Frisk Me(64)

“On?”

“How about that blow job?”

She laughed and gave him the finger.

Just like that, they were back to normal. Which was a good thing.

Right?





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE



It’s not exactly a fishing trip,” Tony Moretti said as Luc came back to the table carrying four beers.

“Well that’s the thing about having three cops for sons,” Vincent said, snagging one of the bottles and tipping back in his chair. “Harder than shit to get overlapping time off for an entire weekend.”

“We did it last year,” Tony grumbled.

“Well last year, we had an in with the police commissioner,” Anthony pointed out.

Their father’s expression turned downright brooding, and Luc resisted the urge to slap both brothers upside the head.

Just what their dad needed on Father’s Day: a reminder that he was retired and that instead of floating on Seneca Lake with a growing pile of trout, he was settling for father/sons drinking time in a Lower East Side dive bar.

Tony’s eyes narrowed on Anthony. “Has Dempsy announced his retirement yet?”

Anthony’s scowl deepened as he idly peeled at the label on his bottle. “You don’t know?”

“I’m not commissioner anymore, as you’ve just reminded me,” Tony snapped.

Luc opened his mouth to interfere but thought better of it. The Moretti men always relaxed after a beer or two, and after they’d gotten their shop talk out of the way. In twenty minutes, they’d move on to cracking jokes and playing pool, but first there was the inevitable career talk.

“Nope,” Anthony said finally. “I’m beginning to think talk about his retirement was premature.”

“Maybe,” Tony said, tapping his fingers against the bottle. “You still think you’re next in line?”

“Hell yes.”

But Luc noted the defiant tilt of his oldest brother’s chin. It was a big show of confidence, but Anthony was the cockiest guy Luc knew.

When he was really confident, it didn’t occur to him to show it. He simply was.

If Anthony was posturing—which he was—it meant he was unsure.

He’d have to ask Anthony about it later, when their dad wasn’t around.

Tony Moretti loved his sons more than anything, save for maybe Elena, the family favorite. But they were also his legacy. Their successes were his successes.

And their failures were his failures.

So far, Luc had only been the one to fail. Not that anyone ever talked about it.

Anthony rolled his shoulders. “I told you, Pops, I’d let you know as soon as there was a change, ’kay?”

Vincent made a big show of checking his shirt pocket before leaning forward and patting his back jean pockets as well.

“What?” Anth snapped.

“Just looking for my Midol,” Vin said with a fake-puzzled voice.

Anthony flung a peanut at their middle brother. “At least one of us is moving up the chain.”

“Hey, I don’t give a f*ck about rank, so don’t pull that shit on me,” Vin said, chucking a peanut right back.

Anthony sipped his beer and declined a comeback, probably because he knew Vincent spoke the truth.

Vin had been angling for the homicide detective gig from the moment he entered the police academy. It was often a thankless job; not half as sexy as the TV shows made it, and they were outranked more easily than the public assumed. But Vin had always wanted it, regardless of pay, regardless of the fact that Anthony was several ranks ahead of him and likely always would be.

So was Marco, who, despite being younger than Vin, had just been promoted to sergeant over in LA.

Only Luc, as a lowly officer, was lower on the totem pole than Vin, although that was mostly due to his junior status and lack of experience. Luc had no intention of remaining an officer forever.

Not that he was power hungry. And not that there was anything wrong with officer.

Luc just wanted…more.

He wanted to be the best. Or at least not to be the worst.

Luc grunted to himself as he drank three rapid swallows of beer.

His father noticed. “Something on your mind, bambino? A woman?”

Ava’s face immediately came to mind, and because it was easier to picture her slight curves naked beneath him than it was to remember Jensen’s dead eyes, Shayna Johnson’s limp body, he let his father take the conversation there.

“Maybe.”

Anthony and Vincent both turned their attention to him, argument forgotten.

“He’s banging the reporter,” Anthony said, gesturing at Luc with his beer bottle.

“I’m not banging her.”

Well okay, he was banging her. But it wasn’t like that. It was…he didn’t know what the f*ck it was, but it was damn good.

So good that he’d broken one of his own rules and stayed the night with a woman.

And then he’d done it all over again on Saturday night.

Hell, they’d spent the whole f*cking weekend exploring each other’s bodies, and leaving her apartment for his own had been disturbingly difficult.

“What?” Tony’s bottle hit the table with more force than necessary. “Tell me your brother has it wrong.”