Page 144 of Broken Blood Ties

“Why? A man’s gotta eat.” He licks his lips, dragging his lower lip between his teeth, and the heat that blooms in my cheeks has me forgetting all about the cold air puckering my skin.

He reaches for the button of my shorts, and I know once he gets them off of me, I’ll be a goner, pliable beneath his every touch.

“Tell me ye’ll marry me. I can’t wait a moment longer.” I look at him. His pleading sharp features are scruffy with his freshly trimmed beard, and that one curly piece of rust-colored hair collapses over his forehead. On instinct, I reach for it and curl it around my finger.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll marry you this weekend. Just don’t stop.”

His nostrils flare, and he yanks me forward. “Never, love. Not ever.”

Epilogue

Deputy Bromley

18 Years Later

Golden yellow leaves tumble across the cobblestone streets of Beacon Hill, and though Boston is beautiful in the fall, I don’t want to be here.

It would figure the department would send their newest transfer to sit in the quietest, sleepy area of Boston.

I’ve never been an officer to avoid the action. In fact, it was so ingrained into my psyche to crave it, my wife left me. Los Angeles sure was different from this city on the East Coast. It’s probably why they assigned me this patrol zone. In all my fifty-two years, I’ve never had as quiet of a week on the job as I’ve had.

My patrol car smells like feet, and the half-eaten burger on my dash turns to mush in the streaming sun. Several couples strut along the sidewalks, patrons darting in and out of the shops lazily enjoying the weekend of gorgeous weather.

That’s one thing I’ve come to enjoy in my new life here. Everything takes on an amber glow with the surrounding fall.

My mind wanders to my day off tomorrow. Plans to meet up with Jeremy for some fishing have been tossed around, but so far, I don’t have anything concrete.

I sneer.Should probably sign my divorce papers.

Reaching for my phone, I fumble with it until my photos of Linda are displayed. I swipe through them, the pang of guilt churning the undercooked burger in my stomach.

There’s a high-pitched whine that escalates into a loud roar as a motorcycle races by, silencing the peacefulness of the day.

My radar gun clocks sixty-five in the thirty-five, and my phone falls out of my hand as I switch on my lights and reach for my police radio.

“Dispatch, this is Unit 19. I’m in pursuit of a speeding motorcycle, heading eastbound on Charles Street.”

The all-black motorcycle matches its rider, and they weave through a few cars as I attempt to follow. Just when the adrenaline pings through my veins with the notion this may turn into a chase, the driver pulls over to an empty parking slot on the street. Figures.

I brake directly behind the rider.

“Dispatch, 10-35.” I toss my car into park and exit the car, having to adjust my utility belt.

When I reach the driver, the glassy helmet reflects the sun and my face in the tinted visor. I note the outline of a mermaid on the side of it. A hand covered in black gloves flips the visor open, and I’m met with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Thick brassy blonde eyebrows raise above them.

“Yes?” The voice is female. Well, I wasn’t expecting that.

“License and registration, please, ma’am.”

“Is there a problem, officer?” The female’s voice is youthful and has a soothing timbre that could talk a man off a ship and into the depths of the sea.

I blink, trying to gather my wits. I’m acting like this is the first alluring female I’ve pulled over.

“Actually, yes,” I say. “I clocked you going sixty-five in a thirty-five.”

She tilts her head to study me. “You’re new.”

Huh. How would she guess that? I’ve been an officer for over thirty years, and transferred to the Boston department last week, but she wouldn’t know that.

---