Page 29 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“Some days I hate you, you know that?”
“Yeah, but you also love me,” I tease as Liv, the dispatcher, walks down the hall and gives me a coy smile that makes parts of me regret walking away from her.
“Shit. I told you she still wants you,” he murmurs as we both watch her hips sway.
“Me and my cold heart.” I laugh.
“You sure you don’t want to go out after shift is over?”
“Nah, I told the chief I’d stay and do some desk work.” Like that’s a fun way to spend the rest of my afternoon. “I’m reviewing the cold case files for him. Trying to prove how great of a detective I’d be. You know, gotta put a good foot forward if I want that promotion.”
“You’re kissing major ass with the extra hours you’re putting in,” he taunts.
“And I’m loving the OT pay. I can see a new patio and built-in barbecue in the near future.”
“The offer stands. A bunch of us are meeting at seven o’clock at McGregor’s if you get done in time.”
“Thanks, but I have other shit to do.”
“Ha,” he says as he pushes away from the table. “Just make sure you remember her name in the morning.”
“Whatever.” I shoo him away as I sit up in my chair to play the role of desk jockey and tackle updating the stack of case files in front of me.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I shouldn’t have let that old case file I went through get to me.
I shouldn’t have looked at the picture of the victim and thought about both Keely and Emerson.
I shouldn’t have let my finger hover over the search button on the file archives site where I had typed in “John Reeves, Emerson Reeves” and debated whether I should hit “find” so I could see what exactly it was that happened to her all those years ago.
And I definitely shouldn’t be driving out to Miner’s Airfield to where Desi said more often than not I could find Em.
But here I am, looking at the airstrip with hangars lining one side of the field and the airplanes parked to the right of them. On the far side is another parking lot and Blue Skies, an old skydiving business. It’s been there as long as I can remember, owned by the Skies family, who last I heard, no longer had any family members in town to run or even care about the place. The lack of attention shows in the aged building and faded sign.
Why am I here?
Why am I chasing after someone who is clearly pushing me away?
Because I want to apologize to Emerson for the Tampax stunt? Yes and no, since she clearly beat me at my own game with the Viagra request. Or is it because every time I thought of Keely today, I kept seeing Em’s face when she was little and I know it isn’t going to go away any time soon.
More likely than either of those is the notion that if I see her, make sure she’s okay, befriend her, then it might just ease the guilt I feel over breaking my promise to her when we were kids. My adult self knows it was the right thing to do. The little boy beneath the surface still feels the guilt every time I picture the look on her face as she walked out of Mrs. Gellar’s classroom.
Em’s always been there in my mind. Sure, it’s been a long ass time since third grade, but in some sort of way, I knew I’d see her again. She isn’t someone I could easily forget.
Great, now I sound like some goddamn Hallmark movie.
I scrub my hands over my face, and when I look up, there she is in full living color, walking across the tarmac as if she owns the place. In a flight suit with the sleeves tied around her waist and a purple tank top beneath it. If jumping out of airplanes is what she likes to do to relax after a long day, I can’t imagine what else excites her.
As if sensing my attention on her, Emerson turns her head to face my direction, and I swear she knows it’s me. It’s the way she angles her head. It’s the immediate straightening of her shoulders. It’s the sudden stalking of her feet my way with a definite purpose.
I grin, can’t help that I do. I love seeing her all worked up. After the day I’ve had, I’m more than ready for a good fight.
But fuck if she’s not trying to distract me in other ways. Like that damn flight suit of hers. It should be the most unattractive thing on the face of the earth—dark blue, baggy, manly—but . . . goddamn. I’m a red-blooded male and would have to be dead not to notice how her tits bounce beneath that thin tank she has on.
I scrub a hand over my face to try to stop my thoughts from going where they shouldn’t, but hell if they don’t have a mind of their own.
They go there.
