Taming Johnny (8 page)

After grabbing her keys and purse, she headed out the door. The evening was warm, but as she settled into her little Jetta, chills ran down her back. The anticipation of spending several hours sitting right next to Johnny was almost as good as the memory of their night together.
Almost.

With butterflies in her stomach, Emma drove the fifteen minutes to the PD, where she was to meet Johnny in the back parking lot. When she pulled in, he was walking around his glossy black cruiser, checking the lights, and looking so hot in his uniform she had to make a conscious effort not to stare.

“Hey,” she said, climbing out of her car.

“Beaumont.” He nodded. “You’re looking official tonight.”

“Thank you.”

Motioning toward the cruiser, he continued looking over the lights which were flashing a vivid red and blue. “Get in. It’ll be just a minute.”

She did as she was told and sank into the passenger’s seat, closing the heavy door behind her. The car was as sexy as Johnny. It boasted an impressive black dashboard, with too many bells and whistles to count. The mobile computer next to the driver’s seat was glowing bright blue, showing all the details of the last address the lieutenant had been to. A rifle hung behind her on the thick Plexiglas window, and the distinct smell of leather, equipment, and man was making her heady.

Johnny walked around the front of the cruiser and her eyes followed, taking him in. He turned to say something to another officer who was walking by and Emma’s gaze fell to where his duty belt hugged his trim, athletic waist. And then to his butt, where his uniform pants hugged everything else.

He turned and caught her staring. Blushing, she looked down at her slacks and brushed away some imaginary lint.

“All ready?” he said, climbing in beside her, his elbow brushing hers. It was warm and rough, and just that brief touch of his skin on hers was enough to make her heat between the legs. Her face was so hot, she was sure it was beet red, an unfortunate characteristic of all the Beaumont women.

“Yup.”

The radio was turned down low, the voice of the dispatcher coming through calm and business-like over the occasional static.

“Forgetting something?” Johnny asked.

She turned, trying her hardest not to be undone by the early evening light playing across his face. “Mmm?”

Leaning forward, his gaze dropped to her mouth, his leather duty belt creaking softly. He was clean shaven, with only a hint of dark blond stubble peppering his jaw. Emma jammed her teeth together to keep them from chattering. The muscles in her stomach contracted as she squeezed her hands into fists.

With only a few inches left between them, he reached across, his arm brushing her breast. She sucked in a breath and held it.
Oh my God.

His eyes locked onto hers, and she was immediately, hopelessly lost in them.

“Your seatbelt,” he said, bringing it across her chest and clicking it at her hip.

She let out a breath as he leaned back, grinning.

“What’s the matter, Beaumont? Nervous?”

It was so unusual to see him smile at anything that she forgot for a second that she should probably be annoyed. It was devastating. A long, deep dimple cut into each cheek and she honestly couldn’t remember ever having seen them until now.

She adjusted her seatbelt as if it were a skydiving harness and she was about to jump. “Why would I be nervous, Lieutenant?”

“What happened to Johnny?”

Her face, which had been hot before, now caught fire. He was making her squirm. And he was enjoying every second of it.

“Can we just go now, please?”

“Affirmative.” He maneuvered the powerful car out of the parking lot just a little too fast and with the ease of a man who drove for a living. “Where to first?”

“I have a choice?”

“Sure. As long as it’s in our jurisdiction.”

Emma grinned. This was definitely going to be more fun than riding with Hank King and his breakfast burrito. “How about the lower East side?”

“You sure?”

Their suburban Texas town wasn’t huge, but it was on the outskirts of Dallas, and the lower East side had a reputation for drug pushers and thugs. Emma had typed several reports just in the last month where the cases had originated there. She made it a point never to pass through by herself, but right now sitting next to Johnny, she felt as safe as she ever had.

“Positive.”

“Well, well, well. Looks like we have an adventuress on our hands.”

“That’s me. All about the ride-along adventure,” she said.

“You’ve only been on one of these before?”

“Yeah. With Officer King.”

“Holy fuck. No wonder you’re ready for some adventure.”

She smiled, trying not to laugh.

“Be honest. Did he take you to McDonalds?”

“That’s not nice.”

“He did, didn’t he?”

“No.”

“No shit?”

“He took me to Wendy’s.”

There were those dimples again. She could hardly believe this was the same man. If she’d known she’d get this kind of glimpse in private, she would have had sex with him a long time ago.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

He slowed for a stoplight, the corded muscles in his forearms moving as he gripped the steering wheel. “You know, Beaumont, if you keep up this ‘living on the edge’ thing, we’ll have to get you your own vest. Can’t take you into these neighborhoods without one.”

“Why do I need a vest?” she said. “I have you.”

“You have me, huh?”

“Well, I did the other night.”

He turned, the look on his face mildly surprised. She smiled back, liking the way it felt to play with him. “It’s green,” she said, pointing to the traffic light.

They drove in silence for a while, the nice, manicured houses of the north side giving way to dilapidated rentals and weed infested apartment buildings the farther they got to the edge of town. Johnny’s solid presence a few inches away made Emma feel secure. Brave, in more ways than one.

“I’m curious about your time in the Army,” she said. “When did you enlist?” She’d always wanted to know his story, but had never dared a personal question until now. Despite their joking a few minutes ago, she knew she was risking a typical Lieutenant Street answer.

He looked over, guarded. “And you want to know because...”

“No reason. Just asking.”

“After high school.”

She plowed on. “After high school…and?”

“
And
what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe open up a little? Try having a normal conversation like a regular person.”

“I’m not a regular person.” He kept his eyes on the road. “And I’m not that interesting.”

That’s where you’re wrong, Lieutenant.
The scar at the corner of his eye wasn’t visible in the diminishing light of the evening, but she knew it was there. She wondered about it, wondered about him, and suddenly she was desperate for more.

“I think you’re very interesting.”

“Why?”

“Why not? You never talk about yourself. No one knows anything about you, even though you’ve been at the PD for several years. I know enough about cops now to recognize you’re a really good one. But no one knows how you got that way.” She shrugged. “You’re an interesting study, Lieutenant Street.”

“I don’t talk about myself because no one gives a shit,” he said, scowling. “And I’m curious why you suddenly would.”

“Suddenly?” He really had no idea how deeply she was drawn to him. No idea whatsoever.

“Yeah. Suddenly.”

Emma leaned her head against the rest and looked at the city lights in the distance. They were beautiful, winking like stars from their skyscraper windows.

After a minute, he spoke again, startling her from her thoughts. “I enlisted when I was eighteen.”

Looking over, she saw that his jaw was set, his eyes fixed on the road. “I was planning on being career Army. But I was ready to be done with it after a few tours in Iraq.”

She felt her mouth go slack.
A few tours?
“How many tours, exactly?”

“Three.”

It was the stuff
Time Magazine
articles were made of. He was a hero, someone who should have been thanked on a daily basis. And yet, he hadn’t said a single word until just now.

“That’s…amazing, Lieutenant.”

“Nothing amazing about it.” His tone was clipped, his expression hard.

The radio on the dash crackled. “Four Baker Eight?”

Johnny keyed the mic on his shoulder. “Four Baker Eight, go ahead.”

“Robbery in progress, three sixty-two South East River Front Avenue, Quick Stop Market. Suspect displaying a gun, caller is hiding in the bathroom. Three other units en route.”

“Copy that. En route, code three.”

“Copy.”

Johnny reached down and flipped on the lights and siren. Traffic immediately pulled over to let them pass as the car roared to life, eating up the pavement like a starved animal. Emma clutched the sides of her seat and gaped at the speedometer. Sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five. She must have looked a little sick, because Johnny glanced over and smiled.

“Still up to this, Beaumont?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Good.”

Three or four streets down, he slowed, the centrifugal force sending her shooting forward and the seatbelt biting into her neck. He hung a left and for a second she pictured the cruiser toppling onto its side and sliding into the ditch by the side of the road. But amazingly the tires gripped the pavement and they made the corner with nothing more than the slight whine of rubber on asphalt.

She was afraid to speak, let alone ask any questions. She’d heard the word “gun” and that about summed it up for her. Maybe she’d take him up on that vest after all.

The dispatcher spoke calmly through the radio and she tried in vain to make out what was happening through the numeric code they used. She got about half of it. Enough to wish she’d chosen another night to ride.

As they neared River Front Avenue, she could hear sirens wail in the distance. They were the first on scene. Johnny cued the mic on his shoulder. “Four Baker Eight.”

“Four Baker Eight, go ahead.”

“I have a civilian rider. I’ll be staging a block away.”

“Copy.”

Pulling the car up to the curb, Johnny shoved it into park and looked over at Emma. “You okay?”

She loosened her grasp on the seat and wiggled her numb fingers. “Just a little nervous, I guess.”

Reaching behind her, he retrieved the rifle hanging in the back window. “Don’t get out for any reason. None at all. Got it?”

She nodded.

“If you have to, you know how to use the radio. But everything will be fine.”

She nodded again.

“Hey.”

She felt her eyes bulging. “Huh?”

“Relax.”

He looked confident, formidable with the rifle in his hands. He also looked drop dead gorgeous. She summoned some confidence of her own. “Okay.”

Opening the door, he swung his legs out.

“Be careful,” she said.

Chapter 9

The minutes seemed to stretch on for hours, with Emma constantly craning her neck to try and catch a glimpse of what was going on inside the market. The radio was no good—the only thing coming from it was the emergency beacon, letting other officers know to hold their traffic until the officers on this call were clear.

Wiping her hopelessly sweaty palms on her slacks, she pictured Johnny as he jogged off down the sidewalk in the light of the streetlamps. He’d looked so in control, so unafraid. It made her wonder if he feared anything. A man who had completed three tours of duty in Iraq and made it through in one piece had to be hardwired with a certain amount of bravery. Or maybe it was just stupidity, a way of thumbing his nose at fate. She wasn’t sure yet.

Finally, after half an hour of waiting, Emma caught sight of him walking back toward the cruiser. He cued the mic on his shoulder. “Four Baker Eight,” she heard him say through the radio. “Code four.”

For the second time that night she sagged in her seat. No more ride-alongs. This was too much of a roller coaster. She’d leave the adventure to the lieutenant.

“Hey,” he said, opening the door. “You okay?”

“I’m okay. Are
you
okay?”

“I’m fine.” He gave her a slightly amused look, like he wasn’t used to being asked that particular question. “Turned out the gun wasn’t loaded. The guy was stoned out of his mind. County took him in. Made for an interesting evening. You?”

“Oh, I just sat here, afraid you were going to get your head blown off. Other than that, it was great.”

She leaned forward so he could hang the rifle back in the window.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Beaumont. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, of course you can take care of yourself. But there are some things that are out of your control.”

“Not much.”

Typical.
He was so cocky. “Don’t you believe in fate?” she asked. “Destiny?”

“As in, ‘I’m destined to get shot’?”

“No.” She frowned. “As in you’re destined to be in a certain place at a certain time. That people or circumstances are put in your path for a reason.”

Reaching for his seatbelt, he tugged it across his chest. “I believe in safety and training. I don’t believe we were meant to have specific things happen to us, no. We make our own destiny.”

As they pulled away, she studied the side of his face where the scar at the corner of his eye was just visible under the passing lights. If she were the sappy, romantic kind, she could very easily believe that Johnny Street managed to stay alive during all those tours in Iraq so that he could come back here and fall in love with her. It was a nice thought, comforting. But he believed he survived because he knew how to handle an assault rifle.

They drove around the outskirts of town for the next two hours, with the only other call being a 911 hang up. They talked, but not about anything in particular. Emma didn’t ask any more questions and Johnny didn’t volunteer. By the time they pulled back up to the PD, it was midnight and the end of the lieutenant’s shift. Emma stretched and rolled her neck.