Rock Chick 01

Kristen Ashley

Published by Kristen Ashley at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Kristen Ashley

Discover other titles by Kristen Ashley at
Smashwords.com
:

Rock Chick Rescue

Rock Chick Redemption

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of this author.

The Great Liam Chase

Until now, I’ve never been in trouble with
the law.

It’s cosmically impossible, I’m a cop’s
daughter.

Cop’s Daughter Karma protects me and seeing
as I’m not a drug addict, drug dealer, thief, prostitute, gangster
or murderer (all traits that would negate Cop’s Daughter Karma),
I’m protected.

This isn’t to say I haven’t done stupid
things that are not exactly law-abiding, in fact, I’d done a lot of
stupid things that are not exactly law-abiding.

* * * * *

Let’s see…

I’ve had a number of parking tickets but they
don’t really count.

I’ve been stopped for speeding on occasion,
though I never got a ticket.

I’ve been known to jaywalk when I’m in a
hurry (which is a lot).

Further possibly-non-law-abiding exploits
include the fact that I conned my way backstage at an Aerosmith
concert. I went so far as to touch Joe Perry’s chest with the very
tips of my index and middle fingers and, after making contact, I
felt an electric spasm of sheer delight fly through my body
(especially certain parts of my body) that has gone unequaled,
before or since. Unfortunately, I only got the touch in before the
bodyguard hauled me out.

I’m not certain it’s against the law to lie
your way backstage and touch Joe Perry’s chest but considering the
experience had to be far better than many illegal activities, it
should be.

* * * * *

But, twenty minutes ago, my employee, Rosie,
told me something I didn’t want to hear.

Rosie could be difficult but this was
ridiculous.

And he’d involved another employee (and one
of my most favorite people in the world), Duke.

* * * * *

Then, five minutes ago, Rosie and I locked up
and stood at the front of my bookstore, Fortnum’s, wondering what
to do about that something.

Then two guys came up to us, we had a chat
that did not go well (and if I’m honest, the reason it didn’t go
well is because of me) and then they shot at us.

Shot.

At.

Us.

With guns.

Guns filled with bullets.

We made a hasty getaway which, luckily,
didn’t leave a trail of blood.

Now, we’re in my car, hyperventilating,
sitting in a dark corner of a dark alley in the bowels of Baker
Historical District that hadn’t yet re-gentrified and I’m staring
at my cell phone wondering what, in the fucking hell, to do.

* * * * *

Let’s rewind.

I’m India Savage, known by all as Indy. I’m
Tom Savage’s daughter and practically every cop knows me, even the
rookies. That’s because, when I was young, I spent a lot of time at
the station waiting for Dad or hanging out with Dad’s friends.

Oh, and Dad and I still go together to the
Fraternal Order of Police (or F.O.P.) hog roasts

There is also the fact that I look the way I
look. I’m not bragging or anything, it’s just that being a cop
means you have to have an overabundance of testosterone and, well,
I’m a girl.

Most of Dad’s colleagues noticed me from the
age of about sixteen. Unfortunately, if any one of them touched me
(even after I came of age), the others would have shot him.

Such is the life of a cop’s daughter. You
take the ups with the downs.

* * * * *

In my not-so-clean-and-tidy past, I was
caught one night by Dad’s friends, Jimmy Marker and Danny Rose.
Ally and I were underage drinking and were taken to the
station.

My Dad had not been angry at this youthful
stunt. Dad had one kid and a dead wife. He’d been hoping for a boy
to come along but my Mom died when I was five. Seeing as they had
their hands full with me, they’d never got around to a second child
and Dad had never got over Mom enough to find another wife.

Dad always said Katherine Savage was the kind
of woman you didn’t get over.

He also said I looked a lot like her and the
pictures prove it (except, of course, my blue eyes, which come from
my Dad).

And everyone says I act
exactly
like
her.

Anyway, Dad thought my drinking binge was
kind of cute, and, if I had been a boy, my getting picked up by his
cronies would be a rite of passage. His best friend and long-time
partner, Malcolm Nightingale, agreed.

Malcolm’s wife, my Mom’s best friend and the
woman who swore to my mother on her death bed that she would help
Dad raise me right, Kitty Sue Nightingale, did not find my
short-lived incarceration amusing.

Kitty Sue didn’t find any of my youthful
foibles amusing, not in any way, shape, or form. Kitty Sue worried
over my immortal soul.

Kitty Sue had her hands full. Not only did
she make a death bed promise to my Mom, she also had three kids of
her own to look after. And two of those kids were Lee and Ally and
that right there is enough said.

Kitty Sue talked to preachers, teachers and
high school counselors, little league softball, baseball and
football coaches, neighborhood busybodies, anyone she could to set
up her network of Nightingale/Savage Child Watch. Even with all
this effort, it didn’t work so well.

Allyson Nightingale is my best friend and has
been since birth. Ally is Kitty Sue and Malcolm’s youngest child
and she’s far crazier than me, mainly because she isn’t scared of
anything.

Lee’s another story altogether, Lee’s a Bad
Boy with capital Bs.

After getting caught on the side of the road
puking our inebriated guts out by Jimmy and Danny, Ally and I
smartened up. After that, when Ally and I were underage, out
partying and were done over-imbibing, we called Lee and he came to
get us.

No matter what, no matter where, Lee would
show up in his vintage Mustang, hold open the passenger side door
and grin as we stumbled out of someone’s house and into his car.
Lee knew the exact sounds a person would make before they were
going to hurl and thus knew when to stop and haul a body out so
they could do it on the side of the road and not in his car. Lee
also had
lots
of experience with holding a girl’s hair back
when she threw up.

In our partying days, we tried calling Ally’s
other brother, Hank, a couple of times but he would always give us
a lecture. Hank’s the oldest of the three Nightingale children and
therefore felt the need to behave responsibly. He may have lectured
but he didn’t snitch, snitching was a shade too far.

Not surprisingly, Hank became a cop.

No one knows what Lee is.

Henry “Hank” Nightingale was captain of the
football team, prom king and voted Best Athlete, Most Popular, one
half of Best Couple and Best Smile. He’s six foot one, has thighs
that could crack walnuts, has just the right assets to fill both
the seat and crotch of his jeans, a killer smile, thick, dark brown
hair with just enough wave and whisky-colored eyes. In High School,
Hank was good-natured, chivalrous and had a steady girl. Not much
has changed (except there was no longer a girl).

Liam “Lee” Nightingale could hot-wire any car
going, had both a Mustang and a motorcycle, started smoking when he
was thirteen, was rumored to be able to get a girl pregnant by just
looking at her and was also voted Best Smile. He’s six foot two and
gives the impression that faded jeans had been divinely created
just for him. Lee also has thick, dark brown hair with just enough
wave and chocolate-colored eyes with a heavy rim of long lashes.
Lee was good-natured as well, but in an entirely different way.
Without any effort at all, (mostly by crooking his finger, casting
a glance or, if a girl was playing hard to get, he’d pull out The
Smile), Lee nailed everything that was female, had long hair, big
boobs, a fine ass and was breathing.

Every female, that is, but me, no matter how
hard I tried and let’s just say I tried real hard.

I, too, have big boobs, a helluvan ass, long,
russet hair (with just enough wave) and was, as far as I could
tell, not the walking dead.

I’d been throwing myself at Lee since I could
remember.

I should have picked Hank. If I’d have picked
Hank, I would now be married with children, probably very happy and
definitely getting it regularly.

But I like them bad.

I’m a rock ‘n’ roll chick, that’s just the
way it is.

Ally and I decided when we were eight that I
was going to marry Lee so I could be her “real” sister. She was
going to be my maid of honor, we were going to live across the
street from each other in houses with white picket fences and Lee
and I were going to name our first daughter after her.

We even made a blood pact on it by sticking
our thumbs with safety pins and mashing them together. We spent the
next twelve years attempting to make that fantasy a reality in
every way our somewhat devious and definitely outrageous minds
could dream up.

It was my bad luck (considering Lee’s moral
code was a bit sketchy) that I fell into Liam Nightingale’s Ethical
Rule Book at Rule Number Two (with Rule Number One being “Thou
shalt not nail your brother’s girlfriend”), I was “Thou shalt not
nail your little sister’s best friend”.

I also grew up like a member of the family
which made me practically his little sister by default and, in my
last effort to throw myself at him (when I was twenty and he was
twenty-three), he’d told me exactly that. It was pretty fucking
embarrassing, but then again, so were all of my other attempts and
that never stopped me.

Still, for some reason, that last one really
hurt. Lee wasn’t cruel or anything he was just… final.

The Great Liam Chase ended right then and
there, at least for me. Ally still has (very) high hopes. Not to
mention Kitty Sue, who I think has always wanted me to fall for one
of her sons and it’s been pretty clear that her druthers would put
me with Lee. Probably because she thinks we deserve each other.

I resigned myself to seeing Lee at Christmas,
Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, every birthday celebration, most
family parties and barbeques, over at Hank’s when we’re watching a
game and the like (unfortunately, this means I see Lee a lot).
Usually, there are always enough other people around to run
interference.

If, on the odd occasion that he’s at his
parents’ house for dinner (these days it’s less odd and more like
Kitty Sue is getting a bit desperate and becoming far more obvious
at playing matchmaker) and I’m also invited, I make my excuses
(mostly lies) and leave as fast as my boots will take me. This
usually pisses off Ally and Kitty Sue but
they
hadn’t thrown
themselves at the guy for over a decade and been rebuffed
repeatedly and then had to live the rest of their lives seeing that
guy at dinner and on holidays. It’s mortifying, let me tell
you.

Not to mention, Lee went from Bad Boy to
Badass in half a decade. By the end of that decade he was Badass
Extraordinaire. You didn’t mess with Lee. I may have been a bit of
a wild child, but I knew enough about playing with fire and getting
burned and Lee Nightingale had gone from a bonfire to a towering
fucking inferno in ten years.

Don’t get me wrong, Liam Nightingale still
has killer good looks only slightly marred by a small, crescent
moon scar under his left eye. He also still has a killer bod that
looks great in jeans, great in sweats, great in suits, great in
anything. He also still has a killer smile on the odd occasions he
flashes it. And finally, he also still likes women with lots of
T&A and lots of hair (and I was still a woman just like
that).

But he’s also dangerous.

I don’t know how to explain this, he just is,
trust me.

* * * * *

These days, I still go to rock concerts. I
still listen to music way too loud. I still wear my red hair long
and wild in a tangle of waves that fall in a deep V down my back. I
still have some serious T&A. Let’s just say, my body is my gift
and my curse. A body like mine isn’t difficult to maintain, just
feed it loads of crap to keep the curves but keep in shape because
you’ve got to lug it around everywhere.