Chapter 19 Nacho
NACHO
Iknow bringing Jessica into the station is a risk, because I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep my lips, hands or anything else to myself. Usually, I never mix work with pleasure, but she's too irresistible. Her scent is everywhere. At home and now at the dispatch.
Carlos gave her a bath massage last night that ended with her screaming loud enough that Sergio and I exchanged looks across the kitchen table.
Pedro's been taking "extended lunch breaks" at the clinic that have nothing to do with eating and everything to do with Jessica's thighs clamped around his head in the supply closet.
My brothers aren’t subtle. And Jessica isn’t quiet.
I'm trying very hard not to laugh about the whole situation because it's been years since I've seen my pack this happy. Carlos has been whistling while he works. Pedro smiled at a patient yesterday. Actually smiled. Mrs. Kowalski nearly had a heart attack.
And Jessica? She's walking around with this glow that has nothing to do with her upcoming heat and everything to do with two of my pack mates worshipping her the way she deserves.
Which brings me to now.
The Largo Waters Sheriff's Department runs on procedures and protocols. Everything operates according to established guidelines, and I've spent years making sure those guidelines are followed.
Jessica Delacroix is the human equivalent of chaos in curvy, gorgeous form.
But she's happy. And that matters more than my carefully organized filing system.
I pull into the station parking lot at oh-six-hundred, Jessica in the passenger seat of my department-issued SUV. She's wearing dark jeans and a cream-colored blouse that's just professional enough for a law enforcement setting. Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail.
A couple of days with Carlos on job sites, then Pedro and now it’s me.
When Jessica announced she wanted to rotate between all four of us for work, spending a day or two with each of us throughout the week, I thought she was joking. But she was serious. Said she needed to earn money and wanted to learn what we all did. Said it wasn't fair to pick just one of us.
Carlos immediately volunteered to go first. Pedro actually argued for second position. Sergio's getting her Friday and Saturday at the rink for some youth hockey event he's coaching.
We're not complaining. Having Jessica around, even while working, is better than not having her around at all. And if she wants to spend time with each of us individually while earning money? We're not stupid enough to argue.
Plus, based on the way she's been glowing lately, the "work" involves a lot more than just duties. Carlos can't stop smirking. Pedro's been taking very long lunch breaks. And I fully intend to continue that tradition.
"The position is straightforward," I explain as we walk through the station's front entrance.
"You'll be stationed at the dispatch desk.
Calls come in through the main line. You assess the nature of the emergency, log the details in the system, and relay relevant information to officers in the field. "
"Assess, log, relay." Jessica nods firmly. "I can do that."
"The radio codes are posted at the station. Ten-codes for most common situations. If you're uncertain about anything, Deputy Marcum will be available for consultation."
Jessica glances around the station as we pass through the bullpen. It's early enough that only the night shift remains, a skeleton crew finishing paperwork before the day team arrives. Deputy Fowler looks up from her desk and raises an eyebrow at our guest.
"New dispatcher?" Fowler asks.
"Temporary assignment." I keep my voice neutral. "Ms. Delacroix will be assisting while we search for a permanent replacement for Gonzalez."
"The one who moved to the big city?” Fowler leans back in her chair.
"The same."
Fowler's expression shifts. News travels in Largo Waters, and I have no doubt she's heard about Jessica's previous employment attempts through the departmental grapevine.
"Good luck," Fowler says to Jessica.
The words sound sincere. They also sound like she doesn't expect luck to be sufficient.
I guide Jessica to the dispatch station, a horseshoe-shaped desk equipped with multiple monitors, a radio console, and enough technology to coordinate emergency response across the entire county.
She settles into the chair and surveys the equipment with an expression that's equal parts determination and terror.
"This is a lot of buttons," she says quietly.
"You'll only need these four." I point to the relevant controls. "This one answers incoming calls. This one connects to the radio. This one logs the call in the system. This one transfers to emergency services if the situation requires personnel beyond our jurisdiction."
She takes a breath. "I can handle four buttons."
"The call log template is already open on the center monitor. Date, time, caller information, nature of complaint, location, assigned unit. Standard format for all entries."
She nods, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "What if someone calls about something really serious? A shooting or a kidnapping or..."
"Those situations are statistically rare in Largo Waters. Most calls concern noise complaints, minor traffic incidents, and the occasional dispute between neighbors." I pause. "If a critical situation arises, you contact me immediately. My direct line is programmed into the phone. Button seven."
"Button seven. Got it." Jessica looks up at me.
I should leave. I have paperwork waiting in my office. Reports to review. A budget meeting at nine that requires preparation.
Instead, I find myself lingering by the dispatch station, watching Jessica familiarize herself with the equipment.
Her scent drifts toward me in the climate-controlled air, cutting through the station's usual smell of stale coffee and printer ink. The combination does something to my focus that I don't care to examine.
"You'll be fine," I hear myself say. "The position is designed for simplicity. Minimal room for error."
She looks up at me, brown eyes wide and earnest. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."
"I'm providing reassurance."
"Reassurance usually sounds more reassuring."
A sound escapes me that might, under different circumstances, be classified as a laugh. I suppress it immediately, but not before Jessica's expression shifts to something dangerously close to delight.
"Did you just laugh?" she asks.
"I cleared my throat."
"That was definitely a laugh."
"It was a vocalization of acknowledgment." I straighten my uniform jacket and take a deliberate step back. "I'll be in my office if you need anything."
Her smile follows me all the way down the hall.
The first call comes in at oh-seven-fourteen.
I'm reviewing incident reports when my radio crackles to life with Jessica's voice, slightly breathless, relaying information to every unit in the county.
"Attention all units. We have a 10-31, that's a crime in progress, at 847 Maple Avenue. Caller reports a robbery. Suspect is described as..." A pause. The sound of papers shuffling. "Short. Aggressive. Possibly armed."
I'm out of my chair before she finishes speaking.
847 Maple Avenue is Mrs. Kowalski's residence. The same Mrs. Kowalski whose porch Jessica destroyed three days ago. My hand is on my sidearm as I stride through the bullpen, already calculating response time and tactical approach.
"Negrorio to dispatch." I speak into my shoulder radio. "Confirm the nature of the 10-31. Is the suspect still on premises?"
"Affirmative, Sheriff." Jessica's voice is steady but tight with adrenaline. "Caller states the suspect is in her backyard. Attempting to breach her trash receptacle."
I stop walking.
Trash receptacle.
"Dispatch, clarify. The suspect is attempting to breach a trash receptacle?"
"That's correct. Caller described the suspect as, quote, 'a masked bandit with grabby little hands,' end quote."
Behind me, Deputy Fowler makes a strangled noise.
I close my eyes. Take a breath. Open them again.
"Dispatch, did the caller specify the species of the suspect?"
A long pause. Then, in a much smaller voice: "Species?"
"Is the suspect human?"
Another pause. I hear clicking. Jessica typing something into the system. Then:
"Oh no."
Deputy Marcum appears at my elbow, his weathered face creased with barely contained laughter. "Sheriff? We've got six units en route to a residential trash can. You want me to call them off?"
"Dispatch." I keep my voice level. "Confirm the nature of the threat at 847 Maple Avenue."
Jessica's response comes through the radio in a mortified whisper. "It's a raccoon. The robbery in progress is a raccoon. In a trash can."
The entire bullpen goes silent.
Then Fowler starts laughing. Marcum joins her. Within seconds, the night shift is in hysterics, and I can hear the day shift deputies walking through the front door, demanding to know what's so funny.
"All units," I announce over the radio, "stand down from 847 Maple Avenue. Situation is code four. Suspect is a wildlife nuisance, not a criminal threat."
Deputy Torres's voice crackles back through the radio: "Copy that, Sheriff. Should we notify Animal Control?"
"That would be the appropriate response, yes."
I release the radio button and walk calmly, deliberately, to the dispatch station.
Jessica is slumped in her chair, face buried in her hands. Her shoulders are shaking. Whether from mortification or suppressed laughter, I cannot immediately determine.
"The caller said robbery." Her voice is muffled by her palms. "She said someone was stealing from her. She said he was wearing a mask. How was I supposed to know she meant a raccoon?"
"Mrs. Kowalski refers to the neighborhood raccoons as 'the bandits.' She's filed seventeen complaints about them in the past two years."
Jessica raises her head. "Seventeen complaints about raccoons?"
"Mrs. Kowalski has strong feelings about wildlife in residential areas."