Disturbing His Peace_The Academy Page 19

  My words. They make the Grim Reaper pant. “Yeah?”

  I slide my ankles wider and lift my backside, my inhalations shallow. Being perceptive, making sacrifices, trying new things. That’s what it’s going to take to be with this man. I’m so game. No, I’m eager. “Please, Lieutenant?”

  His low growl makes me shudder. “My girl.” That open palm zings against my backside. “Mine.” The next strike is harder, and he massages the spot afterward, his touch gentle, and the contradiction is so perfectly Greer, I hear myself asking for more. More Greer. “Show me some pussy,” he rasps. “Before you go strutting what belongs to me around, give your man a nice look.”

  Lord. Oh Lord. My vision is a blur now, but my muscles are still functioning for the most part. Keeping my cheek pressed to the table, I loosen my back and angle my hips. And that most sensitive part of me gets the next slap. Whap. I’m so shocked, I release a cut-off scream that gets louder when his huge erection rams home inside of me. Pleasure explodes in my middle. My orgasm is an earthquake, sending cracks down the center of my foundation. Beneath me, the table vibrates, thanks to my juddering body.

  And that’s before Greer begins to pump. He doesn’t take it easy, either, our thighs slapping together as he grunts and takes. I can’t . . . I can’t keep up with the euphoria. It’s grabbing me by places deep in my belly I didn’t know existed and tightening, tightening, like bolts. I don’t think there’s any way I can climax again, but the trunk of Greer’s hard flesh is playing my clit like a violin, rubbing back and forth over the spot until I’m sobbing into the table.

  “Please. Please.”

  His forehead presses into the crook of my neck. A sweet gesture so unlike the hands prying my bottom apart so he can thrust deeper. “I’m fucking yours, you know that?” He drops hot, panting kisses beneath my ear. “I just want to be yours, Danika.”

  “You are.” I clench my teeth and sail over the edge again. “Greer.”

  “God, baby. Fuck.”

  I’m hurtling so fast and hard into pleasure, I’m barely aware of his mouth leaving my neck, but when I hear him shout a broken curse, when I feel heat inside me and that final, rough thrust, something primal comes alive inside me. Something I think Greer woke up.

  Damn right I satisfy my man.

  I love it. I love me with him. Us together.

  But minutes later, with sweat cooling on our bodies, I remember the confession I was going to make about the police report. About the incident. And I definitely don’t love myself for ignoring the voice in my head telling me to come clean.

  Soon.

  As soon as he gets a little more comfortable with me and realizes I’m not going anywhere. I’ll tell him then.

  Chapter 27

  Greer

  I usually hate sunny days. Everyone else’s good mood only amplifies my perpetually shitty one. Today, though? The light is beaming through the slats in my office blinds, probably turning the back of my neck red, and . . . it’s not unpleasant at all. I’m kind of hoping I get called out of the station today so I can grab a little vitamin D. For the first hour of my shift, everyone who passed me in the hallway did a double take, confusing me until I realized I was smiling. Or my version of a smile, anyway. Kind of a suspicious lip slant.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  More like, what the hell is right?

  As if there’s any question. Vitamins are not the only thing that begin with D that I’m looking forward to soaking up today, either. Thanks to my grueling schedule and mandatory meeting with the department therapists, it’s now Friday afternoon and I haven’t seen Danika since Wednesday at the academy. It still wasn’t easy watching her perform hand-to-hand maneuvers with other men, but it was significantly more tolerable since she’d bent over my kitchen table hours earlier.

  It wasn’t easier, however, keeping it to myself that she’s mine. Once I do that, she’ll probably have a hard time finding a volunteer to be her practice partner, but sue me if I don’t cry a river. I’ll help her practice if she needs it. In private.

  My fingers still on the keyboard of my computer, heat sinking into my groin at the idea. Fuck, there are too many hours between now and when I see her. Is she out in the sun right now, taking her lunch break on the academy steps? Is she tipping her face up toward the light, sighing over how good it feels? If I was there, how would it feel to sit down beside her and pop a grape into her mouth?

  Good. Too good.

  We should keep our relationship undercover. There’s only one week left of academy training before graduation. I’m anxious to make this thing between us legitimate now, though. I’ve never made a commitment like this before to anyone, but claiming Danika is important to me. No denying it. I’m possessive over this girl. I’m going to be uncomfortable until everyone knows I soothe her when she’s hurt or sad now. I kiss that mouth. It opens for mine.

  My superior emailed me this morning, informing me a decision had been made about me seeing a recruit with the department’s blessing. We’re in the clear. So there should be no weight on my chest or cold prickling along my spine.

  There shouldn’t be, but there is.

  I keep thinking of her coming down my hallway during the book club meeting, intent on calling me on my shit. She was never more of a cowgirl than she was in that moment. Apparently it’s possible to love a quality in someone and have it put you on edge at the same time. It’s something I have to wrestle with—this fear of loss—but I’m not afraid to tell Danika what’s worrying me and when. Not now, when I’m confident she’ll understand. The words won’t come out of my mouth sounding like Greek. And even if they do, she’ll help me translate it. I trust her to do that. Just like she trusts me to tell her what’s going on in my chaotic head.

  Maybe being vulnerable to another person isn’t so hard. Maybe it’s really easy and I have to stop checking for potential flaws.

  If I want to keep her, trying is the only way. Ignoring the constant ripple of discomfort in my belly will get easier. I have to believe that.

  The next few hours move slower than shit, my eyes straying to the clock when they should be on my work. But I can’t help myself from mentally reciting Danika’s schedule, imagining where she is. What she’s doing. Of course, the day I need time to move faster, I’m stuck shoveling paperwork instead of working in the field. We brought in a suspect and got a full confession on our Jane Doe murder case this morning, leaving me to tie up loose ends and officially classify the homicide closed. Solving a case so quickly is satisfying, but someone still lost their life, the ugliness is still there. But the certainty that the ugliness will be replaced by beauty, by optimism, when I’m with Danika later is what keeps my fingers moving, my pen writing.

  When I have an hour left of my shift, I know she’s on the way to her parents’ apartment, dropping off groceries and visiting her cousin’s baby. I know because she left me a voice mail while I was in the morning briefing, telling me so. The way a girlfriend does. She even tacked on a little kissing noise at the end, which probably accounted for the smile I couldn’t wipe off my face earlier. Eventually, her plans are going to include me. Often. I’m going to know Danika’s heart, the thoughts in her head, more every day.

  If I’m attached now, how will I be in a month? A year?

  A knot of panic tightens in my gut, but I ignore it.

  “Lieutenant.” A hard knuckle rap on my doorframe. “Got a second?”

  I don’t look up from my work. “Come in.”

  The officer clomps into the room, rustling some papers. “This was sent over from Midtown North with your name on it, sir. Not for nothing, your name is on everything, because shit gets done faster that way—”

  “Shit should get done at the same rate of speed, no matter whose name is on it.” Finally, I look up and see I’m being addressed by one of the Ninth’s freshest rookies and find myself softening, thinking of Danika. She’s going to be a rookie soon, and God help anyone who’s an asshole—like me—to her
. Swallowing the sharp taste in my throat, I nod at him and attempt to gather some good karma. “Go on.”

  He shifts side to side, eyes glued to the papers in his hand. “Couple weeks back, you signed two people out of Central Booking. One of them was a . . . Danika Silva?”

  I go as brittle as frozen tree bark. “Give me the papers.”

  “Sure.” He slides the stapled documents across my desk and clears his throat, while the lines in front of me bleed together. “When the incident report was entered into records, her name dinged in the system. Along with yours.” A small silence fills the room while chaos goes off like a cannon in my brain. “You’ve never signed anyone out of custody before, so Midtown North wanted to make sure you were informed.”

  Subjects made verbal threats to witness . . . subjects made an attempt to gain access to witness’s building . . .

  Threats. I zero in on that single word, and a storm begins to gather inside me. Big, dark thunderheads, ready to burst. The report is from six days ago. Six fucking days. Meaning she’s been traipsing around the city all this time with threats hanging over her head. Without my protection or even knowledge that she needed it. If she’d confided in me, I would have intervened, but she didn’t even give me that chance. Something could have happened to her, and I’d have been sitting in the fucking dark.

  She’d had every opportunity to tell me. But that’s not what bothers me the most, although it’s a huge-ass sticking point. I told her everything, goddammit. Everything. She couldn’t do me the same courtesy? On something this important?

  “Midtown North made a visit to the homes of the subjects three days ago. Neither one of them were home at the time, and the supervision seemed pretty loose, on both counts.” He pauses. “They haven’t followed up since then, so I wanted to get your eyes on it.”

  My nod is so tight, I strain a muscle in my neck. What if she hadn’t gotten away from these two kids? What if they’d harmed her? The last week never would have happened. I never would have held her, told her my secrets. Memories that never would have been made. And right now, with betrayal stabbing me in the gut, along with fear and anger, I wonder if I would have been better off. Not knowing what Danika feels like in my arms at night. Not knowing how she wiggles her toes after pulling on socks.

  How many memories will I have to live with next time, if she’s not so lucky?

  “Everything okay, Lieutenant?”

  In lieu of answering, I push back from my desk and snatch up my keys. My cop sense is chafing the back of my neck, but my gravity is so off-kilter, I can’t tell if it’s accurate. All I know is Danika is in Hell’s Kitchen, where those kids who threatened her live—and she’s alone. I could call her and confirm she’s safe, but . . . she could lie. She has been for six days.

  Six days. She could have already been gone for six fucking days.

  Chapter 28

  Danika

  Oh, this is going to be fun. My parents are out for an early dinner, so it’s just me in their apartment. After stowing their groceries away in the fridge, I install some shiny, pink streamers on my mother’s bicycle handles. I can’t wait to get a laughing phone call from her later. I’ll probably be occupied by Greer—pretty please, God?—but the voice mail will have to suffice.

  Greer.

  Waiting for Friday has sucked. Is it shameful that I’m pondering climbing into his car later wearing nothing but a trench coat and a smile? I mean, considering the warm weather, no one on the street would be fooled. But isn’t that part of the thrill?

  Like I need added thrills? I’m a walking hormone lately. I’ve been sleeping on my belly, because I’m constantly replaying the way Greer put me facedown over his kitchen table. Being in the position makes the fantasy that much hotter, and I’ve needed the fantasy to get through three days without him. Really not helping my oversexed imagination? The fact that my roommates could not be smugger about how often they’re getting laid. Greer told me to invest in nose plugs, but earplugs are coming in way handier lately.

  Jerks.

  I’m anxious for more than sex tonight. I want to know how Greer’s week has been. Want him to wrap me in those big arms and confide everything. I’m going to do the same. No more keeping what happened after my mother’s party from him. God, he’s going to lose his shit, but I’m ready. I’ll let him rage, and then I’ll promise never to lie by omission again. He’ll have to understand. This thing between us is fragile, and I was trying not to break it before it could get stronger. That’s all.

  Look, I’ll break out the waterworks if I have to. If that doesn’t work, I’ll cry while topless.

  Bottom line is by tomorrow morning, there won’t be any gray areas between us.

  Blowing out a breath, I stand and run my fingers through the pink streamers. A small smile teases my mouth. A quick stop at my cousin’s house to visit her baby, then I’m heading back to the East Side to meet Greer. My stomach is fluttering just thinking about the hug I’m going to give him. He’s not going to expect it and—

  There’s a loud noise downstairs in the building. Like metal banging off cinderblock, followed by quick thumping. Footsteps? My gaze flies to the door of my parents’ apartment, as if I can see through the old, painted wood. I’ve been living in New York City buildings all my life and slamming doors and people being inconsiderate of their noise level is just par for the course.

  I’m probably still on edge over what happened with those punks, but a buzzing begins in my skull when I remember something. The building door was propped open when I arrived. By my mother’s flip-flop. I know from experience how often she misplaces her keys—she probably wedged it in there so they could get back in after dinner. Dammit. That stupid flip-flop has become such a fixture, I barely noticed it when I opened the door, distracted by other things. Tonight, mostly. Anyone could be in the building right now.

  Relax. The apartment door has an engaged dead bolt. It’s fine.

  “Aunt Maritza.”

  My heart picks up into a gallop. That’s Robbie, calling for my mother. Panic is sharp in his voice. He lives a few blocks away. Why is he here?

  I’m already lunging for the door to let him in. “Robbie.” I turn the dead bolt and open the door, reaching out to pull him inside. “What’s—”

  I only have a second to register Robbie’s sweaty, disheveled appearance before I notice he’s not alone in the hallway. He’s running from someone.

  The kids who tried to rob the yogurt shop. The ones who threatened us both. They’re right on his heels. They’re moving fast enough that I know instantly they’ve been chasing him.

  “Shit.” My pulse rumbles in my ears as I yank Robbie inside, attempting to close the door before the other two reach us. Is there another option? He’s my cousin. I love him. I would sooner saw off my own arm than leave him out there to fend for himself. But bolting the door before those kids climb the stairs? My judgment is telling me it’s a pipe dream when a booted foot shoves through the opening, preventing me from closing the door. “I’ve already called the police,” I shout through tight lips. “You probably have less than a minute before they show up, so get moving.”

  Their laughter makes it obvious they don’t believe me. “Fuck you. Open the door.”

  “Not happening,” I say.

  Over my shoulder, I see Robbie reach behind the couch and remove my father’s baseball bat, which I’d forgotten was even there, since he’s never needed it. I make a hasty motion for Robbie to get back over here and help me hold the door. Both of us are pushing on it now, and my feet are sliding, sliding on the wooden floor. Even when Robbie adds his strength, our opponents seem to have adrenaline and anger on their side. Maybe drugs. I don’t know. But I can’t hold it. They’re coming in here, whether I like it or not, and I can barely breathe around the agony of that fact.

  My parents. Thank God they’re not here.

  Greer is going to shit a stampede of bulls.

  This timing is horrible. One more week and I’d hav
e my police weapon on me. That’s not the case, though, and I have to be as prepared as possible when they make it inside. Which they will. There’s no holding them off.

  Taking the bat from Robbie, I let go of the door without warning, hoping to make the intruders lose their balance. And it works. The dirty blonde one stumbles inside, going down on his knees. I lift the bat to bring it down on his back, but my swing pauses in midair when I see the gun. The one being pointed at me by his friend who’s standing in the doorway.

  “Please. Don’t shoot.” The words come out of my mouth sounding strangled. Is this real life? I was installing pink streamers two minutes ago. Now I could get shot?

  Greer was right. Look how little it takes to die.

  No. Irritation floods me. Fuck that. He wasn’t right. I’m not going out like this. I can’t. Tears blur in my eyes and clog my throat. My face is piping hot. I can’t swallow.

  “Look,” I rasp. “I’m going to drop the bat and we’re going to talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” the gun holder says back. “It wasn’t enough that you called the police the first time. Then you called the fucking school and got us expelled.”

  “What? No. No, that wasn’t supposed to happen.” The conversation between me and the school administrator replays in my head, her telling me they would use discretion. These kids must have done something to force the school’s hand, although would they have revealed my phone call? Don’t they know the trouble it could cause? “I was only trying to keep Robbie safe.”

  The blonde one is back on his feet. “Well, you did a shitty job, didn’t you?”

  Gun Holder is angry, but his hand is shaking. He barely has the strength to keep the weapon up for an extended length of time. Should I keep him talking until someone else enters the building? I don’t want anyone else to be in danger. If his arm gets tired, will he fire at us and get it over with? Or be embarrassed enough to bail and fight another day?