questioning look on my face.
I hesitate, not wanting to overstep. I’m still new and there’s a lot of politics at play. Ryker is an old friend, but not the kind of friend I kept in touch with. We ran in the same circle but were never particularly close. And now he’s my boss.
“I don’t know…doesn’t it all feel a little fabricated?”
The atmosphere grows stilted, focus firmly on me.
“Keep going,” Ryker insists.
My hand drags down my face again, nerves coursing through me. “It’s just that, what year is it? Doesn’t this all seem like an old CSI episode? Who still uses printed photographs? And they conveniently left behind their ‘stalker kit’? To me, it feels like a setup.”
Ryker’s brows furrow as he listens, clearly considering my take.
Morales nods in agreement, crossing her arms over her chest. I don’t miss the eyes around the room that briefly flash to her cleavage. She leans forward, almost as if she’s aware of it.
I keep my focus on Ryker.
“I get what you’re saying,” Ryker says finally. “The setup theory is one we’ve considered, but we can’t rule out the possibility of it being real just yet. Sometimes a case can appear too neat, too convenient, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s fake. We need to look at the evidence objectively, keep an open mind.”
Doyle steps in. “Agreed. We’re not ruling anything out. But we have to be careful not to jump to conclusions. We need more evidence before we make any assumptions.”
I nod, still suspicious. “I’m just worried that someone’s trying to manipulate us. The timing of Victoria being missing at the same time a bag of photographs of her are found, the way everything’s laid out—it just seems too perfect.”
Ryker pauses a moment, staring at me with an unreadable expression. “It’s a valid concern. We’ll double-check everything, make sure we’re not missing anything. But for now, we proceed as planned.”
The meeting comes to a close, and everyone starts dispersing. As I move to stand, Morales claps me on the shoulder, her hand lingering a second too long. “Good eye Alvarez. I knew I liked you.”
She saunters off, and I look around to see if anyone noticed our interaction.
Ryker taps my arm with the file in his hands. “Let’s have a chat in my office.”
I freeze, unsure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that he wants to meet. I answer with a nod before he exits the training room.
Cooke and Deputy Gerard—one of Cooke’s buddies—walk out in front of me. Gerard whispers something that sounds a lot like “show off”, eliciting a hearty chuckle from Cooke.
Dicks.
I should’ve just kept my mouth shut, instead I got carried away.
My heart thrashes in my chest as I make my way to Ryker’s office. I’m either about to be reprimanded or praised. With Ryker, you can never tell.
“Is it true you had to arrest Elyse?” Ryker asks, as I take the seat across from him.
He’s asking like he doesn’t already know the answer, holding back a laugh.
Since the door is closed and it’s just us two, I shoot a glare at him, not bothering to hide my irritation.
“You’re an asshole,” I say under my breath, laughing.
His head falls back, a deep chuckle rumbling out of him. “I just can’t believe you did it. You could’ve let her go as a favor and then ran it by me. It’s not like I’m worried she’ll skip town.”
I’m used to following the rules by the book. The casualness of this department is still something I’m getting used to, and it didn’t even occur to me I had the option to let her go. It goes directly against procedure to let someone go with an active warrant unless there are extenuating circumstances. In this case, there weren’t.
I should’ve called him, then maybe Elyse wouldn’t completely hate me.
Fuck, I’m an idiot. I panicked the second the MDT flagged her name after I ran her license. She looked so damn beautiful, my brain short-circuited. I was running on autopilot. And maybe some messed-up part of me liked having an excuse to touch her, to pull her in close.
She was mad as hell, but the moment I laid a hand on her, goosebumps rose on her skin. She still reacted to me. And that alone? That was enough to spark a little hope.
“I didn’t consider involving you. I should have.”
His lips curl up in a condescending smile. His politician’s smile.
“Well, hopefully there isn’t a next time, but just know you can always come to me.”
This is why I’m never sure which Ryker I’m going to get. Ryker, my buddy or Ryker, Sheriff Tapert. The line gets blurrier and blurrier.
Before I can respond, there’s a knock on the door. In walks Detective Sergeant Vorheis.
I stand and greet him, shaking his hand.
Ryker didn’t mention Vorheis would be joining us. I can’t even begin to think what this could be about, I doubt Vorheis knows who I am, seeing as we’ve never interacted.
Ryker gestures for him to take the seat next to mine.
“Well, I’m sure you’re wondering what this is about,” Ryker starts.
“Just a bit.” I glance over at Vorheis, assuming he’s going to explain.
“I spoke with your old captain,” Vorheis says, angling toward me. “He had nothing but high praises to say about you. Said you were on track to becoming a detective.”
I nod, still unsure of where this is going. “That’s correct.”
“Given today’s event’s, we could really use the extra support. Someone with your experience might be just what we need to not let this case go cold. How would you feel about temporarily transferring over to the detective’s unit while we work Delmar Case? Unfortunately, due to budget constraints this doesn’t come with a pay increase, but it’ll be taken into consideration next time the unit has an opening for a detective, and of course during your annual review.”
More work and no extra pay? Most people would turn that down. I’m not most people.
Maybe this is what I need to start turning things around and actually make a life for myself here. I’ve been so focused on trying to repair the past, somewhere along the line, I forgot about my future.
“I’d say it sounds like a very enticing offer.” My eyes flit to Ryker, who looks eager for my answer. “And I’d be honored to assist on the case.”
An hour later, I’m so engrossed in finishing up paperwork from Elyse’s arrest, it isn’t until Morales’s shadow casts behind me that I notice she’s still at the station.
“Heard about your promotion,” she whisper-sings before hopping up on the edge of my desk, her ass way too close to my keyboard.
“That was fast,” I mutter, sliding back in my chair to put some distance between us.
I haven’t said a word to anyone yet, so I’m not sure how she found out.
“Nicky heard it from Vorheis and then told me.” She looks around to see if anyone is listening. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”
I’m not trying to keep it a secret, it’ll get out eventually, I just haven’t really found my spot within the group yet, and feel weird announcing anything.