Chapter 2
Guy
Ishove open the glass doors to the police station, giving curt nods to those who wave as I pass. I used to enjoy the reaction to me walking into a room. I’ve worked damn hard to get where I am, and I’m not ashamed to say my ego was a little inflated when I finally became chief. Now, I could take it or leave it.
“Hey Chief,” the young officer at the front desk says, shooting out of his seat at the sight of me. “How can I help?”
“A woman was brought in earlier for assault in a grocery store.”
He visibly brightens. “Monty Reid? Yeah, she’s right over there.”
So the fake first name has a fake surname to go with it.
He nods in the direction of the heart of the station, where there are around fifteen desks set up. In the center, sat atop one of those desks, leg crossed over her knee, with an audience—is Monty.
“Let me through,” I growl, and the officer buzzes me into the back.
Agaggle of officers surround her, some standing, some sitting, and she’s gesturing emphatically as she talks.
“—and I said to him, ‘even if you are a lord, nothing you will do will ever make me a lady!” Everyone erupts into laughter, and Monty looks very impressed with herself. Her green eyes lock on me, and she extends her arms. “Here’s my boyfriend!”
Boyfriend?
Winston Parker, a detective who I thought would be able to resist the manipulations of Monty, whirls in his chair to face me. He’s part of her crowd, too.
“You old dog, Guy. You didn’t tell me you were dating again.”
Monty hops off the desk. “I’m his dirty little secret. He’s bothered about the age difference.” I glare at her, and she slips her hand into mine, interlocking our fingers. “But he’s the first man to make me come so hard I saw stars, so age be damned, am I right, boys?”
There are some sniggers, some wolf whistles, and Monty bobs her eyebrows as she grins up at me.
This woman is a fucking nightmare.
I lean close and lower my voice. “Go and wait in the car.”
“Yes, Officer.” She blows me a kiss and walks away, and every single man watches her leave. I snap my fingers at them. “Don’t you all have work to do?”
They scatter, but Winston stays seated.
Winston is an old friend. We used to spend a lot of time together before he married, but now he’s obsessed with his wife, and I can’t blame him. Tricia is great. I miss going for drinks with him, but he made sure to visit as often as he could after Ella “died.”
His smirk says everything, but he speaks anyway. “So. New girlfriend. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She’s not my girlfriend. Vivien has been bothering me, so Monty just stepped in to make her back off.”
“By whacking her across the face?”
I cringe. It was one hell of a hit. “I’m guessing Vivien is pressing charges.”
“Nope. She scampered after she saw Monty again. Not that I blame her. That woman is trouble.”
“Understatement.”
My gaze travels over the messy desks, officers lounging around, others deep in case files or typing away. The familiar smell of crappy coffee and printer ink fills my nose, and the sound of ringing phones and laughter takes me back to three decades ago.
“Ever miss it? Being behind a desk must be pretty boring,” Winston smiles knowingly at me.
Do I miss shooting the shit in a cruiser, arresting assholes, being in the community and getting to know the people face to face instead of through statistics? Hell yeah, I do. But I’m supposed to at least to pretend to enjoy my job.
