Don't Call Me Hero (22 page)

“I suppose it’s probably public information under the Freedom of Information Act. You should be able to track down the serial number on each radio and see where it ended up.”

I shook my head in wonder. “How do you know all of this stuff?”

“It’s my job, Miss Miller. Now, I suggest you go do yours.”

+ + +

David had to use the squad car later that afternoon, so I drove my motorcycle to neighboring Babbitt to meet with their chief of police. Babbitt was a veritable metropolis compared to Embarrass. The police force was more than double the size of our own, and they boasted two stoplights and multiple fast food restaurants.

There was a fierce rivalry between the police departments of Minneapolis and St. Paul, so I was curious what it would be like with Babbitt’s local force. Their chief of police was a tall, rangy man with an impressive mustache and a square haircut that made him look a little like Frankenstein’s monster. I had called ahead to schedule a meeting with him, and a pretty secretary ushered me to his office when I arrived at the station that afternoon.

“It’s nice to meet you, Detective Miller.”

“Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice, Chief Plankton.” A phone call to the neighboring police department might have worked, but a face-to-face visit was preferable. The other chief might not share departmental details with me over the phone without seeing my credentials.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, settling down in a chair behind his desk.

I sat down in my own chair and crossed my legs. “Your department received ten car radios from an OEC grant with Embarrass and several other departments, is that correct?”

“That’s right. Your chief, Larry Hart, made us aware of an available federal grant through the Office of Emergency Communications. All we had to do was raise half the money for our share of the radios and the grant took care of the rest.”

“Do you remember how he contacted you? Was it face-to-face? Over the phone? E-mail?” I wondered if someone would have been able to pretend they were the Chief.

“I think it was a mass e-mail to just about every chief in the area.”

“You wouldn’t happen to still have that message?” I asked.

“Probably not. After we received the radios, I wouldn’t have had a reason to keep it, and our e-mail client empties the trash can after ninety days.”

“What else can you tell me about the grant?” I asked.

The chief sucked on his front teeth. “Well, it was part of a post-9/11 initiative for interoperable communications.”

“Interoperable communications?” I could barely get my mouth around the phrase.

“It lets all the emergency responders talk to each other.”

I nodded. “And you needed the new radios?”

“Something fierce,” he confirmed. “We’re all small departments around here, but having the ability to communicate simultaneously with our fire and ambulance crews has been a great efficiency.”

“Sounds like everybody won,” I noted.

The chief made a humming noise of agreement. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Larry ends up getting Chief of the Year from the MCPA because of it. You’ve got a good man over there, Detective.”

The rest of our conversation was filled with idle chat about the area and how I was liking my job so far. Chief Plankton had no new or helpful information for me.

As I mounted my bike and headed back to Embarrass I was ashamed of the disappointment I felt that the investigation had reached another dead end. The radios were there, and they’d been purchased with a legit federal grant. Having this case had given me a purpose or at least justification for being in Embarrass. But now I was back to routine traffic stops and settling bar disputes. This was hardly the life I’d imagined for myself when I’d enrolled in the police academy.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was a clear night—beautiful actually—the perfect evening for fireworks. It took some convincing, but Chief Hart gave me the Fourth of July off. At first he’d denied my request, but he must have realized the reason behind me asking, because he changed his mind in the same breath. I tried to manage my triggers, and paramount among them was bright flashes of lights and the sounds of explosions. The night of the Fourth, I drove out of Embarrass and into the country to avoid aggravating my mental injuries.

I found myself taking the route to Julia’s house just outside the city limits. The lights in her mansion were all off, but her car was out front in the circular driveway, so I knew she couldn’t have strayed too far. It was too dark for gardening, so I knocked on the front door.

“Detective Miller.” She looked beyond me and saw my bike parked outside. “Not working tonight?”

I didn’t feel like talking. I just needed something to distract me—to help me forget.

I stepped her backwards into the house and shut the door with the help of my booted foot. She made no comment about my footwear or the possible scuff I’d probably left on the painted door with the inelegant action.

I flicked the top button of her blouse open and kissed at the bare skin that had been hidden there. My mouth left the area wet and slightly flushed, but not enough to leave a mark that would show up the next day. My intuition told me I’d be facing the city attorney’s wrath if I’d done that.

I focused my attention on the next pearly white button and freed it from its strangling noose. More pale, olive-toned skin appeared beneath the white button-up. The beige bra was a letdown compared to some of the other undergarments I’d seen her in, but it couldn’t detract from the pert flesh that I knew resided beneath the conservative garment.

I slid my hand beneath the soft cream blouse, but she stopped me, wrapping her fingers around my wrist. “Upstairs,” she murmured.

I’d always thought you can tell a lot about a person from the way their bedroom looked. Julia’s room was exactly as I expected. Everything had its place. Unlike my own studio, there was no dirty laundry on the floor, no bras hanging from anything that might serve as a hook, no stray socks whose partner had mysteriously vanished.

The furniture was uniformly dark and oversized, including the king-sized bed in the center of the room. I fell backwards onto said bed when the backs of my knees met the mattress edge. Julia placed her palm in the center of my chest and pushed me onto my back.

She shrugged out of her suit jacket and draped it over the edge of a high-backed chair in front of her vanity dresser. Next, she worked down the side zipper of an impossibly fitted skirt. The garment fell down her legs like a magician unveiling a metamorphosis illusion. She stepped out of the skirt and out of shiny black high heels.

From my place on the bed, I watched it all with mounting anticipation. Not satisfied being a passive onlooker, I inched myself to the edge of the bed and fumbled only briefly with the remaining small buttons of the sleeveless shell that had hidden beneath the tailored suit jacket.

With the buttons out of the way I was afforded an eyelevel view of Julia’s bra and the flat plane of her abdomen. I slid my hands beneath the open-hanging sleeveless shirt, avoiding the delectably rounded breasts the first pass, and up to smooth shoulders to completely remove the silk shell. Mindful that the shirt probably cost more than my living stipend, I layered it on top of her suit jacket despite the urge to ball it up and fling it across the room.

My hands glided up the soft swell of a round ass to settle in the small of Julia’s back. I pulled her closer and she obliged. I pressed my face into the space between her precariously contained breasts. I inhaled the delicate perfume and the unmistakable scent of her arousal. She smelled spicy like sandalwood and cinnamon.

Julia inched closer until she stood straddling my thighs between her own. Her knees sunk into the mattress as she settled more comfortably on my lap. I raked my fingernails down the tops of her naked thighs.

I palmed twin breasts, not much more than a handful, that sat high and proud on her chest. I teased her nipples through the sheer material, coaxing stiff peaks to meet their potential.

I wrapped my arms around her waist, and in one fluid motion that exhibited my core strength, I lifted her from my lap and planted her back onto the mattress.

She released a soft, surprised gasp—the first sound emitted since the invitation upstairs. I couldn’t recall having enjoyed shedding a woman’s undergarments so much so. My fingers toyed only momentarily with the elastic waistband of her underwear before curling beneath. The lacy undergarment felt delicate beneath my slightly shaking hands. I was going to see Julia Desjardin completely naked. It was a sobering thought. When she arched her delectable backside off the mattress, it was the only encouragement I needed to slide the flimsy panties down her jutting hipbones and down her long, long legs. I resisted the urge to immediately taste her, exhibiting an ungainly amount of self-control.

When Julia sat up in bed to unfasten her bra, I placed my hands on top of hers. “Stop.”

She arched a questioning eyebrow.

“I want to do it,” I clarified.

I could hear the slight intake of breath before she nodded. I reached behind her; my hands slid along smooth skin until I felt the bra clasp. I unfastened the garment so it was only held up by the shoulder straps. I scooted a little closer on the bed so I could kiss along the tops of her toned shoulders. My suddenly steady hands slipped the two straps down her shoulders and off her slender arms, until the bra fell away, rendering her completely naked.

Her fingers curled around my wrist, and she dragged my hand down to cup her sex. We both groaned at the contact, and I gave her clit a rough rub. Her breath puffed out in an uneven exhale, and her eyes rolled closed.

Julia had not made a motion to remove any of my clothing. She had only stood in place, eyes lightly lidded and lipsticked mouth parted. It was then that I realized something: Julia Desjardin was a pillow princess.

I brought my hand away from her sex and back up to her breasts, leaving the one spot we both wanted me to linger. I walked my fingers over the exposed swell of her chest. I dipped lower and dragged my fingernail across a puckered nipple. I teased and toyed with the tender skin, but made no move to go elsewhere. I refused to do anything more than stroke my hand across her skin and kiss her, tongues teasing.

Her fingers clamped around my wrist for a second time. “Don’t play games with me, dear.” Dark eyes flashed in annoyance. “I always win.”

“Maybe I don’t mind losing.”

Julia let her head fall back, affording me better access to her neck and collarbone. Her nostrils flared, her breathing sounded labored, and yet I had barely touched her.

I breathed in the woman perched on the bed from her raven dark hair, slightly mussed and falling across her forehead, and admired the slender, taunt body that seemed to defy age and gravity. I took my time, kissing the olive skin of her naked breasts, rotating from one breast to the other. I took a pebbled nipple into my mouth and flicked at the sensitive nub with the tip of my tongue.

I heard her quiet hiss. “Lower,” she urged.

“I’m feeling a little overdressed,” I murmured against her skin.

Julia was not an obtuse woman; I didn’t have to provide her with a second hint before she quickly shed me of my clothes.

She pressed her fingers against my sternum. “Lay down.”

“You’re awfully big on giving me commands,” I observed with a wry smile.

“Are you going to put up a fight?”

“Not until you tell me to do something I didn’t already want to do,” I said, meeting Julia’s challenge with one of my own.

“Roll over.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Do you want an orgasm, Miss Miller?” she clipped.

I barked out a laugh. “Good enough for me.”

With some effort, I heaved myself off the far too comfortable mattress and rolled onto my stomach. I heard the sharp intake of air, and I realized what she’d discovered. Sometimes I forgot myself.

There was a noticeable pause before her fingers lightly dusted over the marbled scars she found on my back. I bit back a sob. No one except the doctors had touched them before. I even forgot about them sometimes since they were on my back. But the nightmares never let me forget completely.

She didn’t ask me about the scars, but I knew her curious mind wanted to know the story behind them. There were more, less obvious and unseen, but I wasn’t about to cry to this woman about what seeing my buddies being blown up to bits had done to my head, or how I re-lived that moment, night after night, re-witnessing the contorted looks of agony on their faces. Not all stories needed to be told. Part of moving to Embarrass had been to get off desk duty, but it had also been a new start overall. I couldn’t handle one more sympathetic stare. I wanted to just be Cassidy Miller, city cop. Not Cassidy Miller, broken veteran.