Cocky Cop: Cocker Brothers - Book 23 Read online

  Dipping my chin with respect I greet her, “Chief.”

  She doesn’t bother lowering her voice. “Do everyone a favor and leave my female officers alone.”

  Snickers spread throughout the desk-sitters.

  My glint is amused despite how I feel inside. Never let ‘em see you sweat. “Deputy Linguardo asked to see me. My intentions were nothing but professional.”

  Unconvinced, Chief sneers, “Keep it that way,” turning on her shined boot-heel, vanishing down a hall postered with notorious criminals.

  Why the fuck does Chief think I’m a bad guy? Those are the bad guys!

  I’ve kept my nose clean for the two weeks since she read me the riot act about that fan-group. She hasn’t noticed. I’m starting to think she might transfer me regardless of what I do, if she can’t find a reason to fire me.

  New partner.

  New beat.

  Washington calls out, “You ready?” as he exits the bathroom. “I’m ten pounds lighter. Let’s do this.”

  A few cops laugh, his grin growing at the comment’s success. I follow him outside. We both look up at dark storm clouds, the wind so thick it makes us squint all the way to our patrol car. This morning it was blue skies and butterflies.

  I’m still irritated by Fiore as I note, “Came hard and fast.”

  Washington chuckles, “You make the jokes too easy.” His dark eyes gauge an angry sky. “I love driving in this shit.”

  “I’m driving.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  We flip around at the sound of my name being shouted over the wind, at Lyne hurrying up, curly hair whipping around. She slides her fingers into it over her forehead, clearing her vision as she stops in front of me. “I’m sorry about that back there.”

  “It’s not your battle.”

  Regret clouds her pretty eyes. “I know how much she rides you. I shouldn’t have called you over to me. It was like throwing a steak outside a lion’s cage when the latch is unlocked. It won’t happen again, Wy. I just saw you walking through the station looking like you look. Remembered our weekend last month…and had to say hello.”

  A sideways grin tugs at me. “Nothing wrong with saying hi.” My hand wants to touch her arm. “I’ll call you later.”

  “I’ll keep my attitude pro here from now on, Wy, I promise.”

  “Better call me Cocker then,” I smirk, glancing beyond her because I’m half-expecting Fiore holding a set of binoculars and a ruler to crack against my fingers.

  Lyne and I turn in opposite directions. Our connection breaks.

  I shut the driver’s door, mutter, “We take it for granted,” my seatbelt locking into place.

  “We take what for granted?” Washington asks, adjusting his weight to get comfortable.

  “How people make us feel. The human connection. We take that for granted.”

  “I doubt you took Lyne for granted,” he says, glancing back to the austere building that’s our second home as we turn onto the street. “How many times you two hook up?”

  I shrug a shoulder. “Couple. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean all of us. There’s something going on with this whole life thing. Something we don’t understand.”

  He eyeballs me. “Don’t do this shit to me before coffee.”

  It’s just a few blocks before the downpour is impressive. Washington leans toward the windshield, grumbling, “I don’t care about the energy of people.”

  “Did I say energy?” I cock an eyebrow.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t think I did. I think you said it because you’ve felt it, too. I think you’re getting what I’m throwing down.”

  “Focus on the road.”

  “Thought you were going to drive.”

  His smile spreads. “Like I said, I need my coffee.”

  “You mean you forgot we argued about it?”

  He jogs his thumb back. “You call that an argument? It was two sentences. Then Lyne practically stroked your cock in front of me.”

  A tremor of thunder makes us both silent.

  As it disappears I ask, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  He nods. “Hurricane coming.”

  “Coffee has to wait.” I turn the wheel, my mission: Piedmont Park.

  We know the drill.

  When I get to Monroe, I turn left. Washington and I have our eyes peeled for anyone who needs a hand. We pass Grady High School, quiet across from an emptying parking lot of the very popular Trader Joes. People are running to their cars, some huddled under awnings in a debate over whether or not they should even try to carry paper bags knowing they will surely break. Wait it out?

  I think they should go for it, but I’m me.

  “Don’t see any stragglers at the school,” I mutter, eyeing Grady High School.

  “Teachers have the kids inside.

  “P.E. will be gym-day today.”

  “Remember the Academy, Wyatt?”

  He and I lock eyes before I turn left on 10th Street so we can check out the park — two football fields-long with a path people jog daily. “Do I remember it? How could I forget? I became a man that day.”

  “We were the only ones to stay out there in that miserable storm, training!”

  With a huge grin I remind him, “Rodrigo was there, too, don’t forget him.”

  The bellowing laugh I never get tired of explodes, so deep and loud it could take the windows out, if this approaching hurricane doesn’t beat him to it. “Rodrigo hanging out in that tree! Does that count?”

  My fists are clenched around a wheel that fights back as I crack up. “There we were, running the obstacle course despite the fact that they cancelled training, just to show we could!”

  “Fearing that the worst was yet to come!”

  “You and I drenched, just a fucking mess, sticking with it, laughing our asses off. And where do we see Rodrigo? Up that tree! Shaking like a kid! I nearly peed myself.”

  “Nobody would’ve known if you had!”

  Chapter 7

  Diana

  Yanking on sneakers, I give myself a motivational speech with zero enthusiasm, “I promised myself I would jog every morning, so I am jogging every morning.”

  Somehow it still works.

  I feel more conviction.

  So I keep going.

  “It doesn’t matter that I’m tired. It doesn’t matter that I’m tired. It doesn’t matter that I’m tired. It doesn’t matter that my bed is warm and cozy and wants me in it.” Twisting black shoelaces into a bow, I pause, take a determined breath. “If I stay in bed I’ll have to start my thirty-day commitment over from the beginning! Again.”

  My roommate’s bedroom door opens and she walks into the hall, stylish in a white suit and matching heels. “What are you doing?”

  Bouncing to a standing position, I stomp my sneakers into place. “Preparing to run an Ironman, Lita, what does it look like I’m doing?”

  Crossing her arms with an amused eyebrow lift, she reminds me, “An Ironman isn’t just a run.”

  “Ya gotta start somewhere.” I head for the door. “I’ve got a date with Eddie tonight.”

  She cocks her head, newly extended eyelashes making her expression cartoonishly surprised. “You’re kidding. Since when?”

  “Someone suggested I give him another shot.”

  “Who suggested that?”

  “One of the women at Silver Linings.”

  Lita throws up her hand. “So?! Did she know Eddie?”

  Laughing under my breath I admit, “No, but why are you so appalled? He wasn’t a bad guy.”

  “He wasn’t bad. He was boring. Which is a waste of your time.”

  Getting the blood pumping in my legs by stretching, I counter, “Maybe he was boring because I wasn’t ready.”

  “If you think he’s suddenly more interesting now than he was then, fine. Give it a shot. But people don’t change.”

  I call after her as she heads to the bathroom. “Yes, they
do. That’s a myth we need to stop perpetuating.”

  “It’s not!”

  “Yeah, it really is. Look at me. Was I jogging last year?”

  She suspiciously asks, “Are you really training for an ironman?”

  “Of course not!” I snatch my keys from the accent table. “It’s my day off. Getting out there when I could be in bed is a huge win. And I’ve been doing this almost every morning, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I hadn’t.” Right before I shut our door, Lita shouts, “I’m proud of you, Diana!”

  A small smile tugs at the cherub-shaped lips I inherited from my mother, proud of myself, too.

  We are lucky enough to share one half of a duplex, a craftsman-style home that was converted years ago. Somehow we never see our neighbors so it feels like we have a real house all our own. Even though we rent. Still, it’s a great setup.

  And so pretty!

  Dogwood trees line our street in Virginia Highlands, what I believe to be the best neighborhood. It’s the two Qs I told her were mandatory during our search for a home — quaint and quiet.

  As I jog down creaky wooden steps, my gaze cuts up toward a not uncommon sight — storm clouds. But this is Georgia. The sky could be clear blue when you walk into a store and by the time you get out, everything’s wet except you.

  The old me, circa two weeks ago, would’ve spun back around, used puffy charcoal warnings as an excuse to get snuggly with my pillow for just one more hour. Or two, since it’s my day off. Maybe three hours if I were decadently lazy.

  But not this morning.

  Nope!

  I mutter a supportive, “I made it outside, and I am not turning around now! No no no no no.”

  Rubber makes a you-can-do-it slap as I jump off the last step and break into a steady run, uneven pavement an obstacle course from tree roots pushing years of determination up.

  “Morning!” I call up to a man who’s walking an excited corgi on a red leash.

  “Good morning,” he smiles, his beard pointing toward the sky. “Storm’s coming.”

  I ignore the urge to glance up, but not the urge to stop and pet his dog. I’m a sucker for animals. This is not me procrastinating. It’s not!

  Noticing a pink collar glittering with rhinestones, I ask him, “What’s her name?”

  “Scooter,” he chuckles apologetically. “We thought it was a boy.”

  “Couldn’t you tell?”

  “The listing said she was a boy. Typo.” His eyes rest on her as he shrugs. “My wife was set on the name.”

  “It’s cute just like her.” Rubbing soft ears as golden as yesterday’s sun, I murmur, “You’re such a pretty girl, aren’t you? Yes you are.” Leaving behind this face isn’t easy, but you can do it, Diana! I resolve to continue my mission, and salute as I leave. “Have a great day.”

  He calls to my back, “Raindrops now. Looks like this one might get bad.”

  I throw my arm up in a wave that I don’t look back for.

  Chapter 8

  Wyatt

  Washington leans to peer out the windshield. “This is bad. Try the main park. I’ll call it in that we got this.”

  “You worried someone would scope our beat?”

  He shrugs, “Doesn’t hurt to let Chief know we’re on it.”

  “Jeezus, we’re getting paranoid.”

  I turn right into the entrance to Piedmont Park that’s reserved for county cars. Our thoughts are on the homeless. Some might be here, didn’t know what was coming for them. We have to search for them.

  Washington confidently tells Dispatch our location and reassures them, “We were made for this.”

  Voice scratchy from a bad signal, Dispatch returns, “Watch yourselves out there.”

  I raise my hip to give Washington access to my pocket. “Call my brother for me.”

  He digs out my phone and hits the password only he knows, besides me. If anything were to happen to either of us, the other would need access to phone numbers, make calls to our families.

  “Hey Nathan, it’s Asante. I’m calling for Wyatt. No, no, he’s good. Just driving in this mess. Here. Putting you on speaker.”

  My brother’s voice fills the car. “Wy! Where you at?”

  “Piedmont Park! Heading in. How ‘bout you?”

  “We’re rescuing cats and dogs. A couple calls came in for some bicyclists stuck in West Midtown, but another firetruck covered it.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “My arms will be slashed up pretty good by the end of this. Cats aren’t a grateful species.”

  “You take care out there.”

  “You too, Wy. Love you man.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Washington hangs up and sets my phone between our seats, staring out his window. Under his breath he mutters, “I’ve gotta tell my brother I love him one of these days.”

  My head is in the game now. I drive by the hill tennis courts live on, and turn right. A deserted public swimming pool on our left. Finally we arrive at the kid’s playground where swings are flapping like crazy and sand slices the air.

  “Ready?”

  “You have to ask?”

  We throw open our doors and break into a run, heading right and blocking our eyes from flying sand. A path outlines the lake’s perimeter. Large bushes could be a refuge, and benches spread throughout. We search while fighting violent winds, rain that all but blinds us, drenched to the bone. We shout for anyone stuck out here. Circle the entire lake, uniform sticking to every crevice in my body.

  Over the storm I shout, “Nobody here!”

  He blinks to see me, shouting, “Let’s head back!”

  The wind shifts and a pained quacking reaches our ears. We exchange a look and stomp puddles the size of kiddie-pools to a thick hedge bent by the storm.

  I ask him, “Ducks don’t have a problem with rain, right?”

  He shrugs, “How the hell should I know?!”

  We pull back a section, and squint at a light brown, female Mallard crying out. With her are six little ducklings.

  Washington peers over as I point out, “She’s hurt!”

  He frowns, confused, “The storm do that?!”

  “Maybe a car. Don’t think even these winds could do that.”

  He stares. “We have something in the trunk to hold ‘em?”

  I think about it, and shake my head. “The back seat is all we’ve got.”

  “How do we carry all these li’l guys?”

  Without hesitation, I unbutton my uniform shirt and loosen the tucked-in section so it balloons enough to hold ducklings. Washington does the same, face wary. “I’m afraid of squishing them. This is so clingy,” he points to the soaked fabric, “will they suffocate?!”

  “Just keep pulling it away from your skin so they have air. It’s not that far to the car!”

  We take three each.

  Last is momma.

  I gingerly lift her as her babies squirm against my chest. “She’s not coming without a fight.”

  He tells her, “You wanted us to save your family! Now just calm down. We’ll get you out of here.”

  “That helped.” It didn’t. Cradling the poor, crushed-wing and crushed-foot duck, I gingerly pin her so she can’t flap around anymore. “Don’t want to drop you,” I murmur as if she can understand English.

  Wash and I bend our bodies to get back as fast as possible. It’s a battle. He’s taller than I am so my partner leads the way to give momma and I some cover — a fool’s hope.

  The wind picks up and he shouts, “Let’s move!”

  “I can’t run with her!”

  Water streams downs his face as he looks back, nods, resigned, and we continue trudging against biting gusts.

  A twelve-foot long tree branch cracks and falls just behind me. Don’t have time to react. We’ve got to get inside.

  “Keys!” Washington shouts, and I can barely hear him.

  “In my pocket!” I yell back. “Grab ‘em!”
/>   His teeth flash for some levity. “Second time I’ve been in your pants today. Boy, are you easy!”

  I laugh, drinking in rain as it obliterates everything but our spirits. Washington digs for our keys. I do a couple of left-hip-thrusts. We’re grinning our asses off and somehow he manages to open the back door and tucks his three ducklings inside. Reaching for mine next while I hold out Momma, we silently agree that I should hang onto her until we get to the station. He slams the back door and runs around to get in.

  My passenger door threatens the life of its hinge as I open it. He didn’t think to get my door because, well, I’m me. So I swear under my breath and battle with one hand while my other arm is wrapped around my poor injured duck. She’s not trying to escape anymore, probably in shock now.

  Like I know anything about birds!

  As soon as I get us safely in, I lock the door and mutter to my drenched partner. “Great day for a BBQ. Let’s have one.”

  He chuckles, “I’ll bring the beer and burgers. You put up a canopy.”

  “It’d survive a whole minute.”

  “Good news? Chief might like you now that you’re a hero.”

  “She’ll probably say we did this so I could get laid.” My gaze falls to the wet and silent brown creature on my lap, water dripping from my eyelashes and chin onto her head. “Think she’s gonna make it?”

  “I don’t know,” he admits, putting the car in drive and heading out of Piedmont Park. “But her ducklings will. That’s all she cares about.”

  Chapter 9

  Diana

  Increasing to a nice clip that I intend to sustain for about a mile or so — in my dreams — I navigate uneven yet familiar paths.

  The wind lifts my ponytail and I shake my head with stubborn determination to ignore that. Drops of rain I ignore, too.

  Forcing my gaze straight ahead I pant, “I promised myself I would jog every morning and that is what I’m gonna do!”

  So I get a little wet.

  Okay, a lot wet.

  This will blow over.

  I’ve seen worse.

  Sure I wasn’t running in it, but I have seen worse.

  Whoa.