On Her Six (Under Covers) Page 2

  “Yeah,” he said. Blondie was saved. The addict was retreating. Mission accomplished. Ash could get back to his boring-ass surveillance assignment in peace.

  Ash started to turn toward his row house—

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Blondie leaped forward and caught the kid by his hood. She yanked his head free of the cover, making him scream in more pain.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he clawed at the air around him. “What are you doing? Get the fuck off me!” The addict yanked at his dark, shaggy hair as if he would take pleasure in pulling every strand out by the root.

  Ash found it pretty damn interesting the kid didn’t stutter when the sun’s sharp rays stabbed his eyes.

  Since the addict was only a hint bigger than Blondie—he was scrawny, really, and incapacitated by the sun; plus she had the element of surprise—she easily snapped his arms behind him.

  She shoved the kid toward the back of her car and popped open her trunk.

  What the fuc—

  Ash’s mouth actually dropped open when she pulled out a pair of handcuffs. What the hell was she doing with those in her car? Who was this chick?

  Probably out of mercy for her ears, she flipped the man’s hood over his head. “Oh, hush.” She latched one of the thug’s wrists and then the other. “I’m taking you in. It just so happens I’m on my way to the police station right now.”

  Ash continued to gape, a ridiculous thing for someone with his skill and training. This woman was beyond anything he’d ever seen. Anyone else would have run in the other direction. Not her. She faced danger head-on. Seemed to welcome it. Panic and exhilaration overcame him as he watched her. His pulse quickened, but all he could do was stand there and blink like an ass.

  “I’ll need you to make a statement.” Her long slender neck turned to face him as she shoved the kid into the passenger side of her gold POS car. “Once I get Dracula here settled into the backseat, the front’s all yours.” When he didn’t respond, her eyebrows rose in question with a look of, Yo, dumbshit. Anybody home?

  “What?” His mind recapped. Handcuffs. Police station. Statement.

  No way. He grabbed the woman around her upper arm, causing her to jump. “No cops.” That’s the last thing he needed. If he went to the precinct or any cops came around here, his cover would be screwed for sure. Not only his cover, but the entire investigation. The DEA had discovered enough dirty BPD cops that they had to be on guard. No telling who was clean or who could be trusted within BPD. This was strictly DEA territory now. All it would take was one leak to alert the dealer that the team was onto him and he’d go underground. They couldn’t allow that. They were too close to nailing the son of a bitch.

  Her forehead creased, and a beet red color seeped into her face, despite his hand clutching her arm like a baseball bat. She inched onto her tiptoes and shoved her scrunched-up face into his personal space. “Why? You got something to hide? You know an awful lot about this Vamp stuff. Maybe I should grab an extra pair of cuffs and force your butt down to the station, too. As a proud employee of the Baltimore City Police Department—”

  She’s a fucking cop? That explained the handcuffs.

  “—I am well within my rights to—hey!”

  He let go of her to snatch the addict. Never without a key—old habits and all that—Ash snapped the cuffs open, releasing the thug from the metal hold. “Go.” He pointed in the direction of 27th Street. Maybe the kid would make it the eight blocks to Club Hell. “Now.”

  Blondie’s head swept from the direction of the handcuffs to Ash and back again. “How did you—?”

  The young thug stumbled away, clutching his stomach, not bothering to glance back.

  “Get back here!” she shouted. Then she turned her fury on Ash. She actually stomped her foot. “Oh! You—you…imbecile!” She stretched up on her tiptoes again, even farther than before, barely putting her at his chin level, and shoved her bony finger in his face. “What’s wrong with you? He should be arrested!”

  Ash shrugged and turned toward his house. He was done dealing with this. The issue wasn’t the kid being addicted. It was the source of the drugs. And he’d just gotten a strong lead on the latter.

  She followed him. “Oh, great. That’s just great. Ignore me, why don’t you?” She practically stepped on his heels. “Do you have any idea what you just did? You said that guy’s a drug addict!”

  And the perp had had a gun to her head, but that didn’t seem to matter to the insane woman. “Your point?” He kept his back to her. If she was a cop, then she’d ask all sorts of questions. Questions he sure as hell wasn’t going to answer.

  “Right, it’s not your problem,” she continued, trailing him like a fucking shadow. “You obviously don’t give a crap about other people. If you did, you wouldn’t have let that guy go. You know what I should do? I should lock you up for obstruction of justice!” Her footsteps stopped, and he peered over his shoulder. She seemed lost in her own little world. Her eyes clouded, and she stared down the vacant street, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, that’s what I should do. I mean, I couldn’t officially lock him up. But I could get Martinez to do it. He owes me from last week’s poker game.” Her gaze raked from Ash’s buzzed-cut head to his scuffed sneakers as if sizing him up.

  His lips curled at the corners. I’d like to see you try. That would be a sight. She thought she was such a badass with her handcuffs, but she’d never faced anyone with his kind of training. The Special Forces and later the DEA had seen to it that he could tackle any situation. No way would a tiny, annoying thing like her get the drop on him.

  The smile broadened into a grin. That is, unless he wanted her to.

  He could imagine it now: she’d get a few touches in as she tried to maneuver him into submission. He’d let her get one arm behind his back. Make her think she had the upper hand. That’s how pushy broads like her operated—always dominating everything. But after a few moments of playtime, as she reached for his other arm, he’d reverse her hold, and get her under him so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her.

  Keeping his thoughts and smiles to himself, he proceeded toward his front door in silence. That would aggravate her more than if he spoke. He liked knowing that.

  “Wait, you live here? Next to me?” She sounded devastated. “You’re the new neighbor? Ugh. Of course you are. Just my luck.” He could almost hear her eyes rolling.

  Ash couldn’t suppress a smirk.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Approaching his porch, her footsteps grew heavier, the soles of her shoes pounding into the earth. “I want answers!” When he didn’t provide any, she switched tactics. “What if that druggie comes back? What if he finds Carrie London and her baby a few houses down? Huh? How will you feel when you hear about a single mother and her child getting hurt knowing you’re the one who let it happen? And gave the addict money for his next hit!”

  Fuck. Ash halted with one foot on the first step. In his book, women and children were always off-limits.

  Jesus, what did he do?

  No, he’d taken the addict’s gun and given him money. He was long gone by now.

  As if hearing his thoughts, she placed her hand on his arm. “So you do care.”

  He shot a sharp glance at the physical contact but didn’t turn around. Such a contrast—her tiny hand to his large, powerful arm. His fists clenched and unclenched. “Remove your hand.”

  She pulled back as if she’d been stung. Smart girl. “Who are you? Why do you have a gun? And how do you know so much about Vamp?”

  Screw twenty questions. He took the final steps to his house two at a time and then rested his hand on the screen door latch.

  Surprise, surprise—she was right behind him.

  “And why don’t you want cops involved?” She peered around his body to catch a glimpse inside his house. He didn’t care. All she’d see was that he was scarce on furniture and needed to dust the place. “What are you hiding?”

  He pulled on the s
creen door, giving her only a second to move out of the way, before he stepped inside and pulled it closed. Turning, he debated whether to speak.

  Nah.

  Grasping the oak door, he shut it in her face. Take that. He grinned as he pictured her stunned expression—wide eyes, red cheeks, pouty lips pinched together.

  The woman was the complete opposite of his usual taste—buxom brunettes with more than two handfuls up top—but damn if she didn’t have something that attracted him. Despite her barely-there curves, she had a spark.

  Confirming his thought, she yelled from the other side of the door. “You are the rudest man I’ve ever met! I hope you don’t plan on being in the neighborhood long, buddy, because I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you! I can be extremely annoying when I want to be!”

  Yeah, he’d already figured that out.

  A thud sounded as if something hit his door. Then a loud groan.

  Stealing a glance through his peephole, he watched her grab her foot and jump around on one leg.

  He chuckled. Scratch that. This chick had more than a spark. More like a bolt of lightning.

  “You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t hear him through the door.

  Shaking his head, he turned. This was going to be a long fucking assignment.

  …

  Ugh! What an ass!

  Sam hobbled down her neighbor’s unstable cement stairs and crossed the street.

  A drip of sweat at the back of her neck trailed under her shirt and ran the path of her spine. She pulled the damp blouse from her body, giving her a bit of relief, before pounding on her grandmother’s front door. “Grandma!” Grumbling, she pounded harder. Stupid man with his stupid door. “Grandma!”

  The door opened. “What? What?” Her grandmother held a cup of coffee in one hand and pushed her bifocals higher on the bridge of her nose with the other. “I’m watching— Samantha? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work? If you’re late one more time, Major—”

  Sam held up her hand, silencing Rose. “I met the new neighbor.”

  Rose’s eyebrows lifted above the metal of her petite frames. She peered across the street at the jerk’s house and squinted through the daylight now peeking over the horizon. “The hunk next door? Really?” She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms. “And?”

  “Let me see.” Sam began counting on her fingers. “He’s rude, arrogant, psychotic, and an enabler.”

  “That bad?” Grandma Rose frowned before taking a sip from her mug.

  “Did I mention he keeps a 9mm in his waistband?”

  Her hand froze midair, and her green eyes bulged out of her head.

  “Oh, and he gives money to drug addicts.”

  Grandma’s jaw looked like it had come unhinged. Thank you, Fixodent, for keeping those chompers in her mouth.

  “You better call Maybel and find out what she knows.”

  Rose’s shoulders sagged as she exhaled. “She’s been watching him since last night. I didn’t want to say anything until we were sure, but he made a few calls to some guy named Tyke. Maybel said it sounded suspicious. Now based on what you’re saying…”

  You sneaky, sneaky man… The wheels in Sam’s brain spun out of control. The gun, the information about Vamp, the big muscles—she didn’t feel at all at ease with her new neighbor living on their street. They needed to find out what he was up to fast. And force the jerk out of town ASAP.

  “We need to get to the bottom of this,” Sam said. “Gather up the girls. When I get back from work tonight, we’re hosting a stakeout.”

  Chapter Three

  The drive to work was all of seven minutes, nowhere near enough time to rest Sam’s throbbing foot. Her plan was to get to her desk, elevate her bruised tootsies, and try to find out as much as she could about her neighbor.

  “Harper!” the Major’s unmistakable roar shot through the halls of the southeastern precinct.

  The building looked like any other station. Old and dusty. Desks littered with stacks of papers, bright halogen lights gleamed from the drop-tile ceiling, and clamor from the dispatch radio echoed all around. It had a distinct musty smell that always gave her a sense of calm when she entered.

  This particular precinct was responsible for the dealings in the southeastern part of Baltimore City. More blue collar than the rest of the city, so none of the craziness and debauchery she would prefer, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. No one else would hire her, and since Major Fowler was a family friend, Sam was happy to simply gain the experience until she passed the police exam and became a real cop.

  “You’re in big trouble now,” Officer Daniel Martinez said as Sam passed him on the way to her desk. “He’s been shouting your name for thirty minutes. We’re all taking bets on whether he’s going to can you for real this time.”

  “How much is it up to?” Sam asked, amused. She dropped her purse into the bottom desk drawer and turned on her computer.

  “Fifty bucks.”

  “That’s it?” She stuck out her bottom lip. “Come on, Martinez, you know I’m worth more than that.”

  His brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed.

  Martinez had been at the precinct for a few months, his first assignment after graduating from the academy. He helped process bails and book criminals once they were brought to the station.

  A bit younger than Sam, but a whole head taller, he was a good-looking man. Lean and fit with tanned skin and a smile that could light a room. No matter what kind of day Sam was having, Martinez could always make her laugh. He was one of the only friendly faces at the precinct. Most of her other coworkers, those who’d been around since the days of her father, tended to steer clear of her. Or bad-mouthed her family behind her back.

  She glanced at her computer, then down the short hallway toward the Major’s office. Eh, what’s another minute or two? He’d be in a bad mood no matter when she showed up.

  “How’s your grandma doing?” She frowned at the abundant stack of reports next to her monitor. Secretary to the Major had its perks, but the monotonous workload definitely wasn’t one of them.

  Relief sparkled in Martinez’s eyes. “Better, thanks. The hip replacement went well. Doc says she can move back home tomorrow.”

  “That’s great news.” She sat and drummed her fingers on the mouse. The computer always took forever to boot up when she was in a rush.

  “Yeah, I told her no more stairs. My heart can’t take it. I’m moving her into the first floor bedroom.”

  “Think she’ll let you boss her around?” Sam smiled, knowing Grandma Martinez was a firecracker, despite her age.

  He laughed. “Probably not.”

  She’d just opened the first search program, when another bellow sounded from the Major’s office. It ricocheted off the white walls. “Harper! Is that you?”

  “You better get in there before he has a coronary.”

  Fearing Martinez might be right—the Major really loved his triple-decker sandwiches with bacon—she left the computer program open and limped down the hallway toward the rear of the precinct.

  She looked through the glass front of her boss’s office to assess his mood.

  Major Louis Fowler was a stout man, his navy uniform shirt not quite fitting, the buttons straining against the pull across his chest and bulging belly. He’d lost most of his hair, leaving nothing but a shiny dome on top that could double as a mirror. His bushy eyebrows and thick mustache were sprinkled with shades of brown, gold, and platinum.

  His desk was always in disarray, and today was no different. When she stood in the doorway, he didn’t lift his gaze from the stack of papers on his desk. Based on the deep crease in his forehead and the way he slouched, he seemed to be reading a disturbing report. “You’re late. What’s your excuse this time?”

  “Hi-ya, Lou.” Maybe her chipper tone would reverse his mood and get her out of his office pronto. Her leather sandals itched to get back to her desk. “You�
�re never going to believe why I’m late.”

  “Take a seat.” He rubbed his temples, still not looking at her. “This better be good, Harper.”

  She settled into the dark leather chair opposite his desk but sat on the very edge of the cushion. “It is, I swear.” The shock had worn off considerably. Her voice was calm, like she was reading an article from the newspaper. “I got mugged.”

  He dropped the report and abruptly looked up. Alarmed brown eyes raked over her. “My God. Are you okay?”

  Well, at least that diverted the attention away from her lateness. She leaned back and stretched her arms across the leather. “I’m fine. It was an almost-mugging. Perp on drugs put a gun to my head and demanded money, but I didn’t give it to him.”

  “A gun? Drugs?” Fowler swiped his broad forehead with the back of his hand. “Samantha!”

  Her eyes slanted to the doorway. “I’m fine. Look at me.” She stood, turning in a carousel move and inched for the exit. “See, not even a scratch.”

  “How?” A vein pulsed on his forehead as if ready to burst.

  “Well, I had this whole plan worked out where I was going to chuck my purse into the middle of the street and wrestle the guy when he wasn’t looking—”

  “Wrestle him? Jesus, Samantha!”

  “—but I didn’t have to because my next-door neighbor came out with a gun of his own and demanded the guy surrender.”

  Fowler’s eyes were huge, and the vein on his forehead throbbed double time. “The eighty-year-old man next door?”

  “No, no.” She waved her hand in the air back and forth and rolled her eyes. “This is a new neighbor. Just moved in on the other side. Big, really annoying guy.” The emotions swam across the Major’s face—worry, confusion, relief. “Who’s handling the report?”

  “No one,” she said before she thought better of it.

  The Major waited.

  Oops. “My neighbor didn’t… I mean, I didn’t want…we bickered…he shut the door…I kicked it…”

  “Sam,” he said through a sigh, “we’ve been through this. You’re not a cop. You can’t go around taking the law into your own hands. You should have called Young or Webb.”