Page 2 of Dad's Cop Buddy

“I saw it. What can you tell me about the person you believe put it there?” I do my best to push down the fire that’s building inside me. Fueled by an oddly delicious mixture of desire and rage, it’s clouding my ability to think straight. “Take your time. Just take it slow.” Who just said that? If anyone on the force heard me coddle a witness this way, they’d think I took a large shot of estrogen with my morning coffee. Screw them. She’s a sweet, innocent, perfect girl and she deserves to be treated with care. Damn everyone else.

My words seem to have calmed her slightly, but still, her nervous energy consumes me and I pace the floor as she tells me her story. It must be distracting for her because she stops mid-sentence and asks me if I’d like to sit down. I take a seat on the sofa beside her and breathe in the flowery scent of her perfume.

Concentrate, damn it! You’re acting like a love-struck kid, I tell myself, the ache in my shorts saying otherwise.

She finishes laying out all of the details of her situation, and it’s a textbook stalking case. Normally, this would be the time I would assign some officers to track down the perpetrator. I would suggest that she come to the office in the morning and file a restraining order. I would play it by the book and check all of the administrative boxes but no, not this time.

This time, I’ve tossed the rule book into a bonfire of desire. This time, I look into her sad, saucer-shaped green eyes and say, “I’ll take care of this for you. I promise. You have nothing to worry about.”

She places her tiny hand in mine, turning my skin feverish. I blow out a long breath, wondering just where this sudden obsession came from. This is not me. This is not what I do when I’m called in the middle of the night to help someone, especially my friend’s daughter.

I know I’m supposed to shake it, but all I can do is rub my thumb across her smooth, white skin. “Release!” I tell myself as though I’m commanding my dog. I let go of her hand and smile at her. For a brief moment, her face lights up and she smiles, too. It feels good to see her smile. Like I just did something heroic instead of taking advantage of the situation and touching her.

We say our goodbyes, and I tell her I’ll be stopping back in the morning to follow up with her. I pay little attention to the road on the drive home because I’m too busy committing every inch of her to memory. I remember the subtle way her lip quivered when she spoke and how her chest rose and fell when she stopped to take a breath.

If I close my eyes, I can see her sweet face framed by locks of golden hair. Then, there’s her body. Petite with perky breasts, a slim waist, and legs that go on forever. She wore a faded, green tee shirt with the sleeves cut off and a tiny pair of white shorts that hugged her plump ass perfectly.

As much as I try to fight it, I can’t stop the fantasy that’s playing out in my head. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to take her in my arms and slip inside her. It would be amazing to feel her body quiver under my weight as I make her mine with every stroke of my cock.

Shit. I’ve got it bad but I don’t care. This is more than just a lustful impulse—how I know that, I have no idea. This girl is in trouble, and I know I must help her. I’m the only one who can. She needs me and I’m going to deliver for her. Every fiber of my being screams for me to protect her and keep her safe. And that’s exactly what I’ll do.

I don’t know how Tom would feel about the dirty thoughts I’m cultivating, but do I even care? He sounded so disconnected when he called me like it was some sort of chore to enlist my help. He’s her damn father. He should be beside himself with anger and worry, yet he was so transactional just now. Thinking about this only fuels my desire to save her. She needs a real man to protect her, and who’s a better fit for the job than me?

2

MY FATHER’S FRIEND, THE CHIEF

KENDAL

Just moments ago, I couldn’t stop trembling even though my father was doing his best to console me. I thought that leaving the dorms and moving to the cabin would free me from the feeling of helplessness this man had caused in me. Now, seeing this on the wall, I’m back to square one and dreading the feelings of paranoia and exposure that come along with it.

Timothy Sanders is a guard at my college. About six months ago, I began to notice that he seemed to be everywhere I went. I’d catch him staring at me when he thought no one was looking, but he didn’t do anything to make me think that he might be going out of his way to be in my presence.

Whenever I saw him, I’d say hello. At first, I thought it was a little funny that he would get flustered and stutter at the sound of my voice. He’s not someone I’d ever be interested in, but it’s still flattering to know that someone finds you that attractive. It was all harmless until it started feeling wrong.

He began showing up in my classes. Sometimes he’d be in the room when I got there. Other times, he would stop in after class had started and just lurk by the door. I’d try not to look, but I could feel his eyes on me. Then, after seeing him all day, he would also be in the dorm at night.

I started to wonder how he could be working such long shifts. When I told my roommate, she suggested that maybe he wasn’t working. Maybe he was just hanging around the dorm on his off time. That thought made my skin crawl, but then, the unthinkable happened. I caught him in my room. He said he was there because someone called in a disturbance, but I didn’t believe him.

The next day, he was outside the laundry room when I was washing my clothes. I felt so uncomfortable I left while my clothes were still drying. When I came back, he was gone and so were several pairs of my underwear. That was the last straw. I called my dad and asked him if I could move into the cabin. I now have an hour's drive to campus, but I hoped that coming all the way out here would solve this problem. Now, the writing is literally on the wall. Timothy Sanders is following me home.

I scoff at first when my father tells me that he’s called his friend, the police chief. The campus police wouldn’t do anything for me. They told me that if he hadn’t touched me or threatened me in any way, there was nothing they could do. I left there feeling as if they thought I was the crazy one. Now, looking at this uniformed god standing in my living room, I see a glimmer of hope. If anyone could stop Timothy Sanders in his tracks, it would be this man.

His presence alone somehow comforts me and the way that he seems to hang on my every word tells me he’s taking my problem seriously. I find myself staring at him and hoping he doesn’t notice.

He’s a mountain of a man with silky, black hair and beautiful brown eyes. He has to push up the sleeves of his uniform shirt to prevent his bulging biceps from splitting them in two. I never realized how that could turn me on, but it did.

He towers over my five-foot-four frame and I guess he’s six-foot-four minimum and the width of three of me standing side by side. I bet he could grab Sanders by the arm and fling him over the roof of the house. Sanders may be just as big, but Mr. Kendrickson has this raw strength that the guard lacks.

Something less obvious makes me feel safe with him, and I can’t put my finger on exactly what that something might be. As I recount my experiences with my stalker, his body reacts. He’s consuming my words and letting them marinate in his mind in a way that’s making him take them personally. I like that… I like that a lot. It makes me believe he has my back and feels somewhat accountable for keeping me safe. We’ve only just met, but it seems natural for me to need his help and go to him for protection.

I extend my hand to thank him for agreeing to pursue this. Instead of shaking it, he caresses my hand and my heart pounds like a drum in my ears. Jesus, I don’t want him to let go. His touch is like static electricity sending a charge straight to my core. Why couldn’t he be the older man who’s infatuated with me?

He makes sure I have his home and cell numbers before he leaves and tells me to call him anytime I suspect that Sanders is nearby. He assures me that, if he’s still lurking around, he’s seen the police car and will likely stay away for the rest of the night. But, if I feel unsafe, I need to call him immediately.

He leaves and my stepmother calls shortly after. I can tell by my father’s reaction that she’s grown tired of his absence. She wants him to stop babying me and come to her where he belongs. He hangs up and I tell him, “I’m fine now, Dad. You should go home. It’s a long drive.”

“Are you sure? I’ll spend the night on the couch if you want me to,” he says intrepidly.

---