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“Can’t answer what I don’t know, can I? I lose track with you boys. I took it that she didn’t want to make a fool of herself again, not a threat.”
I don’t like what I’m hearing. Alex, talking to the girls, showing up at our strip club. Why am I getting the feeling there’s more to her? The woman I met at the motel was strong-minded and power-driven. What high-flying cop at the peak of her career, would want to place herself in a town like Manitou Springs?
Jessie heads over to the bar, and despite the fact I know he’s looking for some space, I follow him.
“What ya thinking, VP?” I stand up beside him, resting my elbows against the bar and looking over at the table full of happy couples.
“I’m thinking; we need to keep a closer eye on the deputy,” he shares, looking thoughtful.
“You think she’s undercover? FBI? I don’t think we can handle another ATF officer.”
“Slow down, she’s probably just keen to prove herself. We just keep our ears to the ground and our noses clean,” Jessie tells me, slapping me on the back before heading over to rejoin the others.
Easier said than done…
“Luke Robinson?” I ask the preppy boy standing in front of me wearing his college sweater. He looks worried to see me on the doorstep, especially since it's getting late and his parents will probably be home from work any minute.
“Yeah, that's me,” he answers defensively. He’s pretty bust-up from what I can see. His arm is in a sling, and his lip busted open.
“You look like you’ve had some trouble?”
“Did it playing football,” he answers far too quickly.
“See, I assumed it had something to do with the incident that happened about a week ago,” I’m not playing his game, he must recognize me as the officer who arrested Squealer.
“Am I under arrest?” He rests his good shoulder against the door frame cockily.
“No, I just came to ask you a few questions about the men that did this to you.” I glance down at his arm.
“I got nothing to say,” he shakes his head, his bloodshot eyes a direct giveaway that he’s high. Perhaps he has enough on him for me to bust him. The Souls were, apparently, laying into him for dealing.
“That outta fear?” I challenge.
“No,” he laughs confidently, but I don’t believe him. I saw the way he ran away from them. I have also learned he’s the one who Nyx did time for assaulting. “What were you doing in Manitou Springs last Monday around three in the afternoon?”
“I was trying to score some weed if you must know, private use. I got an anxiety problem.”
The boy just told me three straight lies, thinking I’m here to arrest him.
“You could press charges for the assault,” I suggest, needing something that Roswell can’t sweep under his office door. A public charge would have to be investigated. I could at least pull Squealer in for an interview.
“That won’t be happening.” The boy's laugh doesn’t sound so confident anymore.
“Why not? Looks to me like you're gonna be off the field for a while. You don't wanna see the guy that did this to you get what he deserves?”
“I don’t hold onto grudges,” Luke tells me. “If that’ll be all?” He tries to smile, but it looks like it’s causing him some pain.
“That’s all for now,” I admit defeat, leaving the Robinson residence feeling a little deflated.
I’m driving down the highway back toward town when I see them coming up behind me. None of them are wearing helmets, and I can't even pull them for it in this state. One by one, they overtake me in the fast lane. Squealer makes sure he passes slowly, his head turning to make eye contact, and all I can think about is how his cock felt inside me. That painful throb as he stretched me. That night was a wild one. Shit had hit me hard, I’d had a huge argument with Dad about my new job, and I needed a distraction. Fucking Cody Harrison had been just what I needed, and it turns out he’s been a distraction ever since.
His hands are as dirty as his conscience. He’s the total opposite of what I should look for in a man, but something about him interests me and drives me in-fuckin-sane at the same time.
I pull up my patrol car outside the station and march inside, fed up of getting nowhere, and I almost knock the coffee clean out of Lucille’s hands.
“Whoa, slow down, sugar. What’s wrong with you?” she asks, placing the mug on the counter and taking her seat.
“Luke Robinson won’t press charges,” I blurt out. I’ve spent all day watching CCTV footage to find the person who had run away in the alley, and it’s all been for nothing.
