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“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m helping you clean up.” Squatting down, I pick up the remnants of one of the smaller rockets.
“You don’t have to. It’s my mess.” I add the debris to her bag. I’m standing just a breath away, looking down at her. She has to be somewhere around five feet, eight inches. She would fit perfectly under my six-foot, two-inch frame. With heels on, she would be an easy reach when I pressed her up against a wall.
Jesus. When did I become so focused on sex? This is one of the citizens I’m sworn to protect. She shouldn’t have to worry about protecting herself from me.
“I’m off duty with nowhere specific to go. I don’t mind.” That sounded pathetic. “Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?” Please stop talking. “Sorry, none of my business.”
Spinning around, I walk into the street. Fortunately, the streets are pretty quiet this time of night, or I would have stood a good chance of being run over. I didn’t even bother to check for cars. That’s probably on page one of the training manual. I squat back down the furthest from her I can get to gather trash.
“I brought you a bag,” she says next to me. I’m startled bad enough I rock down onto my knees and stick out a hand to prevent myself from falling the rest of the way.
I look up to where she’s holding out a bag to me. I press back up to my knees while taking the bag from her hands. The breeze sends a hint of roses but also orange and jasmine. Fuck me, does she also have to smell like a wet dream?
“Thanks.” I take the bag and try to focus on the task at hand. I can do this. I can focus on something other than how she smells. Or how her hair lifts off her long, supple neck every time the breeze blows. Or how good she’d look spread out in my bed.
“I think that about gets it,” Eliot says, taking my bag. “Thanks for your help.” She tosses the bags into her trunk and slams the lid closed. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
I hold the door open as she slides into the driver’s seat of her car. With a nod, I close it and watch her drive off. What did she mean? Does she want to see me again? Is she planning something else that I’ll have to charge her with next time? Am I acting like a teenage girl analyzing every possible meaning behind her words?
With a frustrated groan, I close my eyes. My face tips toward the sky. A laugh reaches me from the closest bar. Hopefully, no one witnessed that brilliant act of manhood on my part. No reason to make myself fodder for the local gossip engine.
I unfist my hands and move to my vehicle. Why didn’t I get her phone number? And then what? That feels like crossing a line.
I’ll just wait. There’s always a chance that she’ll do something else marginally against the law and fall into my lap. Poor choice of words. Now all I can visualize is her on my lap.
I drop my head to the steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn. I jerk my head back up and start the cruiser. There are only two things left to do tonight: a hot meal and a cold shower. Not necessarily in that order.
* * *
I keep my head down for the rest of the week. It takes all of my concentration to keep my mind off the crimson-haired beauty. I’ve been hired to do a job, and I’m bent on doing my best. Daydreaming won’t earn me any accolades from the sheriff, and I want to keep this job.
I was a city cop for the first twelve years of my career. I responded to murders, participated in drug raids, helped investigate kidnappings, and worked to end all kinds of other debauchery. When my personal life spiraled apart, I welcomed the chance to start again in the small town of Dansboro Crossing.
So far most of my call-outs involve rowdy teenagers, Saturday night bar fights, and at least one missing cat. It was far from the adrenaline rush of the city, but the people seemed to be decent and I don’t have to worry if I’ll make it home at night.
“Hey, Owen,” Cherylynn greets me, walking up to my desk. “We got a call that someone’s climbed the water tower again.”
“Do people do that often here?” I know about the water tower. It’s hard to miss it looming over the town covered in purple and white with the school’s mascot painted on it. It’s not often you see a cougar that size. And why is it purple when they’re normally tan?
At least it made more sense than the red and blue wampus cats in the next town over. I’m still trying to figure out what a wampus cat is. What’s wrong with a simple bear or lion?
“Occasionally. It’s usually just high school kids. Should I send the fire department?”
The fire department consisted of about twenty volunteers that have to come from their houses. I don’t think that this is worth dragging them out of their evening routines for.
“I’ve got it. I’ll call in when I see what the situation is if I need help.” I slide my arms into my jacket and grab my keys. The water tower stands on the outskirts of town about ten minutes from the sheriff’s office.
Pulling up to the bottom, I climb out of the SUV and look up. “Dispatch? I have the situation under control. No need for the fire department,” I radio in.
“Copy that. Be careful. It’s a long way to the top,” Cherylynn responds.
“Roger.” I hook my radio on my belt. I recognized the long, red hair blowing in the wind the moment I pulled up. Eliot is huddled on the top walkway. I can’t tell if she’s okay or not from the bottom. Since she’s not making any moves to climb down, I guess I’m going up.
I sling the strap of a small first-aid kit over my chest and begin to climb.
“Hey,” I say when I finally reach the top. “What are you doing up here?” I ease down the walkway until I’m squatting next to her. She’s obviously cold, so I take my jacket off and slide it around her shoulders. I make a visual assessment of her, but nothing seems wrong.
