Protecting What's His (Line of Duty #1)(2)

Derek didn’t appreciate the reminder of his own stupidity, nor did he have time to reflect on it. He had under an hour to make it to Saint Luke Cemetery, so he quickly tossed back three extra-strength pain relievers and adjusted the tie of his wrinkle-free uniform.

Chicago PD would bury one of its own today. One of his own. Hence his drinking binge the prior evening. Derek had never lost a man in the line of duty before, and that he’d lost one in last week’s raid on Chicago’s most dangerous crime syndicate burned in his stomach like battery acid.

Unlike Derek, the officer had a family. A family with whom Derek would come face-to-face in under an hour.

As a homicide cop, he knew the likelihood of similar tragedies occurring more than once on his watch was high, especially since he’d only recently turned thirty and had a long career ahead of him. He hoped he never got used to it.

He’d just left the bathroom to retrieve his uniform hat from the closet when his ears were assaulted by high-pitched laughter from outside the apartment building. Derek frowned. He’d specifically chosen this building, a sprawling brick colonial in Hyde Park, for its distance from the constant activity downtown. He preferred the quiet. Especially today, when he felt like an ice pick was firmly lodged in his skull.

“Pick up the end! I can’t carry the whole thing, skunk-vag!”

“Fuck off! You’re only using one hand!”

“That’s because I’m using the other one to flip you off.”

“Well, I can’t argue with multitasking.”

“You would argue with the pope’s mom.”

Christ. These girls, whoever they were, could give the rowdy men in his department a run for their money. Too bad he didn’t allow his men to swear while on duty.

Did he just hear one of them call the other donkey-queef?

Derek ground his head against the wall to suppress the pounding in his frontal lobe. He would never drink whiskey again. Normally, the Chicago Cubs were his only vice and that usually proved punishment enough.

With a curse, he strode toward the open window in his sparsely and functionally decorated living room. Thanks to the demands of his job, he spent very little time at home and a couch, television set, and neatly ordered desk completed the space.

From his vantage point at the window, Derek caught sight of a teenage girl pulling a lava lamp from the bed of a rusty, flatbed pickup truck. Her thick black hair hung down well past her shoulders, obscuring his view of her face. Black knee-high combat boots were laced up over purple fishnet stockings.

Judging by the furniture and household items lining the sidewalk, these girls who could curse a blue streak were moving in. The one female he could see certainly did not fit the building demographic. Most of the residents worked in town and kept reliable hours. No loud music or parties. He wondered how these two managed to slip through the cracks.

Unable to connect the second voice to its owner, he started to turn back into the apartment—

The black-haired menace leaned on the truck’s horn, startling a scream out of the second girl and causing Derek to smack his head against the window frame. The ice pick in his skull twisted and he literally saw stars winking behind his eyelids.

Before he could stop himself, Derek opened the window and barked in his sternest lieutenant voice, “Hey! Not everyone needs to be in on your moving day adventure!”

All chatter ceased from below. With a satisfied grunt, he slammed the window, scooped up his hat and keys, and headed for the door. His apartment was located on the second floor, down at the end of a long hallway, and as he locked his door, he noticed the apartment across the hall from his stood empty. The door had been propped open by a giant porcelain statue of a blond woman with massive breasts.

Dear God, please don’t tell me…

“Move to your other left, you crackhead!”

“Ow. Ow! Put it down. My hand is falling off.”

He turned to find the horn-wailing, black-haired menace staggering down the hall under the weight of what appeared to be a dining room table, looking half-perturbed, half-amused.

Derek’s attention swung to the girl carrying the other end of the table, walking backward toward him. He couldn’t see her face, but he was immediately riveted by the most beautiful ass he’d ever seen.

Wearing jeans so low-cut they should be illegal, the girl had long, perfectly formed legs that were stuffed into brown leather cowboy boots, immediately searing the image of her riding him like a mechanical horse onto his brain.

Please, please don’t let me be getting a hard-on for a teenage girl. Be legal, at least, so I can sleep tonight knowing I’m not a raging pervert.

Derek very nearly had a coronary as she bent over to set down the table and purple lace peeked out over the waistband of her painted-on jeans. His mouth went dry, his vision blurred, and both his hat and keys dropped to the floor.

Surprised by the sudden noise, the girls jumped and yelped, the girl in cowboy boots spinning to face him. And holy hell, if Derek thought he’d been in trouble seeing her from behind, he’d just blasted past the Danger: Road Ends Ahead sign and was hurtling over the cliff.

At least I’ll die happy.

Her cloud of chestnut-colored hair flipped over her shoulder as she turned to face him and he was lost. Bright hazel eyes, almost golden in color, landed on him and narrowed over high cheekbones. Pouty lips pursed in displeasure. A sprinkling of freckles dusted her nose, making her a cross between sex goddess and girl next door.