Read Online Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) by Mary McFarland - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary McFarland
Ads: Link
lust shooting uninvited up my thigh to my groin, I buckle down with my rook. “ The per p’ s definitely making a statement ,” I agree, pleased by DeeDe e’ s take on the vi c’ s bite wounds. “ He wants us to ID him. H e’ s taunting us, playing with us. And I think yo u’ re right ,” I admit, again grudgingly. “ H e’ s displaying his signature . ”
“ Why, yes, Aid, h e’ s mighty proud of those vicious bite wounds, is n’ t he? I t’ s like he sees himself as some kind of artist with human flesh . ”
I stare hard. I’ ve trained several rookies, but this on e’ s a puzzle, a mixture of camp and chi c— and co p— like I’ ve never seen. “ W e’ re talking a chewed-up human being here, and you view our per p’ s handiwork a s‘ artistry ? ’”
She frowns. “ Well, it is, is n’ t it ? ”
“ How . . . cold you are ,” I say, and then I give her a high-five and my first real atta-girl smile. “ Rookie Laws, I’ m thinking yo u’ ll make a good cop . ” I stop her big wide-mouthed grin with a cautionary lift of my hand. “ But do n’ t let that go to your head ,” I warn. “I’ m a bastard to work with . ”
“I’ ve heard ,” she says, working hard to stop that sunny smile. “I’ ve heard . ”
* * *
Ignoring our food we examine the bite-wound patterns, potentially the per p’ s signature, as Rookie Laws correctly believes.
“ But tell me, Aid ,” she begs ,“ what the hell , precisely, is this here pattern ? ”
Once again, sh e’ s stooped to using my own foul-mouthe d“ pi g” vernacula r— the cursing. This time, I file her slip away in a mental drawer unde r“ two-face d” an d“ deceitful liar ,” qualities every good cop needs. I like her better every time she swears, yet her pretending she does n’ t is one more reason for me to be on a bullshit BOLO around my rook. This on e’ s slipperier than bat shit, and I’ ve every reason to worry about her based on my physical reaction.
“ I do n’ t know what the hell it is ,” I say ,“ not . . . precisely . ”
I ca n’ t give DeeDee an answer. Not yet. But my little voice keeps warning: move carefully. Sh e’ s smart like a fox, not the dumb southern belle sh e’ s playing. Hiding my concern, I agree with a sureness I do n’ t quite feel, although I’ m certain I can later find a way to support it. “ But I think yo u’ re right. Tha t’ s his signature, narcissistic bastard. I t’ s the reason we call him Megalo Don . ”
She shoots me a pouty frown, fake as a tin badge. But my own primal attraction to her plastic blonde allure helps me admi t— helps me know deep in my skul l— Captain Meyers has found a way to get even with me for sleeping with Darlene. Yep. The captai n’ s planted a bomb in my path. I t’ s DeeDee Laws. I’ m sure sh e’ s after the Megalo Don collar, and Captain Meyers is after my badge. I t’ s a classic squeeze-play.
And how have I started off mentoring my rookie, trying to defuse this ticking time bomb?
Like a teenager smitten by a glimpse of DeeDe e’ s double D-cup canons, I’ ve just pulled her into the investigation by allowing her to define Megal o’ s signature a s“ artistry with human flesh ,” and then complimented her to boot.
“ You know who I mean ?” I say, fighting to interpret her perplexed look, to combat my own frustration. “ Megalo Don. We named him after the shar k —”
“ Aid ,” she interrupts, anger seeping to the surface at last and tainting her syrupy southern belle drawl ,“I’ m a rookie, so I’ m appreciative of being under your ah, your, a h— tutelage. But Mama sent me to Smith. C’ mon, do n’ t y’ all think I know about . . . sharks ? ”
I get her point. How could I miss the fact she went to Smith? Sh e’ s smart. I’ d have guessed Wellesley: her personnel folder says sh e’ s a candidate for
“ Why, yes, Aid, h e’ s mighty proud of those vicious bite wounds, is n’ t he? I t’ s like he sees himself as some kind of artist with human flesh . ”
I stare hard. I’ ve trained several rookies, but this on e’ s a puzzle, a mixture of camp and chi c— and co p— like I’ ve never seen. “ W e’ re talking a chewed-up human being here, and you view our per p’ s handiwork a s‘ artistry ? ’”
She frowns. “ Well, it is, is n’ t it ? ”
“ How . . . cold you are ,” I say, and then I give her a high-five and my first real atta-girl smile. “ Rookie Laws, I’ m thinking yo u’ ll make a good cop . ” I stop her big wide-mouthed grin with a cautionary lift of my hand. “ But do n’ t let that go to your head ,” I warn. “I’ m a bastard to work with . ”
“I’ ve heard ,” she says, working hard to stop that sunny smile. “I’ ve heard . ”
* * *
Ignoring our food we examine the bite-wound patterns, potentially the per p’ s signature, as Rookie Laws correctly believes.
“ But tell me, Aid ,” she begs ,“ what the hell , precisely, is this here pattern ? ”
Once again, sh e’ s stooped to using my own foul-mouthe d“ pi g” vernacula r— the cursing. This time, I file her slip away in a mental drawer unde r“ two-face d” an d“ deceitful liar ,” qualities every good cop needs. I like her better every time she swears, yet her pretending she does n’ t is one more reason for me to be on a bullshit BOLO around my rook. This on e’ s slipperier than bat shit, and I’ ve every reason to worry about her based on my physical reaction.
“ I do n’ t know what the hell it is ,” I say ,“ not . . . precisely . ”
I ca n’ t give DeeDee an answer. Not yet. But my little voice keeps warning: move carefully. Sh e’ s smart like a fox, not the dumb southern belle sh e’ s playing. Hiding my concern, I agree with a sureness I do n’ t quite feel, although I’ m certain I can later find a way to support it. “ But I think yo u’ re right. Tha t’ s his signature, narcissistic bastard. I t’ s the reason we call him Megalo Don . ”
She shoots me a pouty frown, fake as a tin badge. But my own primal attraction to her plastic blonde allure helps me admi t— helps me know deep in my skul l— Captain Meyers has found a way to get even with me for sleeping with Darlene. Yep. The captai n’ s planted a bomb in my path. I t’ s DeeDee Laws. I’ m sure sh e’ s after the Megalo Don collar, and Captain Meyers is after my badge. I t’ s a classic squeeze-play.
And how have I started off mentoring my rookie, trying to defuse this ticking time bomb?
Like a teenager smitten by a glimpse of DeeDe e’ s double D-cup canons, I’ ve just pulled her into the investigation by allowing her to define Megal o’ s signature a s“ artistry with human flesh ,” and then complimented her to boot.
“ You know who I mean ?” I say, fighting to interpret her perplexed look, to combat my own frustration. “ Megalo Don. We named him after the shar k —”
“ Aid ,” she interrupts, anger seeping to the surface at last and tainting her syrupy southern belle drawl ,“I’ m a rookie, so I’ m appreciative of being under your ah, your, a h— tutelage. But Mama sent me to Smith. C’ mon, do n’ t y’ all think I know about . . . sharks ? ”
I get her point. How could I miss the fact she went to Smith? Sh e’ s smart. I’ d have guessed Wellesley: her personnel folder says sh e’ s a candidate for
Similar Books
