Chapter 9 Raelynn
NINE
RAELYNN
Standing in front of my dresser, I stare at my reflection like it might offer some guidance. I’m caught in that weird limbo of both dreading and looking forward to my shift today.
Rodriguez had called me yesterday afternoon, just before Tessa and I arrived at her parents’ house—they had gently demanded that we spend our Labor Day with them, as it had been several months since our last visit—to let me know that I would be doing another ride-along.
Who was it with? She didn’t say, but my gut told me it was most definitely going to be with Officer Grumpy.
Part of me is excited—being back in the field, getting to observe real work, maybe learning something new, especially since I had spent my Thursday last week sorting through dispositions and arrest records and dusty ass files for five hours.
But the other part? The part that still feels the sting of Officer Perez’s dismissiveness and the fact that my horny ass got off to thoughts of him the other night? That part is dragging its feet.
Still, I get dressed—leggings, a red V-neck top, and my boots.
Simple but clean. Professional enough for my internship, but comfortable enough to survive five hours in and out of a patrol car, but maybe not the heat.
My hair goes into a high ponytail, and after a quick once-over in the mirror, I grab my bag, call a soft goodbye to Max, and head out.
The drive across town is quiet. The sun’s just starting its climb, casting long orange shadows across the pavement. My car’s speakers are loud, blasting my playlist, but my thoughts are louder—echoing with everything I should be ready for and everything I hope doesn’t happen again.
When I pull into the Westside Division employee parking lot, my nerves start to kick in.
The building stands before me—familiar now, but still a little intimidating.
I park, kill the engine, and take a deep breath before sliding out of the car.
I walk toward the back entrance, the rising sun warm on my back.
Time to face the day.
I make my way through the station at a steady pace, the echo of my boots muffled by the low hum of morning chatter. A few officers pass by, offering polite nods or distracted greetings, most of them too caught up in their own routines to do more than glance my way.
As I approach Roll Call, I spot Sergeant Rodriguez already stationed at the podium, her eyes fixed on her phone. She looks up when I enter, and her expression softens into a smile.
“Morning, Miss Carson,” she says, her tone casual as she slips the phone into her pocket. “How was your Labor Day weekend?”
“It was great,” I answer, settling into the front table. “Had a bit of a weird start on Friday, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”
She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. “Glad to hear you had a good weekend. Mine wasn’t too terrible either.” After a moment, she steps around the podium, her tone shifting slightly as she approaches me. There’s something more deliberate in the way she lowers her voice.
“Anyways, I wanted to touch base about something before we start,” she says, half-sitting on the edge of the table in front of me. “I’m aware of the incident between you and Officer Perez last week.”
I blink, caught off guard. Not because she knows—of course, she knows, conflict between officers never stays hidden—but because the second she says his name, the wrong kind of heat creeps up my neck.
My stomach twists, shame tangling with anger. I press my thumbnail into the pad of my finger and look away, trying to keep my expression neutral. How the hell did I go from cursing him out in my head to touching myself to the thought of him pinning me down?
Rodriguez keeps talking, unaware of the firestorm inside my chest.
“I wish you would’ve said something,” she adds gently. “But I understand why you didn’t. No one wants to be that person.”
I lean back in my seat and meet her eyes as I pick at my nails, a nervous habit of mine. “It wasn’t worth escalating,” I admit. “He wasn’t exactly warm, but I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. I figured I could deal.”
Rodriguez gives me a small nod, her expression thoughtful. “And that’s fair. But this isn’t about causing trouble, Raelynn. It’s about accountability. That ride-along should’ve been a learning experience—not a test of patience.”
My heart thuds a little faster, dread curling in my gut like smoke before a fire. I know exactly what’s coming.
“This isn’t a punishment for you not coming to me. It’s a consequence for him,” she continues. “He needs to learn to accept that there are going to be times when the job isn’t how he wants it to be, which is why you’ll be riding with him again today.”
And there it is.
I swallow hard. It’s like my body hears that before my brain can even process it, because heat flashes beneath my skin again—an involuntary, traitorous response I don’t want to admit.
My throat’s dry, my hands are clammy, and my brain short-circuits at the thought of being stuck in a cruiser with him again, not after Friday’s events.
“I see,” I say after a beat, trying to keep my voice steady.
Rodriguez offers a look of sympathy but stays firm.
“He’s a damn good cop, but not the easiest personality.
Think of it this way—either he learns to work with people, or he keeps having to answer to me.
And if it gets worse, I want to hear about it.
He’s been spoken to already, so he knows what’s expected of him. ”
I nod slowly, exhaling a breath through my nose. “Understood, ma’am.”
“Good,” she says, straightening up as a few officers trickle into the room. “Keep your chin up, Carson. You’re doing just fine.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, though the knot in my chest says otherwise.
Because now I have to get through another five hours sitting next to the man who made me feel like shit… and made me come so hard I bit my own damn hand trying to stay quiet.
Yeah. Just fine.
Rodriguez returns to the front of the room, her presence shifting the energy just enough to signal it’s almost time to get serious.
Around me, the low murmur of conversation picks up as officers begin filtering in from the hallway.
The shuffle of boots across tile, the soft clatter of chairs being pulled out, and someone cracking a lazy joke that earns a few quiet laughs.
The usual stuff. Routine. Comforting, if I could actually feel comfort right now.
Some of the officers chat casually about Sunday’s game, tossing around stats and trash talk like it’s part of the morning warm-up.
Others talk shop—weekend calls, scheduling headaches, and one particularly weird traffic stop someone had on the south side.
The smell of strong coffee wafts in from a travel mug on the table nearest to me, mixing with the ever-present scent of worn leather and old paperwork.
Kline strolls in mid-conversation with another officer but breaks away when he catches sight of me.
He offers a warm, easy smile, giving me a subtle nod as he heads for a seat a few rows back.
I return the smile with a small one of my own—grateful, a little.
At least someone here doesn’t make my nervous system light up like a damn power grid.
And then Perez walks in.
He’s the last one through the door, and he enters like a thundercloud about to break.
There’s no small talk, no smile, not even the pretense of civility.
Just a heavy, brooding silence that seems to follow him with every step.
His brow is furrowed, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack.
He moves with a purpose that’s sharp and restrained—like he’s holding back from punching something. Or someone.
His gaze sweeps the room, detached and disinterested.
And yet, when it passes over me, I feel it—sharp as a blade.
My spine stiffens like I’ve just been caught doing something I shouldn’t.
Which, to be fair… I kind of was. Just a few nights ago. In my bed. Whispering his name into a pillow, thighs trembling, vibrator pressed so hard against my clit I saw stars.
God. What is wrong with me?
He barely said a kind word to me last time. Treated me like I was in the way. Laughed at me. Undermined me. And yet here I am, reacting to his presence like he’s lit a fuse under my skin. Again.
I drop my gaze and pick at my nails as he drops into the seat directly behind me, and despite not seeing him, I feel the weight of him there—his presence, his tension, the unspoken frustration radiating off him like static.
It prickles against the back of my neck and sends my heart into a frenzy.
I force myself to keep my eyes forward as Rodriguez begins her morning briefing, her voice steady and practiced as she ticks through the day’s agenda: units rotating out, coverage notes, recent calls, and admin reminders.
But I barely register her words. I’m too aware of Perez behind me. He hasn’t even said a word.
And still, he’s under my skin.
Three minutes pass—maybe four—before Rodriguez wraps things up. “Alright, stay sharp out there,” she says with a nod. The scrape of chairs follows, boots thud softly against the floor, and officers filter out in groups, murmuring quietly as they leave to gather their gear.
I stay seated, rooted to the spot, and so does Perez.
We sit in silence while the room empties around us, the background noise fading until there’s nothing left but the faint hum of the overhead lights and the slow, steady drum of my pulse.
The door clicks shut behind the last straggler.
Then, finally, he moves. He stands slowly—deliberately—and steps around the edge of the table, his boots quiet against the tile as he comes to stand directly in front of me.
He doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at me.