“Look, I don’t have a lot of time, okay? I’m using someone else’s phone,” Worm said. “I was on my way to get you from the station when I made a quick stop around the corner.”

  “Stop where?” Jesse moved toward a bench that looked like a public bus stop and dropped down, unsure he could stand and take the bad news.

  “Let me finish,” Worm huffed. “I stopped to meet with a couple friends so I’d have some extra cash to help you out. And I got picked up by some narcs.”

  “Narcs?”

  “Yeah. The other guys took off… I didn’t. Well, I did, but I got caught and damn near decapitated by a detective in a bow tie.”

  Jesse’s head was starting to pound. “Worm, I swear to hell.”

  “I can’t really go into a lot of detail, okay? I don’t have that kind of time. I’m sorry I couldn’t call you yesterday, but they took my cell phone, and I couldn’t have contact with anyone. They allowed me one phone call, and I called my dad collect… but he didn’t answer,” Worm said sadly. “I’m so sorry, Jesse. But don’t worry, I’m gonna fix this and get out of here.”

  “Worm, were you selling drugs?” Jesse fumed, not believing what he was hearing.

  “Jesse,” Worm hissed. “I can’t talk right now.”

  “Okay.” Jesse’s leg bounced repeatedly. “So now what the hell?”

  “Where you been staying?”

  “Where do you think? I been walking around like a damn lost runaway.” Jesse sighed. He wasn’t even going to add to his friend’s stress by telling him he was almost mugged. “Maybe I should just call Aunt Sonya and beg her forgiveness and go back—”

  “No! No, please don’t, Jess. I’m so fucking sorry, but I can fix this. I swear. I was able to get you on my approved visitation list.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means just stay in a hotel for tonight and—”

  “I have less than fifty bucks.” Jesse rolled his eyes, though a steaming hot shower and a warm bed would sure do him good. He heard a deep voice in the background speaking before Worm came back on the line.

  “Jess. I have to go now. Come to the county jail on Peachtree at eight in the morning—that’s when visiting hours start—and I can talk to you then. I have a plan. I’m going to get out of here and help you just like I promised I would.”

  Jesse hated how vulnerable he was beginning to feel. He wasn’t an idiot. People didn’t get to just walk out of jail. “And how are you going to manage that?”

  “I don’t want to, but I think I’m gonna have to make a deal with God.”

  Jesse scoffed. “That’s your plan? To pray the crime away.”

  “Man, I wish I was talking religion.” Worm sighed. “But I’m talking about the God.”

  Jesse was silent. What the hell?

  “Just be here in the morning. And get off the streets tonight—it’s not safe for a sweet guy like you,” Worm said right before the line disconnected.

  Jesse quickly powered down his phone to save the few minutes he had left and sat on the bench with his head down. He was contemplating if he wanted to save his money in case Worm’s plan—that was nothing more than a riddle—fell through and he had to somehow get back to Winston-Salem, North Carolina, on a few dollars and hope.

  “I don’t think there’s a bus coming anytime soon, fella,” a male voice grumbled a few feet away, startling him so badly Jesse nearly fell off the bench.

  Jess hollered out, clutched his chest, then his bag that had lain forgotten at his feet. He hurried and picked it up in case he was going to need to run again.

  “What you got in the bag?”

  Jesse opened his mouth, but his “excuse me” was choked back as he got a good look at the man that was asking him questions. Jesse gaped at the police officer standing directly in front of him. Though it was dark, he was still able to see the man’s hard lines in his face and his uncanny Tom Selleck mustache.

  “Um, nothing. Sorry. I was just leaving.” He stood and hefted his bag, but the officer put one hand close to his weapon and the other outstretched toward Jesse’s chest. He halted and opened his arms. “Whoa. Hey. There’s nothing in here.”

  “You got nothing in a full duffle bag?” the officer asked nonchalantly. “Then do you mind if I take a look inside it?”

  Jesse frowned, not saying anything. What was with this city and luggage? Why the hell did it feel as if he was being targeted? If the officer had a right to search his bag, he wouldn’t have asked. “No. I don’t see why that’s necessary. I was sitting here on a public bench doing nothing.”

  “Are you okay?” a deep but soothing voice asked from further away, and Jesse was so out of sorts he hadn’t noticed the other officer at the bumper of the patrol car. “You seem a bit lost.”

  Jesse watched transfixed as the grumbly officer’s partner came closer in the most nonthreatening way he’d ever seen a cop approach. He stepped up on the curb, and Jesse noticed the officer was a couple of inches shorter than him but a lot thicker. Or maybe it was the uniform that he filled out so well. One thing was for certain, he had the classic hot-ass cop look that Jesse didn’t even know he liked. Until now.

  The officer had an impressive, slightly intimidating presence, but in a good way. The way that made him feel safe, not afraid. Eyes that were dark, yet they sparkled in the night’s light, and high cheekbones that sat perched above a stern, stubbled jaw. Jesse moistened his cold lips as his eyes followed the firm bridge of the officer’s nose to his smooth, peach lips. Lips that—

  “Cat got your tongue, kid?” Grumbly officer barked, literally startling Jesse from his eye-fucking.

  Shoot. He scrubbed frustratingly at his forehead before he ran his hand through his oily hair. Why was he staring at a gorgeous man like that when he himself looked like hot shit and probably smelled like it too. “Um, no. I just… I got some bad news on the phone, and I stopped here to take a seat.”

  “You have identification on you, young man?” the older officer asked, ignoring Jesse’s reasoning.

  Jesse glanced back and forth between the two police. One beautiful, one annoying. “Yes, I do have ID, but is that really necessary to show you? I was just literally sitting on a public bench doing nothing.”

  “We saw you walking around last night… like you’re not from around here. Is there any way we can help you?” Sexy officer asked, his concern seeming genuine.

  Man, how Jesse wished he could curl up in that voice and thick chest and rest for an entire week. He was so worried and tired. Instead he forced a smile he didn’t feel and tried to appear as if he was in control. And he didn’t miss the fact that the older cop was still eyeing his bag. “I appreciate it, Officers. I’m from out of town and was actually looking for a hotel close by.”

  “Oh,” the genuine one said, sounding surprised. “Well, there’s a few around here. I’ve stayed in the Fairfield Suites myself a few times. It’s reasonable, and it’s just a couple blocks past Park Avenue.”

  Jesse nodded as if he knew exactly where Park Avenue was.

  “Just straight back up this way.” The officer pointed behind him as if he knew what Jesse was thinking. “Then make a left… can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks, Officer—”

  “Mason,” the sweet man added as he reached in his top breast pocket and removed a business card. He handed it to Jesse, and he took it like it was a Willy Wonka golden ticket. “There’s a lot that happens out here at night. If you get into any trouble or you see anything suspicious, will you call and let me know?”

  “Sure.” Jesse smiled for the first time in hours, thinking maybe he would call Officer Mason… but not when he was in trouble. But for a date when he got his situation together. He started to awkwardly walk away in the direction of the hotel that he couldn’t afford as the cops continued to observe.

  Too bad he’s not watching me walk away for a different reason.

  Mason

  Mason got back in the passenger seat and did everything in his power to avoid his sergeant’s disbelieving glare. Instead he updated their status in the system, tapping the keys slower than usual, trying to stall.

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “What?” Mason asked innocently. He was keeping his mouth shut and not admitting anything. Like how he was so enamored by the tall, blond drink of water Clark decided to stop and question, that he’d ignorantly convinced himself it was impossible for him to be a criminal. Not with those big, scared brown eyes and proper manners. Though he’d refused to answer Clark’s questions, he wasn’t a prick to them either. And the guy was right—he hadn’t been doing anything. “You ready to grab a snack or something?”

  Clark chuckled, then quickly straightened. “Look. I know you’re all hot-shit-gelled-hair-I’m-too-sexy-for-this-uniform top cop. But just because we stop an attractive drug dealer, he’s still a dealer and needs to be questioned. You just let him go.”

  Mason ground his teeth together. That was not why he’d been cordial. “You asked to search his bag and for identification without probable cause. And he told you no. I didn’t let him go… he rightfully left.”

  “He’s been stalking around the neighborhood all night and day; now here he is on a bench in the middle of the night. That’s not suspicious? If he was really looking for a hotel, you’d think he couldn’t’ve found one by now?” Clark scoffed. “And that’s an awfully big bag he’s protecting so carefully. Only guilty people bring up ‘their legal rights.’”

  “I’ll bet you fucking box seats tickets to a Braves game that that guy is not a dealer.” Mason pointed to where the tall guy had rounded the block. He turned fully to face Clark, and the shadows on his face from the streetlights made his pissed expression appear creepy.

  “You’re on.”

  Mason didn’t know what it was about that guy, but he knew in his gut he was right. The young man was into something—possibly trouble—but not the drug-dealing kind.

  Mason got home a little after three, still thinking about the young man with the defeated posture and devastated eyes. A look that said he was terrified and in over his head. He’d been wandering aimlessly for hours on end according to the officers that worked the area during the day. Not doing anything overtly obvious, such as transactions, just walking and looking. As if he was a tourist. But there weren’t too many of those in Atlanta anymore. Not with them being the fourth leading city in drug-related crime. Three years ago they were number one until God and his team showed up.

  Mason usually showered at the station, rarely coming home in his uniform, but today he did. He was still flustered from his non-meeting with God this afternoon, and now being wired with his equipment… it was a lot to process. Like he felt a certain pressure to perform for this dynamic task force when there was no way he was ever acting that recklessly again. He wondered if the ones that were couples—Ruxs and Green, God and Day, Steele and Tech—were home in bed right now, wrapped around each other and receiving a kind of masculine comfort that Mason also craved after a stressful day on the streets.

  It must be nice, he thought. Someone who understood his job was sometimes dangerous, yes, but he loved it, he was good at it, and he’d always do his best to return home safely. But no one wanted to stick around long enough for him to prove it.

  His living room was dark and warm, only the screensaver from the cable box giving him enough light to get to his refrigerator. Working the hours he did and coming home so late to absolutely nothing—no dinner waiting for him in the microwave, no snores from a kid’s room, and no warmth waiting for him in his bed—sometimes made his quaint home feel even smaller.

  He drank a bottle of water and stood in front of his laptop still set up on his breakfast bar from earlier and logged into his personal email. It was just as blank as it always was except for the junk. He opened his local meeting app only to find zero interest clicks on his profile. He stared at the images of him in his uniform, smiling around his cup of coffee, and for the millionth time wondered if he should change it. Maybe he shouldn’t tell anyone he was a cop until after maybe the third date.

  Feeling mentally wary but his body still too wired to sleep, he changed out of his uniform into a heavy sweatsuit, deciding to grab Pixie and go for a run. Thankfully, he only had two days left of checking in on the pup, but he’d admit he rather enjoyed her company. Mason set an easy pace as the late-night silence settled over him and the brisk nip in the air filled his lungs with each quick inhale. It was an amazing high, and he could already feel his mind drifting to a calm place.

  He rounded the corner on Glenwood Avenue, deciding to avoid any potential danger tonight while he had Pixie. He could start doing intel and asking around to his sources again on Monday.

  “You’re out awfully late, Mason,” a sexy English accent whispered in his ear, sounding as if it was coming from directly inside of his brain.

  “Fuck!” Mason hollered, jumping five feet backward as if someone had magically appeared in front of him. He flailed like a moron and fell into some low bushes along the sidewalk. He was so grateful the streets were deserted, and it was only Pixie that’d seen him go down like a drunk failing a sobriety test. Her cocked head and blank stare were enough to still make him feel ridiculous.

  Mason crawled out of the bushes, sitting back on his haunches with Pixie nuzzling against his side. “Damnit, Free. What the fuck?”

  “Sorry.” Free chuckled. “I tried to say it quietly. I was simply updating the software on your earpiece and saw you were out.”

  “At almost four in the morning,” Mason gritted out, brushing his scraped palms.

  “Hey. Are you alright?” a male voice asked as two strong hands gripped Mason’s biceps, helping him to his feet. Pixie sniffed and brushed against the stranger’s thigh as if she knew he wasn’t a threat. “Did you see what happened? Did someone push you?”

  “No, no, no. I’m fine. I just tripped.” Mason was staring down at his now filthy sweatpants, dusting them off best he could. He glanced up and got a good look at his Good Samaritan, intending to extend his thanks when his breath hitched on a set of kind but sad eyes.

  It was him.

  As if they recognized each other at the same time, a slight smile graced his face before it fell way too quickly. “Officer Mason. Sorry. I um… I—”

  He remembered my name.

  “I wasn’t doing anything. I was just across the street slee—I mean, sitting on that bench over there when I heard someone scream,” he stuttered, already inching away like he’d made a mistake. “I just came to see if anyone needed help.”

  Doesn’t sound like the traits of a criminal. Mason instinctually stepped forward. “No, really. It’s fine, I mean I’m fine. I tripped.” He held up Pixie’s leash. “She wouldn’t let anyone creep up on me.”

  The guy smiled again, but it never quite reached his eyes. He had the look of a man that was bone-tired and down. This tall blond had a story, and it must be an unfortunate one that had caused him to end up here… sleeping on a bench in a struggling neighborhood in Atlanta.

  “So ask him what’s a nice man like him doing out so late on a Friday night?” Free said in Mason’s ear, causing him to jump again as if he had Tourette’s.

  “Knock it off,” Mason hissed.

  Free’s laugh was like a goddamn gnat in his ear. “Um, you do know the person in front of you cannot hear me or even see that you are wearing a comms device… soooo, it just looks like you are a bit barmy and talking to your imaginary friend.”

  Mason groaned.

  The guy held out one long, leather-clad arm and touched Mason’s shoulder, staring down at him, dare he say affectionately. “You sure you didn’t hit your head or anything?”

  Mason stared transfixed like an inexperienced idiot. He couldn’t understand how this young man’s touch heated him to his core, yet he stood before Mason trembling from the cool temperature that’d slipped into the fifties tonight. His teeth chattered noisily, and it seemed that neither of them wanted to mention the obvious. There was definitely some attraction going on, but the guy was homeless, or at minimum a drifter, and Mason was an officer of the law. How would any of this look?

  “Thanks for helping me,” Mason said.

  “Don’t be scared… ask him for his number,” Free urged.

  Mason closed his eyes wishing he knew his smartwatch well enough to mute it, but he didn’t. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long night; I had a long shift.” Mason reluctantly backed away. “I better get Pixie home.” As if she had something so pressing to do. It was a lame excuse, but it was all he had.

  “Of course.” The guy nodded, his melancholy gaze roaming over Mason’s face before understanding seemed to settle in. He started to turn away, as if he knew the score. As if he knew Mason wasn’t about to ask him for his name and number or if he’d like to chat over an early breakfast. “I get it.”

  Mason gave a stiff nod, then clicked his teeth at Pixie to get going. The dog whined as the young man began to walk in the opposite direction of the bench he’d been on. Drifting someplace else. Something wasn’t sitting right with Mason as he watched the guy leave with his shoulders slumped and his head down.

  “Thank you again for your help,” Mason called out abruptly, and his voice seemed far too loud in the absolute silence. “I’m Ellis, by the way. You don’t have to call me Officer Mason.”

  This time his crooked smile made his eyes dance from where he stood under the streetlight. “I’m Jesse,” he said simply and continued walking.

  Jesse

  Jesse sat in the compact cubicle waiting for the heavy reinforced door to clang open and his best friend to shuffle inside wearing a horrific orange jumpsuit like the two inmates that came in before him. A lady on the opposite side of the wall was sobbing at whomever she visited with. From Jesse’s vantage point he couldn’t see her, but he could see the man was misty-eyed, and he had his arm outstretched touching the glass, perhaps wishing it was her.

 

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