Chapter Two #2
The police station is bustling. Reporters are camped outside, and I have to stretch out my arm to gently push through the clustered bodies.
My height doesn’t seem to deter their tenacity as they yell questions, multiple microphones outstretched, nearly kissing my lips.
Still, one look from Colonel Rogers had them cowering and shoving each other out of the way.
He swings open the plexiglass doors, not stopping his march to hold the door open as Tilly and I follow him through, quick on his heels.
The chief of police is standing in the waiting room, no doubt hearing the screams of journalists indicating our arrival.
I assess the woman in full uniform, the creases of which rival my own; they were so sharp.
Her face angular, her hair a modest bob similar to that of other women her age.
Her eyes are narrow, assessing each of us slowly as she purses her lips together.
She looks like a woman who has seen some shit in her life.
Her makeup was plain, simple, except for her drawn-on eyebrows.
To her left, a black man in civilian clothing stands, shoulders pulled back, his badge tucked into the belt loop of his dark jeans. His leather jacket worn over a hoodie. His dark brown eyes zero in on me immediately; his unimpressed assessment rolls down me.
A smaller Latina woman stands to his side, and she tilts up her chin to whisper something in his ear.
He bends down to her to allow her better access to secret sharing, and I fight the urge to grin.
Her big brown eyes vie for his attention, despite his gaze still being fixed on me.
This guy is pissed. But why? We don’t pose a threat here.
The investigation is theirs. For now, at least. And I was under the impression they didn’t know we were here to take over.
He nods briefly, lifting his head back until his eyes finally flit past me.
They soften a fraction as he licks his lips.
I already know who he’s looking at before she walks around me.
The clip-clop of her heels against the linoleum acts as a warning to anyone who can listen that the she-devil has entered the room.
The officer gives her a welcoming nod and a small smile.
He can’t know her very well if he’s giving her that kind of welcome.
“Detective Williams, Officer Sanchez, Chief,” her soft, feminine lilt sings through the otherwise chaotic waiting room.
She holds her briefcase in front of her, with two hands around the handle of the leather bag.
The initials KM in gold above the pocket zipper.
She wears a tight burgundy pencil skirt that stretches around her full hips.
The hips I fucking salivated over waking up to as I gripped them yesterday morning.
Sure, Katie was asleep, and mostly my imagination did the work for me, given that I’ve only seen her in leggings and old Elwood hoodies for the last eight years.
I had thought that fact had done nothing to dampen my imagination, but apparently it has, because nothing could have prepared me for this.
My eyes rake up the length of her, the skirt pulling in tight around her waist, a silky ivory blouse tucked in loosely, a button undone, but nothing too revealing.
She doesn’t need it. Every man in this room could imagine what lies beneath those clothes.
Her curves dip and bow, her red, fiery hair pulled up into a high ponytail, the length of which I want to wrap around my fist.
I expected, given my silence, to receive a satisfied smirk in response to my obvious ogling.
But instead, Dr. Katie Murphy is frowning.
Her lips part just slightly, enough that I could slip my thumb into her warm, wet mouth and press down on her tongue if I so desired, and if my boss and my boss’s boss weren’t standing waiting to be shown a seat.
Her eyes flick down to my chest, and I wonder what it is that she’s looking at.
When she realizes I’m watching, she pushes her shoulders back, drawing her lips together in a “don’t even think about it” pout.
“As we’re all here. Let’s head to my office,” the chief of police says.
She lifts her hand, gesturing for us to follow as Katie leads the way. The colonel gruffs, obviously not used to being the one on the back foot.
As we approach the elevators, it’s clear that one won’t fit all seven of us. I hang back, and Katie does too.
“We’ll be right behind you,” she says.
The chief nods, but the detective looks furious. His scowl attempting to permeate the closing steel doors. I stop myself from wiggling my fingers at him. As the door closes, I turn to Katie.
“Hey, princess.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, her eyes darting behind her to the busy precinct. “Not here.”
No one gives a shit about us standing here, but I’m not about to annoy her further by pointing that out. I want to laugh, but there’s something in her tone that makes me a little hesitant to mess with her today. This is her place of work, after all, even if there isn’t anyone around to hear me.
“Dr. Murphy,” I move on. “Heads up, my boss knows we know each other. I’ve told them we’ve been friends since university.”
She laughs, turning to me, her green eyes sparkling with the devastating blow she’s about to launch at me. “Friends? Really? You’re an acquaintance at best.”
I grind my molars together in a weak attempt to hide the sting of her insult. It’s not the worst thing she’s said to me; hell, it’s not the worst thing I’ve said to her. Instead, I play the game that I know she hates and needle her right back.
“I’d say you were pretty friendly with me on Saturday night, pulling my hand over your stomach, tucking yourself right in against my . . . well, you know how it went. But sure. I could admit we’re well acquainted.”
“Why are you here?” she asks, jabbing the button for the elevator one more time.
“I was ordered to be here, prin—Dr. Murphy. It looks like we’re both going to be doing assessments today.”
“There’s a little more to it than assessments, but sure, we’ll see how well you do in my world.”
I ignore the jab. “What’s up with you and Detective Biceps?”
“Nothing,” she says a little too quickly, and a kernel of annoyance digs into my chest.
“That was very quick, princess. Have you got a new boyfriend? I’m sure he wouldn’t like to hear about Saturday night,” I goad.
“Nothing happened Saturday night.”
“Then I’m sure you won’t mind my telling him.”
“New rule. Not at work. Not during the case. We save our games for social events only.”
I smirk. She rarely plays her hand, but she must think very little of me if she thinks I’d mess up her career.
It irritates me, like a mosquito bite that endlessly itches no matter how many times you scratch it.
I like our game; it’s fun, and seeing her riled up certainly gets my blood pumping, but when did it ever get this bad?
Well. If she thinks I’m an asshole, I might as well lean into it.
“What’s it worth to you?”
The elevator is rising, and we’re close to the top floor now.
She doesn’t have a lot of time to negotiate.
She swallows hard, her eyes dipping down to my uniform once again.
I look down, expecting to see breakfast on it or something, but there’s nothing.
A blush flushes up her neck as she faces forward.
Surely not . . .
She likes my uniform.
“How about I get the spare bedroom at Lottie’s for the next three months? And,” I add, holding up a finger as she grimaces, “because I’m nice, I won’t even make you sleep in the cot. You can nestle right into me just like on Saturday, princess.”
She huffs, the doors sliding open, Detective Biceps waiting for us. Well . . . her.
“Dr. Murphy?” I sing.
She bows her head, stalking out of the elevator. “Deal.”