Page 6 of A Dirty Business
I would’ve recognized her voice anywhere, and I was ignoring how that was alarming to me when I looked over.
My body locked up, and I lifted my head higher.
“You a cop?”
“A parole officer.”
She’d been intriguing at first glance. A longer look and I wanted to fuck her, but it wasmore. I wanted her for a full weekend. I wanted to twist her in so many different positions, introduce my dick to so manyenjoyments of her body, but that badge. Everything went cold in me when I saw that.
She said a PO, but she was a cop. A fucking cop.
But seeing her again, and not even that, hearing her again. Her laugh got my attention.
Iwantedher.
I couldn’t have her, but I wanted her anyway.
This was going to be a problem.
“The blonde or the dark-haired one?”
Of course Ashton would take notice.
“The dark-haired one.”
I kept watching her, but I knew Ashton was giving her a more studious look.
“You know her?”
“No.” I looked at him as Caleb came around and opened the back door. “Find out who she is.”
Then I got in, and Ashton was pulling his phone out even as he got in behind me.
He had the quicker connections. He’d have her name within an hour.
CHAPTER FOUR
JESS
Dancing and drinking at Octavia had been a good decision, but the morning after, my head was pounding a whole different decision. Coffee, coffee, coffee. I needed all the espresso shots I could get in, and still, six shots later, it wasn’t enough.
Parking my state-issued sedan, I was walking in when I heard from the side, “Incoming, Montell.”
I ignored him. If I couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see me. I was using my four-year-old reasoning.
Unfortunately, he started walking next to me. “Stopped at Cleo’s, huh?”
I groaned. “Go away, Travis.”
“Why didn’t you get me anything to drink? I could use coffee. Was up late covering your ass, after all.”
Those were fighting words. I ground to a halt and faced him. “What are you talking about?”
The same Derek Travis I texted last night. A PO for the last three years, and I was so beyond his gripes. He was decent with others, so I had to give him that credit, but he went out of his way to make my job difficult.
His smirk was next level. He was wearing shades and his usual work attire: khaki cargo pants and a black long-sleeved shirt under the vest we all wore. “One of your parolees violated last night. He got picked up, tested positive for cocaine and meth. You messed up, Montell.”
See. Busting my balls. I had nothing to do with what my parolee did. “How’d you find this out?”
