Page 52 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
Took her long enough.
I chuckle, which has Nate narrowing his eyes at me. “I gotta make a call,” I say as I stand and make my way out of the station away from the other officers who like to gossip like little old ladies.
“Blue Skies, this is Emerson, how may I help you?” Her voice sounds like goddamn sex. And she’s doing it on purpose because her caller ID tells her exactly who’s calling.
“You tell me. How can you help me?”
She murmurs a sound that I swear to God sounds like how I imagine her fingernails scratching over my balls would feel, and that thought alone tells me I’m so far fucked when it comes to her it isn’t even funny. “I see you got my gift.”
“I did.”
“Just thought I’d pay a little token of appreciation to our officers who protect and serve.”
“I think I’m the only one here who received a gift certificate, though.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a special case.” She laughs. I can picture her standing on the tarmac with that damn flight suit on, her baseball cap pulled low as she peers down the stretch of runway from behind her aviators. “Are you calling to schedule your flight time?”
“Not hardly. I told you, I don’t trust anyone, especially when it comes to jumping out of an airplane.”
“Not even little ol’ me?”
“Especially not little ol’ you.” I laugh, imagining she has a dartboard somewhere with my picture on the bull’s-eye.
“What’s wrong, Malone? Should I call you Daisy?”
“Touché.”
“What then? Are you that afraid of a woman being in control?” Her voice is coy, playful, but I can hear the underlying tone of curiosity in it.
“Not in the least, Em. I actually think it’s sexy as hell. What’s even sexier is a woman who demands control from everyone else except for the one she’s with behind closed doors because she trusts him implicitly. Now that? That’s a turn on.”
I hear her suck in a breath in reaction, and I love knowing that I’ve gotten to her somehow. “Well, I guess we both have control and trust issues we need to work through, don’t we?”
“I thought that was what we were doing.”
With a chuckle, I end the call and let out a long, controlled sigh.
Fuck. I may be getting the upper hand, but hell if I’ll take any hand about now so long as it’s hers.
“Hello, are you Officer Malone?”
What the?
I look out the open passenger side window to see a fresh-faced kid, late teens, dark features, about five foot eight, two hundred pounds.
“Can I help you?” I eye him. My immediate hunch is that he’s harmless, but I don’t like that I can’t see both his hands.
“Yeah, I have a delivery for you.”
“You what?” I sit a little taller in the driver’s seat and study him closer.
“A delivery. Here.” He shoves a pink box through the window. “From The Donut Shoppe.”
“The Donut Shoppe?”
“Yes. There’s a note on the top.”
I eye him warily. “’Kay. Thanks.” The kid starts to walk away. “Hey, wait.” I dig into my wallet and pull out some ones to give him.
