Police Officer's Princess: A Single Dad, Brother's Best Friend, Police Officer Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 31) Read online

  “Let’s go,” she says.

  “I have to get going, Cinnamon. I have to pick up my daughter.”

  “Your daughter? You said someone was watching her.”

  “Someone is right now, but now it’s time for me to pick her up.”

  “But…” she says. “We can be real quick. You can be as fast and rough as you want. I like it like that.”

  “Not tonight,” I say. I conveniently leave out the “or ever” part. There’s nothing wrong with her, it’s just that I can’t.

  “But why did you come back with me?”

  “You took a cab. Now I’m dropping you off like a gentleman.”

  “I don’t want a gentleman right now,” she says. She’s still trying to make this work. I hate to get her all fired up and then leave her high and dry, but that’s the way it has to be right now. “Maybe even just a little preview of coming attractions?”

  She lunges for my belt and I grab her wrists.

  “Oh…now we’re talking,” she says. “Get rough with me officer. I’m committing a crime and should be cuffed.”

  She leans into me. I’ve got to end this now.

  I wasn’t going to give her, or anyone, a preview of anything. I only want something that’s real, like what I had with Carissa. There was no way I was ready to open up right now. And I certainly wasn’t about to open up the castle walls and expose the mess I have going on inside me. I have to keep my guard up.

  And it’s not fair either. How could I even consider anything intimate with her, or any woman, when I was still in love with my first wife? She was my best friend. My high school sweetheart. My everything.

  “You’re big where it counts. I felt it in the car. I can only imagine how much bigger you get once we get inside,” she says.

  “There’s no going inside,” I say. I want to tell her I’m not just talking about her home. I’m talking about my walled off life.

  “Your dad told my father you were looking for a second wife,” she says.

  “Don’t believe anything you hear about me unless it comes from my mouth.”

  “Loser!”

  “Thanks for tonight,” I say. “Sorry it’s ending this way.” I turn and walk towards my SUV. I need to remain a gentleman to the end. One day I’ll teach my daughter about the different kinds of guys. I’m not going to be a hypocrite and tell her to be with a good guy when I’m not one myself.

  “Wait until I tell my father!” she yells.

  Are we back in elementary school? I just keep walking.

  “Asshole!”

  It’s the last thing I hear just before I close the door, or at least I thought. I hear a thud and see a high heel hit the hood of my car. I look back towards her. She must be a good ten yards away. Girl has an arm. They could certainly use her on the co-ed softball team the station puts together.

  But what I need right now is to get away from this. All of this.

  I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone for that matter.

  Carissa was the only girl for me. And it’s going to be that way forever.

  CHAPTER 2

  Violet

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” The middle aged man covered in tattoos who looks like he just got paroled yesterday points his finger right at me before moving quickly toward me.

  “I’m-”

  “Who said you could take my picture?”

  I freeze up.

  “I’m talking to you. Answer me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I pull the camera in closer to my chest in a protective body posture. I can feel my knees weaken and I know I’m shaking. I’ve never been so close to wetting myself in my whole adult life.

  I recognize the gang tattoo on his face. It’s the same tattoo that made me think that it would be a good idea to take his picture…without asking him.

  Street photography is all about confidence. It’s why I started it in the first place. I wanted to improve my confidence level. Right now I literally had none.

  “Sorry don’t cut it where I’m from. Week ago I would have sliced your dumb ass. Stupid bitch.” A woman grabs his arm with one hand and places her other on top of his baldhead. She guides him away, but not before he turns and waves the back of his hand at me as if he’s dismissing me from his life. I’ve never been happier to be unwanted in all my days alive on the face of this green earth. And that’s exactly what I’m lucky to be right now. Alive.

  A few years ago I’d seen some street photographs from a woman by the name of Vivian Maier. She was a Chicago nanny who took black and white pictures in her spare time. It wasn’t until after her death that the pictures were found. Now they’re legendary, traveling the world as exhibits in exclusive art galleries.

  I loved the idea. An introverted hobby that forces me to interact with other people all the while pushing the limits of my comfort zone. Today was the ultimate test. I was miles beyond where my comfort level had been pushed before.

  I tried to frame it in a good light. I passed the test. I didn’t run and I caught his emotion just as he saw me. It’s going to be an incredible image.

  The fight or flight terror that filled me switched to an ecstatic feeling of wanting to see the photograph.

  I hit the preview button and quickly looked at the last three photos I’d taken with my camera in rapid-fire mode.

  I’d missed all three.

  If I’m going to risk my life I should at least have something to show for it. My courage was about as poor as my photographic ability it seems. I thought of the advice I got from the guy at the camera store. “Just keep shooting.”

  But not right now.

  “Oh no!” I look at my watch and see I’m behind schedule. I’ve got to get to work at the top of the hour and I don’t even have my uniform with me.

  I just arrived in Vegas earlier this month and the last thing I needed was to lose the job that took me two weeks to land. It’s not perfect, but it does pay the bills.

  I never imagined I’d wind up dealing cards in a casino, but on the bright side it was just another thing that pushed me to be more outgoing and improve my people skills.

  Extra uniform I can borrow? I WhatsApp to my co-worker friend Penelope.

  Come on. Come on. I start walking back to my car as quickly as possible without it being a jog. It’s more like a wog. Half walk and half jog.

  Sure thing sweetie. In my locker.

  Thank you!

  That was lucky. I glance at my watch and realize this wog better turn into a run. Traffic will be heavy and I don’t want to be late. I take off in a sprint and just as I look up I run into another guy, sending me backwards falling towards the ground. I tuck my camera into my body to protect it from impact. My body absorbs the brunt of the blow instead. The awkward positioning I used to protect my camera in the fall may have saved my camera, but it certainly didn’t help me. I didn’t break my fall one bit since my hands were in use. Instead I fell squarely on my tailbone and toppled over towards my side. Pain shoots through me.

  I look up and see a man who looks like he could be from the same prison as the last guy.

  “Watch where you’re going,” he says. He sticks out his chest while he continues along his way. So much for helping a girl up off the ground.

  “While you’re down there…” I look up and see a college boy in khaki cargo shorts and a T-shirt that reads, “Here’s to being single, seeing double, and sleeping triple.” He’s surrounded by a bunch of guys his own age that all look like clones of one another.

  Wait…his own age. What am I talking about? I’m not much older than they are.

  He sticks out his hand and mimics having it on the back of a girl’s head as he’s pressing it toward his groin repeatedly. It’s that fake blowjob move that juvenile boys seem to enjoy so much.

  “Not in a million years,” I say.

  “What happens in Vegas,” he says.

  He’s still mocking me and I’ve had enough.
<
br />   “Stays in Vegas!” I say as I swing my camera right at his crotch sending him to the ground.

  “Oooh!” his friends say in unison. “You got dropped by a girl.”

  “Not a girl, a woman. And you’re under arrest,” a voice behind me says.

  I turn to see a uniformed police officer whipping out his cuffs.

  “I don’t know where you’re from miss, but assault and battery is a crime in Clark County. And if you put me in a bad mood I’ll write up that camera as a deadly weapon.”

  I look down at the Nikon D3300 I bought secondhand not long ago with money I didn’t really have to spend. It seemed like a lot then, but now it’s about to cost me way more than I ever imagined. Yeah, it is a deadly weapon I think to myself. It almost got me killed, and now it’s going to get me thrown in the slammer.

  What happens in Vegas does stay in Vegas. Me. As in locked away here to rot in Sin City forever.

  CHAPTER 3

  Chance

  “What was I thinking when I signed up to be a cop?” Twelve Pack walks in and drops the report down on my desk.

  “You okay?” I ask. I glance up from one of the reports I filed last week. Looks like the case is going to court and I have to attend. It will likely burn an entire day for thirty seconds of testimony.

  “Yeah. Got some crazy out-of-town chick who went psycho on a goofy college kid. Smacked him right in the nuts with one of those big cameras.”

  “Ouch. I thought nobody was lugging those things around anymore.”

  “Me too, but I guess this chick fancies herself a true photographer.”

  I exhale hard and scratch my temple. “Well, did she at least get her money’s worth?”

  “Oh yeah. Took the kid down to his knees. I watched the whole thing go down.”

  “Did he deserve it?”

  “Probably, but the law is the law.”

  “I’m with you, but come on. Women get emotional. There has to be a balance between justice and fairness.”

  “Agreed. I already scared her pretty good with the assault with a deadly weapon charge.”

  “You put that in the report?”

  Twelve Pack was a great guy, but sometimes he took it a little too far. That’s how he got his name after all. One night we all chipped in for a bunch of donuts. It was a random Wednesday in March. Nothing was going on.

  Officer Tom Perkins, as he was known as the time, said he could eat a whole box of donuts. We bet him he couldn’t.

  Well sure enough we came to find out he could.

  But we’re too competitive to lose a bet and Perkins was looking a little pale in the face.

  We waited until about two minutes after he finished that mammoth box of donuts to remind him that a true box of donuts is a baker’s dozen. It’s not just twelve.

  He couldn’t get down more than a single bite of number thirteen before that paleness in his face turned into something more of a purplish color. He had to concede and pay up. We used the money to buy the station a dartboard though, so we all won in the end…even ol’ Twelve Pack.

  And ever since that afternoon he’s been known around the station as Twelve Pack. He tries to tell us it’s because he’s got twelve well-defined abdominal muscles, but nobody believes him. How could you when the guy can down twelve donuts in a single sitting?

  “Nah. I left it out.”

  I nod. Thankfully he hadn’t gone overboard. “Was she provoked?”

  “Yeah, the kid was out of line. No question.”

  Twelve Pack demonstrates exactly the gesture he made.

  “He was doing that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Let me guess.”

  “Right on The Strip.”

  “Families everywhere?”

  “Swarming with them.”

  “Is the kid okay?”

  “He’ll be fine. Just got the wind knocked out of him.”

  “Did he require medical attention?”

  “He declined. Not sure if he’s too embarrassed or he really didn’t need it.”

  “Good policing,” I say.

  “Very funny,” Twelve Pack says. He’s halfway out of my office before he says, “Don’t worry. We’re letting her go. She’ll be out of here by the time you sign your name on that report.”

  I drop my pen and stare out the window. I can’t help but smile.

  Carissa was a feisty one. She wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself. It’s clear that trait found its way into our daughter’s DNA. Charlotte is as rambunctious as I’ll get out.

  I like a woman who stands up for herself. The kind of girl who’s got a little fire in her belly. Too many guys try and use their size and strength to intimidate women. I see it every day. I like nothing more than when a woman decides she’s not going to tolerate it. When she fights back and wins.

  I slide my chair back and stand up. I straighten my shirt and walk out of my office.

  Time to take a look at our camera-toting superhero.

  CHAPTER 4

  Violet

  “You’re free to go,” the officer says as I feel the cold steel of the handcuffs finally release from my wrists. I thought they used those zip-tie handcuffs these days?

  “Do I have to go to court?”

  “Nope. No charges are being filed.”

  “Thank you, officer,” I say.

  He nods. “Just promise me you’ll keep that camera up at eye level where it’s intended to be used, and not down at groin level where you can really hurt somebody.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I take off towards the door as quickly as I can. I’m trying to get out of this interrogation room as fast as humanly possible before anyone changes their mind and decides to lock me up. I want to get out of here so fast that by the time I’m out the door they’ve already forgot about me.

  “Miss,” the officer says. I stop. “He probably deserved it, but next time just try not to aim for that region.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say.

  He nods and shuffles some things on the desk. I’m not wasting another second. I rush through the doorway only to find myself falling backwards again.

  But this time I don’t hit the floor.

  “Whoa there,” I hear. I feel big strong hands wrap around me as my legs buckle, but I don’t drop more than a couple inches before I’m right back on my feet.

  I feel the thick fingers release me from their grasp and I already miss them and the safety they just provided me. The way those big strong hands so effortlessly caught me and maneuvered me as if I was nothing in comparison to the strength of the man behind such a masculine set of hands.

  “Thanks,” I say and quickly turn toward the front door of the station to continue making my hurried exit. As much as one part of me wants to turn around and thank that man, the other part of me is ready for this whole fiasco to be over. That starts when I walk out the front door where Penelope is sitting in her car waiting on me.

  “You’re out!” she says when I open the door and literally collapse into the seat.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say.

  “We can do that,” she says. She puts the car in drive and away we go.

  All I want right now is to put that police station in the rear view, and that’s exactly what I do.

  I roll down my window for some fresh air. The station was cramped and stuffy.

  This is what freedom smells like.

  As my window gets all the way down my eyes wander to the right, catching the movement in the rear view mirror.

  The front door comes swinging open and a man stands there as if he has something else to say to me. I feel like a fugitive who escaped their grasp just in the nick of time.

  The man quickly becomes nothing more than a dot as Penelope picks up speed. There’s something about his body language though. It’s like one of those missed connections in the movies where people recognize each other just as the train doors close, only to be separated for the rest of their lives.

  But I don’t kn
ow anybody in Vegas, and I certainly am never going back to the station.

  Whatever he had for me I’ll never know…and at this point that sits just fine with me.