Chapter One Benson
“You knew this was coming.”
Deputy Chief Palmer leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his scruffy jaw, the wrinkles on his forehead creasing, adding ten years to his face.
He’s an older man, in his late sixties, but he refuses to retire.
He summoned me to his office half an hour ago to inform me that my unit, Metro PD’s Narcotics Division, is officially under investigation by Internal Affairs, and the lead investigator will arrive this afternoon to interview me.
The last fucking thing I need right now.
He’s right.
I knew this was coming, and if I’m being honest, I’ve been waiting for it. Although I hoped to figure out on my own who was trying to frame me so I could serve up a heaping dose of dark justice myself, every lead takes me to a dead end.
It’s been going on for three months now, but I only discovered it recently, along with everyone else.
Our security cameras show no suspicious activity, no one coming and going with large amounts of drugs, which would have been obvious considering the amount they’re taking.
But it’s my thumbprint being scanned by the biometric lock, so all fingers are pointing at me.
“Be cooperative and give them what they want. We need to find out who’s behind this, and if IA can help flush them out, then so be it.”
That sounds good in theory, but whoever they’re sending is not familiar with the kind of people we deal with regularly.
They are dangerous criminals who aren’t afraid to take down good cops to get what they want.
That’s what has hindered my investigation.
I’ve had to step lightly and quietly. There’s a dirty cop in our ranks, more than one, and if they catch wind of an investigation, or worse, their business partners find out, someone might get hurt.
Or killed.
As I’m walking out of the chief’s office, Captain Greg Foster greets me in the hall, gripping my shoulder and giving me a pensive look. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out, son.”
His words give me a little comfort. There are a few people I trust now, and he’s one of them.
I’ve known him most of my life. Greg and my dad have been friends for years, having gone to high school and then the academy together.
He’s one reason I came to Metro in the first place.
I’ve always looked up to Greg. He can be a bit cynical at times, but he follows the rules, and he’s fair.
“Have you talked to your dad about any of this?”
“No, I didn’t want to worry him.” I grip the back of my neck. “Mom’s been struggling with some health issues lately, and I didn’t want to add to his stress.”
Hell, I’m stressed out about it enough as it is.
His stone-cold face softens. “What’s wrong with Marsha?”
“Doctors aren’t sure. She’s been tired a lot lately, weak. Some days, Dad says she doesn’t even want to get out of bed. They’ve ruled out cancer, thank God, but they’re still running tests to try to figure out what’s wrong with her.” I take a deep breath. “I thought he would’ve told you.”
“We haven’t talked in a while. Guess now I know why.” He doesn’t look angry, but I can see a flicker of hurt in his brown eyes. Leaning in close, he whispers, “I’m here for you. You know that.” He gives my shoulder another squeeze. “Anything you need, I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks. It means a lot. Now, I have to deal with IA.”
“Call me later and let me know how it goes.”
I nod, heading back to my office, feeling a little better than I did before.
* * *
The harsh light above seems brighter. More severe. Maybe because I’m on the opposite side of the table. I’ve been inside this room countless times, but never for this reason, never in this chair. The knowledge makes me feel uneasy, but I remain calm.
Cool.
Leaning back in the chair, I try to force my muscles to relax, but when the door swings open and I see her, my calm demeanor goes straight out the fucking window.
“Good afternoon, Commander Cunningham.”
Her familiar voice sends a jolt through me.
“I’m Agent Karmen Ashford with Internal Affairs,” she states, displaying her badge for me to inspect. “This is Agent Roberto Ramirez.”
My heart pounds erratically as I grind my teeth, my entire body tense.
Is she trying to pretend we don’t know each other? As if we didn’t share a goddamn bed for a year. Like I haven’t been inside her in every way a man can be inside of a woman.
It’s been five years since we last laid eyes on each other. How long has she been working for IA Metro? Right underneath my goddamn nose?
She takes a seat in front of me while her partner occupies the chair in the corner. It’s obvious who the alpha is of the two, but she’s not the only alpha in this room.
After flipping open the file, she folds her hands in front of her, meeting my gaze head-on with those cold silver eyes.
The same eyes that once looked up at me in complete submission.
That once begged for my mercy, my tenderness.
Eyes that stole my heart so she could crush it in her tiny little fist.
“Commander, we have reason to believe you’ve been stealing large amounts of fentanyl from the evidence locker and selling it back to the dealers on the street,” she says, raising an arched brow.
My mind is still spinning. Part of me wants to put an end to this now. If I reveal we know each other and that we were in a previous relationship, that is a direct conflict of interest.
She knows that.
What is her endgame? Why would she take this case, knowing it was me she’d be investigating?
I open my mouth to expose her, expose us, but the words stay lodged in my throat. Crossing my arms over my chest, I narrow my eyes at her.
I could start fires for what I once felt for this woman and burn down cities with the pain she left in her wake.
She shifts in her seat, darting her silver eyes from my intense glare, while the familiar scent of her perfume hijacks my senses, my cock twitching in response.
The need to touch her is wreaking havoc on my self-control.
My mouth waters, tasting the satisfaction I would get from having her bent over this desk, creamy ass exposed, and my handprint decorating her honey-gold skin.
Despite the contempt I feel for this woman, she still takes my breath away.
She’s dressed in a black suit with a crisp white button-down, like the daily uniform she wore when we worked together. She’s feminine yet powerful. Strong and yielding. Dominant and submissive.
I wonder if she’s wearing something pretty and lacy underneath.
Fuck, I bet she’s wearing pink.
My favorite color on her.
She would be so cruel.
Her rich brown hair is pulled back in a tame ponytail, not a single strand out of place, and the square tortoise-frame glasses perched on her freckled nose only serve to irritate me more.
Why does she have to be so goddamn beautiful?
When I don’t respond, she asks, “Can you explain your digital fingerprint being used to gain access to the evidence locker?”
I shrug. “Someone must have cloned it.”
“Seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think, Commander?”
I grind my teeth so hard I feel like my jaw might crack. She knows I didn’t do this. She knows I’m being set up because she fucking knows me.
She’s trying to rattle me.
Push me.
Shred my precious control.
She wants to play games.
Let’s fucking play.