“We make it.”
Lifting a watch, I ask, “You made a Rolex? Your daddy own the company or…?”
The follower sprints for freedom, abandoning everything, even one shoe that wasn’t tied properly.
Washington eyes his deserted leader. “You wanna follow your buddy?”
Boom, he’s gone.
Cutting a look to my partner, I leap into action, jumping around confused tourists in my race to keep up.
I hear our siren flip on, know that Wash is following and will cut this guy off if I don’t get to him first.
I’m fast.
Really fast.
Which is something special since I don’t have long legs like Washington or my cousin Ben.
I’m stocky like Dad and Uncle Jake.
Doesn’t matter.
I could outrun both of them.
Wouldn’t say that to their faces.
That’d be disrespectful.
And their laughs might piss me off.
But seriously.
If Dad could see me now…
That’s what I’m thinking as I jump over a small dog on a long leash, a rogue skateboard some kid lost control of, and dodge a potted plant the shady seller knocks off a shop’s exterior to slow my pursuit. It shatters on the sidewalk.
If Dad could see me now.
Grunting to fill weak lungs, he loses steam. Both men are undernourished by booze over food. I can smell last night’s tequila polluting his wake.
Just a little bit closer.
Faster.
Faster.
Now.
Propelling myself through the air, I land on the guy. We tumble onto unforgiving cement. I wrestle his arms behind his back, read his Miranda Rights as cuffs snap into place. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—”
“Fuck you!”
“That too.”
“Why’re you arresting me?!”
“Suspicion of robbery. Strong suspicion, but don’t worry, you’re innocent until proven otherwise. Let’s go!” Hauling him off the sidewalk, I drag him to our patrol car, blue lights rhythmically flashing across our faces.
He hits the backseat with a grunt, mouth chewing on dissatisfaction.
Washington tells me, “Smile for the camera.”
I frown, realizing what he means. Following his trunk-like pointer-finger to two women huddled over a phone, I shut the back door and frown hard.
One whisper-shouts, “He’s looking at us!”
The other squeals, “Hi Deputy Cocker! You’re so beautiful!”
I mutter, “Thanks,” through gritted teeth and climb inside.
Washington jokes, “Guess that won’t be posted in Drive Copper Drive, since I’m behind the wheel.”
“You got the jewelry?”
“You have to ask? Your feet are on it.”
I look down, use one of my boots to scoot the stash out of my way. It’s bundled in the table cloth it was lying on. “I was just changing the subject.”
He grins, too many teeth for one man. “From your pretty face? That’s a first.”
CHAPTER 4
DIANA
T hree women giggle at outstretched phones. Over forty, they’re breaking the norm by sounding like hormone-crazed teenagers. Curious to see why, I crane my neck.
Oh, hello!
Who.
Is.
That?!
Interest piqued as any red-blooded woman’s would be, I look over to see the object of their attention in the flesh as he inspects jewelry at a street vendor’s foldout table.
That is by far the sexiest cop I’ve ever seen. He’s not a pretty-boy. There’s nothing feminine about him, every inch a rugged beast with amused brown eyes that shine with a light you can’t help but wish was shining on you.
And the uniform! Thick shoulders, thicker biceps, triceps and forearms, narrow hips belted with tools of the job fill it out so well you wish it were off.
I could make use of those cuffs.
What key?
I jump in surprise as one of the vendors jars me out of my reverie by breaking into a run, abandoning his friend and their merchandise. Both cops look very calm, considering. Until the other vendor makes a break for it.
Hot Cop takes off in hot pursuit.
Look at that ass go.
Wow.
One of the ladies snickers to me, “Your mouth is hanging open.”
I clamp it shut.
And shock her.
By running after him.
I don’t know what’s come over me but suddenly I’m skimming pedestrians, nearly tangled in a dachshund’s leash, gaze flickering over a rattling solo skateboard, rubber-soled flats I wore to work crunching soil and ceramic, the potted plant he dodged now smithereens.
“Oh!” I yelp as he leaps through the air like some sort of superhero and tackles the vendor.
Skidding to a stop, I tuck myself into the nook of a poster shop, quietly panting as he tosses his prey into the backseat, blue lights making him even more magnetically handsome.
He abruptly looks over his shoulder.
I crane, keeping my body hidden, to see why.
“He’s looking at us!” A pretty blonde shouts.
The bangles on her brunette friend’s arm jingle as she waves, “Hi Deputy Cocker! You’re so beautiful!”
I’m too far away to hear his response, and in no time he’s gone, siren fading.
“He looked right at us!” The blonde says, eyes bright.
Her friend points to me as I walk up, because I’ve gotta know his name. “You were running after him!”
Embarrassed, I pause. “I uh…the guy had stolen something from me. That’s why they were chasing him.” Both buy my plausible story, so I venture to ask, “Who is he? I need to tell the police station who has my jewelry.” Is that even a correct sentence? I’m not a good liar. Little practice.
They practically step over each other. “Wyatt Cocker!”
My gaze drifts to the street. He’s one of May’s great-grandkids?
The blonde explains, “Wyatt Cocker has a whole group dedicated to him. Look! This is a fan page, all pictures taken by us.”
“Just you two?” I ask.
“No, all of us.”
The brunette quips, “We, the people.”
I find myself backing away. “Thanks, gotta go to the station. For my jewelry. Thanks. Have a great day!”
Their interest in me is lost to a debate over what to write in the post.
Wyatt Cocker.
Can I find a way to ask May about him? Is that appropriate?
I sigh as my shoes crunch soil again, dog and skateboard gone. Just like Hot Cop.
CHAPTER 5
A FEW MINUTES LATER
DIANA
“Hey, we’re both late,” Jon smiles as we approach the white skull
