Stripped, page 5
“Nice pantsuit, Hillary,” she said, smirking at Brooke. For a split second, Brooke froze, turning the words over in her mind and holding Amelia’s gaze, looking for an edge. She relaxed slightly when she didn’t find one, happy to take the good-natured hazing.
Brooke smiled, tilting her head. “I’ve got a few spares; wanna borrow one?”
Amelia smiled, but the pain in her eyes stayed exactly where it was, untouched. “Nah, not really my style. We’re a bit more casual here. As you may have noticed. With your detective skills.” She tapped her temple in a smart-ass gesture.
Brooke bit her lip, hiding her smile. It was a shame Perez wasn’t her new partner—she liked her. “Right. A little more Gap, a little less sale rack at JCPenney.”
Amelia winked at her. “Something like that.”
The captain gestured at the man who was still sitting and only partially visible. “And this is your partner, Detective Matthews.” The captain shot Matthews, who still had his feet up on the desk, a dirty look. There was a heavy sigh, the clap of a file folder hitting the desk, and then the boots disappeared. Jack and Amelia parted and everything inside Brooke went very, very still.
Because standing less than three feet away from her was Thunderdick Thor himself. Wearing a gray Henley, low-slung jeans, a badge around his neck and a scowl cold enough to freeze hell. One after the other, reactions fired through her body.
A warm tingling in her chest and between her thighs at seeing him again.
A nervous wriggle in her belly.
A happy little kick in her heart.
And a confused scramble in her brain, because he did not look as though his chest was tingling or his heart was beating a bit faster. Not even a little.
“Shit,” he said, the word barely a whisper. His eyes held hers and a wave of heat passed through her, settling low in her core. The memory of feeling pinned by that gaze came back to her, and she licked her lips and then swallowed.
God, had she fucked this up before it even started? Had her now-infamous bad judgment when it came to men struck again?
Her heart raced in time with her mind as her thoughts whirled around her brain. Her Sawyer was Detective Sawyer Matthews. Sawyer was her new partner. Sawyer, with whom she’d had the hottest sex of her life a little less than two weeks ago. Everything about their night together came rushing back to her—the intensity of their connection, the numerous orgasms he’d given her, the haunted sadness that had hung around him like a shadow. Had that been about Detective Walker? He’d clearly been just as hungry for a distraction as she’d been, and now, knowing who he really was, that part of the night suddenly made a lot more sense.
He cleared his throat and swallowed, staring at her as though she’d suddenly grown a second head. He looked so fucking sexy standing there, all brooding intensity and tightly coiled muscle, that she wanted to lick him, even though he didn’t look happy to see her. In fact, he looked . . . pissed. Was that about her, or about him not wanting a new partner? She was inclined to go with the latter. Either way, she couldn’t deny that a part of her was happy—very happy—to see him again, even if it did muddy the waters on the first day of her promotion.
At least she knew she didn’t hate him. That had to count for something, right?
“Hey,” she said, realizing that the silence was starting to stretch between them.
The captain arched an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between them. “Do you two know each other?”
“No,” barked Sawyer before snatching up his discarded folder and marching toward the photocopier on the other side of the bullpen.
The captain closed his eyes and sighed. “I apologize for Detective Matthews. He can be . . . a bit rough around the edges. It’s been a difficult time. He and Walker were close.”
Brooke nodded, absorbing that small piece of information. Sawyer’s name had been redacted from all the reports she’d read about Ryan Walker’s death. Knowing that they’d been close made her hopeful that his reaction to her was about losing his former partner, and didn’t really have anything to do with her. She was a big girl. She could let bad manners roll off her shoulders. She knew how not to take things personally.
Amelia let out a low chuckle. “Rough around the edges?” She peered at Brooke, her gaze sharp and assessing. “He’s a grumpy motherfucker. Get used to it.”
Brooke glanced over at where Sawyer was jabbing at the photocopier harder than was necessary, his shoulders tight. “I think I can handle him.” Heat flushed over her skin as she remembered all the ways she’d handled him only a couple of weeks ago.
Grumpy motherfucker or not, they had some air to clear. They’d had sex—so what? They were both adults. Just because they’d bumped fun bits didn’t mean they couldn’t work together, couldn’t be friendly. The only certainty was that now that they were partners, anything more happening between them was 100 percent off the table. It was completely against regulations to be romantically involved with an assigned partner—everyone knew that.
Brooke cleared her throat. “Besides, he’s been through a lot. I can sympathize.”
Now it was Amelia’s turn to stare at Brooke as though she’d sprouted a second head.
Jack said nothing, leaning a hip on the empty desk—Brooke’s new desk—and watching everything with casual interest. The captain looked as though he wanted to say more, but then shook his head. “Briefing in ten. Welcome to HEAT, Simmons.”
Sawyer stared unfocused at the sheets of paper as they collected in the photocopier’s tray, the machine still humming away in front of him, the scent of toner wafting up into the air. He didn’t need fifty copies of next month’s schedule, but wasting paper was better than standing there in front of Brooke, dumbstruck and gaping like an idiot.
Once, during his first year as a rookie patrol officer, he’d pulled someone over for running a stop sign. When he’d gotten out of the cruiser to ask for their license and registration, he’d been so nervous and amped up that he’d accidentally shifted the cruiser into neutral instead of park. He’d barely made it to the pulled-over car’s window before his cruiser had started rolling backward into the intersection. He’d had to chase it nearly thirty feet, dive inside and slam on the brakes. The entire thing had been captured on the dash cam and it had taken him months to live it down.
And yet somehow this, seeing Brooke again, knowing she was going to be his new partner . . . it felt like an even bigger moment in his career. Just as bad, and just as embarrassing with the way he’d stood there staring at her as though his brain had suddenly checked out for annual leave.
“Fuck,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he tried to sort his shit out. He took a breath and closed his eyes, but when he did, all he saw was Brooke spread beneath him, her eyes glazed with pleasure and her legs wrapped around his waist as he buried himself deep inside her. God, she’d been perfect that night. Exactly what he’d needed, and although he’d known it was only for that night, he’d had a hard time making himself get dressed and leave the hotel room. The entire drive home he’d been half-tempted to do a U-turn and go back for round three. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had pulled him under the way she had, surprising him in a dangerous way, like a small wave with a shockingly big undertow.
And that was why this wasn’t going to work. They couldn’t be partners. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Didn’t need the distraction, the reminder of what he couldn’t have, while trying to figure out an in to the Baracoa cartel. He owed Ryan justice. And to get it, he’d need to be focused and dedicated. Not twisted in knots over Brooke. Who he barely knew, and yet who he knew felt like heaven and tasted like sunshine. Who eased that chasm inside him, not healing it up, but making it a little less dark. Who made it the tiniest bit easier to breathe. Or, at least, she had, just for a few hours.
He hated to split up Jack and Amelia’s partnership—they were good together, in sync and with skills and personalities that complemented each other—but it was the only option. He’d ask one of them to partner with her instead. Or even better, ask the captain to shuffle someone else onto the team and move Brooke elsewhere. Maybe even off HEAT, since the thought of seeing her every day in the bullpen caused a weird tug in his chest.
A completely irrational surge of anger flared up his spine. He knew this situation wasn’t in any way Brooke’s fault, and yet he felt so tangled up and confused that he couldn’t help but blame her a little bit. Which was selfish and unfair, but there it was. He had a job to do, and doing that job with her . . . fuck, it wasn’t going to work. He didn’t see how it could.
Ryan’s death had broken him, and he’d depleted all of his strength, all of his emotional reserves, just putting himself back together. Brooke was a layer—a tempting, gorgeous, off-limits layer—he just couldn’t handle right now. He’d been carrying around so much pain and guilt and other fucked-up shit that he didn’t have room to shoulder anything else. He knew all of that probably made him an asshole, or at least, reaffirmed his asshole-ness, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He was used to feeling like an asshole. It was just part of who he was now. Like his eye color, or his height. Intrinsic and unchangeable. Maybe even in his DNA.
He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, heels clicking on the tile, and he knew it was her before he’d even turned around.
“So, let’s just acknowledge that this is kinda weird, okay?” Her voice hit him somewhere low in his gut, and he braced his hands on the photocopier, as though it could somehow steady him. But nothing in his world was steady anymore. Schooling his face into a neutral expression, he turned around.
Her blond hair was pulled up into a ponytail, showing off her long, elegant neck, while her pantsuit hid her slender, athletic frame. Her arms were crossed over her chest, but there was nothing challenging in her expression.
“‘Weird’ is one word for it,” he said, leaning back against the photocopier and mirroring her crossed arms.
She nodded slowly, studying him. “Let’s just agree to—to leave it in the past. Pretend it never happened.” Her eyes caught his, and the fire in her gaze was so scorching it was as though flames were licking at his skin. He shifted his weight, his jeans getting just a little bit tighter. This was bad. So, so bad.
“Sounds good to me.”
She bit her lip, hesitating slightly before she continued. “I’m sorry about Detective Walker. I understand you were close.”
“Mmm.” He nodded, not saying anything more. Not trusting himself to say anything more.
“How long have you been part of HEAT?”
“Few years.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line and he could tell she wanted to roll her eyes. She squinted at him and moved her hands to her hips. “So . . . are you pissed that I’m your new partner, or that you have a new partner, period?”
“Does it matter?”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Yeah. It does.” She cleared her throat. “It matters to me. I’ve busted my ass to get here, and if this isn’t going to work because of whatever shit you’ve got going on, let me know now.” She took a small step closer. “Do we have a problem, or do you?”
He snorted, trying to ignore the flicker of heat teasing up his spine at the intensity flashing in her eyes. “Easy there, Robocop. Relax.” Even though he did have a problem—God, he’d known she was smart from the moment he met her—he found himself getting his back up and not wanting to admit that she was right. Maybe he even wanted to prove her wrong.
“This is me relaxed.”
He let out a low chuckle. “No, it’s not. I’ve seen you relaxed.” He regretted the words instantly, and the way they made something in her eyes darken. So much for putting distance between them. No, he had to go and fucking flirt with her. Like a moron.
A few heavy seconds passed before she spoke. “Can I ask you something?”
He grunted, the word distance running through his brain, searing itself onto his synapses.
She took a step closer, glancing around the bullpen before speaking. “If you’re local, why were you in a hotel bar?”
He shrugged despite his surprise at her question. “Because I was looking for something very, very temporary.” It was probably the most honest thing he’d said to her so far.
She flinched and then nodded. “Right. Yeah. Makes sense.”
From behind him, the photocopier made a grinding noise, followed by a loud series of beeps. With a sigh, he turned back to face it and opened it up to unsnarl the paper jam. Everyone in the bullpen called the photocopier Bob Marley, since it “always be jammin’.”
“I’ve got smaller hands, let me,” she said, stepping around him. He watched helplessly as she slipped her hand in the machine and tugged the crumpled copy free. She frowned slightly as she glanced down at it, and then at the completed copies in the tray. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Planning to give the whole department your schedule?” She reached forward and zipped her thumb along the corner of the stack of pages. “Lotta copies here.”
He said nothing, just retrieved his stack of useless copies and slammed the machine back together a little too hard.
She held out the half-mangled page to him, her lips scrunched to the side in a way that made him want to kiss the shit out of her. “You want this one too?”
He ground his teeth together and pulled it from her hand, unable to stop himself from remembering how those fingers had felt curled around his dick. How she’d tasted, smelled. How just for the few hours he’d spent with her, he hadn’t hurt.
“I don’t have time to look out for a baby detective right now,” he said, his voice coming out even gruffer than he’d intended.
Her eyes snapped to his, the teasing heat in her gaze cooling to something even more intriguing. “Let’s get a couple things straight. We’re partners. Partner means equal. We’re a team, and I don’t need you to babysit me. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t qualified and able to do this job. Yeah, I’m new and have some shit to learn, but that doesn’t make you better than me.”
Well, damn. There was that spark that had drawn him to her right from the start. “Didn’t say I was better than you. But you can’t deny that you’re green. And I don’t have time for green.” It was as good an excuse as any.
Her lips pressed into a firm line, and he could tell that she wanted to say more, but was carefully weighing her options. She shook her head and then turned, joining the stream of people heading into the briefing room. After giving her a several-second head start, he dumped his stack of papers into the recycling bin and then followed her in.
It wasn’t right how fantastic her ass looked in that pantsuit.
Slowly the neatly arranged black plastic chairs in the briefing room filled with detectives. At the front of the room, there were a few pictures of biker gang members taped to the whiteboard, along with a known cartel member, a man known only as the Sheriff because of how many times he’d been shot. In the far-right corner, the captain stood behind the podium emblazoned with the APD shield, shuffling a few pages. Brooke had taken a seat next to Amelia. Avoiding her gaze, he dropped into the empty seat beside Jack.
“Everything cool?” asked Jack, leaning toward Sawyer and keeping his voice down, letting it blend with the hum of other voices in the room.
Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest, studying the pictures tacked up to the board. Fucking Desperados. Atlanta’s biggest biker gang, they were almost as bad as the Baracoa cartel in some respects. “Yeah, fine.”
“You hate her.” It wasn’t a question. As much as Jack pissed him off sometimes, he had to admit that the man was one of the best when it came to reading people. But he was off base here. Sawyer didn’t hate Brooke; he hated the situation.
He shook his head. “Don’t hate her. Just resent having a new partner.” A half truth.
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Sure. Right.”
“What? You can’t deny that this sucks.” God, he sounded like such a whiny little shit. Maybe because he was being one. Fuck.
“Doesn’t mean she sucks. Give her a chance before you write her off.”
Instantly he remembered the feel of Brooke’s lips around his cock, cradling her face as he took and she gave. He propped one ankle up on his knee, fighting a losing battle against the blood flowing south.
“I’m not writing her off. But I don’t have time to hold some new detective’s hand. I don’t deal with rookies. Not in the past, and especially not now.”
Jack frowned at him and sighed. “Just . . . try to be like, ten percent less of a dick to her, okay? For the team?”
“I wasn’t a dick to her.”
Jack let out a low chuckle. “Right.”
Before he could say anything else, the captain had cleared his throat, causing the room to quiet down.
“I know everyone’s got full schedules today, so I’ll make this quick. First, please welcome Detective Brooke Simmons, the newest member of HEAT. She’ll be working with Matthews, along with Ward and Perez.” Brooke turned and waved at the room, her posture relaxed and confident. A round of nods and murmurs went around the room, and Sawyer could feel several sets of eyes on him, probably wondering how he was taking having a new partner.
“Second, some good news. Search warrant for the storage facility came through.” The captain stepped out from behind his podium and handed Jack a single sheet of white paper, folded in thirds. “Ward, Perez, Matthews, and Simmons will execute.”
