Disturbing His Peace Read online

  I get within a couple feet, and she turns her face away, giving me the quiet dignity of her profile, a front row seat to the little hairs curling behind her ear. Which unfortunately brings me another step closer. Another. Until her body heat is mingling with mine. We’re not touching, but her breath fans my neck, our fingertips come dangerously close to brushing.

  “You’re . . . unhurt?”

  “Yes,” she whispers. “Thanks. For coming.”

  My gaze drops to her mouth, the lift of her upper lip, the dip in the center of the lower one. I have this insane urge to run my palm over that mouth, curve my fingers around her chin. Trail them down her neck. Then snag her elbow and yank her up against me with all my might.

  I’ve never been a man given to dominating women, although being the aggressor is a given. It’s in my blood to lead. And ever since I dropped Silva to the mat and heard that goddamn moan, felt that spike of awareness that she somehow needs that intensity, my fantasies of her have changed shape, texture. They were indecent and filthy before, but now I’m . . . consuming her. The hunger to bring those fantasies to life forces me to step back, but the loss of her heat is too sudden. Horrible. “You better have a good explanation for being at the scene of an attempted armed robbery, Silva.”

  “I do, Lieutenant.” She faces me, all traces of her upset going up in smoke. “It was hard enough calling you for help. Please don’t make it worse by talking down to me. Just this once.”

  It was hard for her to call me for help? I don’t like that shit. At all. “Why was it hard?”

  “I—” Her mouth opens and snaps shut. “Because you’ve arrived to rescue the damsel in distress, and now you’re going to lord it over me.” She scrutinizes me for a beat. “Aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  My nasty grunt is nothing short of elegant, but I’m feeling very . . . perturbed. Not like my usual irritable condition, either. This is hitting me lower, like I ran full force into a stuck turnstile. “There might be some form of consequences for what happened today, but after you give me an explanation, we’ll never speak about it again. Does that meet with your approval, recruit?”

  Maybe I’m the one speaking a foreign language. That’s how she’s staring at me. “Why would you do that?”

  Because somewhere underneath the panic I’ve been experiencing since I got the phone call . . . there’s satisfaction that she requested me. That she chose to depend on me in a time of need. “Why? So you don’t do something else stupid and allow your pride to keep you locked in a dungeon, instead of calling me. That’s why.”

  Her eyes fire off twin flares. “I don’t make a habit of being stupid. But either way, you’re not my designated get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  “I don’t see anyone else here.”

  “Well . . .” Her chin wobbles, firms. “Lucky me, huh?”

  She almost apologizes for the sarcastic comment, but I shake my head to let her know it isn’t necessary. Not when her chin is wobbling. “What were you doing in the yogurt shop?” I’d supervised drills that morning, but left the recruits in another instructor’s hands for the afternoon. “You couldn’t have been dismissed for twenty minutes when shit hit the fan.”

  “I took a cab across town.” She leans back against the metal table. “My cousin Robbie works at the yogurt shop. He told me what was going down. He was scared.”

  “Was he in on the robbery?”

  “No. Not intentionally. These kids pestered him for the information they needed. Before he knew it, he was aiding them, but Greer—” We both freeze at her use of my first name, for the first time ever. God help my cock tonight. I’m going to stroke myself blind to the memory of her saying it. When Silva . . . when Danika continues, her tone has quieted some. “I mean, Lieutenant. He’s a great kid. Good grades. A future.”

  “One of the perps’ mothers called the police. Did you?”

  “Not at first.” Her eyes slam shut. “I thought I could handle some stupid neighborhood kids. I didn’t want them to lie and drag my cousin down with them.”

  My blood heats to a boiling point, fast and furious. Every muscle in my body is screaming to gather her up, push my mouth against her ear and list the potential consequences of her actions. Every grisly detail, until she never tries to brave a dangerous situation alone ever again. God help me, my hands ache to connect with her backside. Rough, no nonsense slaps, five times on each side. Not only to punish her for being reckless, but to . . . soothe her afterward. Both of us. Her body is tense, as is mine, and some new intuition is whispering the fix in my ear. But I’m not sure I can trust it. Not when Danika makes me question every rule I’ve lived by for so long. Have I completely overinflated what happened during that takedown exercise? Am I insane to think she could be turned on by the images in my head?

  “You don’t have to lecture me. I know I made a really dangerous decision.” Lecture her? I almost have to laugh at how tame she assumes my thoughts to be. I’ve been masturbating to her for months. “If I need to take the blame for this, on Robbie’s behalf, so be it.”

  “You’re not taking the blame for anything,” I snap. Out of sexual frustration. Over the fact that she’s being noble, which makes me like her even more. Or maybe I’m still ticked she was in danger, especially when she didn’t need to be. All of the above. “They’re getting the paperwork ready now. You’ll both be released within the hour. I’ll make sure this doesn’t end up blackening either of your records.”

  “Really?” Danika straightens, gratitude blooming on her face. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  I could leave the situation as is and bask in the fact that she’s grateful to me. I could. But I won’t. It’s not how I’m built. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  A hum vibrates in my throat as I pace to the opposite end of the room. “There’s a reason the recruits call me Lieutenant Hard-Ass when they think I can’t hear.” I wait for her to deny it, but only get a slight coloring of her cheeks. “The nickname fits.”

  She cocks a hip. “Are you going to punish me?”

  A growl rumbles in my chest, my fingers flexing of their own accord. God, this interest in swatting her ass builds by the second into a sharp longing. A need to . . . assert myself. Make her aware of how insane she makes me. It doesn’t seem to conflict with this overwhelming need to make her pleased with me, though. No, these two desires intersect right in the middle. “You might consider it a punishment, but I suggest you view it as a learning experience.”

  “Definitely a punishment.”

  I sigh. “I have the power to sweep this all under the rug. Favors are traded in this department more than I care to admit. No one would question me. But I don’t do favors. Not without consequences. If everyone faced real consequences for every decision, they’d think twice before acting. And as your instructor, I’m doubly responsible for making sure you make a better call next time. Same goes for your cousin.”

  Her lips move as she processes that. “What are you going to do?”

  “Your cousin is going to do some community service in my precinct.” Taking out my notepad, I jot a quick note to hook Danika’s cousin up with our community liaison. “Graffiti removal, helping little old ladies cross the street. We’ll think of something. The goal is to make him understand cause and effect. That’s my condition for making this go away.”

  “Fine. I agree with you,” she surprises me by saying. “I would have settled for nagging him on the phone every day until he leaves for college, but your plan is better.”

  My mouth twitches at the word nagging. What would it be like to get a phone call from this girl? Nice. Reassuring. Provoking. All of the above. “As for you, Silva . . .” I flip my notebook shut. “Until graduation, you’re on probation.”

  Her chin drops. “Probation?” She searches the room for answers. “How will that work?”

  “You’ll continue training. Nothing will change. But on days when I’m not inst
ructing at the academy, you’ll report to me. In person, if I’m available. Over the phone, if I’m tied up with work.” Thoughts stream behind her eyes. Is she wondering what it’ll be like to call me, too? “I’ll arrange for a couple ride alongs. With me.”

  It hits me that I’m forcing us into constant interaction. Am I out of my mind? My mouth is apparently making decisions without consulting my brain. Is the ache in my pants in control? Or even the knocking organ in my chest? Unacceptable. No, probation is the only way I can justify swinging my weight around to keep their records clean. That’s all it is.

  “That kid today could have opened fire at the police. The police might have fired back. You or your cousin could have been a casualty.” It takes me a moment to loosen my constricted throat muscles and continue. “I want to be confident when I pin that badge on you. I want you to be confident in the department you’re joining, too, so that next time, you don’t strike out on your own and take unnecessary risks. Checking in with me will keep what happened today fresh. And maybe you’ll learn a thing or two when I take you out on duty.” Again, I question my sanity. I’ll never get the scent or memory of her in my passenger seat out of my head. Where will that leave me when probation is over and she graduates? “Are we in agreement?”

  She’s looking for a way out, and I don’t blame her. I’m an asshole in small doses, and now I’m going to be a fixture in her life. After a moment, though, she nods, and the knots in my chest untie themselves. “Yes, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  Her eyes flash at my sharp tone. “I don’t have your number.”

  “Oh. Right.” I take my notebook out again, scrawling my number and handing over the ripped sheet. “We’ll start tomorrow.” She stares down at the piece of paper, making me . . . self-conscious? Is that what this is? Fuck. I head for the door and yank it open. “I’ll go check on your release.”

  “Lieutenant.”

  Setting my features to bored, I turn back around. “Yeah?”

  She seems about to say one thing, but settles on another. Sliding the slip of paper into her back pocket, she gives me a cocky shrug. “Lieutenant Hard-Ass isn’t your only nickname at the academy.” A touch of a smile, before she turns away. “Personally, I prefer the Grim Reaper.”

  It takes a conscious effort not to smile as I return to the front desk.

  Until I remember the torture I’ve just signed on to endure.

  Chapter 6

  Danika

  Dammit, I’m early again.

  At least Greer isn’t scheduled as our instructor today. Not that I can avoid him after the deal I made with the devil yesterday, but I’ll ride this wave of avoidance as long as possible. Whether out of nerves or . . . curiosity, I couldn’t stop myself from rehearsing our first phone call in the shower this morning. In the beginning, I was dead set on launching straight into an explanation of my whereabouts, followed by a quick assurance that I’m staying out of trouble—kind of like I have been for twenty-six years—after which I would hang up without waiting for a response.

  That’s what the lieutenant expects from me, right?

  Around the time the water began to run cold, though, I decided I don’t want to be predictable. As soon as I’m dismissed for the day, I’m going to march into his precinct and shock the smug expression right off his face.

  Yeah.

  There really should be a sense of victory at the thought of giving him a jolt. And there is. After all, I humbled myself in front of the man, admitted I made a mistake and asked for his help, taking several blows to my pride in the process. It wasn’t easy for me and he knew it. Instead of cutting me some slack, he made himself my babysitter for the next month. Reporting my movements to my über-demanding instructor during my free hours is so not on my bucket list.

  But. I kind of brought this on myself, didn’t I? Thus curbing my satisfaction over ruffling his feathers. A lot of the things he said yesterday were . . . reasonable. I almost got the impression it was important to him that I understand his methods. His code. I’ve always assumed he was just a natural born asshole, but I spent the night tossing in my bed, wondering if I overlooked something.

  Not only in Greer, but in myself. It was all gravy when I could chalk my reluctant fascination with the lieutenant up to his He-Man thighs. But I’ve been replaying that demonstration in my head with alarming frequency and seeing . . . feeling . . . other things. I liked the way it felt having him look down at me, that hard jaw bunched up to match his shoulders. I liked my back smacking the mat and knowing he would let me up when he was good and ready. That until then, I didn’t have to be proactive or in control of anything.

  That’s not me. Is it?

  Bottom line: the sooner these four weeks are over, the better.

  The only sound in the academy hallway is my footsteps walking toward the locker room. I’m one of about a dozen female recruits, and none of them have arrived yet, so I’m alone among the interesting smells and dripping faucets. Quickly and efficiently, I change into gray yoga pants and my white uniform shirt, don my sneakers. The slam of my locker is still ringing in the air when I wheel back into the hallway and jog to the gymnasium entrance.

  I come to a quick stop just inside the door. Leaning against a stack of mats, Greer is studying the clipboard in his hands with a frown. He looks up at my entrance, his gaze ticking down for a split second to my legs, before rising again.

  “Lieutenant.” I hide a wince at the breathless quality of my voice. “I was jogging. That’s why I sounded like that. So.”

  He just stares at me.

  “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that, Silva. The other instructor is sick.” His tongue slides along the corner of his mouth, distracting me. Too much. “Thank you for staying on top of my schedule.”

  And just like that, we’re back on familiar ground. Only, we’re not really. He witnessed me in a desperate moment and bailed me out. It wouldn’t kill me to make a tiny effort to show my appreciation. In my own unique way, of course. “Why so cranky? They didn’t have the right ingredients for your protein shake this morning?”

  “I make my own.” He hugs the clipboard to the side of his thigh. “Smart-ass.”

  The laugh bursts out of me before I can wrangle it. He seems taken aback by the sound, like it’s an offensive, winged creature flying past his face. “So you come in early even when I’m not here.”

  “That’s right.” I pull my right ankle up to my butt, groaning as the move stretches my sore quad. “I come early for myself. Not for those little notes you make on your clipboard.” Am I imagining things or does he look disappointed? “Do you walk around your apartment with that thing?” I lower my voice and attempt to mimic his low rasp. “Minus two arbitrary points, dust bunnies. Better form next time.”

  That corner of his mouth—the corner he licked—hops up. “You assume there’s never any living, breathing humans in my apartment to judge.”

  I don’t see it coming. That has to be why jealousy hits my stomach like a spiked volleyball. Greer and women. Women and Greer. How many are there? How frequently? Are any of them serious? All of a sudden, it’s an effort to make words. “I didn’t . . . I wasn’t asking—”

  “Book club.” The two words are delivered on a sigh, like he’s already bored with the conversation. But his eyes are on me like a hawk. “Sometimes my book club comes over.”

  The jealousy doesn’t subside right away, hanging around like hot pins stuck into my shoulders and neck, but . . . it ebbs the more I process what he’s telling me. “You’re a member of a book club?” He goes back to making notes on his clipboard, just a brick shit-house cop with flexing cannons for biceps who has a book club. “Is it just an excuse to drink wine, like my mother’s book club? Or do you actually have discussions?”

  “Picture me drinking wine, Silva.”

  “You’re right, that was a stretch. Beer?”

  A tight nod. “Only if I’m not working the
next morning.”

  “Of course,” I say with exaggerated gravity. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  “Good. You shouldn’t.”

  Dammit, the jealousy is still prickly. Have to purge it. No choice. “What kind of people belong to this club? Just men, or . . .”

  He’s quiet a moment, simply studying me. “We should work on your interrogation technique while you’re on probation.” Shit. I had that coming. A moment later, I’m relieved right down to my toes when he doesn’t probe for the reason I asked. Like I even know the answer to that? “Yes, we have discussions. Usually about whatever thriller we’ve just read. Or in my case, listened to.” His tone deepens. “It’s cops, mostly. Active and retired.” A pause. “Just men, Danika.”

  I suck in a breath and look down at the mat, trying to play it cool that he called me by my first name. But there’s nothing cool about the sensitivity of my nipples, how they pucker inside my sports bra, as if the lieutenant did way more than just say my name. That can’t be all it takes for him to make me . . . horny. Okay, Jesus, yes. I’m horny for the lieutenant. All because he said my first name, the way I said his yesterday. Like we’re trading an inside joke that isn’t meant to be funny at all. Or maybe it’s how I can feel him staring at me right now, deep blue eyes reaching up beneath my clothes and making me uncomfortably hot.

  The gymnasium door blows open, and two recruits walk in, distracting me from my mental strip show. One is a determined-looking Levi, and, yeah, my burgeoning cop sense tells me I’m not going to escape being asked out today. There’s a sour gurgle in my stomach at the idea of Greer watching it happen, which is ridiculous, so I shake it off. Behind Levi is his friend Nick, who never really says much, but likes to hang out in Levi’s shadow. Not easy, considering he’s twice as heavyset and several inches taller.

  “Hey there,” Levi says, crashing down on the mat beside me. “Exactly how early do we need to get here to stop you from making us look bad?”