Chapter 1 #2
Winslow Covington didn’t have one-night stands. I’d been too busy wasting years on the wrong man. Griffin wasn’t the right man either, but I’d learned in my time as a cop that sometimes it wasn’t about choosing right from wrong. It was choosing the right wrongs.
Griffin. Tonight, I chose Griffin.
So I closed the distance between us and stood on my toes, letting my hands snake up his hard, flat stomach.
He was tall, standing two or three inches over six feet. At five nine, it was refreshing to be around a man who towered over me. I lifted a hand to his neck, pulling him down until his mouth hovered over mine.
“Is that your truck?”
“Shit.” I cursed at the clock, then flew into action, flinging the covers off my naked body and racing for the bathroom.
Late was not how I wanted to start the first day of my new job.
I flipped on the shower, my head pounding as I stepped under the cold spray and let out a yelp. There was no time to wait for hot water, so I shampooed my hair and put in some conditioner while I scrubbed Griffin’s scent off my skin. I’d mourn the loss of it later.
There was an ache between my legs that I’d think about later too. Last night had been . . .
Mind blowing. Toe curling. The best night I’d ever had with a man. Griffin knew exactly how to use that powerful body of his and I’d been the lucky recipient of three—or had it been four?—orgasms.
I shuddered and realized the water was hot. “Damn it.”
Shoving thoughts of Griffin out of my head, I hurried out of the shower, frantically swiping on makeup and willing the blow dryer to work faster. Without time to curl or straighten my hair, I twisted it into a tight bun at the nape of my neck, then dashed to the bedroom to get dressed.
The mattress rested on the floor, the sheets and blankets rumpled and strewn everywhere.
Thankfully, before I’d headed to the bar last night, I’d searched for bedding in the boxes and laid it out.
When I’d finally gotten home after hours spent in the back of Griffin’s truck, I’d practically face-planted into my pillows and forgotten to set my alarm.
I refused to regret Griffin. Kicking off my new life in Quincy with a hot and wild night seemed a little bit like fate.
Serendipity.
Maybe on his next trip through town, we’d bump into each other. But if not, well . . . I didn’t have time for the distraction of a man.
Especially not today.
“Oh, God. Please don’t let me be late.” I rifled through a suitcase, finding a pair of dark-wash jeans.
Pops had told me specifically not to show up at the station looking fancy.
The jeans were slightly wrinkled but there was no time to find whatever box had stolen my iron.
Besides, an iron meant fancy. The simple white tee I found next was also wrinkled, so I dug for my favorite black blazer to hide the worst offenders.
Then I hopped into my favorite black boots with the chunky heels before jogging for the door, swiping up my purse from where I’d dumped it on the living room floor.
The sun was shining. The air was clean. The sky was blue. And I had no time to appreciate a minute of my first Quincy, Montana, morning as I ran to the Durango parked in my driveway.
I slid behind the wheel, started the engine and cursed again at the clock on the dash. Eight-oh-two. “I’m late.”
Thankfully, Quincy wasn’t Bozeman and the drive from one side of town to the police station on the other took exactly six minutes. I pulled into the lot and parked next to a familiar blue Bronco and let myself take a single deep breath.
I can do this job.
Then I got out of my car and walked to the station’s front door, hoping with every step I looked okay.
One disdaining look from the officer stationed behind a glass partition at the front desk and I knew I’d gotten it wrong. Shit.
His gray hair was cut short, high and tight in a military style. He looked me up and down, the wrinkles on his face deepening with a scowl. That glare likely had nothing to do with my outfit.
And everything to do with my last name.
“Good morning.” I plastered on a bright smile, crossing the small lobby to his workspace. “I’m Winslow Covington.”
“The new chief. I know,” he muttered.
My smile didn’t falter.
I’d win them over. Eventually. That’s what I’d told Pops last night when he’d had me over for dinner after I’d returned the U-Haul. I’d win them all over, one by one.
Most people were bound to think that the only reason I’d gotten the job as the Quincy chief of police was because my grandfather was the mayor.
Yes, he would be my boss. But there wasn’t a nepotism clause for city employees.
Probably because in a town this size, everyone was likely related in some manner.
If you added too many restrictions, no one would be able to get a job.
Besides, Pops hadn’t hired me. He could have, but instead, he’d put together a search committee so that there’d be more than one voice in the decision. Walter Covington was the fairest, most honorable man I’d ever known.
And granddaughter or not, what mattered was my performance. He’d take the cues from the community, and though my grandfather loved me completely, he wouldn’t hesitate to fire me if I screwed this up.
He’d told me as much the day he’d hired me. He’d reminded me again last night.
“The mayor is waiting in your office,” the officer said, pushing the button to buzz me into the door beside his cubicle.
“It was nice to meet you”—I glanced at the silver nameplate on his black uniform—“Officer Smith.”
His response was to ignore me completely, turning his attention to his computer screen. I’d have to win him over another day. Or maybe he’d be open to an early retirement.
I pushed through the door that led into the heart of the station. I’d been here twice, both times during the interview process. But it was different now as I walked through the bullpen no longer a guest. This was my bullpen. The officers looking up from their desks were under my charge.
My stomach clenched.
Staying up all night having sex with a stranger probably hadn’t been the smartest way to prepare for my first day.
“Winnie.” Pops came out of what would be my office, his hand extended. He seemed taller today, probably because he was dressed in nice jeans and a starched shirt instead of the ratty T-shirt, baggy jeans and suspenders I’d seen him in yesterday.
Pops was fit for his seventy-one years and though his hair was a thick silver, his six-three frame was as strong as an ox. He was in better shape than most men my age, let alone his.
I shook his hand, glad that he hadn’t tried to hug me. “Morning. Sorry I’m late.”
“I just got here myself.” He leaned in closer and dropped his voice. “You doing okay?”
“Nervous,” I whispered.
He gave me a small smile. “You’ll do great.”
I could do this job.
I was thirty years old. Two decades below the median age of a person in this position. Four decades younger than my predecessor had been when he’d retired.
The former chief of police had worked in Quincy for his entire career, moving up the ranks and acting as chief for as long as I’d been alive.
But that was why Pops had wanted me in this position.
He said Quincy needed fresh eyes and younger blood.
The town was growing, and with it, their problems. The old ways weren’t cutting it.
The department needed to embrace technology and new processes. When the former chief had announced his retirement, Pops had encouraged me to toss my name into the hat. By some miracle, the hiring committee had chosen me.
Yes, I was young, but I met the minimum qualifications. I’d worked for ten years with the Bozeman Police Department. During that time, I’d earned my bachelor’s degree and a position as detective within their department. My record was impeccable, and I’d never left a case unclosed.
Maybe my welcome would have been warmer if I were a man, but that had never scared me and it certainly wasn’t going to today.
I can do this job.
I would do this job.
“Let me introduce you to Janice.” He nodded for me to follow him into my office, where we spent the morning with Janice, my new assistant.
She’d worked for the former chief for fifteen years, and the longer she spoke, the more I fell in love with her. Janice had spiky gray hair and the cutest pair of red-framed glasses I’d ever seen. She knew the ins and outs of the station, the schedules and the shortcomings.
As we ended our initial meeting, I made a mental note to bring her flowers because without Janice, I’d likely fall flat on my face. We toured the station, meeting the officers not out on patrol.
Officer Smith, who was rarely sent into the field because he preferred the desk, had been one of the candidates for chief, and Janice told me that he’d been a grumpy asshole since the day he’d been rejected.
Every officer besides him had been polite and professional, though reserved. No doubt they weren’t sure what to make of me, but today I’d won Janice over—or maybe she’d won me. I was calling it a victory.
“You’ll meet most of the department this afternoon at shift change,” she told me when we retreated back to the safety of my office.
“I was planning on staying late one evening this week to meet the night shift too.”
This wasn’t a large station, because Quincy wasn’t a large town, but in total, I had fifteen officers, four dispatchers, two administrators and a Janice.
“Tomorrow, the county sheriff is coming in to meet you,” Janice said, reading from the notebook she’d had with her all morning.
“Ten o’clock. His staff is twice the size of ours but he has more ground to cover.
For the most part, their team stays out of our way, but he’s always willing to step in if you need help. ”
“Good to know.” I wouldn’t mind having a resource to bounce ideas off of either.
“How’s your head?” Pops asked.
I put my hands by my ears and made the sound of an exploding bomb.
He laughed. “You’ll catch on.”