Cop (The Police Trilogy Book 2) (2 page)

Three

Eve sat staring at the clock in the bottom right hand corner of her computer screen, then looked around the office. Most people had left for the night, but there were a few stragglers, most of whom were slowly putting on coats and gossiping. She wanted to yell at them to hurry up and get the hell out of there.

Instead she picked up her phone and re-read the text message for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“Heavy day. Speak soon.”

She didn’t know what it meant, and could only hope that it was good news.

When she looked back up, the last two people in the office were about to step into the elevator. As soon as the doors slid closed, she was on her feet, bolting around, making sure she was alone. When she was satisfied, she picked up her phone and sent a text.

“Ready.”

The wait was interminable, the second hand of the clock on the wall sweeping by in never ending circles. It was a full five minutes before there was a ping behind her and the elevator doors opened.

She span on her chair and watched Brandon emerg, lit heavily on one side with the orange glow of the setting sun through the blinds. He thrust his hands in his pockets and flashed her a weak smile, slowly wandering her way.

Eve didn’t know what to make of his body language.

When he arrived at her side, he perched himself on the edge of her desk, and reached into his pocket to retrieve the digital recorder, which he handed her with a look of apology.

“What?” she asked.

“Duff beat on some guy.”

“Great.”

“Not great. I listened. My bullet proof vest muffled the whole thing. It’s unusable.”

“Shit,” she slumped back in her chair and stared at the recorder in her hand. “Nothing else all day?”

“No, they were careful.”

“Like they knew?”

“Can’t be sure,” he shrugged. “But I don’t think so. They’re just super careful. Wouldn’t tell me what was in the holdall.”

“What holdall?” she looked up, suddenly intrigued.

“It’s what we raided the guy’s house for. Tossed the place looking for it. And then they didn’t refer to again.”

A moment of silence, as each was lost in their own private thoughts.

“It was pretty brutal,” he said softly.

“What was?”

“The way he wailed on the guy.”

“Saw his true colours.”

“Guess so,” he lamented. “This ain’t what I got into it for.”

The question hung in the air too long, and Eve felt stupid asking it.

“Why did you?”

Brandon sighed and looked up at the ceiling, his hands deep in his pockets. She sensed a schism within him, at once wanting to unload on her, and to keep it bottled up, like it somehow fuelled his actions, spurred him on. Having read his file, Eve could guess what it was, but for some reason she needed to hear it from him; even though she had no intention of pushing it right now.

“My sister,” he said at some length, then looked down at his feet, smothering his own words. “She went missing when she was twelve. We haven’t seen her since.”

That was all that he wanted to say, and it was all he needed to say really.

Eve stared at her desk for a moment, and felt the tension in the air dissipate slightly. As bonding moments go, this one was pretty understated. But it had done the job; she had earned his trust already. And that was the main thing with a UI.

“Right,” she said suddenly. “Let’s get that mic off of you.”

She stood up and watched him slowly remove his jacket and pull his vest up and off over his head. His chest rippled with the movement, and his six pack tensed as he stretched.

Eve reached for the tape on his chest and looked him in the eye.

“This might hurt,” she said.

He didn’t answer, just gave her another weak smile.

Her fingers touched his chest and gripped the corner of the tape, yanking it away in one swift motion that made him hiss with pain ever so slightly. It left a red welt where it had been, and she had to physically stop herself from leaning down to kiss it better.

Instead, she let her eyes drop lower, and she saw the distinct and obvious outline of his erect prick, trapped in his jeans. It was so hard, so could see the shape of his tip even through the thick denim, and she desperately wanted it.

She looked back up to see him looking at her, a slight smirk on his face, and with a trembling hand that surprised her, she reached for his trapped cock. Her palm pressed into the stiffness, feeling the heat against her skin, and she moved her fingers to his balls, massaging them firmly with all four digits.

Eve didn’t dare look back up, knowing she would see his eyes wide with desire, see his luscious lips pouting and so kissable. So she kept looking down at her hand as it massaged him, finding the shape of his shaft and squeezing, feeling him push back against the touch, feeling it stiffen and grow in her fingers.

She licked her lips, and moved to unbutton his fly, popping the buttons open with trembling fingers and thumb, parting the thick cotton to reveal the bright white cotton of his tight shorts, his prick concealed within.

Eve looked up, against her better judgment, and he immediately moved his mouth to hers. She pulled back, not letting him touch her.

“No,” she whimpered, even if she didn’t know why. Instead, his mouth nuzzled into her neck, and she felt the rasps of air from his nostrils, just as he bit into her flesh. It made her fingers snake into the waistband of his shorts, and she quickly plunged deeper to find his balls, rolling them in her fingers, feeling his rock hard flesh pressing urgently into her wrist.

Brandon stood up, urging his solid chest into her tits, biting harder into her shoulder, and working his jeans and shorts away from his hips. She laced her fingers around the base of his prick and gripped it firmly, loving how hard he was for her, loving the heat of his desire burning into her skin.

And as she started to pump his length, she felt his hand slip inside her own pants, pushing her panties to one side and finding her clit. The moment he touched her there, she hissed with delight, gripping him harder and pumping him faster.

His fingers worked wonders on her button, making her gasp and swear, making her work his prick in her hand with more furious desire now. She stopped suddenly, and let go, grabbing and pulling at his swollen balls, rolling them in her fingers, squeezing them, just as his two fingers stroked between her wet lips and eased inside her pussy. She stepped her legs apart to take them all the way, gasping and swearing when he started to fuck her with them. She could hear her wetness against those fingers, and grabbed his prick harder now, wanking it fast enough to feel his balls bouncing against her hand, pressing her tits into his firm chest, and rocking her hips against his deep, probing touch.

It surprised her when she came first, so hard and so out of nowhere. She had to wrap an arm around him to stop her legs falling out beneath her, and he grabbed her ass with one masculine hand to support her weight. She bit his chest and tensed against the wave of pleasure, as his fingers curled and found a spot that made her eyes roll back in her head.

All the while, she worked his cock in her fist, feeling it getting bigger and harder, feeling it swell and engorge. He was so close now, and his fingers were about to make her come again.

When his teeth sank into the base of her neck, she let go, even louder and with more abandon now, just as his cock twitched in her fist, jerking hot ropes of his spunk over her hand and wrist.

She fell back onto her chair, her chest heaving, gasping for air, coming down from an intense orgasm that was leaving her light headed. She looked to see him steadying himself against the desk, his own chest rasping for oxygen, his red swollen prick with its tip glistening with come.

Eve looked at his cream on her hand, and bought it to her mouth, licking at eagerly, tasting him on her skin.

“Wow,” he gasped, and she had to agree with him.

They gathered themselves for many a minute, and finally looked one another in the eye. She wanted him again so badly, wanted to get to her feet and jump into his arms, wanted to push her pussy down his length and fuck him there and then; but she knew she couldn’t.

“We can’t do this,” she said, so softly she wasn’t sure she had spoken.

“I know,” he said, with as much regret in his voice as she herself felt.

He pulled his pants back on and did them up, scooping up is vest and jacket in one hand, before looking her deep in the eye.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked with a lust in his voice that made her clit quiver.

“Yep,” was all she could manage to say, and she listened to him leave.

The moment the elevator doors pinged shut, she tossed her head back against the chair.

“Fuck me,” she gasped out loud.

She knew it was going to be impossible to keep her hands off of him tomorrow, or any other day for that matter.

Not good.

Not good at all.

Four

Brandon stared at the plate of food in front of him, his fork hovering in his hand, even though he had no desire to eat any of it. The eggs looked good, the bacon smelled good, and the sausages were tempting. But his mind was elsewhere.

The cacophony of the diner sounded like a faded hum in his ears, and the presence of three well-built detectives each too big for his seat in the booth was but a shadow in his mind.

Instead, he was still back in the IA offices, lost in the memory of the early morning start, flashing back to the sultry liaison the night before. He could still feel her hand on his prick, still smell her scent on his skin, and still taste her on his lips. He couldn’t shake the feeling of his fingers pushing inside of her, the way her pussy took him, the heat and wetness of her, all for him, in that intense moment of sexual need.

And this morning was even more intense; so much sexual tension as she helped him tape on the microphone. The way her finger brushed his skin, an electric touch that made his nipples hard and his cock even harder. The way she kept looking from his eyes to his lips to his crotch, the way her nipples poked so violently through her silk blouse, the way he knew she was so wet for him.

He remembered fondly the moment the back of his hand had brushed across her left breast, how big and swollen her nipple had felt, and the moment when he had touched her ass with his hip, how taut it was against him. His cock had been hard throughout, and it was hard again now, under the table in the diner, as he remembered the moment when her hand had ‘accidentally’ touched his dick again.

He knew they were moments away from fucking, and that only the imminent arrival of her colleagues had stopped them from tearing one another’s clothes off and getting sucked into a hurricane of sexual frenzy.

Brandon wanted her so badly, and yet knew he couldn’t have her.

Maybe that’s why he wanted her as much as he did, but he didn’t think so. There was something about her that really pushed his buttons, a look in her eye that understood him, and at the same time aroused him so much.

He poked the tines of his fork into the egg yolk and watched it burst, oozing bright yellow rivers onto the plate. He wondered what her pussy would taste like against his tongue, wondered how she would squirm and hold his head as he went down on her.

A thump on the table made him look up. It was Conrad, emphasising a point, and getting some laughs in the process, even as the crockery continued to rattle from the force of it. The sound of the diner flooded back into Brandon’s ears and he knew the daydream was lost now.

So he started to eat.

Everything just tasted better this morning, even the cooling coffee. The sun was bright and beaming too, bathing them in a gentle warmth through the window, casting diamonds of light on the holdall sitting at the end of the table, leaning against the window.

Brandon still had no idea what was inside, nor why they were carrying it around, nor why it was on such prominent display right now.

He swallowed a mouthful of food and washed it back with the last dregs of coffee, and the moment he put the mug back down, the waitress appeared to top him up. He looked up and gave her a big smile, which made her give him that look that many women did; the one that let him know they were interested. She was cute too, but didn’t come close to Eve.

He watched her walk away, not examining her ass the way he normally would.

When he turned back to look at the bag, his gaze moved beyond it and out into the street, and he suddenly realised what was going on.

The bag was a taunt.

A small posse of obvious gang members were gathered on the sidewalk opposite, taking turns to surreptitiously look at the holdall, their anger rising with each passing moment.

Conrad was waving it under their noses, and having breakfast just to piss them off.

And it was working too.

“Oh sweetheart,” Conrad said with a raised, mocking voice.

The waitress reappeared, darting a simpering look at Brandon, then plastering on a fake smile for the ass calling her.

“Can I get another Coke?” he instructed rather than asked.

As she left, he made a crude comment about her sucking his dick in the meantime, and the goons laughed along.

Brandon stroked the last mouthful of sausage around his plate, mopping up the egg and ketchup, and popped it in his mouth, determined not to descend to their level just to curry favour. He could catch this asshole without pandering; maybe even easier if he didn’t play to his ego.

Conrad was looking at him, the smile on his face withering, a look of confusion in his eyes, wondering why Brandon wasn’t joining in the mirth.

“You got a pickle up your ass son?”

“Nope,” Brandon said, putting his fork down and scooping up his mug.

The coffee was fresh and hot, and felt great as he swallowed it back.

Through the window, the posse was getting even more restless, and Brandon began to wonder if they had the balls to do something.

He was willing to bet not.

Conrad wasn’t stupid; he knew just how far he could push it, that much Brandon did know.

But he was ratcheting up the tension deliberately, and Brandon couldn’t figure out why. What purpose did it serve? No doubt, all would become clear as the days went by.

Brandon was about to scratch his chest, when he realised he’d be interfering with the microphone. Yet another itch that would have to wait.

Something made him look down the length of the diner, where he saw their waitress emerge from behind the counter carrying a tray with a glass of Coke filled to the brim with ice and lemon.

She took two steps and was stopped by a bigger guy, bulging at the seams of his diner uniform, who took the tray from her and began to wander this way.

The whole thing unnerved Brandon, and put him on edge.

He’d learned to trust his gut over the years, and now his gut was screaming at him that something wasn’t right.

The guy was a genuine employee, Brandon had noticed him before now, serving another booth, so it wasn’t that. It wasn’t unheard of for wait staff to help one another out when they were rushing between tables, so it wasn’t that either.

It wasn’t even the hint of faded gang tattoos peeking over the taut collar of the guy’s neck. This whole neighbourhood must be full of ex-gang members.

No.

It was the way he was holding the tray.

Much too low.

And at a slight angle.

As he took a few steps closer, he made eye contact with Brandon, and his left hand came to the glass, steadying it, supporting it.

“Heads up,” Brandon whispered, and felt the immediate attention and tension of everyone sharing the booth.

Brandon bought his hand to his holster, using the table to disguise the move.

He was certain now what was under that tray.

The guy was a few feet away, and clearly supporting the tray on the back of his hidden hand, the glass hovering an inch or so above it.

Brandon whipped from the booth, spinning on his heel, and grabbed the guy from behind, pushing the nose of his gun into the goon’s neck. The tray crashed to the floor, as did the glass, smashing into a thousand pieces at their feet, the Coke fizzing on the tiles.

Someone at another booth screamed, and Brandon looked at the reflection in the window.

Sure enough, the guy was holding a gun.

Brandon had him by the wrist, there was no way he was aiming it anywhere other than his own thigh now. He pushed the muzzle deeper into the thick folds of the goon’s neck, and felt him relax, surrendering to Brandon’s choke hold.

Conrad was on his feet now, his own gun pulled and aimed at the guy’s forehead.

“Is that for me?” he asked, his voice laced with so much menace it sent a shiver down Brandon’s spine.

The goon gave a single shake of the head, terrified at the amount of guns aimed at him now that Kane and Hemp had joined the party.

Brandon knew that Conrad wanted to smack this guy in the nose with the butt of his gun, but he knew he wouldn’t do it in front of the whole diner. So he was half-expecting for them to drag this goon outside to the back alley and deal with him there.

The window exploded.

Brandon was on the floor before the shards of glass rained down around him. The Coke oozed into his jeans, and he felt a heat in his knees that made him realise he had knelt in the broken Coke glass. He was bleeding.

At least he hadn’t been shot.

The goon was rolling around in agony, glass sticking into him, tearing at his skin, oozing blood, his gun discarded on the floor and forgotten.

A clip of bullets shot over Brandon’s head, and he heard the distinct sound of an Uzi being fired from across the street.

Conrad was ducked behind the booth to Brandon’s left, and Kane and Hemp had taken cover on the other side.

Screams punctuated the sudden silence, the sound of glass being crunched under feet as a handful of idiots got up and ran for the exit, ducked down, arms flailing above their heads in surrender.

“Stay down,” Brandon bellowed from the pit of his stomach, and everyone seemed to get lower than they already were.

He ignored his own advice, and leaned up, peeking above the table and through the broken window.

A gang member was walking towards him, gun aimed and cocked to one side like the punk bitch he was. When he saw Brandon’s head, he squeezed off a few rounds that sent Brandon back down for cover.

In the time he had to peek, he had seen two more gang members falling in to step behind the first, each with a gun in hand.

This was going south.

“Three coming in,” Brandon barked, then looked to Conrad, who was squatting on his toes, ready to move when the opportunity presented itself.

“Fuck it,” Conrad said, and then stood up, immediately adopting the Weaver stance, gun out, arms straight, legs apart. He fired three quick shots, and dropped back to the floor.

Brandon asked with his eyes.

“Slowed ‘em down anyway,” Conrad shrugged.

Brandon had to admire him for even standing up and trying.

A groan made Brandon look to the floored goon, and he saw his hand grabbing for the discarded gun.

“Hey,” Brandon snapped, and kicked out with a foot, spinning the gun off down the diner floor until it smacked into the counter side. And then he lifted his heel and smacked it down on the goon’s knuckles.

He recoiled in pain and got the message.

Brandon looked over his shoulder, seeing the fire exit a dozen feet back into the diner.

“On three,” Brandon said, gesturing for the door. “One, two,” on the three, he was on his feet, gun out, braced, aiming down the barrel and squeezing the trigger. He shot four rounds, two hit flesh, two hit concrete.

As a pair of gang members fell to the floor clutching their thighs, Conrad bolted from his hideaway, keeping low and smacking hard into the bar handle of the fire exit. Brandon heard Kane and Hemp moving out soon after, and by the time her was ducked back down, he heard the door clattering behind him.

He looked back, and saw Conrad’s face peeking down low from behind the half open door.

“Get the bag,” he hissed.

“Shit.”

Brandon schooched into the leather quilted booth seat and fumbled above his head, finding the bag handle and yanking it down. When he got back to the floor, he slid the bag down to Conrad, who grabbed it and disappeared.

After another quick peek over the table top, where he didn’t see anything, Brandon kept low and bolted for the door. But when he slammed into the handle bar, he found it didn’t open.

What the fuck?

The locking mechanism was jammed, and the bar just wiggled loosely in its mount.

Shit.

He flicked his head left, then right, searching for another way out, but the only exit he saw was the main one back down the length of the diner.

Brandon craned his neck and looked out through the broken window, again seeing nothing and no one, and he began to panic, not knowing where they were.

He guessed they were on their way inside, or maybe around to the back to intercept the others as they fled.

Either way, it meant Brandon had to head for the main exit and risk running into them.

Fuck it.

He sucked in as much oxygen as he could, then ran towards the front of the diner. He had to jump over the prone goon, still moaning in agony, and spin to avoid slamming into a quivering woman who didn’t know where she was anymore.

As his feet pounded the ground below him, he looked to his right and out of the windows, hoping to see the gang.

They weren’t there though.

He had his arms straight down in front of him, his gun aimed at the floor and to one side, and it made running, even fully upright, slower going than it should be.

A few feet from the door, he started to slow his pace and bring his gun up, ready to push through and outside.

The door ahead of him opened, and he saw the remaining gang member stepping in, his Uzi already held up and ready to fire.

Brandon came to a skidding halt, feeling the muzzle of the gun pressing into his chest.

He had nowhere else to go.