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No one sees me. If anything, they notice the cruiser. That’s it.
As a cop, most people glance my way, then quickly find something else to occupy their attention. Is it because they’re guilty? In my experience, yeah. Nearly everyone’s done something they don’t want a cop to know about.
Even my precious angel isn’t as innocent as she seems…
If anything, that makes me want her more.
She doesn’t deserve to be stalked and hunted; at least, not by anyone other than me. I only have her safety in mind. The gangly, early twenty-something kid with the knife nervously tucked between his fingers… he just wants the deposit bag Angela has stowed in her purse.
My headlights reflect off of the blade. I was already watching closely when the kid closed the gap between an oblivious Angela and his awkward gait. When his gaze darts around, I recognize him as a local junkie. He goes by the name of Brick, probably because his head’s as thick as one.
He thinks he can hurt my angel. He’s gotta be a fucking moron to try.
I’m already halfway out of the cruiser when he lunges for her.
Until the day I die, I’ll never forget the terror in her scream as Brick goes for the purse strap hanging on her shoulder with one hand. With the other, he waves the knife wildly.
That was his mistake. He cuts my angel. It might’ve been a tiny nick on the side of her throat, but when she cries out, hand raising to the spot, I already was picking out a spot in the woods behind my cabin to bury him. Then I saw the blood on her fingertips as she pulled her hand away, and that seals it.
She freezes. I’m not surprised. With her past, being attacked out on the street for a couple of hundred bucks wouldn’t turn her into a fighter. Oh, no. She’s easy prey.
She’s mine.
Poor Brick. Dumb fuck doesn’t even know he’s dead. Standing there, a complete fool, he’s trying to tug the purse off her stiff shoulder. Blood trickles down her neck, illuminated by the moonlight. I have half a mind to draw my weapon now, only I’d never forgive myself if I hit my angel.
The cuffs on my belt jangle. My shoes thud against the ground as I run toward him. At the same time, one of the doors to a still-open shop flings open. I recognize him. Dean Willows is an actual nice guy who owns this hobby shop next to the bank. Another local small business owner, not only does he recognize this is a robbery in process, but he knows Angela, too.
And me.
Fuck.
“Officer Burns? Angela? What’s going on?”
I’d put money down that it’s the ‘officer’ part that catches Brick’s attention.
Swiveling his head, He takes one look at me, and tosses the knife on the ground. His hands free, he shoves Angela away from him, then bolts down the street.
No weapon. Damn it. How can I use deadly force when witnesses saw him toss his weapon?
I don’t know. Hell if I’m going to let him get away from me, though.
Angela stumbled for. For my own sanity, I take a second to steady her. Breathing in her scent—like flowers, fuck, she smellsamazing—I squeeze her to me. She’s okay. A little shaken up. More bloody than I’d like… but she’s okay.
Brick won’t be.
Dean rushes over to us. “Watch her,” I bark at him, then pass Angela off to him.
I’d rather not. If I had a partner or backup tonight, I would’ve stayed with her. Since it’s just me right now, I have to go after the would-be robber.
And when I’m forced to just tackle him before cuffing him, I promise that that’s only the beginning for him.
He won’t get away with harming my angel. Not if I have anything to do about it.
* * *
I becamea cop because of everything it could do for me. But because I’m not that much of a sociopath, I do believe in justice. So what if it’s my own brand of it? As far as I’m concerned, you do the crime, you do the time. You gotta pay for your wrongdoings, and if I have to, I’ll be the one to make sure of it.
He scared her. He scared Angela.
