Jo Leigh - Definitely Naughty

“I had some good intel,” he said. “My CI really came through.”

“I’d heard you’d made an impression on the locals when you were a beat cop. I’ve always believed that the best safety net is a community that has your back.”

“Yeah, well, I made my share of enemies, too.”

“I’d have been suspicious if you hadn’t.” She leaned in, lowered her voice. “Don’t think I’m not aware of your impact here. Most of these bums would rather chew off their own arms than do thorough reports, but in the end, seventy-five percent of convictions come from dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. Keep it up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Detective Lieutenant Posner smiled and went over to join the huddle of “bums.”

Liam heard them laughing from the other side of the bull pen, although he hadn’t caught the joke. He rarely did. But he knew that the vice team would be planning which bar they’d go to after shift. They’d choose between the White House, which had the prettier waitresses, or the closer O’Malley’s, where the drinks were less expensive.

Maybe, this time, he’d say yes when Harry came around to invite him. The bust on the money-laundering operation had gone like clockwork. It warranted a hoisted glass or two. If they decided to go to O’Malley’s. The White House was off-limits for him. The one time he’d gone, a waitress had tried to convince him to go home with her. He’d declined, but that hadn’t been enough to satisfy Detective Tony Ricci, who’d been trying to score a date with her for months. Tony still hadn’t forgiven him.

“Yo, Ridiculous.”

Liam’s jaw flexed at the nickname he hated. Especially coming from Ernie Rogers, one of the most decorated detectives in the NYPD. Rogers was nearing his twenty, and Liam had wanted to get to know him before he retired, but it had been seven months since he’d joined the team, and so far, they’d talked nothing but ongoing cases. “The name’s Flynn,” he called out, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference.

“You comin’ with? We owe you a drink for today’s bust. And then you get to tell the class how you figured out that Stevens and Isaacs were both going to be at that apartment.”

“Where?”

“The nation’s capital.”

“I’ll pass.”

Harry Bigalow, another old-timer, clapped Rogers on the shoulder as he shook his head at Liam. “Screw Ricci. You can’t help it if the ladies are all over you.”

“You know what? I’m beat. I’m gonna go on home. I’ve been up since three this morning.”

“You change your mind, you know where we’ll be,” Rogers said.

Liam nodded, then pulled up the first of several forms he’d need to fill out. He stopped listening to the chatter, the laughter. Fuck them and their juvenile humor. And fuck the complete stranger who’d taken his picture at last year’s Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade back when he was still in uniform.

He’d found out that she’d put it on the internet a couple days later. By then it was too late to do a damn thing about it.

She’d dubbed him Ridiculously Good-Looking Cop, and posted it to the massive social media site Reddit. It had already gone viral by the time one of the cops at his old precinct had sent the picture and the caption to everyone in the department. Maybe not the chief of police, but he couldn’t be sure.

He’d been Ridiculous ever since. By all rights it should have died down by now, but no. He had no idea why he’d imagined setting up today’s bust would change anything. Normally he wasn’t that optimistic. Now he was pretty damn certain the nickname would end up on his tombstone.

Most of the time, he didn’t give a rat’s ass. He did the job to the best of his ability. The more he was promoted, the more the idiots would hate him. Tough. He’d have a career he could be proud of. It had never been a popularity contest.

“Detective Flynn.” The caller ID gave no name or number. He’d just finished for the night after two hours of paperwork, and he was starving and tired.

“So, are you a police detective, a private detective or a consulting detective?”

Her voice was sultry, and if he’d been at a bar he’d have known exactly what she wanted. But as a cold call? “Do I know you?”

“Not yet.”

Huh. “Maybe we should start with why you’re calling me. If this isn’t a wrong number.”

“Definitely not a wrong number. I’m Aubrey, and I’m the lucky girl who got your Hot Guys Trading Card.”

“My Hot Guys…” That couldn’t be right. Mary had sworn that only one other person had seen the card, and that person was the printer. Even if somehow something had gone wrong, and his cousin hadn’t destroyed it as he’d asked, she would have told him. Warned him. “Aubrey…?” He clicked on his pen and turned to a fresh page in his notebook.

“I’m not going to tell you my last name. That would be silly.”

“Why?”

She huffed at him. “Some detective you are. Because then you could look me up online and find out everything about me before we met, and not only would that be no fun at all, it could be dangerous. For all I know, you could have a secret identity as a deadly villain.”

“You have my full name. And more, if you’re holding the trading card.”

“True, but I’m harmless. Mostly harmless. Occasionally harmless.”

“You’re not instilling me with a lot of confidence,” he said, only slightly surprised that he was grinning. “Besides, I thought I was supposed to get a call from Mary before we began this little adventure.”

“I guess it must have slipped her mind. Happens to me all the time. But as a show of good faith I’ll give you some details. I’m twenty-four. I’m a design graduate from Pratt. Well, not an official graduate. I didn’t finish three classes, but in my defense they were completely boring and who has time for that kind of nonsense, right? Anyway, I’ve had a lousy day at work. I was thinking you and I could get to know each other over a drink at the Session House bar. Do you know it?”

She was certainly confident for a woman who was lying her ass off. He wondered if the smidgen of information she’d given him was even in the ballpark of the truth. Although why would a liar try to justify not getting a degree? What could possibly be her game? “Yep, although I’ve never been there.”

“Well, it’s a very public bar, although surprisingly quiet for Manhattan. You can actually have a conversation there. Without shouting.”

“I don’t believe you. Bars in the city are required to reach a minimum of eighty-five decibels or we yank their liquor licenses.”

“Ah, a sense of humor. Excellent. You should’ve put that on the card. Wait, we yank their licenses? You’re a policeman. That must be exciting.”

“It can be.”

“I’d love to hear all about it.”

Nothing was kosher about this call, or her invitation. Mary had convinced him to try the dating club, sure he’d meet someone nice and steady, but that had been right before the Macy’s parade and the last thing he needed after that fiasco was to be on a Hot Guys Trading Card. Mary had taken care of things. She wouldn’t have lied to him. She was his favorite cousin.

The only thing to do was meet Aubrey at the bar. If Ms. No-Last-Name was half as enticing as she sounded, it might make for a hell of an interesting night. Mostly, though, he needed to get his hands on that card.

“Well, Detective Flynn?”

“I’ll be there in half an hour. How will I know you?”

“I’ll find you, Detective. Trust me.”

Liam smirked. Trust her? Not a chance.

After the billionth time, Aubrey swore to herself she wouldn’t look at the door again. She managed to keep that promise for a whole thirty seconds. And this time it paid off. Liam Flynn in the flesh, wearing a long coat, black, stylish yet designed for real weather. Not that it mattered. He could have been wearing a bunny suit because there was nowhere to look but his face. And—plot twist—turned out he wasn’t photogenic. It was as if the picture on the trading card was of the smart twin.