Page 36 of Illicit

What I don’t admit is that she probably dropped my name. Not every cop extends professional courtesy to government agents. It’s par for the course—Teagan has been on a string of bad luck for a while, even if it is by her own doing.

She needs to get her head out of her ass. There’s a point of no return. If anyone is intimately familiar with that concept, it’s me.

“Oh, I have a note for you,” the clerk says. “You’re supposed to call the lieutenant on duty. Here’s his number.”

She slides a piece of paper my way. “What’s this?”

“It’s about the girl. I’ll start her paperwork while you make that call.”

I don’t know what I’m more anxious about—getting Teagan the hell out of here or knowing what Lieutenant Boyd has to say about the girl I’m about to post bail for.

The call barely rings a second time when a man answers. “Boyd.”

“Lieutenant. My name is Rocco Monroe. I was given your number at booking when I got here to bail out a friend’s daughter.”

“Ah, the girl.”

I tense and wonder what the hell is going on. “Teagan Coleman. What about her?”

“She told me she was a friend of yours. I wanted to see if she was feeding me a crock of shit. You can imagine what underage drinkers come up with to get out of being arrested.”

“I was Miami PD for three years. I get it. But I can vouch for Teagan. I’ve known her half her life. I haven’t talked to her yet. What happened?”

“She and her friends were at a shady joint a few blocks off the main drag. They either don’t card, or they let in the young pretty ones. I think the latter happened with the Coleman girl. There was a fight, and my guys were called out. She claimed her friends scattered and left her behind. She has shit friends. Is this normal? You bail her out often?”

I have a feeling Boyd is trying to do me a favor, so there’s no way I’m going to let on that I’ve had a feeling this has been Teagan’s new normal for the last semester. “Never. This is not normal for her.”

“I wondered. She has no record. Not even a parking ticket.” When he pauses, all I hear is his comm radio crackle in the background. “Look, I’ve got three kids. It’s like they lose their fucking minds and do stupid shit at some point. I told my guys to take her to the station and hold her until we heard from you. She swore on her own life you’d come for her. She’s yours now … if you want her.”

Teagan Coleman.

The thought of that in any form is fucked up.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safe. And I’ll make damn sure she doesn’t do this again.”

“I’ll make the call to have her released to you. No record. But no shit, if I see or hear of her name again, I won’t be so nice.”

“Point taken. I appreciate you,” I say. Teagan had also better appreciate me. Her birthday is next month. She couldn’t wait thirty days to hit the bars.

When I go back to the desk, the clerk looks up at me and slides a manilla folder through the plexiglass window. “I know, I know. Boyd is a softy. Your inmate will be out in a minute. Here are her things.”

The next thing I know, a security tone sounds, and the heavy door to my right pushes open.

There she is.

The last time I saw her, we were both home for Christmas. I took off enough time to spend the holidays in Miami and she was off between semesters. I’ve been close to her family for over a decade, so I’m not a guest in that house. When we weren’t opening presents or toasting a new year with the only family I know, Tim and Annette were on their daughter’s ass for her choice in friends, pathetic effort, and low grades. They usually have to reserve that shit for Sammie.

It seems tonight has been a long time in the making.

If her skirt were shorter, it’d be nonexistent. She might as well be wearing a bikini top with as much skin as she’s showing. And the shoes she chose for the night prove to be a shit decision since they’re dangling from her hand where she stands barefoot.

I can’t imagine how she looked a few hours ago.

I mean, I can. She’s almost twenty-one. It’s impossible to not appreciate everything about her over the last couple of years. The person standing in front of me is no girl.

There’s also nothing about her that shows she’s ready for a good time now. Her makeup is smudged from tears, and her hair is a mess.

Fuck.

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