Property Of (6 page)

That was twice in one week that woman had been responsible for ruining his shirt and a perfect cup of coffee, and he didn’t even know her fucking name. Now, he had images of a firm ass he wanted to spank, and a perfect pussy he wanted to sink into until she shuddered with release, running rampant in his mind.

He’d gone back to Gypsy’s and placed his order for a new coffee, glaring at the barista when he asked about his shirt. He’d cleaned up as best he could, grabbed his coffee, and headed back outside to his bike. When Sandra Dee with her big green eyes and long flowing hair exited the yoga studio, he watched her for a moment. Yeah, she’s the girl-next-door all right, Dallas had thought, as he scanned her body one last time. Too fuckin’ bad he had a caseload a mile high and a serial killer to find. If he didn’t, he’d be inclined to find out just how soft that hair was, how firm those breasts were, or how sweet those lips tasted.

“You mind telling me why you’ve come back twice in one week covered in coffee?” Reed asked his partner, breaking Dallas from his thoughts.

“Nope, just having one of those weeks,” Dallas grunted.

“Did this trip to the coffee house include the owner of that perfume you were wearing when you got back last time?”

“Drop it, Reed.” Dallas sighed as he pulled the shirt from his body and grabbed a backup he kept in his drawer.

“Waitress?”

“Drop it.”

“Barista?”

“No,” Dallas grinned since he knew his partner wouldn't quit asking, “Sandra Dee.”

Reed whistled low and grinned. It’s always the innocent-looking ones the tough guys fall for, Reed thought.

“Are you stayin’ late again tonight?”

“Yep, I’ve got at least twenty more files to go through,” Dallas mumbled as he grabbed the top one off the pile. When he saw Reed reach for the next file, he stopped him.

“Why don’t you get your ass home before June tears you a new one? This case won’t be solved tonight and I can call you if anything comes up.”

Reed had eyed him for a moment before he asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I don’t want June to tear you a new one.”

Nodding, Reed stood and grabbed his suit jacket from his chair. He watched his partner for a moment, but as he turned to leave, he called out, “See you in the morning, Vaughn. Just so, you know, Sandra Dee may have caught your eye, but it’ll take Sandra Bullock to hold your attention. You need someone feisty, willing to talk back to you; not the perfect woman from 1950.”

Dallas grinned at his partner and shook his head. For a man, and a cop, Bill Reed had a romantic side. He tried to fix Dallas up on more than one occasion, all of them disasters. Dallas didn’t need or want any distractions right now, though. He needed to focus his attention on the Shallow Grave Killer. With that in mind, he opened the file as he watched his partner leave and he began looking for a link to his other victims.

Four

Standing outside the two-story building that housed the detective's division for the Tulsa Police Department, I hesitated. Even though I’d promised the girls I wouldn’t work on the book without them, I didn’t think speaking with a detective about police procedure qualified. I figured there wasn’t any harm in gaining insight into police investigations while they were at work. The reason for my hesitance wasn’t that they would be angry, but more about running into a certain detective again.

I’d called ahead and spoken with a Lieutenant Cross. He was a gruff man who’d sounded extremely put out by my request, but finally agreed to let me speak with a detective. I’d specifically asked for a seasoned officer, one who had been on the force more than ten years, hoping to avoid a certain detective for obvious reasons—I was embarrassed he’d seen my ass in the air. I may be extremely attracted to the man, but the last two times we’d come into contact had been disasters. However, attracted or not, since I was using him for my hero it was best if I steered clear of him. Preferably, an ocean’s distance between us, but since I couldn’t disappear as I always did to write this book, I’d have to settle for precautionary measures such as calling ahead to ask for a older officers to help me.
Dammit, I should have asked for a woman detective. That would have assured me I wouldn’t end up with Triple D.

The Lieutenant had put me on hold, then, after a few minutes, he’d returned and barked out, “I’ve got someone in-house if you can come within the next hour.” I agreed immediately, of course, and he told me to report to the second floor and ask for a Detective Bill Reed. When I asked his age, so there were no surprises, he’d growled, “Old and ugly. You wanna talk to Reed; get down here in an hour.” Then he’d hung up as abruptly as he'd spoken.

He was totally going in my book.

So, here I was, entering the elevator of the detective division, on my way up with a notebook, coffee in hand, sunglasses and a baseball cap covering my face and hair . . . just in case.

When the doors opened, I took a deep breath and exited. I walked down the hall until I found the door that read Detectives Division. When I walked in, I found what I expected in a civic building. Gray everything. The walls, the floors, even the desks. The standard and boring city-issued décor was quite honestly kinda cool in a Law and Order kind of way. Since I’d started writing, I’d had to rely on history books and pictures to influence my stories and keep them authentic. Seeing these offices helped to cement in my mind the world my characters would live in daily. It was actually exciting to be able to see firsthand how my fictional world would develop.

After taking in the room, I approached the receptionist. She was an older woman with gray hair and a kind smile, who was dressed smartly in a business casual blue blouse and black slacks. I told her why I was there and she put the phone to her ear and buzzed Detective Reed while she instructed me to take a seat. Five minutes later, a large man with salt and pepper hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a friendly smile came around the corner.

“Are you Miss Royse?” Reed asked me.

“I am. Are you Detective Reed?”

“The one and only. Come on back with me and we can talk at my desk. Most of the detectives are out, so it’s quiet.”

When he motioned for me to follow him, I stood up and grabbed my notebook and to-go cup of coffee from Gypsy’s I purchased on my way to the station.

“I see you like Gypsy’s too,” Reed replied as he motioned to my cup.

“Too?” I asked as dread seeped in.

“The coffee here is swill, most of the boys grab Gypsy’s on their way in,” he chuckled as my panic fled.

Reed stopped at a desk that had a twin butted up to the length of it in a mirror image. He had a picture of an older woman on his desk, and you could tell by the mischief in her eyes that she was a ball breaker. The matching desk that I assumed was his partner’s, had a picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman with two small children smiling large at the camera sitting on it. It was nice to see that both Reed and his partner were dedicated family men. Seeing their dedication to family, I immediately wanted to put Reed and his partner in my book. I envisioned them as seasoned, yet loving family men, who fought crime and kept the streets safe for everyone else, while they put their lives on the line.

“Miss Royse?” Lost in thought, I jumped at my name and looked toward Reed.

“Yes?”

“You gonna have a seat?” he replied as if he’d already asked that question.

“Oh, yes, sorry. Writer’s block,” I explained as I sat down.

“You have writer’s block?” he chuckled with confusion written on his face.

“Oh, yes, all the time. I can’t go anywhere or meet new people without turning them into characters. My writer’s block makes me block out the world and lose myself in my head.”

“Sounds like a good place to be if you’re a writer, I’d think,” he replied.

“Yes, exactly, though my family and friends find it irritating,” I laughed.

“Cross said you needed information for a new book you’re writing. What can I help you with?” Reed smiled.

He was so nice.

“I need to know basic police investigative steps. I can improvise how they handle the case within the story, say the officer doesn’t follow procedure, but I need to know what that procedure is to begin with.”

“That would depend on the case and the victim. But, standard procedure would be to take the complaint, investigate any leads, and then make arrests based on the evidence obtained during the investigation. Once an arrest has been made, we would then turn over the evidence and findings to the prosecutor.”

“It’s all very clinical, isn’t it? I don’t know why I imagined that each case would be handled based on the evidence, sort of one size
doesn’t
fit all scenario. But you’re saying that it’s pretty much the same no matter the case.”

“There’s nothing pretty about murder, Miss Royse. If we want the sons of bitches, pardon my French, who commit the crimes to pay then we follow the rules to the T so we can convict them.”

Pulling my pen from my binder, I jotted down what Reed had said. While I was writing, it occurred to me that it would be fascinating to see him in action, to see him interview a suspect or witness, even investigate a lead.

“Do you ever permit civilians to ride along? I’d love to see what a day in the life of a homicide detective is like.”

“Not as a general rule, but I wouldn’t be opposed to taking you,” he grinned. ”I suppose I could ask my Lieutenant. But I’ll warn you now it’s boring legwork and you’ll likely fall asleep,” he chuckled.

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind; I’m always looking for new characters for my books and getting out and meeting new people is a great way to fuel my creativity.”

“What type of books do you write?”

“Up until now I’ve always written historical romance novels. However, recently, I’ve had an idea for a contemporary romantic suspense. My biggest hurdle is that after years of writing about history, I’m finding I haven’t got a clue how romance works in this day and age,” I explained with a sigh.

“I reckon it’s the same now as it was then. Boy meets girl, they fall in love and get married.”

I wasn’t about to argue with the man since he was doing me a favor, but he was wrong. Boy meets girl, boy ignores the girl for football and leggy blondes with big boobs, and then girl kicks his ass to the curb for all of the above and consumes a carton of ice cream.

With a possible ride-along in my future, I figured I could wait to ask him more questions about a day in the life of a detective. Not wanting to overstay my welcome and push Reed’s lieutenant too far, I stood to leave.

“I’ll let you get back to work since I’m sure there are bad guys to catch,” I chuckled. “I look forward to working with you, Detective Reed, and I appreciate it more than you know for allowing me to ride with you and see you in action. Do you have a card I could have in case I need to contact you?”

Reed smiled, stood, and pulled out his card and handed it to me as I grabbed my cup of coffee. I had no doubt, looking at his smile and those bright blue eyes, that he’d been a heartbreaker in his day. Broad shoulders and thick hair coupled with those eyes, smile, and handsome face would have melted lots of women’s heart.

“I’ll ask my Lieutenant about the ride-along after he’s had a meal. The only time he's in an agreeable mood is right after he’s eaten,” Reed laughed.

“Oh, I know all about men who need food to calm their savage beasts. I have to keep my fridge stocked or my—”

“Is that so?” a voice growled from behind me, which, of course, made me jump and turn too quickly. When I turned, my hand, which held my coffee, slammed into a hard chest and erupted down the front of a shirt.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” Triple D bit out as I looked up at him in shock.

“This is getting ridiculous,” I blurted out. “Are you following me?”

“Coffee . . . that shit’ll kill ya,” Reed chuckled.

“You came to my place of business, darlin’, how the hell do you figure I’m following you?”

“I don’t know,” I argued, “but twice in a few days seems highly unlikely.”

“That’s three times in four days,” he argued as he glared at me.

“No, that’s twice in four days. I had nothing to do with your faulty cup yesterday,” I also argued as my temper ignited. I had a bad habit of turning to anger as a way to deal with conflict, and, boy, did this fall into that category.

“The hell you didn’t,” he snapped. “Word of warning, sweetheart; sunlight and spandex don’t mix.”

“Don’t you sweetheart me, you big ape, and what does that even mean, they don’t mix?” I asked miffed as he turned to leave.

“It means when a man walks down the street and gets an eyeful of ass, he’s gonna react,” he barked over his shoulder as he headed out of the room and to what I assumed was the men’s room.

“Is she Sandra Dee, Vaughn?” Reed oddly shouted at the retreating man.

“Am I who?”

Reed turned his attention back to me, but didn’t answer my question instead, he oddly asked, “What’s the name of your perfume? I’m thinkin’ my June would like it.”

“I don’t have any on.”